“Look here, Dr. Monq. I’d like to know where this is going.”
“Well, Dr. Renaux, I’m attempting to establish that you will accept the presence of an actual vampire as evidence. Before I go to the trouble of showing you one.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Well, either say, yes, a vampire will convince you or, no, it would take more than that.”
“I will give you a non-prejudicial commitment to believe what I see pending such an event as you producing a vampire. By all means, please proceed.”
Monq glanced at his watch, stood and pulled out his phone. He quickly factored for the time difference and determined that Baka’s team would be going out on patrol.
“Baka. I’m in need of a quick demonstration. Could you please send Javier to my office?” He began to pace. “Yes. I know the last time you sent them here there was the devil to pay for it, but this time he is not only expected, but invited. I only need him for a minute to convince a young lady that vampire do exist. Please make sure he understands it is not an invitation to the, uh, dance.” He looked over at Mercy. “Yes. I got it. As a matter of fact, this has to do with that.” Pause. “Good.”
He put the phone back in his pocket, sat down, and began drumming his fingers on the table lightly.
Mercy stared at Monq, hoping he would take the hint that she was expecting him to speak. When it became clear that he had nothing to say, she decided to take control of the conversation. “I don’t mean to seem impatient, but what are we doing now? Waiting for a vampire to appear out of thin air?”
Just as Monq opened his mouth to answer, Javier appeared next to them, out of thin air, with a charming smile and an enthusiastic, “Salut!”
Mercy shrieked and scrambled backward with the intention of standing, but lost control of the wheels on her chair. She came to rest on the floor looking up at a handsome teenager.
Javier leaned down and offered his hand to help her up. “Sorry, mademoiselle,” he said with a heavy, and unmistakably sexy, French accent. “I am clumsy. Please do not allow me to also be rude.”
He offered his hand, which looked perfectly innocent, and smiled. When Mercy’s heart rate and breathing began to resume normalcy, she reached to take his hand. As he helped her up he never broke eye contact. She was halfway up when he grinned, showing sparkling white fangs with points that looked as sharp as ice picks. She shrieked, for the second time in her life. Prior to that interview she wouldn’t have been able to describe exactly what a shriek was or how one sounded. Out of reflex she brought her hands up and pushed away from Javier, which meant that she’d landed on her ass, on the floor, twice in under a minute.
She heard Monq chuckle, which was a gift because it made her mad. And anger replacing fear was a good thing. Her head whipped toward the sound of mirth. “What exactly is so funny?”
“I hope you’ll forgive me. Someday. It’s just that you were so well put together, in every way, and then you were on the floor making that noise that, well, I’m not sure what that was.” He dropped his head in an effort to suppress more chuckles.
She got to her feet and glared at Javier. “So you’re supposed to be the vampire, are you?” Javier simply smiled and shrugged a shoulder as elegantly as a Bolshoi dancer. “Open your mouth.”
Javier looked at Monq, seemingly for confirmation that he should obey the highly strung female. Monq nodded.
Mercy tilted Javier’s head back and felt all around the gum from which his left fang protruded. Javier looked at Monq questioningly as if to ask him to put a stop to the examination. When she was satisfied that the fangs were not surgical implants, she withdrew her hand, but scraped it on the way by. The fangs were every bit as sharp as they appeared to be.
She saw a thin line of blood begin to well from the scratch. “Ouch. How do you manage to not constantly be cutting yourself open?”
Mercy looked up for Javier’s response, but what she saw stopped her breath. The vampire’s interest was rapt and focused on her wound. His eyes had also gone dark and hooded, while his breathing became deeper and faster. She wasn’t big on expletives, but that didn’t keep one word from echoing around the space her brain occupied. Shit.
“Let’s assume I believe you.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a more personal demonstration? Javier would be happy to show you that he can bite without pain and without much damage.”
“The demo was bloody convincing, I assure you.”
Monq laughed. “Bloody convincing. I like your sense of humor, Dr. Renaux.” To Javier, he said, “Thank you for your help. That will be all.”
Javier seemed mesmerized by the blood. He didn’t move or look away from Mercy and had Monq thinking that he should have asked for the older vampire, Jean-Etienne. “Javier!”
Javier grabbed her finger, stuck it in his mouth and closed his eyes in ecstasy.
“She said no, Javier. Cease that sucking at once!”
Javier slid his tongue along the finger that Mercy was too spellbound to retract while holding her gaze and said, “Your coloring is magnifique, mademoiselle. It reminds me of autumn in Paris. Your ancestors were from Normandie, no?”
“Thank you, Javier. That will be all,” Monq repeated more firmly.
Javier dragged his eyes away from his prey reluctantly and shot Monq a look that gave him pause. It was a look that implied, “Just because I look like an adolescent human doesn’t mean that I am one. Just because I’m typically affable doesn’t mean that’s my only side. So watch yourself, mortal.”
The vampire kissed Mercy’s hand, his eyes not leaving hers. “Should you ever require my company, I will be at your service, beautiful lady.”
Throwing a last look of longing toward Mercy, the young immortal vanished.
She stared at the space he’d occupied for a full minute after he’d disappeared before shaking herself and saying, “Geez. What would have happened if I’d said yes to the expanded demo? Never mind. I don’t really want an image of that. I actually couldn’t look away. ” She shook her head. “Worse. I didn’t want to look away. All I can say is, wow.”
“They are, apparently, made for seduction and, I’ve been told, they can be quite difficult to resist.” Monq waved toward the chairs in front of the fire. “Please sit.”
Monq asked for a fresh pot of Earl Grey, took his seat and waited for Mercy to calm. Within the hour he was telling the story of Count Jungbluth, Dankvart der Recke, and the founding of Black Swan.
Sitting in Monq’s study on a rainy afternoon, sipping tea with a heavy and heavenly aroma of bergamot, in front of a realistic-looking gas fire, she fell under the spell of Monq’s baritone and was enthralled by the recitation of Black Swan’s beginning. When he finished, she sat still and quiet for some time longer, wishing there was more and not wanting the experience to end. Monq sat watching, patiently waiting for her reaction.
Finally she said, “I have a question that’s really neither here nor there, but if you wouldn’t mind indulging me.”
“Of course.”
“Do you know of someone named Rafael Nightsong?”
Acting was not on Monq’s incredibly long list of impressive accomplishments so Mercy noticed the slight widening of his eyes at the mention of the knight’s name.
“I must amend my response. What I meant to say was of course I will answer any and all of your questions after you have accepted our offer and given your vows of loyalty and secrecy.”
Mercy leaned over and placed her Rosenthal tea cup on the table nearest her right hand before looking back at Monq.
“I agree to the assignment and to your terms. I also give you my pledge of loyalty and secrecy. When do you want me to begin?”
“Welcome to The Order of the Black Swan, my dear. We’re honored to have you with us. Normally vows of loyalty and secrecy are made formally with witnesses and signatures, but I have a good feeling about your sincerity.
“As to when we would like yo
u to begin,” he looked at his watch, “eighteen hours ago.”
Mercy felt the laugh bubbling up. It was out before she knew it. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Dr. Monq, but people are counting on me to fulfill previously made commitments to the university.”
“Yes, well, please forgive me for saying so. Likewise, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but the interests of The Order of the Black Swan are more important and you’re the right person for this job.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to stop her. “Do you know Dr. Fornizia? Universidad de Sao Paulo?”
Mercy sat back looking a little confused, but willing, for the moment, to indulge Monq by letting him lead the conversation in what would seem to be a strange and unrelated direction. “In my field, I would have had to be spending the last ten years in a hermit cave to not have heard of him. Why?”
“He’s prepared to move his projects to Columbia and take over your classes and other duties until such time as you may wish to return.”
She couldn’t have been more astonished if she’d been instantly transported to the Congo and met by Dr. Livingstone. “When?”
“Immediately.”
“What makes you think that will be cleared with the school?”
Monq laughed and waved dismissively. “Not a problem. We have ways.”
She mulled it over while studying Monq’s face. Would she ever forgive herself if she passed up what seemed to be the offer of an adventure of a lifetime? The answer was no. She wouldn’t.
“Okay then.”
Monq smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Okay then. Go home and pack as if you were vacationing and spelunking in Eastern Europe. Gather the research tools of your preference. Anything you need and don’t own personally can be expensed.”
“Anything?”
He nodded. “Anything.” He started to stand and show her the door.
“Wait a minute.” He sat back down. “Rafael Nightsong?”
“Oh, yes. Indeed I do know him.”
She searched Monq’s face. “He’s a vampire hunter, isn’t he?”
Monq cocked his head. “He told you that?”
“I met him under, um, unusual circumstances. He didn’t think he’d be believed. And he wasn’t.”
“I see.” Monq sounded concerned.
“By the way, did anything unusual happen on March 2nd? Anything that would cause Mr. Nightsong to look like he had barely survived Armageddon?”
“Sir Nightsong.” She raised an eyebrow at that. “March 2nd? Not precisely, but the night before this entire building was under attack and was practically reduced to rubble.” She nodded, looking thoughtful. “I take it that, when you met him, he looked the worse for wear?”
“That’s putting it mildly, but yes.”
“We will send someone to pick you up day after tomorrow at 7 am.” He scrabbled through the pile system on his desk until he withdrew a card. “If you need anything between now and then, contact Ms. Farnsworth in Operations. Her title should be Miracle Worker.” He turned abruptly and picked up a little parchment-colored book. “And read this.”
“All right.”
She looked down. Field Training Guide. Opening to the first page, she read the first indexed item out loud. “The plural of vampire is vampire.” She looked up at Monq. “Really?”
He smiled and opened the door for her. “Welcome home, Alice.”
Monty was waiting for her in the hallway.
“Dr. Renaux,” he said as he gestured for her to walk with him. He escorted her all the way to her car and never said a single word, but when she unlocked the car door, he opened it for her and grinned. As she drove away she looked in the rear view mirror and saw the kid wave goodbye. Weird.
On the drive back to the city her thoughts turned to the beautiful and angry speed dater. Crossing the bridge she was thinking that the asshole had turned out to be a truthful asshole. It just proved that there was one universal constant that could be counted on and that was that life was strange. Good luck with ever getting her to call him “Sir” though.
CHAPTER 11
Jefferson Unit
As the migration back to Jefferson Unit began, even Rev was constantly amazed at Farnsworth’s seemingly superhuman ability to anticipate every need. When she was presented with surprises she couldn’t possibly have planned for, she managed to pull a Plan B out of her invisible magic hat. And so far as Rev could determine, if Plan A didn’t work out, you could bet your last dime that Plan B would.
Part of that genius was knowing her own limitations. When she knew she couldn’t do it all, she requisitioned an assistant. Director Tvelgar flew three candidates to J.U. for Farnsworth to interview. She awarded the position to a young Frenchwoman from the Le Triomphe Unite in Paris. Mademoiselle Bonheur was both smart enough to recognize the opportunity and ambitious enough to take advantage of it, which meant she was eager to learn from Farnsworth and had no trouble whatsoever with deference.
The size of the Operations Department had always been just barely big enough to function and that was only because Farnsworth was masterful at keeping an organized, uncluttered space. So Farnsworth confiscated a storage room next door and had the stored items taken to the unused space from where Kellan Chorzak had announced the Battle for Jefferson Unit during a raid by assassins. She felt safe in assuming that lightning wouldn’t strike the same spot twice.
She pulled workmen away from other projects in progress and gave them a maximum of three days to complete her changes. Knowing that she was in charge of scheduling, they had powerful motivation to please her.
They hung a plastic curtain before they began tearing out the wall, but there was nothing to block the noise. And work had to go on. The good news was that they finished ahead of schedule. The trainees who worked part time helped moved everything according to Farnsworth’s direction and a reconceived Operations Department was ready for business. She and Mlle. Bonheur both had desks that were counter height, built adjacent to the counter that separated Operations from walk-ins. They sat in ergonomic chairs as high as stools unless someone stood on the other side of the counter in which case they would stand and face the visitor.
One thing Farnsworth had not counted on was how different the environment would feel with additional estrogen present or how taken the boys would be with Genevieve Bonheur, the new Assistant to the Chief of Operations. After the third kid stood star struck upon seeing her for the first time, Farnsworth took a good look. The younger woman had a tight petite little body, big caramel-colored eyes, shiny mahogany hair cut into a chic Parisian bob and a ready smile.
Everyone soon learned that the smile was quickly replaced with spitfire when her name was mispronounced. If one of the knights or other personnel called her Genevieve with typical English pronunciation, she would grab her triangular name plaque from the counter and point to her name, saying, “Zhawn. Vee. Ehv,” slowly followed with, “Zhawnveyev,” spoken quickly. When the employee requiring assistance repeated it back correctly, her smile returned and all was well.
Thus it went until the day that Kristoph Falcon walked in to relay a request from the Lady Laiken. Mlle. Bonheur quickly slid off her chair to help the cutie that seemed to have ‘trouble’ written across his forehead with invisible ink.
“May I help you?” she asked with a French accent that the men seemed to find hypnotizing.
Kris stared for a second before glancing down at her name plate. “You’re new, um, Genevieve?”
He was captivated by the transformation. Her face scrunched into the cutest scowl he’d ever seen. “No!” She went through her routine, holding up the name plate as if to say, “You idiot. Anyone can plainly see it is Zhawnveyev and not Jinaveev.”
With a sober expression that would challenge a judge, he repeated, “Jinaveev.”
After three such exchanges, she stomped her foot, which made the cute haircut bounce in a delightfully young and athletic way. She took a deep breath and determined to try one m
ore time.
On the outside Kris appeared to be seriously trying to get it right. On the inside he was sure he had never been so entertained before in his life. On his fourth attempt, he caught and held her gaze and said, “Jin. Ah. Veev.”
She took the triangular name plate that she still held in her hand and cracked him on the head with it as she let out a stream of French that had the unmistakable tone and cadence of cursing, recognizable in any language. As soon as she realized what she’d done, she gasped and swung to look at Farnsworth with her face growing paler by the second.
“Ow,” said Kris, rubbing his head and laughing at the same time.
Farnsworth, who had observed the entire incident while pretending to be otherwise occupied, was exercising all the maturity she could muster to keep from rolling her eyes. Finally she interceded with an unmistakable tone of warning, “Falcon.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He looked at Farnsworth momentarily attempting to cover the sheepishness vying to claim his expression.
Kris returned his attention to Mlle. Bonheur and treated her to a rare smile that was nothing less than dazzling. In perfect French, he said, “Mademoiselle Genevieve Bonheur, welcome to Jefferson Unit. I hope you will be happy here.”
Her eyes narrowed when she realized he’d been toying with her. “Chieur.”
He laughed, “I know what that means.” He turned to Farnsworth in mock outrage. “Do you know what she just called me?”
Farnsworth sighed. “State your business, Falcon. The playroom is Sublevel Three.”
“Yes, ma’am. Lady Laiken says we need enough exoarmor and helmets so that, in the event of attack on the facility, every person who might be called upon to defend would be outfitted. She said to tell you that includes all the trainees and some of the satellite staff who’ve had combat training.”
Farnsworth nodded. “Tell her it shall be done.”
Falcon’s eyes twinkled. “Shall it be written as well?”
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