Knights of Black Swan, Books 7-9 (Knights of Black Swan Box Set Book 3)

by Victoria Danann

  “It sounds manipulative when you put it like that,” said Elora. Litha and Monq stared at her. “Okay. So it is. But hopefully the end result will justify the manipulation.”

  Litha joined in. “If this goes south, Rosie may not speak to me for centuries.”

  “Well, that would be bad,” Monq said.

  “Are you going to live for centuries?” The question came from a small sweet voice at the kitchen door.

  “Helm! I told you not to listen in. I thought you were busy with your game,” Elora scolded.

  “I’m hungry and the talking is going on forever.”

  “Well, you have a point,” Elora said. “What do you want for supper?”

  “Macaroni and cheese.”

  “No.”

  “French fries and potato chips. With ketchup.”

  “No.”

  “Blackened tilapia and green beans.”

  “Yes!” She beamed. “We have a winner. I’ll call it in. You can have some grapes to tide you over until it gets here.”

  “Popcorn.” He bargained.

  “No.”

  “Peanut butter and cheese crackers.”

  “No.”

  “You’re not the boss of me. I’m the king.”

  Elora looked shocked. “Who told you that?”

  “I heard you talkin’ about it with Da.”

  Elora’s eyes narrowed. “Your pointy little ears are starting to get too big. Even for an elf.”

  Seeing the look on his mother’s face, Helm was beginning to think better of making a scene in front of company. “You gonna tell Da?”

  “Depends. Am I going to hear any more about who’s boss?” He shook his head vigorously. “Grapes.”

  Helm hunched his shoulders and trudged to the glass pedestal bowl that housed a selection of grapes like he was trying to survive a forced march. He pulled a bunch of seedless red grapes away from the stem then left the room with a smile so charming that all three adults were enthralled and sat staring after him when he’d gone.

  “He’s going to be a handful,” Litha said.

  “He already is! Thank the gods his father has a handle on things. It’s like he can predict what Helm is going to say and do next.” She chuckled. “And all hel may break loose when these two meet daylight and share an apartment with the…” She mouthed ‘the king’ and put it in air quotes.

  Monq stood up. “I’m going to get ahold of Baka and let him know what’s up.”

  “Tell him I said hi,” Elora added.

  “Is there going to be anyone associated with The Order who won’t be in on this?” Litha asked.

  “Don’t be terse, my dear. You have magick to perform.”

  “I need to get in Falcon’s apartment and get something of his,” Litha replied.

  “Very well. Phone call first. Burgling next.”

  Litha eyed the outrageous swell of Elora’s pregnancy. “You think you can keep that together until after you talk to Farnsworth?”

  Elora pressed her lips together. “I’d better go call now. Just in case. Although the timing isn’t great because the Sovereign is likely off duty now. It would be a whole lot easier to talk to her about this when he’s not around.”

  “Well, you’ll have to weigh the options and decide.”

  “Maybe I can get someone to create a situation that he needs to attend to personally?”

  “No. That’s crazy,” Litha said. “Instead of trying to get her alone tonight when he’s not home, just invite her over here for tea. Have her tell him that you want to discuss your birthing options one more time.”

  “I could do that,” Elora agreed. “Sounds plausible enough.”

  “Oh what a tangled web we weave,” added Monq. Both women looked at him like they couldn’t believe he’d just said that since he was the one who’d started the snowball rolling down the mountain. “What? I wasn’t saying it in a bad way. Just an observation.”

  “Let’s not ever forget who orchestrated this folly.” Elora looked at Litha. “How long do you need to get your, um, things ready?”

  Litha tapped her fingers like she was calculating. “Six hours?”

  “You’ll be done before the boys are back. They’ll never be any the wiser,” said Elora.

  “If peewee really does ‘keep his mouth shut’,” Litha replied.

  “He will. He’s good at secrets.” She paused. “With proper motivation.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Brownie muffins.” She smiled.

  “Okay, then,” Monq said. “We all have our jobs. Elora, you’re on Farnsworth. Litha, you have hocus pocus duty. I’m working the Baka, Jean Etienne angle.”

  “Oh.” Elora looked like she’d thought of something else. “While you’re at it, call the Jeanne d'Arc Unit and tell them to give Glen and Rosie the Charlemagne Suite.” Monq and Litha looked at her with a question mark on their faces. “Ram and I have stayed there when we were traveling with Helm. It’s a two-bedroom tower suite on the Paris side and has a view of the Seine. They reserve it for special guests. Just tell the Operations Manager that Glen and Rosie are coming and that they’re special guests.”

  Before bedtime all contacts had been made, agreements extracted, bargains entered into, and schedules synchronized. Naturally, the most intense bargaining was between Litha and Deliverance because, as everyone knows, demons are nothing if not determined to get the upper hand of a deal.

  “I just need you to take him to your lair and hide him for a few days,” said Litha.

  “First of all, my home is not a lair. It’s insulting for you to call it that. Second, what do you expect me to do with him?”

  “Make him watch hours of I Love Lucy reruns. That’s what you made me do.” She pulled in her chin and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “In fact, how many people have been subjected to that experience? It could be the origin of the hel myth.”

  Deliverance smiled. “Good times.”

  “Right. What do you say?”

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “It’s for Rosie.”

  “Bargaining with my granddaughter’s happiness is out of bounds.”

  “I’m half demon. Nothing is out of bounds.”

  “Good point. I’ll do it if you give me the one thing in all creation that I want most.”

  “What is that?”

  “Time spent with you.”

  “Dad, you’re going to make me cry.”

  “Not really.”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Just, you know, remember before Engel?” Deliverance screwed up his face. “Even his name is offensive.”

  “I like that his name means angel in German.”

  “Whatever. The point is that we used to wander the worlds together. You would shop while I would gas up. It was wonderful, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. It was. I can manage lunch once a week.”

  “Three times a week.”

  “Twice.”

  “Done.”

  They both smiled knowing that it was a mutually satisfying deal.

  The only thing left to be done was the creation of Litha’s sympathetic magick props. Farnsworth, having willingly entered into the conspiracy with little coaxing required, let her into Falcon’s apartment where she shopped for bits of things to go into her poppet and create a believable target for the family crystal. Nothing that he would miss, of course. A little hair from his comb. The dog ear portion of a page from a well-worn book. A note he’d written to Mme. Bonheur, but thrown in the trash. She shot copies of several photos with her camera, including the one of K Team winning the past year’s Jefferson Unit rugby championship and was satisfied she had enough to create a shadow of his essence.

  Before Glen and Rosie reached Paris, Deliverance would have Falcon secured in his lair, Litha would hand the poppet and cloak over to Jean Etienne, and Farnsworth would convince Farthing that the pursuit of love was a far higher good than routine administration.


  Elora made one more phone call to the most romantic person she knew, Istvan Baka.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  After Falcon managed to lose Sir Catch and The Order’s current premier tracker, he’d gotten a whister ride to Manhattan then grabbed a cab to the private jet charter at Teterboro. He had no experience arranging for his own travels because the Operations Office had always handled logistics. Because of that lack of experience, he was somewhat surprised to find out that the company never had jets fueled up and ready for walk-ins. After insisting that they make phone calls on his behalf, he learned that there were no other long-range private planes available for immediate hire elsewhere.

  “When will you have a ride for me?” he asked the impeccably sleek young woman behind the counter.

  “Tomorrow midday. Will that be satisfactory?”

  “No. It will not, but it doesn’t look like I have a choice.”

  “Sorry nothing is available sooner, sir. How would you like to pay?”

  “Cash.”

  Falcon expected the clerk to be surprised, but she was not.

  She didn’t bat an eye when she said, “That will be $25,632.”

  He hitched his bag up onto the counter, unzipped it, counted out stacks of cash and placed them in front of her. The clerk calmly counted the cash, then handed him sixty-eight dollars in change.

  “Thank you, Mr. Falco. We have a suite in the hangar that is sometimes used by clientele for layovers. It’s available if you’d like to wait there. You could sleep or watch TV.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  She handed him a key. “Down this hall, turn right and you’ll run into it. The refrigerator and bar are fully stocked with drinks and snacks. There’s also a number to call for complimentary food delivery. Please make yourself at home until tomorrow. Someone will come for you when we’re ready for departure. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Yes. I’ll need a car to take me into the city on arrival.”

  “Very well.” She gave a nod that was somewhere between professional and subservient. “That will be another one hundred forty.”

  Falcon handed over the sixty eight dollars he was still holding in his hand, pulled out another hundred, slapped it on the counter and said, “Keep the change.”

  He thought the clerk might crack a smile at that, but she did not. She simply nodded.

  After pulling the strap of the bag, now somewhat lighter, over his shoulder, he walked in the direction she’d indicated. He supposed it couldn’t hurt to start his quest with sleep in a real bed. He’d been sleeping in a hospital bed in a hallway. And though the popcorn was good film fodder, he wouldn’t mind a decent dinner and the distraction of TV. He’d start out fresh, well-rested and well-nourished, so that he could spend the time in the air planning what he was going to do when he got to Paris.

  He didn’t have a plan beyond talking to Genevieve, if not to persuade her to choose him, then at least to make sure she was still certain about the choice she’d made to go with Jean Etienne. He didn’t know what alternative he had to offer if she said no. He just knew that everything was well and truly fucked and that he had to do something other than going on with life as if the catastrophe hadn’t occurred.

  The thing that he could never have anticipated in a thousand guesses would be the thing that happened next. Somewhere between New Jersey and Paris, the dashing young knight simply disappeared from the plane without a trace. It would be a mystery that UFO specialists would be examining for decades thereafter.

  Glen made the same error as Falcon. Having never arranged for a private jet before, he assumed one would be available, which would have meant Falcon would be in Paris in about eight hours including travel time on the ground.

  Due to the miscalculation based on not having all the information, Glen and Rosie would arrive in Paris a full twenty hours ahead of Falcon.

  Glen had requested a meeting with the Paris Unit Sovereign at around midnight. Middle of the night meetings were not unusual for vampire hunters since that would be near the beginning of their work ‘day’.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Day One - Paris

  The good news was that the pill Glen took worked great. He arrived at the Jeanne d’Arc Unit with no dizziness, queasiness, headache, blurred vision, or other side effect.

  The bad news was that Rosie had brought them out of the passes inside the Unit grounds and set off the alarms.

  After explaining who they were, how they bypassed security, and presenting verifiable credentials, they were checked in and escorted to the Charlemagne Suite as requested by the Lady Elora Laiken, although they were not told that placement in the premier suite was a special request made on their behalf because, after all, discretion had been part of the request and, if nothing else, the French are consummately accomplished at two things: romance and discretion.

  Glen and Rosie had both spent the past few years in environments that would not be considered luxurious by anyone of any standard. So each, in her or his way, appreciated the plush pad with its twenty-foot ceilings, beveled mirrors set in carved paneling, Venetian rugs, and Renoir paintings.

  The crystal was quiet so Glen said, “Taking a nap. Knock if you get anything.”

  The suite phone rang at four. When Rosie picked it up, she heard Glen’s voice on the line. He’d answered first, so she hung up. In a few minutes there was a knock on the door.

  Glen was standing on the other side frowning. “Still nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Maybe I guessed wrong. About where he was going, I mean.”

  “I don’t think so. Let’s give it a little longer.”

  “That was Baka on the phone.”

  “Oh?’

  “He and Mrs. Baka have invited us to join them for dinner. A welcome-to-Paris thing was what he said.”

  “So. Are we going?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Well, yes. I’ve never been to Paris.”

  Glen cocked his head. “You haven’t?”

  “No. Why?”

  “It just seems like you’re, ah, well-traveled.”

  “I probably haven’t seen as much of this dimension as you think.”

  He pursed his lips then said, “They want to pick us up at eight. That okay?”

  Rosie nodded. “What did he say to wear?” She looked behind her at the armoire in the suite.

  “He didn’t say. Wear whatever you want. Who gives a shit?”

  Glen stalked away like asking about clothes had set him off, leaving Rosie wondering what had happened.

  Rosie opened the bar refrigerator and pulled out some mixed nuts and soda to tide her over until dinner. She ran clothing options in her head and eventually decided on black velvet leggings, a blood red silk tunic with a thin rhinestone belt and black thigh high boots. She pulled her hair up into a messy bun and secured it with a clip covered with diamonds and rubies. It amused her to know that no one would guess the stones in the clip were real and that the sale of the piece would render enough to buy a chateau in the French Alps. They would assume rhinestones to match the belt.

  Glen didn’t bother to knock on her door. At eight he just stood in the living room that separated their bedrooms and yelled, “Let’s go. You’re making us look bad.”

  Rosie opened the door and strode toward him with a smile. For a second his permanent scowl faltered as he let his eyes wander down to her feet and up again. But without a word, he opened the suite door and walked out, leaving it standing ajar behind him.

  Rosie sighed thinking at least he didn’t slam it behind him.

  He’d already called the elevator when she arrived at the end of the hall.

  “Wonder when they put in an elevator,” she said, making small talk.

  “Sometime last century,” he quipped.

  “Well, that narrows it down.”

  Glen and Rosie walked in silence until they were past the second set of security gates where a limo was waiting, appare
ntly for them.

  Baka climbed out of the car. He shook Glen’s hand and gave Rosie a kiss on the cheek. They renewed greetings with Heaven inside the car.

  “Where are we going for dinner?” Rosie asked.

  “Istvan made a reservation at Le Train Bleu. It’s one of his favorites. I think it’s Rococo hel. It’s gilded, carved, molded, and frescoed to death, but Baka loves it. So what can I do?” She turned and looked at him adoringly, which made Glen hope it would be a very short dinner.

  “Poor darling,” Baka said to his wife. “You must suffer through an evening at one of the world’s great eateries. How will you manage?”

  Baka grinned when Heaven kissed his nose.

  “I can’t wait,” Rosie said. “I’ve never been to Paris before.”

  Heaven’s eyes went wide. “Noooo. Eat eez impouseeble,” she said with a French accent, making fun of the fact that the French overuse the word ‘impossible’. Rosie giggled. “In that case,” Heaven continued in her own British accent, “let us make some recommendations of must-see’s.”

  Rosie smiled. “I’d love that.”

  “How about you, Sir Catch?” Heaven asked Glen. “Have you been to Paris before?”

  He glanced at Heaven before returning his attention to whatever was in the darkness outside his tinted window. “Yes, but not for sightseeing,” he said drily.

  “For vampire hunting, I suppose?” asked Baka.

  Glen met his gaze. “That’s right. Does that bother you?”

  “Not at all. Though I’m certain it might if I was still a vampire.” Baka smiled amiably. “I’m sure you’re very good at your job. But of course, these days we do the same work, you and I.”

  “Tell me about Le Train Bleu.” Rosie was eager to change the subject. Vampire hunting was not appetizing in the least.

  Baka’s smile remained fixed, but somehow seemed to become more genuine when his attention shifted to Rosie. “As my wife said, it is extremely ornate and, I admit, overdone by modern standards, but the historical style is part of its charm.”

  “Comes with the territory when you’re married to a relic,” Heaven teased.