Grave Sins

by Jenna Maclaine

  “Normally I would bespell you so that you don’t feel any pain, but I want to hurt you. I want you to feel it all. I want to taste your fear as you’ve tasted the fear of your family every time you’ve abused them. How many vampires have you sold those children to? Can you imagine how frightened they must have been?” I pulled him back against me so that my lips hovered just above the big vein that throbbed in his neck. “Doesn’t matter,” I hissed. “You will.”

  “You bitch!” he spat. “I’ll kill you for this! And then I’ll track down that faithless whore and kill her, too!”

  I laughed. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll bleed for me, and then you’ll crawl back into whatever pit of hell you came from.” I dug my nails into his arms. “And if you ever come near that woman or her children again, I will come for you in the dark of night. There will be nowhere you can run, nowhere you can hide. I will bleed you dry and revel in your screams as I do so.”

  Of course, I wouldn’t, but I’ve found that when you’re a vampire a little threat goes a long way. He stilled, finally realizing the trouble he was in. I looked over his shoulder and watched Justine approach. The man’s heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird under my fingers, below my lips. My fangs lengthened and I sank them into the right side of his neck. He screamed as blood poured into my mouth. It had been years since I’d taken a human and not bespelled him. There were vampires who loved the screams, the fear, but I was not one of them. I felt a brief pang of regret that I hadn’t put him under. And then the memories came.

  When you feed from a human you get images, flashes of their thoughts or memories. It isn’t like taking a stroll down memory lane with them, but you do get bits and pieces of whatever they happen to be thinking of at the time. I’ve learned to shield from this because I don’t feed from blushing virgins who would give me images of skipping through fields of lavender in the sunshine. No, I generally feed from those who deserve to be used as food for the undead: rapists, cutthroats, thieves, and wastrels. The kind of men you’d find in a dark alley at night. I don’t want to know what they’re thinking; it’s usually the stuff of nightmares. This man was no different. A few seconds of the horror those children had experienced at his hands and I slammed that mental door firmly shut. And then I bit harder.

  The click of Justine’s heels on the cobblestones caught my attention. As I drank, I watched her come to stand in front of us. She fisted her hands in the man’s shirt and then struck quickly and without hesitation. Both of us fed from him, one on each side of his neck. When his heartbeat began to slow I pulled back.

  “Justine,” I said.

  She didn’t move from him. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her away.

  “Justine, stop. You’ll kill him.”

  “He deserves it.”

  “Yes, he does,” I said in a calm, rational voice. “But his life is not ours to take.”

  It was illegal to kill humans, except under extenuating circumstances. He needed killing was just not a valid defense. The High King had decreed that we must not kill humans, and that we must never interfere in the affairs of their world. Since the vampire had yet to be turned who could defeat the High King in one-on-one combat, his word was law. Besides, it was just common sense that you do not go around extinguishing a renewable source of food. Not to mention that doing so would draw attention to our kind. True, we were stronger and faster than humans. One vampire could fight twenty of them and still come out victorious. But if you get enough humans together, armed with enough torches, eventually sheer numbers and firepower—quite literally—will win out. Humans liked a mob, and a mob was not the vampire’s friend. Thus, no killing and no meddling. Even if they did have it coming.

  Justine had to be reminded of this sometimes. She had a very strong sense of what was right and what was wrong. For someone who had lived for centuries she still had an almost child-like view of the world. Things were black or white to her. She and Michael both very rarely saw the gray that most of us learn to live with. And they were both hotheaded enough that if Devlin and I didn’t keep an eye on them, they might end up being guilty of the crimes that we so often executed vampires for. I couldn’t count the times over the years that I’d had to pull Justine back before she crossed that line. She often did not appreciate my efforts on her behalf. Such was the case this time.

  She hissed at me and threw the man against a wall, where he crumpled like a discarded rag doll.

  “Ah, shite, have you killed him then?” a male voice asked.

  I spun, surprised that someone had managed to come up behind me without my sensing it. That didn’t happen often. It meant that I was either getting sloppy or the vampire leaning against the wall was very old. I was betting on the latter.

  He was about Michael’s height, but he appeared smaller. His body didn’t have the weight of Michael’s muscle, and it gave him a lean, hungry look. His hair was dark and cut short, yet it still managed to look tousled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. The short cut accentuated his hawkish features and the pair of round spectacles perched on his nose. He was dressed rather haphazardly in a brown vest with a small striped pattern that didn’t quite match his brown trousers. His cream-colored shirt was open at the throat, and the sleeves were rolled up on his forearms. He looked like nothing more than a clerk who had been bent over his ledgers all day. It would fool most people.

  “He’ll live,” I said cautiously, and hoped that I was right.

  “Pity,” the vampire replied. “I’d almost turn a blind eye if someone killed that one.”

  “You know him?”

  He strolled over to the man on the ground and nudged him with one foot. The man groaned but didn’t move. The vampire shrugged and turned back to me, taking his spectacles off and cleaning the lenses with a rumpled handkerchief that he’d fished out of the depths of his breast pocket. I wondered at the affectation. As a vampire he wouldn’t need them to see clearly. Perhaps it was meant to lull the vampires he dealt with into a false sense of security. With the spectacles he looked like an unassuming clerk; without them he looked more like a man who might cut your throat for your purse.

  “I try to keep the children away from us,” he said, “but it’s not easy. That one thinks a hard day’s work would kill him. It’s only a matter of time before he has his eldest girl working the streets so that he can sit on his lazy arse in the pub all day and night.”

  “Justine gave the mother some money. Hopefully she’ll use it to get her children far away from here.”

  He walked up and stood very close to me. He looked at me, at my face, my hair, my neck. It wasn’t a predatory look. It was more like he was memorizing every detail, from the freckle on my left cheekbone to the number of stones in my necklace. It was … disconcerting.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “because women so often do what’s best for them.”

  I caught a whiff of peppermint as he spoke. What was it Bel had said? I don’t know why they call him Old Bear. He doesn’t look old. Maybe he’s been a vampire for a very long time? And he’s not big and hairy like a bear. He’s kind of short and wiry and smells of peppermint. I smiled.

  “Mr. Bear,” I said, in as professional a manner as I could muster, “my name is Cin Craven. I need to speak to you about some urgent matters regarding the queen.”

  I waited for a response, but he simply cocked his head to one side, his dark eyes assessing me. It was what a bird of prey must look like just before it swoops down and snatches up some unsuspecting field mouse. I took a step back and gathered my composure. By the gods, I was the Red Witch of the Righteous, and I would not be made to feel like a field mouse, especially by someone with such a ridiculous name.

  “Mr. Bear,” I began again, but he turned to Justine and spoke rapidly in French.

  It was perfectly flawless, idiomatic French that loosely translated to something like. Why does the daft woman keep calling me Mr. Bear?

  I stamped my foot and
he turned his attention back to me. “You needn’t speak to her as though I’m not here,” I said. “I understand French perfectly. I’ve lived with her for the past thirteen years, after all. And I am not daft. I called you Mr. Bear because I was informed that there was a man whom I could find near the South Bridge Vaults who knows everything about everything that happens in Edinburgh, and his name is Old Bear.”

  He frowned and asked, “Who, exactly, told you that?”

  “Belinda.”

  I got no response.

  “Bel,” I said again. “Small, dark hair, lavender eyes, dumb as a box of rocks.”

  The frown went away and he smiled. “Ah, yes, the extraordinarily lovely houseguest of the king and queen. She said my name was Old Bear?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. I looked at Justine and she just shrugged. Old Bear doubled over, his hands on his knees. It was a nice laugh, and was almost infectious. Almost. I crossed my arms and waited for him to finish. It took a while.

  The spectacles and handkerchief reappeared out of his pocket. He dabbed his eyes and then put his spectacles back on. When he’d composed himself once more he said, “It’s a good thing that she’s beautiful because she doesn’t have the wits God gave a dormouse. My name is not Old Bear, it’s Aubert, Jacques Aubert. I am Chief Warden of the City of Edinburgh.”

  He extended his hand and I took it, shaking my head. “That woman is a menace,” I muttered.

  I introduced him to Justine, and they exchanged pleasantries in French.

  “So, Monsieur Aubert, you’re French?” I asked. When he’d first arrived his accent was definitely Scottish, but it lapsed back and forth into several English dialects as well. His French, however, was perfect.

  “I am many things, Miss Craven, but yes, I came from France originally. I have, however, been in Edinburgh since Mary Stuart sat on the throne, and the fair Belinda is correct about one thing: I do know everything there is to know about what goes on in my city.”

  “Oh, good,” I said, not quite liking his smug tone, “then perhaps you can tell me who is killing humans on your watch.”

  He flinched. Oh, he covered it quickly enough, but I caught it.

  “I know nothing about that. It’s not a vampire problem.”

  “Someone tried to murder your queen last night,” Justine said. “If that is not a vampire problem, then what is?”

  He glared at Justine. “The king’s household is his to protect. He has Khalid and Hashim, and they are more than equal to the task. What goes on inside the court is not my business. She asked about the murders, and I’m telling you that I don’t think a vampire is responsible.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because the bodies are not being delivered by vampires, there are no puncture marks on them, and they are not drained of blood. If it were a vampire killing these people, why wouldn’t they drink from them? If you’re not going to feed, what’s the point?”

  I tended to agree with him, and I wondered if Michael would be able to verify MacLeod’s and Aubert’s assertions about the condition of the bodies when he returned from his visit to the Medical College tonight.

  “Clarissa saw the queen herself deliver one of the bodies,” I remarked.

  “Aye, and Clarissa’s dust now, isn’t she?” he snapped.

  “You’re afraid,” I muttered.

  He nodded. “And you’re a fool if you’re not. I’m not afraid of anything I can fight, but something that can get past the king’s lieutenants and murder a vampire in the court’s holding cell without anyone seeing anything is not something I want to be involved with.”

  “Whatever, or whoever, is doing this, it’s after your queen,” I pointed out.

  “Aye, well, and that’s why you’re here, is it not? You do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

  “I’m trying to do my job, Aubert, but you’re making it bloody difficult. You can lie to me and tell me that you don’t know anything, but I think you probably know what goes on in this town down to the number of bottles of contraband whiskey that are smuggled in and out of here on a daily basis. Will you really let your queen die because you’re afraid to talk to me?”

  He raked his hand through his hair. “Ah, bollocks,” he muttered and then snaked a hand out and pulled me up against him. I started to struggle, but then he was whispering in my ear and I froze. “I’ve seen men delivering the bodies to the college,” he said, “and they’re always human. Every vampire in town has heard rumors, but Clarissa was the only one who’s ever claimed to have actually seen anything to associate the queen with these deaths.”

  “Do you know how they were killed?” I whispered.

  “I’ve heard it’s most likely suffocation,” he replied. “And if you’re a vampire, why would you kill a human that way?”

  “You wouldn’t,” I replied, “especially not if you’re trying to make it look like another vampire has done the deed.”

  “Aye, the only way you’d kill someone like that is if you’re human.”

  “Or if you’re a vampire who’s crazy.”

  Aubert pursed his lips. “I can assure you that if the Queen of the Western Lands had been running around Edinburgh murdering over a dozen people in the last year, someone other than Clarissa would have seen something.”

  “All right,” I said and stepped back. “Can you tell me if anyone new has taken up residence in Edinburgh or the surrounding areas since the murders started?”

  Aubert took a notepad out of his breast pocket and flicked through it. “Of course I can. Immigration control is one of my primary responsibilities. Other than court officials there are one hundred permanent resident vampires in Edinburgh and fifty places reserved for visitors. Visitors must apply for a vacant place and are only allowed to stay for six months before they are required to leave the city. It’s a policy that’s strictly enforced.” He inclined his head toward us. “Emissaries of the High King have no need to apply for entrance, of course.”

  “So there are approximately one hundred fifty vampires in town?” Justine asked.

  He cocked a brow at her. “There’s no approximation about it, my dear girl. There are exactly fifty visiting vampires in town, none of whom has been here longer than six months. The court is made up of fifty permanent residents, but they’ve all decamped to Castle Darkness, so that just leaves the fifty residents who are not attached to the court. Add in the five of you, the king and queen themselves, Khalid and Hashim, myself, and my four captains and there are exactly one hundred fourteen vampires in Edinburgh.”

  Justine and I looked at each other. “That’s … amazing,” I said. “What do you do if someone moves in without permission?”

  “I’d know of it within an hour and they would be given twenty-four hours to depart or I am within my rights as Chief Warden to have them thrown into the street at high noon.”

  That would certainly be a very effective way of enforcing the law. “And what about Bel?” I asked. “When did she arrive, exactly?”

  Aubert flipped through his notebook. “She made port in Leith four months ago.”

  I nodded. Of all the residents in the king’s household, she was the only one we could reasonably exclude as a suspect.

  My attention was caught by the sound of someone running down the street. A young man came racing out of the darkness like the very hounds of hell were after him. He skidded to a halt in front of Aubert.

  “Wächter, eine gruppe von zehn vampiren ist gerade ohne genehmigung in die stadt eingedrungen.”

  Aubert nodded and replied, “Danke, Fritz. Ich werde mich darum kümmern.”

  He turned back to us. “You’ll have to excuse me, ladies. I have a situation that requires my attention.”

  Justine smiled. “What you have is a rather large group of vampires trespassing in your city, Warden. Would you care for some help with that?”

  “You speak German as well.” He smiled and inclined his head. “A woman of many talents.
Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle, but I can handle this.”

  He kissed both our hands in a very courtly manner and then bid us adieu.

  As I watched him disappear down the cobbled street, the young German lad trailing behind, Justine came up beside me and put her hand on my arm.

  “What did he say to you?” she asked.

  I looked around, wondering just who it was that Aubert had worried would overhear him. I linked my arm with hers and said, “Let’s go find our boys, and I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Chapter 12

  “So what do you think?” I asked Justine.

  “I think Jacques is correct. It’s hardly likely that the queen has killed a dozen people without anyone seeing anything.”

  “Anyone but Clarissa, that is.”

  She shrugged. “I think this town is probably crawling with Aubert’s spies. He wouldn’t be a good Warden if it was not. If anyone other than a human was committing these murders, he would know it.”

  I shook my head. “That’s what I don’t understand. Why would a vampire kill multiple people without drinking from them? A feral vampire will always drink. We have seen it often enough.”

  “And why sell the bodies to a human to sell to the Medical College? There’s no logical reason to it.” She waved a hand. “Il est fou.”

  “Yes, it is crazy,” I replied. “Then again, perhaps that’s what we’re meant to believe.”

  At that moment we both saw two familiar figures turn onto South Bridge from Infirmary Street a block ahead of us. Justine and I paused as we watched our men make their way up the street in front of us. I loved the way Michael walked, full of masculine grace with just a touch of a swagger. Justine giggled and nudged me.

  “Stop drooling. Mon Dieu, you two are like bunnies,” she quipped.

  “Us two? Don’t try to tell me that you aren’t throwing Devlin’s clothes off every chance you get. I live with the two of you. I know.”

  She gave me that coquettish smile. “Well, he is particularly lovely without his clothes on.”