by Trisha Telep
Liam heard the pain in Andrew’s voice, and felt it, too. If only he could make Andrew see why he’d done it – why he had parlayed in secret with the House of the Phoenix, seeking a treaty, an alliance. The Wellington Nest could never hope to survive the chaotic hotbed of New York if they walked alone. The luxury of isolation was over.
Andrew jerked his head at his four minions, who squeezed Liam’s wrists and elbows so hard he thought the bones would shatter. The four – James, Steve, Lars and Thor – had been bodybuilders, bouncers and construction workers in their mortal lives. They were young as vampires and still in love with their own strength. Or maybe they wanted to hurt Liam to prove their loyalty to Andrew. Or maybe, like most of the others, they wanted to hurt Liam because they hated him.
“Chain the traitor to the wall,” Andrew ordered.
“No,” Claire whispered under her breath. Andrew’s eyes flicked her way and Liam gave his head a quick shake. Best she keep silent.
Liam’s dark hair grazed the filthy tunnel wall as the four pushed his wrists and legs into manacles set into the mossy brickwork. He remembered the cuffs from their time living here, after the massacre of 1857, before Andrew moved them to a beautiful brownstone in the Upper East Side, where they still lived. They would chain humans here until they were ready to feed; though once they’d killed those responsible for murdering his wife and children, Liam partook as seldom as he could, and found no joy in it, no taste, no life.
James hissed and checked the fasteners on the manacle around Liam’s thick left wrist. Lars checked the other. Steve and Thor checked his leg chains, which bit into Liam’s heavy motorcycle boots.
Liam could still smell the blood on the chains. The metal was rusted and weak, and it wouldn’t hold him long. Andrew surely knew that.
The four vampires moved away, signalling to Andrew that Liam was secured. With fangs fully bared, Andrew stepped Forwards and grabbed a handful of Liam’s plain black T-shirt and ripped it off his body. Liam didn’t move; he stared hard into the ruby-red eyes of his sire. He knew the thick sear across his chest was visible for all to see. It was three inches wide, purple and white. Scars dealt in human life didn’t heal after one rose from the grave.
“Seneca village,” Andrew said in a murderous tone as he pointed to Liam’s scar. “It was the first village where free men of colour owned homes. Germans lived with them and some Irish. Irish like Liam Cadogan and his wife and three children. From the Olde Country but three months and already living the American dream of home ownership. Not so, Liam? Creid in ádh na nĖireannach.”
“Believe in the luck of the Irish,” Liz said. She had been there then, with two others who had since turned to dust, staked by humans.
“His wife and children died that night. Do you remember, Liam, how they screamed? Moira, your lovely Irish lass. Seamus, the little boy, still swaddled. And Liam would have died, from that stripe across his chest, except that Liz and I came to him.”
Liz tapped her head against Claire’s and smiled prettily.
“I asked him if he wanted vengeance. I asked him if he would become their enemy. If he would spend eternity feeding on them, for feeding off the likes of him.”
He whirled on the nest, baring his fangs at them. All the vampires drew back, their eyes glowing from the shadows like magical rubies.
All except for Liz, who took a step forwards dragging Claire with her. The temperature changed; the tension ratcheted up. Something was going to happen.
“Liam said yes,” Andrew told the group. His eyes blazed like hellfire. “He. Said. Yes. Swore to me –”
“Times have changed,” Liam said evenly, hoping to divert Andrew’s attention while he tried to find a way out of this debacle. Claire looked glassy-eyed as if shock had overtaken her.
“But they have not changed,” Andrew retorted. “Humans have not. They’re the same as they ever were. Greedy, barbaric and duplicitous.”
Andrew was 600 years old. He had seen many wars, ethnic cleansings, ritual killings – cruelty and narrow-mindedness raised to a high art. He, like Liam and Liz, together with the growing Wellington Nest, had watched both World Wars, Vietnam and the Middle East. Humans were far more violent than vampires could ever be. Worse, they fed off each other. A vampire who attacked another vampire wouldn’t live to see another night.
Andrew spread wide his arms. “You all know this place as Central Park. We’ve hunted here many a night. But when Liam came into this life, it was Seneca Village, a little outpost in a swamp no one else wanted. Just a few huts, a store and three churches. They people here weren’t hurting anyone. They were free at last, just like the speech.”
Andrew’s gaunt, porcelain face grew hard.
“But the rich swells of New York wanted a city park. So they razed it and killed Liam’s people.”
Gleaming scarlet eyes ticked towards Liam, studying the purple-white scar across his chest – his death wound.
“Now the humans say they want our help –” Andrew continued.
“The humans in the House of the Phoenix,” Liam cut in. Claire’s house. Her people. Her family.
Andrew snorted. “The House of the Phoenix is an illegal renegade organization, created by a man who’s been declared an outlaw,” Andrew scoffed. “Jean-Marc de Devereaux. A magic user. Such wielders of magical power call themselves the Gifted.”
There was a stirring throughout the nest. Most of them had never heard of the Gifted. Liam had told only a few what he had learned.
“The gifted are even worse than normal humans – what they called ‘Ungifted’ humans – like Liam’s lover. This woman’s people have crept into the castle courtyard like a pack of serfs, seeking the great lord’s protection.” Andrew raised his chin and stared coldly at Claire.
“Back in those days, I was a knight in service of such a lord. We used serfs as cannon fodder. Then, when our enemy tried to starve us out, we slaughtered all those extra hungry mouths.”
Claire narrowed her eyes. “Not everyone would have done such a thing,” she said.
All vampiric eyes gazed first at her, and then at Andrew, who guffawed.
“I see the attraction, Liam,” he said. “She’s got hot blood.” He mockingly swept a bow in her direction. “And her naivety is touching, given how cynical we’ve all become.”
“Other vampires have already joined the House of the Phoenix.” Claire’s voice quavered, but she did not falter. “All of us are treated equally, whether we are Gifted, Ungifted or Supernatural.”
“That won’t last long.” Andrew’s voice was icy. “My dear girl, you are so very expendable.”
Without warning, he darted forwards, grabbed Claire’s hair and jerked her head backwards exposing her neck. Liam jerked on his restraints as Andrew and Liz bared their fangs, hissing in anticipation.
Liam got ready to spring.
“What I think is missing is the bloodlust,” Andrew mused, inspecting Claire’s neck as if it were a ripe pear. “Liam never really wanted what we have. He is not a lover of the night, a connoisseur of blood, a hunter. Like us.”
He lowered his fangs towards Claire’s neck, and now Liam hissed. Andrew didn’t break her skin; he jerked up his head and nodded at Liz.
“Chain her beside him.” He moved aside and folded his arms over his black sweater.
Liam watched as Liz yanked Claire forwards and threw her against the wall. Click, click, click, click and Claire was pinioned. Liam could hear her heart racing even faster. He could smell her fear.
“Liam,” she breathed.
“You have to love the night now Liam,” Andrew glided towards Claire as if he couldn’t stand to be away from her; as if she were irresistible. Liz watched with narrowed eyes and bared fangs.
“You have to be a hunter or you’re no good to anyone, not even your lass here.” Andrew’s smile was panther-like, and Claire pushed hard against the wet, mouldy brick. “The peaceful times are over. This war is like no other.”
“Which
is why we need allies,” Liam argued, his instincts urging him to strike. But he knew that if he attacked his sire – or any other member of the nest – his and Claire’s lives would be forfeit.
“Allies, not users,” Andrew retorted, as he left Claire and faced the nest. “I’m your sire,” he reminded them. “I’ve lived longer than any of you, including Liz. I know what we’re facing. And I know we can never, ever depend on humans for anything but treachery.”
He looked over his shoulder at Liam. “You buried your common sense at Seneca Village, Liam Cadogan.”
“Times have changed, Andrew,” he said again.
“You repeat a feeble argument,” Andrew’s gaze lingered on his lieutenant. “We had a good run, you and I. I’ll miss you.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Liam said, though he had no idea what ‘this’ was.
“We’ll leave you now,” Andrew announced. “Once we’ve left the tunnels, some humans I’ve hired will spread crosses and communion wafers across each of the exits. You won’t be able to leave, Liam. You’ll be stuck here with her.”
Andrew held up a finger. “If you send her out alone, we’ll be waiting. And if you Change her, I’ll stake her myself.”
The other vampires stirred uneasily, glancing at each other, at their sire. Rail-thin Sanguine who had once been a Goth, tried to catch his eye. He was one of Liam’s followers, believing that they needed the strength of the House of the Phoenix behind the nest. Liam didn’t acknowledge him. If he did, Sanguine would suffer, too.
“You just said you would never harm another vampire,” Claire said. Liam’s nestmates gaped at her temerity. Maybe she wanted to die now and get it over with.
“Times have changed,” Andrew said, not to her, but to Liam. “But the longest a vampire has ever lasted without feeding is a week.”
He reached out his hand for Liz. She curled possessively around him and glared at Claire. Liam saw the hatred there; he had spurned Liz a hundred times and taken a despised human as a lover instead. And Andrew liked her; perhaps wanted her.
“You’ll find your bloodlust, Liam. I have no doubt of that,” Andrew continued.
“The House of the Phoenix will come after you,” Claire said, struggling in her chains.
Andrew cocked his head; then he sauntered up to her and pressed the length of his body against hers. It was sexual and dominant, and Liam set his jaw, forcing himself not to react. He couldn’t win this round.
“I can hurt you badly without killing you, you know,” he said slowly, as he rocked his pelvis against her. “I can maim you. Disfigure you. I can make you beg to die.”
“There’s something to brag about,” she shot back. Her voice shook. She took a breath and clamped shut her mouth; Liam was afraid she was going to spit at Andrew. What would he do then? Slash her throat? Gouge out her eyes?
Instead, Andrew cupped her breast. She gave a little cry, blinking her eyes. Then he released her with a sneer.
“Have a good feed, Liam, and let the old dream go. When next we meet, you’ll finally, truly, be one of us.”
Seething, Liam watched as Andrew took Liz’s hand and walked back into the darkness. In ones and twos, the others followed. Sanguine was last.
“I’ll go to them for help,” he mouthed.
Liam made no expression.
And then they were alone.
The torches flared but stayed lit as he broke free from the wall with a couple of sharp pulls and kicks. Chunks of brick clattered to the floor, into a pool of standing water. Then he unpeeled the manacles and let them fall too. A rat squeaked and scurried away.
“Andrew restrained me for dramatic effect,” he announced. “Or to humiliate me,”
“I didn’t think they’d hold you,” Claire replied, looking down at her own chains.
He slipped a finger between her wrist and handcuff and bent it outwards as if it were made of butter. Making short work of her bonds, he reached for her and she sank into his arms. Her damp, pliant body moulded against his and he smelled the spice of her blood. She was warm as only the living are, and the pulse in her neck beat wildly.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his chest. “You told me never to come to you. That it wouldn’t be safe. But I got a note. It said you needed to meet me under the Gothic Bridge. And they were waiting.”
“A note,” he said. “Who gave it to you?”
“A vampire in our safe house named Giselle. She joined us six months ago.”
He was alarmed. There had been no one in the Wellington Nest named Giselle. Andrew had gone outside to recruit someone new. He wondered if Liz knew about her. Although both Liz and Andrew took lovers, their loyalty was to each other.
“Giselle has to be a plant. Andrew’s infiltrated the House of the Phoenix.” He pulled her away gently. “How can your Gifted leaders not know?”
“Maybe they do know,” she said hopefully. “Maybe I’ve been followed, and they’re going to attack.”
“Wouldn’t Andrew know that? He would be bringing the fight to the nest,” Liam ventured. “Why?”
Before she could answer, he began to pace.
“If he’s allied himself with someone else, someone stronger, who could take out the House of Phoenix, who would want to take out Phoenix . . .” He froze. “Jesus, Joseph and Mary,” he murmured, alarms detonating like bombs. “The forces of darkness? The House of the Blood? He shut his eyes, sickened on behalf of his nestmates, and unable to believe that Andrew would do such a thing. Vampires were Supernaturals, but they weren’t evil.
“That could be the real reason he brought us down here – to get rid of me so I couldn’t tell the others. He may assume I know – or that I’ll find out – because I’ve been talking to the leaders of your House.”
“We have to get out of here,” she said. She gripped his arms tightly and looked up. “Hello?” she called. “Can anyone hear me?”
“Can the Gifted read your thoughts?” he asked her, wondering, too, if they could read his.
She nodded. “Some of them can.” She bit her lip and searched his face. “What if they do come and they fight Andrew to try and rescue us? Can they beat him?”
Bring it on and we’ll see, he thought. Then he looked at her and was filled with shame. He had to protect her at all costs.
Andrew was right; despite everything they’d been through, he and Andrew were done. Liam was no longer part of the Wellington Nest. He was a renegade like Jean-Marc de Devereaux, the Gifted leader of the House of the Phoenix. He too, had clashed with the others of his kind; he too, had struck out on his own to protect his loved ones.
Liam peeled off Claire’s wet raincoat, slipping her arms through the drenched sleeves. Then he took off his black leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Putting his arm around her, he eased her over to the torches.
“You need to get warm,” he said. “You’re freezing. It will sap your strength.”
The scent of her fear increased.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said.
A war over our heads. A possible attack on my loyal confederates. My sire, turning on me. It’s a miracle she got here without being killed. They must have followed her.
“We’ll be out of here soon,” he told her.
“Hmm-mm,” she said non-committaly, pulling his jacket around her shoulders. Did she realize that she took a step away from him?
He ran his hands up and down her arms and across her back, willing the cold away. The top of her turtleneck was sopping wet, as were the hems of her jeans. The rest was relatively dry.
They held each other in silence, tense and uneasy. He was alert to every sound – the flickering of the torches; the skittering of rats; her breathing; her pulse. She was so frightened.
He pulled one of the torches out of its holder and handed it to her. Then he took the other one.
“We should gather some things to burn,” he told her. “We need to keep these going.”
He didn’t te
ll her that his great-grandmother Abigail had been burned as a witch. No one knew that. Back in the day, when he had married Moira, he should have told her. He’d been too afraid she’d refuse him. After his Change, he hadn’t known there really were witches – now called the Gifted. It was Andrew who told him about them. New York City had been a neutral zone, where no Gifted were allowed to live or work their magic. But the House of Phoenix had moved in, and a good thing too, with all the troubles.
Claire stayed close beside him as he began to search. The tunnel floor was slick with moss and rat droppings, but little else to feed the flames. The tunnels were familiar, despite all the years since he and the nest had lived in them. Where would they be now, if Andrew hadn’t led them out, taken them to live in luxury? He felt a terrible sense of loss, and he grieved.
Time passed; he didn’t know how much, but he was beginning to get hungry. He had to assume she was, too. The torches were dwindling into stubs maybe a foot in length. He could see in the dark, but she wouldn’t be able to. It would be bad for her when the torches finally went out.
They came to a T-intersection. He scented the exit route the nest had used and took that one. A rat ran over the tip of his boot and he thought briefly about catching it. He might do well to take a moment away from her, find a rat or two, and drink. His stomach turned at the thought. He would be mortified if she saw him do it.
But I can’t get too hungry, he thought anxiously.
At the end of a tunnel was a metal door, closed and locked. He felt the barriers of holy objects – communion wafers and crosses – on the other side. For reasons unknown even to Andrew, Christian symbols deterred vampires even though vampires were not evil in the traditional Christian sense.
“Can you open it?” she asked hopefully.
“I want to check it out first,” he replied.
He thought about breaking down the door anyways, enduring if he could and taking on whatever comers were there. Now, while he still had his strength.
He turned his head and saw a hole of blackness. It was a small sort of room, with what appeared to be a small pile of leather near the wall. Entering the space, he smelled Sanguine, Jack and Dianne, his confederates. Upon closer inspection, he realized the leather was three jackets. They had dropped them for him on the way out. For her.
