by Hughes, Mary
“Neighbors came to me. They said a vampire was rampaging through the province, leaving a trail of blood and death. They looked to me for guidance. And I…I laughed.” His eyes clenched momentarily. “Do you know what I said to them? I can still remember my exact words.” His eyes opened but I didn’t think he was seeing me.
I simply waited.
“I said, ‘Rumors? A hoax, more like. Rumors can’t hurt you, friends.’ And then I turned my back on them. Turned my back. When my parents returned, I said nothing.” He went silent again, the mirror hardness to his unseeing eyes screaming that the scene he was reliving was brutal.
I didn’t want him to relive it alone. I leaned in and kissed his forehead.
He turned to me, surprised blinks swiping out a tear which trickled down his strong cheekbone. “Sorry.” He wiped his cheek with a jerk. “Not much more.” The hand in mine tightened, hesitantly, almost as if it were making the decision instead of him. “That night the vampire came. He slaughtered the entire village. My whole family. Brothers, sisters, mother and father. And me.
“Only I rose.” He swallowed, the strain on his Adam’s apple clearly visible. “It was my fault, Raquel.” His eyes shut briefly. “Oh God. It was my fault.”
My heart broke for him. I wrapped my arms awkwardly around his shoulders and squeezed.
“I don’t think I ever admitted that before. Not to anyone.” His eyes opened to stare at the door, his gaze overly bright. “Not even myself.”
He’d never told anyone. He’d lived alone with the horror, the guilt. I tried to reassure him with my tight clasp.
But he gently disengaged himself. “Unlike you, I didn’t create beauty out of my tragedy. I went roaming, stunned and numb. When I came to myself I was in Italy, face to face with a hook-nosed man with a thirst for conquering. Attila brought me in on his rampage. I was angry, furious, and I took it out on everything and everyone around me.”
He looked so lost, so alone. I grabbed his face and turned it to me. “You were dealing with a stupendous loss.”
“It doesn’t excuse me.” He took my hands gently from his cheeks and deposited them in my lap, but at least now he didn’t look away. “I spent the next decades drinking and fighting and seducing…as a fucking diversion.”
“Sometimes the best you can do is try to make it through the day.” I couldn’t imagine the weight of the dark burden he’d carried for centuries.
“Eventually I met Richard Wagner and fell in with his crowd. Music soothed me in a way all the other pursuits couldn’t. I do take my work seriously.” He shook his head and stood. “But now you know. I’m a disgusting monster—”
“No, Dragan, never.” Inside I cried for him, for the boy he’d been, for the man he’d had to become just to survive. “I’m honored you told me. And now that you’ve told me we can—”
“We can’t.” His eyes were on the bed and even I could read the regret there. “If ever there were a woman I’d want to with, it would be you. But I won’t risk that.”
He strode to the door then turned. “I’m glad I told you though.”
He left, shutting the door softly behind him.
I sat on the bed as my skin cooled. Clothes came for me, jeans and a plain dark sweater. Gum-soled, supple shoes.
I dressed slowly, trying to come to grips with everything as I took off the beautiful jewelry he’d given me and laid it on the nightstand. He’d refused intercourse but it wasn’t because of me. He’d heard my worst and accepted it. I transferred my necessities from the little evening bag to the jeans’ pockets.
He’d rejected making love with me not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too much. Problem was, in those few moments of unabashed lovemaking with him, I’d had a taste of living.
I turned toward the door and caught a glimpse of a woman in the mirror next to it. Her hair was a tousled mess from loving fingers. Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes sparkled. The woman in the mirror had no glasses.
But finally, tonight, I knew she was me.
Dragan had said no. I wondered if the Rocky in the mirror, with so much life and love in her eyes, had a chance to turn that into a yes.
I came out of the bedroom to find Dragan, fully dressed in dark jeans and shirt, on his phone, pacing. His hair was tied back, only the silver lock escaping to fall over one eye.
He ended the call and turned to me. “I have work that must be done. I’ve arranged to take you to Steel’s for safekeeping.”
“I’m being stashed away?” I followed him out. “Was that Logan on the phone now?”
“Yes.”
“And before?”
“Before…? Ah, yes. I was reporting to my client.”
He’d arranged to have his Lambo brought to the hotel. He handed me into the passenger seat and peeled out. The newfound rebellious streak in me decided one day I’d be the one driving.
On the way, his phone rang. The car must have had an intelligent personal assistant twinned with the phone because he instructed it to pick up.
“Mr. Zajicek?” It was a woman on the speaker, her voice dark with anxiety. “It’s Karolina Liska. You said I could call if I needed your help…I don’t know where else to turn.”
“Of course I’ll help,” he said instantly. “What’s wrong?”
“Jakub. My son. He didn’t come home when he was supposed to, and when I call him he doesn’t answer. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m afraid that…oh God.”
“Slowly, Karolina. What do you fear?”
“I think he’s gotten involved with some bad people. Drugs. Maybe even dealing.” The last was almost a whisper.
“Don’t worry. I am in the area. I’ll find Jakub and return him safely to you.”
He ended the call. “It appears I must take a detour before delivering you to Steel.”
“Of course.”
“No questions?” He raised black brows at me. “A woman calls asking me a favor and you have no questions?”
“There’s a boy in trouble. Questions can wait.”
Fierce joy lit his face. “You are one in a million, Raquel.” He sobered. “It’s because of a promise. Karolina and Jakub are the last descendents of my household.”
“You have a household?”
He glanced at me. “Not now. In the 1400s, when medieval mobs burned you first and asked questions after. I gathered a household of humans to offset suspicion and promised protection to them and their progeny in return. It’s a simple promise.”
A simple 600-year-old promise.
I said, “How will you find him? Chicago isn’t small.”
“If he is within a few miles of me I can locate him—I can find anyone whose blood I’ve tasted if they’re close by. I’m driving to the Liskas’ neighborhood. I’ll pick him up from there.”
“You’ve tasted Jakub’s blood?”
“No. Sixteen is too young. But I renew the bond with each successive generation and I’ve tasted his mother. Jakub’s smell/taste will be familiar to me.”
It occurred to me that he’d tasted my blood. “Does that mean you could find me?”
He cut a single searing hot look at me. “Oh yes.”
I clutched my seat.
His face sharpened. “I can detect him now.” Five minutes later he pulled the car to the curb. “We walk from here.”
He took my hand as I got out. He glided silently along the sidewalk toward the mouth of a darkened alley. I tried to walk behind as softly as possible.
As we approached I made out two forms, both in jeans and hoodies. A small plastic bag and cash changed hands.
Then the larger form bent threateningly over the smaller and pushed its hood back, revealing a teenage boy.
Dragan’s nostrils whitened. “Sakra. He’s with a Lestat vampire.” He dropped my hand and rushed into the alley. I ran after.
The boy bared his neck to the gleaming fangs of the looming vampire. Acid fear blanched my veins.
The Lestat bit down. The boy didn
’t cry out. He must have been under the vampire’s mental compulsion.
“Let him go, Scythe.” Dragan grabbed the vampire and pulled him off the boy. The boy just stood there, blood pulsing in twin threads down his neck.
The Lestat jerked out of Dragan’s grip, revealing a beefy, tomato-nosed face with toothpick fangs, like a prize-fighter vamp wrapped in a black hoodie. Eyes gleamed malevolently. “Go the fuck away.” He had a brutal voice to go with his face. “The boy is mine.”
“That boy is mine.” Dragan snarled, revealing fangs twice as long and three times as thick as the Lestat’s. “Leave him now.”
“Shit, okay.” Scythe’s hands jerked up in surrender.
Dragan spit on his fingers and slapped them on the boy’s neck wounds. The trickles slowed and began to scab over.
Scythe watched. “Doesn’t matter. They’re all blood cattle in the new order.” A sly grin replaced the belligerence. “The Right Hand has come and passed his first and second tests. It’s only a matter of time.”
The Right Hand…he meant the megavamp. Good heavens. The first test must have been the ball.
Dragan’s face went white. He’d realized the same thing. “It’s only been an hour. What was the second test?”
“Invading a bastion of the rich and powerful.” The Lestat’s hands slowly came down. “Armed humans attacked him. But it was foretold: no human can defeat Nosferatu’s Right Hand.”
Triana’s words came back to me: “No human or nonhuman”—meaning vampire—“can defeat him.” But if the second test was the ball, then what was the first?
“And the first test?” Dragan echoed my thoughts, his eyes narrowed on the Lestat.
Scythe laughed, a hideous sound with his brutal voice. “He killed a human—and drank all the man’s blood. The human police are stumbling all over themselves trying to explain it. The Right Hand drank his fill, thumbing his nose at the Alliance which would suppress us, and, even better, throwing suspicion on their vampires. I always did hate those goodie-goodie Steels.”
I gave a start. He was talking about Dr. Vilyn’s murder? I made a mental note to tell Elena. If Gravloth had killed Vilyn, that put Luke and Dragan in the clear.
Dragan glanced at me. He was thinking the same thing.
The moment Dragan’s attention was off the Lestat, Scythe wrapped an arm around the still-hypnotized boy’s neck and turned to spring off.
Dragan snapped out a hand without looking and seized Scythe’s shoulder. A tug slammed the Lestat straight into Dragan’s waiting fist. Scythe’s jaw broke with a crack and hung loose. His arm dropped, releasing the boy. Jakub staggered back, shaking his head. Scythe grabbed his broken jaw two-handed and wrenched it into place.
It gave Dragan time to lift his pants leg and grab a handle of polished antler topping an ankle sheath. In a single smooth motion he drew a gleaming two-edged blade and spun it up into a muscular chop that cut the Lestat’s throat. Blood gushed.
I stood frozen in place, my eyes wide with shock. So I couldn’t avoid seeing the blood.
And I couldn’t avoid seeing Scythe’s eyes, on his half-hanging head, turn with malicious glitter onto Dragan. The blood stopped running. The throat wound…began to heal.
I screamed Dragan’s name. Only a whisper came out. Dragan heard and swept the blade two-handed into the Lestat’s neck, severing it and half the hood.
The head rolled back, weighting the hood. The body collapsed to the pavement with a heavy thud.
“The blood will call others. We haven’t much time, not in this neighborhood.” Dragan snapped his fingers in front of Jakub’s face. “Wake up.”
The boy blinked. “Mr. Zajicek?” His face fell and he groaned. “My mom.”
“Yes. She sent me. She cares about you. Too bad you don’t care about her in return.” Dragan stowed his knife, grabbed Jakub’s upper arm and dragged him out of the alley. “Come, Raquel. Quickly now. You’ll have to share a seat with this child.”
The boy said, “I’m not a child.”
“Then stop acting like it. Take responsibility. Make good decisions.”
Jakub rolled his eyes. “You sound like my mother.”
“Fine. Don’t be a dick. Or I’ll let Scythe finish what he started.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy mumbled.
“I’ll be checking on you, Jakub.”
“Yes, sir.” He winced.
We managed to both cram into the passenger seat. The kid didn’t look that big, but he was heavy. I could barely breathe.
We dropped him off at his mother’s apartment. She had a nice tidy place, not fancy but obviously well-tended. I saw a corner cabinet that would have looked good with a ceramic gnome and made a mental note to bring one by after all this was over.
Before we left, Dragan took the boy by his shoulders. “Your mother deserves better from you, Jakub. But more, you deserve better.”
You deserve better. It reverberated inside me. Dragan was right, if it weren’t for my fears I could have been playing in a larger orchestra or even soloing. Certainly I wouldn’t have been working three low-paying jobs to make ends meet.
My mom deserved better of me too, and so did I.
But how?
And when? Because right now I was on my way to be stashed at Steels’ house.
Well, one thing I could do, courtesy of Scythe’s revelation. I phoned Elena to let her know Gravloth was Vilyn’s murderer.
Zinnia’s blue eyes widened in surprise as she opened the door to the Steels’ complex. “Mr. Zajicek and Ms. Hrbek. Come in. You’ll have to wait for a bit.” She held a hand toward the sitting room.
“I called Steel and told him we were coming.” Suspicion frosted Dragan’s tone. “I have vital news.”
“He mentioned it.” She pointed again. “If you’ll just wait here, Mr. Steel will be with you soon. Soonish.”
“Not good enough.” Dragan pushed past her, hard enough that she spun one-eighty, his elegance apparently supplanted by expediency.
“Mr. Zajicek! Mr. Steel said you should wait—”
“I’ll find him myself.” He strode down the hallway.
She gave me a confounded look. I shrugged and ran after Dragan. The hallway took a right jog off the entryway, then went straight back.
“Wait!” Zinnia’s footsteps scurried behind us. “Where are you going?”
Dragan didn’t answer. He swept through a large open area with an odd jumble of both electronic and martial arts equipment. I had to hurry not to lose him. He glided all the way to the back of the building, where he opened an orange metal fire door, revealing a stairwell.
He leaped up the stairs two at a time. I did my best to follow.
“Wait,” Zinnia wailed, all chirpiness gone. “You can’t go up there!”
I caught up to him on the second floor landing, where he’d paused near the exit door to scrutinize a large expanse of wall.
“Aha. Here it is.” Briskly, he knocked on the wall.
A hidden half-size door sprang open.
“What are you doing?” Zinnia’s head poked into view as she trotted up to the landing. “The secret room?” She groaned. “You can’t know about the secret room.”
“Please.” Dragan glanced over his shoulder, his profile a silhouette cut from arrogance. “Every Alliance post in existence has at least one hidden meeting room. Not only did I know about the secret room, but the moment I entered I could hear exactly where it was—in the center of this floor.”
“Hear it? It’s soundproofed! With state of the art dampening equipment and bug blockers.”
“Exactly. I listened for, not the sound, but the silence.” He disappeared through the doorway.
She gave me a lost look.
“Musicians hear the darnedest things.” I shrugged. “Maybe you should add some state of the art white noise.” I ducked through after Dragan.
I found myself in a narrow passageway. He was nowhere in sight. I scurried forward.
The passage turned ab
ruptly right—and dead-ended. Dragan faced the wall to my left. His back was to the only door; a hum of machinery came from behind it.
He was studying the patterned wallpaper. I stared closer. It had an old-fashioned barbershop theme, red-and-white striped poles and soapy bristled brushes. Not what I’d expect for the hidden hallway in a computer and security center.
Suddenly he smiled. “Clever, Steel, very clever.” He pressed a picture of a man being shaved with a straight razor. He pressed a picture of a man getting a haircut with long, sharp-nosed shears. Then he pressed the coin payment bowl which contained a quarter. He turned his grin on me. “The old shave-and-a-haircut. No toon can resist it.”
A door-size panel slid open in front of him.
“Or a pun-loving Steel, apparently.” I peeked through. Beyond Dragan was a small windowless room with a center table ringed by men and women I recognized.
They didn’t look happy to see us.
Liese and Logan Steel sat at the head of the table, Logan with his arm around his wife. To Liese’s left were Detective Elena Strongwell and her husband Bo, a blond Viking of a man; Julian and Nixie Emerson; and Logan’s two lieutenants, sexy librarian, Sissy, and samurai, Rounin. Sissy wore jeans and tee but Rounin’s combat vest was festooned with armament from guns to hand grenades. Two sword handles made a V behind his head.
“What the hell?” Bo said.
“Pax.” Dragan held up both palms.
Julian’s gaze swung to Dragan and went blood red. He leaped to his feet. “You! How dare you show yourself here.” His normally cultured voice was a rough growl.
“Cover him, Elena.” Next to Julian, Bo slammed a first on the table as if for emphasis. “Blast him if he even looks the wrong way.”
Elena stood, fitting what appeared to be a rocket launcher to her shoulder.
“Please,” Logan said in a pained voice. “Could you not aim that thing at my server room?”
She jerked her chin at Dragan. “It’s aimed at him.”
Logan sighed. “Zajicek, do me a favor, will you? Move about two feet to your right? On that wall, please.”
“I have no wish to alarm any of you.” Dragan kept both hands raised; if he was concerned at the size of Elena’s gun, his easy stance didn’t show it. Slowly, he moved toward the indicated wall. The business end of Elena’s weapon followed him. “I’m simply here to drop off Raquel for safekeeping.”
