“A… wedding ceremony?” I blinked at him, bewildered. “Why?”
His eyes stayed on mine. I watched him shrug carefully, tilting his jaw back to take a long pull off the beer he’d opened.
“PR,” he said, after he lowered the bottle. Seeing the blank look in my eyes, he clarified, “Public relations. I want it public. Our marriage. And it wouldn’t hurt, in terms of smoothing over some of the stuff that happened when the Colonel died.”
I let out a half-incredulous laugh.
“You want to get married as a PR stunt?” I said. “As a way to rehabilitate your image after the murder of one of your oldest friends?”
His jaw hardened faintly, but he only shrugged.
“When you say it like that––”
“I make you sound like a sociopath?” I said, quirking an eyebrow at him.
Remembering then, who’d initially believed Black was a sociopath, if not an out-and-out psychopath, I swallowed, losing some of my humor.
Black seemed to feel my change in mood. Leaning over the table, he watched my eyes, the beer still clutched in one hand.
“I want to do it, Miri.” His voice lowered. “Maybe the PR shit is an excuse. Maybe I want to do it, and I’m looking for reasons it’s a good idea, instead of just a way to piss all over you in a fit of public, highly decadent, hyper-possessive control-freakish abuse of my wealth and ability to garner media attention.”
I smiled at that, in spite of myself, clicking at him softly.
“Don’t click like that,” he murmured. “It’s making me want to fuck.”
I glanced around his office, giving him an innocent look. “Isn’t that why you brought me in here? To get me stuffed on Indian food, blackmail me into marriage, then have garlic breath sex on your desk afterwards?”
That time, he grunted a laugh.
Leaning back, he took a few swallows of beer.
As he sat there, though, the humor leeched out of his eyes.
His expression flattened, then turned into that grim, far-seeing stare I’d seen on his face in the doorway of the industrial conference room.
“No,” he said. “I wish that was it. I wish that’s all we needed to talk about… but no.”
It was my turn to frown. “Then what?”
Looking up, he hesitated, a near nervousness in his eyes as he looked at me. I saw his eyes flicker over me, over my limbs, almost like he was afraid of me.
“Black,” I said, impatient. “For crying out loud, just tell me what––”
“Brick called.”
My whole body stiffened.
I didn’t speak. I sat there, still as a stone, a piece of naan gripped in my fingers, half-poised over the tub of vegetable korma. I didn’t move, I just waited for him to go on.
“He wants to meet,” Black said. “He’s coming here. To San Francisco.”
Heat built in my chest.
It happened so swiftly and intensely, it made me light-headed.
“Nick?” My voice came out guttural. It sounded harsh, cold. “Did you ask him about Nick, Black?”
“Of course I fucking asked him about Nick,” Black said, his voice faintly exasperated, but holding that worry, too. “Christ, Miri. It was the first thing out of my mouth––”
“And what did he say?”
Black’s jaw hardened.
He avoided my gaze briefly, then took a breath, meeting my eyes.
“He said Nick’s dead.”
Pain hit me. It hit so intensely, I couldn’t even grasp what it was until it already stole my breath. It hit before my mind caught up with his words, before I could process any of it in any logical or conscious way.
I don’t think I moved.
When my eyes refocused across the table, Black was watching me, worry in his eyes. He gripped my hand from across the table, the same hand holding the piece of naan.
“Hey,” he said, soft. “Hey… honey.”
I extricated my hand carefully from his fingers.
“Just tell me.” I cleared my throat, wiping my eyes, which I hadn’t realized were silently leaking tears. My voice sounded deadened. “Just fucking tell me the rest of it, Black.”
He continued to watch me, his gold eyes worried.
Exhaling when I didn’t return his gaze, he leaned back slightly, taking another long drink of beer. He watched me when I reached across the table, grabbing the second beer he’d had brought up, twisting off the lid, even though I knew he’d ordered it for himself.
“Here.”
He took the beer out of my fingers before I could bring it to my lips.
Setting it back on the table, he rose to his feet.
Walking over and behind the desk, he opened a cabinet below my visual range, part of the built-in wall unit that covered most of the space behind his desk. Rising gracefully to his feet an instant later, he was holding two rocks glasses and a bottle of bourbon.
He brought all three over to the table and plunked the glasses down.
Unscrewing the top of the bourbon, he poured me a few fingers-full first, sliding the glass over to my side of the table. He poured himself some while I fingered the glass.
“Just tell me, Black,” I said.
He finished pouring, then set down the bottle, not bothering to replace the cap.
Sinking back to his leather chair, he took a few swallows of the bourbon. I watched as he leaned back in his chair, pouring himself more from the bottle as he went on in a voice that was flatter, closer to a military report.
“Brick claims Nick died on the way from Thailand to Europe. On the plane.” Black took another drink, holding the bourbon briefly in his mouth before swallowing it that time. “He wasn’t specific as to how. He didn’t answer me when I asked him why they’d been taking him to Europe in the first place. He said he’d explain all of that when he saw us.”
“And when the fuck will that be?”
“Saturday,” Black said at once. “In three days.”
I felt my jaw harden more.
Staring down at the glass with the amber fluid, I picked it up, almost without thinking about it, and drained it.
Gasping a little, I set down the glass, then motioned to Black to refill it.
He didn’t hesitate.
Tilting the bottle back over my glass, he filled it fuller that time.
“What else?” I said. “Why is he coming out of hiding now?”
Black set down the bottle, shrugging faintly. Folding his arms, he leaned back in his leather chair, frowning. “Why else?” he said. “Charles. He’s worried about what Charles is doing. He wants to discuss some kind of alliance.”
For a moment, I only stared at him.
Then, unable to help myself, I let out a disbelieving laugh, gripping the new glass of bourbon in my hand. It was hard not to crack the glass into pieces between my fingers. I looked at Black directly that time, my voice cold.
“He kills my best friend, doesn’t tell us for months… and now he wants to talk about a goddamned alliance? What exactly does he think he has to bargain with at this point? And what makes him think we wouldn’t hunt down his fucking murdering tribe right alongside Charles?” Grunting, I took a sip of the bourbon. “Hell. I might get my own flamethrower.”
Black studied my face, his own inscrutable.
“He thinks these riots are the prelude to a military coup,” he said.
I blinked.
Black’s words didn’t dispel any of my anger, but they diverted it somewhat, forcing me to think about Brick differently, as well as his possible motives.
It also forced me to think about Charles, about what Black and I both knew was happening at the southern border.
“If he wanted an alliance with us, he shouldn’t have killed one of my best fucking friends,” I snapped. “Did you tell him that?”
“I told him unless he had a damned convincing story about what happened to Nick… one that absolved him and his kind of blame, a story we believed… he wouldn’t leave th
is building alive,” Black said mildly. He met my gaze, his gold eyes like sunlit glass. “He said he’s coming anyway.”
I frowned.
When the silence stretched, I downed the rest of the second glass of bourbon. The liquid burned a trail from my mouth down my throat, all the way down my chest and into my belly. It didn’t help, though.
I honestly couldn’t tell if the alcohol was even affecting me really.
Setting down the empty glass, I fought to think. The longer I turned over Black’s words, fighting to understand them in relation to Brick, and what he might be up to now, the harder I clenched my jaw.
“What do you think?” I said. “Why would he risk coming here, given that?”
Black’s sculpted lips pressed together, tilting in a subtle, complicated expression that came closest to a frown.
That time, I didn’t ask him for a refill of the bourbon. I reached over the table, grabbing the bottle by the neck myself. I poured another few fingers of the bourbon into the bottom of my glass, then held the bottle over his, offering him more.
He waved me off, reaching for his beer.
He watched me down my third double-shot, his brows creased faintly with worry.
His voice was flat, however, pure business, when he answered my question.
“I suspect Brick is coming here because he thinks, whatever he has to say, or whatever he has to offer… it will convince us to cooperate with what he wants,” he said. “I suspect Brick waited to tell us about Nick because he didn’t have any leverage before. Now he thinks he has something to offer us. Something he believes we’ll have a hard time refusing.”
Still frowning faintly, he stared at the frosted glass walls without seeing them.
Pursing his lips, he made a vague gesture with one hand.
“He thinks, whatever it is, it will be enough. Not just to keep me from killing him. Enough to force us to cooperate with him.”
“Force us?” I set down my empty glass with a grimace. “That’s pretty fucking cocky, wouldn’t you say? Or does he really have no idea how many seers we have here now? Is he planning on bringing a fucking army here to meet with us?”
Black’s lips lifted in a wry smile.
I saw no humor in it.
“Persuasion isn’t really Brick’s strong suit,” he said. “Not in something like this. So yes, whatever he’s bringing with him, he thinks it will compel us to cooperate with him. He wouldn’t risk persuasion, or my good will… or even my practicality. Not for this.”
Frowning, Black took a drink of the beer, his lips pursed in thought as he leaned back in the office chair, making it emit a faint squeak.
“I truly think Brick believes his race’s entire future is at stake, Miriam,” he added seriously. “Brick sees Charles as a species-level threat. He thinks Charles is a genocidal maniac.”
“Is he wrong?” I grunted.
Black turned, giving me a flat look.
“No,” he said. “He’s not wrong. Charles will exterminate every last one of them, given half a chance. I didn’t realize how much of that mentality I witnessed in Paris while I was there, but I recognize it now, when I look back at those memories. Charles has been actively indoctrinating his core followers on this seer superiority shit for decades. He’s got the numbers now. And he’s weaponizing the humans.”
Pausing, he added, blunt,
“I agree with Brick. Charles is getting ready to make a real move. He won’t wait. He can’t wait. He needs his new government in place so he can start culling vampires for real before Brick and his people mount a defense.”
Taking another sip of beer, he added,
“Charles’ window is short, but his timing is good. The vampire clans have been a disorganized mess since Konstantin died. Brick being held in custody by the Feds, so shortly after he ascended to power, didn’t help. I’m relatively certain Brick was still in the process of consolidating power when that happened. It’s actually a testimony to the bastard’s craftiness that he’s managed to hold onto the throne at all, given that.”
“And Dorian,” I reminded him coldly. “It’s a testimony to Dorian, as well.”
Black nodded, acknowledging my words with a flicker of his fingers.
“Definitely,” he said.
Taking another drink of beer, he leaned back to set the empty bottle in the trash. Returning to the table, he paused to rip a piece of naan in half, then used it to scoop up a generous portion of what looked like dal makhani. I watched him take a big bite and chew vigorously. He scooped up more of the dal even as he swallowed.
Chewing that second mouthful, he shrugged.
“Charles knows Brick will be in process of pulling his people together,” he added.
He slid the container of biryani closer to him, eyeing the aloo gobi before he dug into the biryani instead.
“Now that Brick’s out of that prison, I’d imagine that’s what he’s spending the vast majority of his time doing,” Black added. “…meeting with clan heads, organizing them into military units, strategizing around how to keep Charles from taking over the United States for real. It makes sense he’d be coming back here now, and that he’d want to talk to us. There’s already talk of closing the borders… and racial checkpoints. If Brick is going to make a move here, he’ll need to do it soon.”
Giving me a grim look, Black added,
“So will we, doc. Brick knows that, too.”
Taking a bite of the biryani, he scooped up some of the aloo gobi as he chewed it.
I felt his mind and light, warm in mine as he nudged me to eat.
“Please, honey,” he murmured, watching my face.
Swallowing, I felt my jaw harden.
I made myself nod, though.
He was right. Being drunk on an empty stomach at noon wasn’t exactly a promising way to start the rest of my day. The least I could do is eat.
Picking up the piece of naan I’d let go at some point, leaving it on my napkin by my hand, I dug it into the nearest container, not paying much attention to what it was.
It turned out to be palak paneer.
I chewed without tasting it, still watching Black.
He relaxed slightly when he saw me eating.
Pausing to pull two bowls and spoons out of the second paper bag, he filled one with jasmine rice and ladled butter chicken on top of it, handing it over to me without a word. I took it, setting it down in front of me, and watched him make a second bowl for himself. Picking up a fork, I started to pull apart the chicken in my bowl and felt him relax even more, propping his elbows on the table as he chewed more of the naan and biryani.
I still felt him watching me though, that worry furrowing his brow.
“Charles will want to move before Brick can finish pulling the clans together,” he said after another pause. “He’ll want them as off-balance and disorganized as possible. So when it happens, it’ll happen fast. I suspect these riots are Charles laying the groundwork for whatever story he intends to feed the human media. He’ll want the human population scared enough to go along with whatever crazy shit he has coming next.”
“Like what?” I said, swallowing some of the chicken and rice. “What do you think he has coming next?”
Black met my gaze. “I suspect he’ll declare war on vampires officially pretty soon. Possibly couched in this whole ‘purity’ doctrine he’s been pushing at the riots. I would expect him to start suspending civil rights, and likely, closing the borders to deal with the infestation. He’s already floating language to that effect.”
Swallowing some of the butter chicken and rice, I nodded.
“What about us?” I said. “Do we want to be here when that happens? Inside the United States, I mean?”
Black hesitated. I saw him watching me eat. He seemed to be monitoring everything about me, including my hands, fingers and facial expressions, with his gold eyes.
“I think we should stay,” he said finally. “What do you think, doc?”
Reaching
across the table, I grabbed the bottle of bourbon again, pouring myself another few fingers, but less than I had the last time.
Again, I silently offered to refill Black’s glass.
He waved me off, picking up the beer by his elbow and leaning back in his chair. He watched me down my fourth glass of the amber liquid as he took a few more swallows of beer.
He didn’t prod me again, but I felt him waiting for my answer to his question.
“I think we should stay, too,” I said, lowering my empty rocks glass back to the table. “I don’t think we should just hand the country over to Charles. He won’t stop here. We need to find a way to at least slow down what he’s doing. Without both of us ending up in a military prison… and all of the refugee seers and your human employees ending up in some kind of ‘reeducation’ camp.”
Black grunted, nodding in agreement.
His brow remained furrowed, but I could feel his relief that I agreed with him. Even so, he didn’t comment at first, not out loud.
For a few minutes, both of us just ate.
Black’s light was coiling into mine, especially those lower, denser structures. It felt almost like he was pulling me deeper into the earth, along with pulling me deeper into that part of him. When I closed my eyes, my world tilted. I knew some of that was the bourbon. Some of it was Black, and that dense heat that lived under his feet.
Like in Thailand, I still saw it as lava and stars.
I saw it as dark ocean, pulling on me, lulling me back and forth.
“You are so beautiful.”
I looked up, startled when it hit me that I’d heard the words aloud.
I stared at Black’s face, saw his gold eyes watching mine, softer than maybe I’d ever seen them. Blinking, I realized I’d closed my eyes while I let myself fall into his light. I realized in the same moment that tears were running down my cheeks.
I wiped them brusquely with the back of my hand, caught somewhere between anger at myself and embarrassment.
I’d known Nick was dead. I’d known.
I couldn’t possibly have been in this much denial.
“I’d like you there, with me,” Black said, soft, reaching for my hand. “For the meeting with Brick.” He hesitated. “But I’d prefer it if you didn’t kill him, doc. At least not until we hear what he has to say. I suspect we might still need him.”
TO BLACK WITH LOVE: Quentin Black Mystery #10 Page 21
