by Lynn Viehl
“I would certainly never do this to your father, but he is still traveling abroad, isn’t he? Or perhaps not.” Rellen Lechance went over to the net and crouched down to peer at Korvel. “Incredible. I had been told several tales of how dangerous copper is to these creatures, but I thought them somewhat exaggerated. Yet here is proof that it was all true. Does it actually burn you, vampire?”
“You have made a mistake,” Korvel said, rising to his feet and flooding the air with his scent. “Release me and the girl. At once.”
“Now I’ll wager that you are giving off that pretty scent you bastards use to turn humans into mindless slaves.” The guild master tapped the clear nose plug he and all the men were wearing. “Won’t work here, I’m afraid. Can you do anything else? If we toss you off the roof, will you sprout wings and fly?”
“Oh, yes. All vampires can.” Korvel bared his dents acérées. “Remove the net and I’ll give you a ride on my back.”
Lechance chuckled. “I like you. Captain, is it? Simone, please introduce me to your new friend.”
She gritted her teeth. “This is Monsieur Rellen Lechance, Master of the Assassin’s Guild.”
Korvel’s eyes became slits. “Brethren?”
“Ex-Mafia, as it happens,” Lechance told him before she could answer. “Once our employers packed up their operations here in Marseilles and moved down the coast, many of us decided we should form an organization of our own. Contract killings, for the most part, but we occasionally pick up a political assassination or a divorce-case settlement. I find it astonishing how many extremely wealthy men neglect to secure a proper prenuptial agreement before they wed themselves to cocktail waitresses and strippers.”
“You said you didn’t want him,” Simone said, trying to fight back against the panic. “You have me, and you know what I am worth.”
“True, but these creatures are quite valuable, too,” the guild master said. “The Italians who pose as priests have kept a massive bounty on them for years. A scientist from the States has offered to pay a million American dollars for a specimen, as will several unsavory governments. For the scientist, we do not even have to deliver him breathing.”
Simone saw the way he was looking at her. “What do you want, Guild Master?”
Lechance removed two fighting blades, walking them over his knuckles before he threw them at her. They struck the dirt by her feet, their hilts bobbing. “Fight for him, win, and I will free you both.”
She did not move. “I am not my father.”
He shrugged. “Then die for him.”
Ten of the guildsmen came toward her, each taking a position in an unseen circle. The black cloth covering their heads from crown to neck prevented Simone from seeing their faces, and from their formation she had no doubt the guild master had taught them to strike as one. Their movements, however, shouted who they had once been: soldiers, martial artists, street fighters.
Training begins in childhood, so that you may learn, her father told each boy brought to the château. An adult cannot be trained; what they bring to the circle can never be unlearned.
Simone saw the guildsmen in her head as she looked down at the blades by her feet. The three soldiers would be first to attack, then the street fighters, and finally the martial artists. She felt the tension of their muscles as they gathered themselves; she heard the soft movements of their gloves as they exchanged subtle hand signals. Four of them had begun to sweat; one licked it from his lips.
“Simone,” she heard Korvel call. “Run.”
She looked over at the copper net and the bleeding fingers tearing at it. “I’m sorry I never told you, Korvel.”
The first charged at her from behind as two flanking her ran a cross pattern. As soldiers, they had been trained to fight upright, falling prone only to take cover or to change position, and expected the enemy to do the same. Simone dropped, seizing the blades and diving between the legs of her first attacker, cutting his hamstrings. She rolled over in time to parry the man on her left as he struck down, grabbing his shoulder and using his momentum to throw him into the third soldier, who collapsed in a tangle with him.
Back on her feet, she moved to the scaffolding, using a running jump to pull herself up to the first level and turning to drive her boot into the face of the guildsman who pursued her; she leaped over the one who followed him and swept her arm back, slamming her elbow into the base of his skull.
She regarded the five who were left, and how they rearranged themselves. These were the watchful ones, the martial artists with their black belts and their clever techniques. They would be strong, practiced, and deceptive, but they had been trained to read the body of the enemy to anticipate his or her actions.
Simone remained still, holding her arms to shield her upper body while she shifted her eyes from one chest to another. Two of the men danced back and forth as they approached, feinting strikes at her head before they lashed out with their feet at her legs. She fell before they could touch her, jerking the legs they stood on out from beneath them.
Both fell back, one striking the back of his head and going still, the other managing to partially break his fall with an arm. The snap of his ulna sounded like a brittle branch as Simone wrapped an arm around his neck and dragged him up, heaving his body toward two more guildsmen.
That left one standing only a few feet from her, and he stepped forward, keeping his eyes on her face as he bobbed in a shallow bow. He raised his arms, his hands cupped, his legs slightly bent at the knees, prepared for any move she intended to make.
Except this one, Simone thought, raising the .22 she had taken from one of the soldiers and shooting the last guildsmen in the knee.
Handlers rushed in to help up the wounded and drag away the unconscious as Lechance clapped his hands together, once, twice, three times.
“Your father would be proud, Simone, although I am surprised you were trained to handle a gun,” the guild master said. “As I remember, he was all about the blade.”
“The only thing my father cared about was the kill.” Simone bent, reaching under the shelving unit to retrieve the rifle the unconscious guard had dropped.
He tilted his head. “A pity he didn’t live long enough to see this. Before you ask, I knew that he died ten years ago. I provided the documents he needed for his steward to assume his identity, and swore never to tell anyone of his death or how he had concealed it. As you see, I kept my word.”
“Thank you.” She chambered the next round with a snap of her wrist, aiming for Lechance’s heart. “Release him.”
The guild master nodded to his guards, who grabbed the pulley ropes and raised the copper net. Korvel staggered to his feet.
“Captain,” Simone said, not taking her eyes from Lechance. “Please go. I will join you outside in a few moments.”
“Not without you.”
As he walked over to her, her mouth tightened. Their chances of getting out of here alive were dwindling by the second, but she had to know. To Lechance, she said, “You gave Pájaro sanctuary when he ran away. You helped him fake his death as well.” When Lechance inclined his head, she asked, “Why?”
He folded his hands. “I couldn’t resist the boy’s offer. He gave ten years of service in exchange for my protection and instruction. He might have failed to meet your father’s impossible standards, but by the time he had finished his service to me, he had over four hundred clean kills. Almost twice as many as my next-best man.”
She almost pulled the trigger. “You know where he is now. Tell me.”
Lechance smiled. “I will do even better. I will take you to him. Pájaro wants both of you. Alive.”
An air rifle fired, and Korvel lunged in front of her. He turned, still protecting her with his body, and she looked down to see the dart sticking from his chest. He sagged, and as she grabbed him she felt a sharp pain in her neck.
Korvel remained on his feet, but he was swaying like a tree in a high wind. As the guild master came to them, he turned h
is head. “Why did you make her fight?”
“It’s simple, vampire,” Lechance said. “I promised her father that I would.”
Chapter 14
R
ellen Lechance watched his men struggle to lift the vampire’s heavy body. “You know, with a blood sample and a few days, I could convince the Americans to double their offer.”
“Yes, and if he escapes them, he will know precisely where to find you.” Pájaro eyed the wounded still littering the floor of the warehouse. “Why didn’t you shoot him as soon as he arrived?”
“There was no warning.” The guild master gestured overhead. “He jumped through the skylight.”
“I warned you that they were clever, Rellen.” Pájaro used his first name with a certain relish before he rubbed the end of his nose and sniffed. “You should take more precautions with your security, before you end up being loaded into a trunk yourself.”
“Good advice.” The guild master made brief eye contact with his bodyguard, who shifted his position and drew a pistol. “When can I expect payment for my services?”
“Don’t be greedy. I’ll contact you when the old man is dead.” Pájaro strode off.
The guild master made a subtle hand signal, and three men scattered in different directions. His bodyguard followed him into his office, and stood watching through the window as Lechance sat down and placed a call to Rome.
“He has them,” he told the man on the other end of the line. He described the events of the night before and said, “My men will continue surveillance until yours arrive.”
“Does he have the scroll?”
“Oh, yes,” Lechance said. “And the Spaniard is already showing the first signs.”
“Keep me informed.”
Lechance ended the call and sat back to brood. In all the years he had known Simone Derien and her father, he had always wondered whether the legends were true. From what he had observed over his long and violent lifetime, women were not fashioned for fighting. While they could be vicious, particularly when defending their young, they lacked the killing instinct.
Simone had cut through his men without hesitation or the slightest degree of difficulty; seeing her fight had been alternately thrilling and dismaying. He had witnessed power and precision beyond his comprehension; he knew he would never have it at his command. In fact, if events played out as the men in Rome had orchestrated, Simone Derien would not live to fight again.
Lechance saw his bodyguard’s back muscles tense. “What is it?”
“Two intruders. A man and a woman.” The bodyguard stiffened and drew his pistol. “They are not human.”
“Put that away.” The guild master walked out into the warehouse, where a tall, white-haired female and her handsome companion were making short work of his men. “Arrête.” Once the few remaining men who were still mobile hobbled back, Lechance regarded the couple. “Vous désirez? Can I help you?”
“Personally I’d like a nap,” the woman said in American-accented English as she stepped over a limp body. “These late nights totally wreck me. So be a nice guy and tell us where you have them stashed.”
“You have come to the wrong address, mademoiselle.” Lechance took in a sharp breath as she moved in a blur to stand in front of him. “There is no one stashed anywhere here.”
“I can smell big fat lies, you moron.” She whipped out her arm, sending his bodyguard flying. “Where did you take them?”
“I did not take anyone,” Lechance said, grimacing slightly as the blond man circled around to stand behind him. He felt cool breath on his neck, and something crawling up his legs under his trousers. When he glanced down he saw dozens of wasps that commonly nested in the rafters alighting on his shoes, and felt sweat break out all over his body.
“Do you know how many times a wasp can sting you before it uses up all of its venom?” the man murmured as Lechance felt something crawl inside his briefs. “Would you care to find out? Perhaps with your testicles.”
“My client collected the vampire and the nun,” he said. “He took them south, toward the docks. That is all I know.”
“Who is your client, and why did he want them?” the man asked.
Lechance held perfectly still. “I was hired to capture them, monsieur. My client did not give me his name or explain his reasons to me.”
“I always thought guys would do anything to protect the package.” The woman looked past him. “Guess I was wrong, baby.”
“Wait.” A drop of sweat ran down his nose to hang from the tip of it. “His name is Pájaro. He’s worked for me as an assassin for hire.” He gave them an accurate description of his former pupil. “He took the man so he could translate an old scroll. That is all he said about him; I swear it.”
“Yeah?” The woman leaned close. “Then why did he take the nun, too?”
Lechance closed his eye as a wasp crawled across the lid. “She is his sister.”
Korvel opened his eyes to see Simone carrying a light through a darkened room. She had on a long gown made of plain muslin, and her feet were bare. She placed the candle in a window and sat beside it, looking out at the darkness.
When he was able to speak, his voice came out in a harsh rasp. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know, Captain.” She pressed her hand to the window. “I think we’re somewhere out there.”
Gradually he saw that they were back at the tresoran safe house. Metal clattered as the weapons began to fall off the shelves around them, disappearing as soon as they touched the floor. The racks and shelving followed, melting into nothingness. When the furnishings shifted and grew brighter, he realized at last where they were.
“Simone, we are in the nightlands,” he said. “We’re having the same dream. Can you wake up?”
She picked up the storybook and opened it on her lap. “I don’t want to.”
“Try.”
Around them the flat began to fade, the colors and shapes flattening into an ashen gray. Just as suddenly it brightened and shifted around again, until all of the furnishings and carpet looked new.
Simone touched her neck. “I can feel myself out there, but I can’t find my body.”
Korvel closed his eyes, willing himself to wake, but a silver-blue haze drove him back from the void. “The drugs will wear off eventually. We will have to keep trying.”
“Do we have to?” When he looked at her, she picked up her book and held it against her breast. “We could stay. This is a good place now.”
“If we do not return to our bodies, you will die and I will go mad.” He focused on gaining control of his limbs, and when his body was steady he rose out of the chair. Since the dream was hers, everything around them would be governed by her subconscious. He knew little of the nightlands, except that they could be very dangerous. “Is this how the flat looked when you were a child?”
She nodded. “He needed a place to leave me, and he didn’t like hotels. At first I liked it because I was always warm here.” Simone smiled at the old radiator. “I didn’t really know what a home was. The château was always so cold and silent, and my brothers and I could talk only in whispers when they weren’t watching.”
He didn’t want her to shift the dream to the château and send them into a nightmare. “What did you do when your father left you here alone?”
“I would pretend that I was a grown-up lady who lived here with my husband, like the other ladies I saw from the windows.” She walked over to the table near the kitchen, and before Korvel’s eyes it set itself with plain white china and stainless-steel utensils. Three emergency candles in glass jars appeared in the center, and flames flickered from their wicks. “I would put on a pretty dress, set the table, and cook dinner. I’d always light the candles while I waited for him to come home from work.”
Korvel watched the glow of the flames chasing itself through the weave of her braids. The light loved her, gilding the tips of her eyelashes and gleaming along the curve of her bottom lip. “What was he like,
this imaginary husband?”
“He was handsome and smiling.” She adjusted a fork and smoothed a napkin. “When it grew dark outside I pretended he was late because he stopped to buy flowers from the little stand at the corner. Sometimes tiger lilies, or hyacinth, or white roses with just a touch of orange on the tips of the petals.”
Korvel heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “What happened when he came home, Simone?”
“He would hide the bouquet behind his back and show them to me only after I kissed him.” She opened the door and stood there looking out at nothing before she closed it. “No one ever came, of course, but it seemed so real that I would fall asleep listening for him.”
The thought of Simone being touched by some mortal man—even one loneliness had conjured—sank like a copper dagger into Korvel’s belly. Yet even that stab of jealousy could not keep him from speaking the truth. “You can still have that life.”
“I’m scarred and barren.” She drifted past him to return to the window. “What decent man would have me?”
“You are right.” He saw her shoulders go rigid. “I forget what fools modern mortal men are in their desires.” He walked to stand behind her and began removing the pins holding her braids in their coil. “Among my kind, every warrior who set eyes on you would fight for the chance to claim you.”
A small shudder passed through her before she leaned back against him. “I am so tired of fighting, Korvel.”
“You can always choose another path.” As her braids fell out of the coil, he began unraveling each one. “When this is over, come with me on mine.”
The flat vanished, and Korvel found himself tumbling through the darkness, falling into an oval room with mirrored walls. The icy temperature of the air and the bleak expression on Simone’s face told him they were somewhere inside Château Niege.
“How would the high lord have me serve him?” she asked, her voice bleak. “As an assassin?” Her gown shrank onto her body, turning into a gray sparring uniform. “Or a housemaid?” The sparring uniform spilled out into her nun’s habit.
