Vampire Games (Entangled Ever After)

by Tiffany Allee

  Again we trailed behind the man down a long, dark hallway into what had to be some sort of basement area. And again he sat. But this time, the walk didn’t seem quite as fearsome, and the smell of smoke didn’t bring to mind the brand and burning flesh.

  “You said you had info for us,” Claude said, settling into a chair not far from the counter. I remained behind him, suddenly feeling out of place.

  The giant sighed heavily. “It’s what I said.”

  Claude tensed, his body suddenly tight and unmoving. “And?” All friendliness had disappeared from his tone. And what remained wasn’t threatening, but all business.

  “Yer not gonna want to hear this.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Found the metalworker that made the brand. Found its use.”

  “What was it used for?” I took a step toward them, tired of being left in the background. This was my case, too, whether Claude liked it or not. Whether he realized how important it was to me or not. Because it was important. More important than his beef with Nicolas.

  “Torture. Looks like they was experimentin’ with causing pain through the brand.”

  There were plenty of ways to torture people, both magical and mundane. Why leave a traceable mark behind? “Meaning what exactly?” I asked.

  “Meaning they could do it from wherever. Whenever they cared to,” Claude said.

  “The fanger has the right of it.”

  “It forms a magical connection, then? They can cause a marked person pain from a distance?” Disbelief made my voice too loud, but I didn’t care.

  Claude turned to me. “That would be pretty damn useful. You’d be able to use it as a targeting system. Would be able to cause pain to the person marked whenever you liked, so long as they didn’t alter the mark.”

  “Whoa, whoa.” I shook my head vigorously. “No way. That kind of power over someone through a simple brand?”

  “Nay. Yer misunderstanding. It’s not so easy.” The giant set the picture of the brand on the counter he used for a desk. “The brand is forged usin’ witchcraft—powerful stuff, that. Can’t be sensed. Can’t be magically felt.”

  “But his sensitive partner felt the brand—” I began.

  “Sure, bettin’ she sensed the shaman power, though. The forgin’ is only the first bit. Then they’d need some time with the poor soul caught in their web. Several days, I’d guess. And a shaman with as dark a soul as you can imagine to bind the spirit to the brand mark.”

  My stomach dropped. Several days. Shamanic power. But why? Who would want the ability to torture a selkie—even a selkie prince, or whatever he was—from afar? Surely there was little to be gained by it. And if torture had been their goal, then he probably wasn’t the only one. Otherwise, why create a reusable brand?

  “And bindin’ the mark…” He shook his head. “It’d make it impossible to destroy on the poor man it was branded into.”

  “What about his memory issues?” Claude said. At the giant’s questioning glance, he added, “The man can’t remember what happened during the time he got the brand. Also has a tough time talking about it.”

  “Not shaman power, that. More witchcraft. Whoever be doin’ this, he’s goin’ to a good deal of trouble.”

  “This all sounds like a fairy tale.” I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud until Claude replied.

  “Not a fairy tale, but definitely something infinitely difficult to do. You’d need a shaman with no scruples, difficult to find in a spirit-based group of magic users. You’d need a witch powerful enough to pull it off—not easy to find among non-Covenant witches. Again without empathy, and an ability to work metal. And a witch—likely a different one—to work the forgetting spells, and the persuasion so he can’t talk to anyone about it.”

  “Aye. And neither of them be a typical skill among witches.”

  “But you said you’d found the witch who made the brand,” I pointed out. Hell, if we had that witch, we could no doubt track it further, to the person who’d orchestrated the whole thing. Although I was pretty sure I already knew who that was. Nicolas, maybe. But I didn’t doubt his father was involved.

  “Give me the name,” Claude said, order clear in his tone.

  “Nay. I won’t be doin’ that to ‘em. And there’s naught you can say to convince me otherwise.”

  Claude’s face twisted, and within half a second he stood in front of the counter, directly across from the giant. He leaned toward him, hands gripping the counter, but the threat was clear.

  The small bit of friendliness on the giant’s face disappeared, and something wicked flashed behind his eyes.

  “Dun try me, vampire. Friend or no, I ain’t givin’ you that name.” He leaned back and crossed his arms, but I could see the sweat lacing his brow that hadn’t been there before Claude moved. He was bluffing.

  “But I got somethin’ better for ya.”

  Claude’s stare didn’t soften one bit, and his focus looked unmovable.

  “What’s that?” I asked, but I didn’t look away from Claude. What would happen if he attacked? I couldn’t help either of them. Claude was one of the most powerful vampires in the country. But I would bet that one didn’t get to be a metalworking witch without a heck of a lot of power.

  Hell. If they fought I’d be lucky to get out of the damn building before it collapsed around them.

  My chest twinged at the idea. Would Claude fight the witch, oblivious to how easily damaged my human body was? Was he more interested in getting to Nicolas than my safety?

  I didn’t think I wanted to know the answer to that question.

  The witch’s gravelly voice broke the tension with a simple phrase. “I know who it was that commissioned the brand, so you’ll not need to seek out the witch.”

  I sucked in a breath of smoke-tinged air. “Who?”

  Claude pulled back, blinking as if stunned there wasn’t going to be a fight.

  The witch, as if keen on dramatics, pulled a cigar from the top drawer of his makeshift desk and trimmed the end. “Was none other than the man his self.” He lit the cigar and sucked in a quick breath of smoke, then blew it out between yellowing rows of teeth. “The man who bought it was the Magister, Luc Chevalier.”

  Chapter Nine

  Claude flew at the man. There was simply no other word for it, even if the logical part of my brain knew that vampires couldn’t actually fly. My breath stuck in my throat, and for a split second I felt like I was caught in one of my visions. Caught watching images that had already occurred. Caught without the ability to change anything. All I could do was stand witness as Claude killed the witch.

  But then I was moving.

  Claude gripped the man by his collar, and was yelling. Calling the witch a liar.

  I grabbed Claude’s arm and yanked with all my strength. He didn’t move an inch.

  “Claude, let him go.” I tried to keep my voice calm. Panicking wouldn’t do anything but add fuel to the explosive situation. But when he didn’t even turn to look at me, some of the fear I felt crept into my voice. “Claude!”

  The vampire turned his head and blinked at me. He dropped the giant, and I realized that he’d actually been supporting the man’s weight. The giant fell back against one of his elevated fire pits, leaning against it for support.

  “Use your words,” I told him. The vampire didn’t crack a smile, but something came back into his eyes. Something I recognized.

  “Get out,” the giant managed to choke out. “I won’t pursue ya, we’ve been friends so long. But I dun want to see you in here again for some years.”

  I tugged Claude toward the door. He turned back when we hit the threshold. And when he spoke, his voice sounded hollow.

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “Aye.”

  “Sorry about your neck,” Claude muttered, and then allowed me to lead him away.

  I took his keys and drove us to a small restaurant I’d enjoyed the last time I was in Chicago. They served deep-dish pizza.
I wasn’t hungry. But I wasn’t ready to be alone with Claude, either. Not until he no longer looked so dazed.

  We sat in a corner. It was still early, only ten forty-five, so the place was practically empty. I ordered the first pizza I saw on the menu in an effort to get the waiter to leave us alone.

  “He was lying.” Claude’s hollow voice hurt my heart. I reached across the table, took his hand in mine, and gave it a squeeze.

  “Could be.” I didn’t think so, but Claude just looked so miserable. And as an investigator, it was my job to look at all the angles. “Let’s say for argument’s sake that Luc isn’t responsible. Let’s say it’s Nic. How would torturing that man get him any closer to taking over as Magister? Unless…” I almost didn’t want to voice the thought. I hated adding to his hope when it was pretty obvious that the Magister was as dirty as his son and Claude needed to accept it.

  “Unless?”

  “Well, you said something about local otherworlder leader support, right?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe some kind of mental conditioning is at work here. I mean, the man was spelled not to talk about the week he was gone. Could he somehow be conditioned into supporting Nic in a coup?”

  A tiny bit of hope lit up his eyes and my heart jumped.

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I’m redefining what’s possible with this case. Last week I would have said that torturing someone from a distance with a brand and shamanic magic was impossible.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up too high. I still think Luc’s in the thick of this.” It hurt to say, but it had to be said.

  “Luc is the only constant. The only person who has been in my life since the change. The only one who has cared about me at all.”

  “That’s not true.”

  He glanced up at my hard tone, and gave me a good facsimile of his normal grin. “Maybe not. But he has been like a brother to me. I can’t imagine him being involved in this. And, it’s a scary thought.”

  “What is?”

  “That I might truly be alone in the world.”

  The waiter dropped off the Cokes I’d ordered with the pizza and I nodded to him in thanks. Truth was, I wanted to hug the man for interrupting before I could say something stupid to Claude. Something to take some of the pain from his voice. Something I wasn’t sure I was ready to say.

  “Look, Claude. I get that he’s like a brother to you. But you’re going to have to put your big boy pants on and deal with this.”

  He snorted. A small sound, but I’d take it.

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m an idiot for ignoring the evidence.” He shook his head. “One way or another, I’ll find out for sure.”

  Now that, I didn’t like the sound of. “Look—”

  “Thank you. For staying with me through this. I haven’t…I haven’t been as good a man as I should have been with you.” The fervor in his voice and expression stunned me into silence. What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

  “Damn straight,” I said finally.

  His confident grin slipped back onto his face and I almost sagged against the table in relief. Dealing with Claude so out of his normal character was exhausting. I worried about him far more than I should.

  “So. I think I should spend some more time with the brand this afternoon. Maybe you can focus on shamans who might have been able to attach it to a person’s spirit, and who might have that kind of inclination. Hell, that kind of power on top of being an evil son-of-a-gun can’t be a common combination among shamans,” I said.

  “I’d imagine not.”

  “Good.” And maybe tonight I’d talk to him about my first vision of Luc. I couldn’t talk to him about it here. Too public. Too exposed. I was too chicken.

  I needed time to gather my courage.

  And with the smell of pizza filling the air, I was getting hungry. I needed to eat before I talked about it. Needed to formulate responses to his questions—questions I knew he’d ask. Like I didn’t tell him when I first saw Luc in the vision from the brand—because I didn’t trust him to let me stay on the investigation. Because I wasn’t entirely sure I trusted him?

  Yeah. I needed time to come up with some better answers. At least, more tactful ones. More certain ones.

  I wished I had some handy.

  “Maybe we can open a bottle of wine when we’re done. Talk through what we know,” I mused aloud. Maybe we could do more than open a bottle of wine. No. What was I thinking? Last night was a mistake. Not one I was willing to repeat. Not one I could repeat if I wanted to keep myself at a distance. Safe from the feelings he elicited in me without even trying.

  “That sounds delightful,” he said gruffly, “but I’m afraid that I’ll have to leave you on your own tonight. Although I’d be happy to—”

  “What? Why?”

  “The gala is tonight.”

  I just stared. “Seriously? You’re going to Luc’s house for a party. With all this going on?”

  “Yes.” He sipped his Coke and made a yuck face.

  “What’s wrong with your drink?”

  “Nothing. Just not the best thing I’ve tasted today.” He winked at me.

  “Fuck, Claude. You’re not distracting me with that B.S.” Heat crawled up my neck. Damn vampire, anyway. “Going to this party is a stupid, risky idea.”

  “Why? No one knows we’re investigating the brand. No one knows I’m looking into Nic—not any more than I usually am. And”—he cleared his throat—“no one knows we’re looking at Luc.”

  He had a point, but I didn’t have to like it. At least he was more on board with looking into the Magister.

  “This will be a perfect opportunity to do a little recon. To chat with them in a comfortable setting,” he said.

  “Good point. I’ll go with you.”

  “No. I’m not risking you, frail human.” A wicked smile flashed at the silly insult.

  I grinned back, unable to help myself. “You just said it yourself. It’s not risky. It’s not a stupid idea. So you have no reason not to take me.”

  He gaped for a second before his mouth snapped shut. “You haven’t been invited.”

  “I’m sure they’ll allow you a plus one.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Bring me or I’ll find my own way in. Like you said, it’s a perfect opportunity for some recon. And I’m going. Do you really want me to get caught trying to shimmy in through a window? How embarrassing would that be?”

  The waiter interrupted Claude’s response, dropping a piping hot pizza onto the middle of our table. The smell made my mouth water.

  “I’m not winning this argument, am I?”

  I reached for the spatula, slipped it under a slice of pizza, and scooped it onto my plate. “Nope.”

  Convincing Claude, as it turned out, was the easy part. The harder part proved to be finding a dress in time that I didn’t totally hate and could actually afford. After refusing Claude’s offer to shop with me, I finally found one at a Nordstrom at the Shops at North Bridge. It was sleeveless. Even better, it had an Asian-style neckline that was just high enough to cover part of what was left of the bite mark he’d left low on my neck. I’d have to cover the fading marks with makeup to be sure.

  The cocktail dress was quite pretty, black and short and it fit my slender body just so. I had no doubt that it would look low-class and simple compared to many of the Magister’s guests. But I shouldn’t be terribly underdressed, not enough to be noticed, if Claude was right about the gala’s tone. Besides, I didn’t have thousands of dollars to waste on a dress I would only wear for one night. A night of spying on vampires, no less.

  It would just have to do.

  I packed it up with a pair of shoes and a clutch that I’d found in the same store, then took a cab back to Claude’s. The doorman barely glanced at me and my dress bag, and I was back up to the condo without a hitch.

  Claude wasn’t in any of the common areas. A couple of hours yet until I had to get ready, so I decided to spe
nd some quality time with the brand. Pleasant or no, it might be useful. Besides, I needed to think of anything but the vampire. The horrible torture of a selkie would do the trick.

  The second I touched the brand the world around me disappeared. White noise rushed through my ears and blackness filled my sight. Then the brand burst into my field of vision, bright and almost painful to look at. Panic and confusion hit me like a punch to the gut.

  Then the Magister.

  His face filled my vision, anger twisted his mouth, and I tried to cringe away. The vision rolled back, flashing and moving like a stop-motion film half shot. The brand was in his hand—still attached to the long handle that had once held it. He yanked at it, yelling words I couldn’t hear. Clouded by the darkness of the vision’s edge, another person gripped the brand, too. Were they fighting over it? I couldn’t make any sense of it, too much fear. Too much panic. Needed to run.

  The clatter of the brand hitting Claude’s coffee table startled me, and I gasped for air. Then an arm slipped behind me and Claude sat next to me on the couch. He pulled me close to him, his strong body supporting mine. His scent surrounded me and filled my lungs.

  I leaned into him, unable to resist the comfort when the vision was so fresh. Panic still tumbled through me, making me want to turn and run. But it wasn’t something that I could run from. I’d carry the vision within myself.

  Always.

  Chapter Ten

  The vision had shaken me more than I wanted to admit. So when it came time to get ready for the party, my hands trembled when I tried to do my makeup. No matter how I tried, my eyeliner refused to go on right, and no way could I use my mascara. It took a heck of a lot of smoothing to make me presentable, but I got the added bonus of a smoky look around my eyes, courtesy of the need to smudge everything together so that my squiggly lines couldn’t be seen by the world.

  Claude watched me walk the hallway from my room like a high school boy watching his prom date descending the stairs, wide-eyed and with hopeful passion in his eyes. Nerves fluttered in my stomach at the sight of him, too. And for half a second I forgot. I forgot that we were only friends—if that. I forgot that we were headed to a dangerous gala where a sociopath waited. I forgot that we weren’t in love.