The Scarlet Deep

by Elizabeth Hunter

Anne made an angry fist at the phone. “I hate you.”

  “So you said.” Her sister’s voice had taken on a decidedly suspicious tone. “You still have feelings for him.”

  Anne tugged on the wrap she’d thrown around herself.

  “Of course I have feelings,” she said calmly. “It’s impossible not to have feelings for someone—”

  “Don’t use the psychologist voice on me.”

  “I am a psychologist, and this is my voice. Therefore—”

  “You have feelings for him. You’ve never gotten over that man, have you?”

  “Do you have to say ‘that man’ in that particular tone of voice? It’s like you think of him as a disease.”

  “He is.”

  “I daresay he’s probably improved over the past seventy years.”

  “He tried to take advantage of you, and then he broke your heart!”

  Anne had nothing to say because Mary was correct. In all her sister’s struggles to attain power, she’d never once asked Anne to use her influence on a rival. Not even when her own life was at stake. Never had she put her sister in danger or hinted at using Anne’s power to her own advantage.

  Not once.

  “I know he did,” Anne said quietly. “It’s not like I could forget.”

  When she had finally told Murphy, years after their mating, the influence she could sometimes effect on other immortals by manipulating amnis, Murphy had assured her of his secrecy. Had sworn the knowledge would be safe with him. And then he’d asked her—not even a year later—to use it on a rival.

  Not even a year.

  It had been an astounding violation of her trust, and Murphy hadn’t even comprehended why she’d been so offended.

  Mary had been livid.

  “I have never trusted that man,” Mary said. “I didn’t know you still had feelings for him, and I don’t want to—”

  “I’ll be fine,” Anne said. “I can handle it.”

  “I don’t doubt you, but…”

  She felt her fangs fall. “The fact that you said ‘but’ tells me you doubt me entirely.”

  “Drop it,” Mary said abruptly. “Forget the summit. Go home. Or come to Belfast. They can do without me. Without us. I’ll write Father and have him explain it to Terrance Ramsay.”

  “No. I’m staying.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t like the politics. Can’t stand all the secrets and intrigue. But this is important. Unless they can find out who’s shipping Elixir, they have no chance of eliminating it.”

  “It’s not going to be eliminated,” Mary said. “This is all an exercise in futility. Pandora’s box is open, and more than one vampire has a death wish. Don’t your textbooks say something about that? If there’s a market for Elixir, someone will make it. The damn formula is probably on the Internet by now.”

  Anne threw up her hands. “So why send me at all?”

  “I don’t like people trying to sneak into my territory,” her sister said. “I suppose you’re right. Stay, then. Someone is making a power grab, and I won’t have others being proactive while I bat away on the defense. Offense is a far better plan. Besides, you said you had shopping to do.”

  Anne closed her eyes and let her head hit the back of her chair. Trust Mary to change her mind at least four times in the space of a single argument.

  “What should I share?” Anne asked. “So far, they’ve been giving me all the information and I’ve only shared a little.”

  “I trust you. Share what needs to be shared and no more. You don’t have political experience, but you’re smarter than most of them and you’re perceptive as hell. People tell you things, even without your influence. Use that when you get to London.”

  “I will.”

  “And send your notes of the meeting with Robert when he gets there. I’m sending him directly to Carwyn’s home. He should be there tomorrow night. Notes in his hand and no one else’s.”

  Robert was Mary’s personal courier and the most frightening little human Anne had ever met. He had dead eyes, but he was utterly loyal to her sister.

  “Did you translate them yet?”

  Anne eyed the stack of paper she had yet to start on. “Not yet. I’ll do it when we get off the phone.”

  “Caution, sister.”

  “You call it caution, I call it paranoia with disturbing hints of narcissism.”

  Their sire was old. So old that the language of his human years had died long ago. Only he and his two daughters spoke it anymore, making it the easiest way for them to communicate privately. A keen linguist well versed in early Celtic dialects might be able to decipher some of it, but it would take months of study.

  “You’ll see Father in London,” Mary said.

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “That’s the other reason I’m sending you. Terry will want to appease the old man.”

  Anne pursed her lips. “Should I be offended that I’m the token political daughter here?”

  “No,” Mary said. “If you were the token political daughter, Father would have mated you to the priest years ago. Don’t think he didn’t consider it.”

  “I feel so loved.”

  “Maybe you don’t feel loved enough,” Mary said wryly. “That’s probably why you’re so cross.”

  Anne banged her head softly against the wall. “Did I mention that I hate you?”

  “Not in the past five minutes.”

  “I do. I really, really do.”

  Chapter Seven

  MURPHY STEPPED INTO HIS OFFICE whistling, only to find an unexpected—though not unwelcome—intrusion.

  “Mr. Garvey,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

  Andrew Garvey shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to swallow his obvious nerves. Humans didn’t always register their reaction to the predators vampires were, but Garvey was no clueless human. He knew why his pulse sped; he just battled past the urge to run. Murphy had to respect that.

  “I, uh, I told Tom I had some news for you, and he wanted me to come to the office with it. Tell you myself.”

  “Fair enough.” Murphy frowned. “Is Tom here?”

  “He went out to fetch something. Said he’d be back in a moment.”

  Murphy motioned to one of the chairs near the couch in his office. “Have a seat then. We’ll wait until he comes back.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He took a seat himself, trying to put the man at ease.

  “How’s business been? The new contract working out?”

  “It is, yeah.” Garvey nodded. “Been expanding a bit, even. Don’t want to go into debt for it, but I think now’s not a bad time to buy with a bunch of lads going out.”

  “Seems sound.”

  “Yeah, I hope so.” Garvey tapped his finger on his knee. “I just wanted you to know… Tom told me to back off on looking into things for you.”

  “I’m glad,” Murphy said. “These could be dangerous individuals.”

  “I know. But… this recent thing, I thought you should know.” Garvey looked stricken. “Jesus, any decent person would be bothered by it, but especially anyone with a family, yeah?”

  He frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re—”

  Murphy broke off when the door opened and Tom walked in.

  “Evenin’, boss. Andrew. Did you tell him anything yet?”

  Garvey shook his head. “Was just about to, but—”

  “Good. He needs to see.” Tom threw a set of photographs onto the coffee table in front of Murphy. “I am rarely tempted to murder, Murphy, but this shit…”

  Murphy picked up the photographs and paged through them, wondering what had left his usually calm lieutenant so angry. “What are these?”

  He could see the obvious. Young women ranging from early teens to twenties, with hollow cheeks and dead eyes, huddled in what looked like cargo holds. The thing that jumped out at him immediately was their looks.

  They were obviously sick, but if you
could see past it, all the girls were very attractive. In fact, the cynical thought that leapt to his mind was that the photographs resembled a macabre fashion shoot, only the models were barely clothed in rags.

  “Human trafficking?” he asked. There was no way to avoid all of it, but he did his best to eliminate what he could. “Have they been reported to the human authorities?”

  “Don’t think we want to do that just yet,” Tom said. “It’s more than that, Murphy.”

  He folded his hands carefully. “Tell me.”

  Tom nodded toward Garvey, who started to speak.

  “We didn’t see the girls. It was the boys on deck that jumped out to some of my lads,” Garvey said. “Raised their suspicions right away. They weren’t sailors. Didn’t look like pros at all. Then one of my lads caught one trying to sneak ashore from a reefer. Cold ship from the Black Sea carrying caviar, of all things. It’s an EU country, but the boy trying to sneak ashore had nothing. No papers. Only spoke a little English, and he was desperate to leave. He weren’t a regular sailor, Murphy.”

  Tom nodded. “Once Garvey reported the incident to me, some of the lads and me searched the ship. Thank fuck I took mostly human staff. We found the girls in the hold. More young men up on deck working. I think they used the boys for cheap labor and hid the girls.”

  Something Tom said jumped out at him. “Why were you glad you took humans?”

  Tom pulled out a handkerchief-sized piece of cloth from his pocket and tossed it to Murphy.

  He caught it and put it to his nose, almost retching from the sickly-sweet smell of pomegranate.

  “That’s a piece from one of the boy’s shirts.”

  Elixir.

  Murphy said, “Andrew, I’d like you to go now. I need to discuss things with Tom, but I want to thank you for your vigilance. You really must step away though.”

  “But, Murphy—”

  “I insist.” Murphy took the human’s hand and squeezed. “You’ll mind your own business in the harbor, Andrew Garvey. Report anything unusual, but leave the detecting work to others.”

  Garvey blinked, as if just waking. “Course I will, Mr. Murphy.”

  “Good man.”

  Garvey was still frowning and confused when Tom ushered him out. Murphy flipped through the pictures again, looking at the young humans with new eyes.

  There were dozens of them.

  “Are they all infected?” he asked.

  Tom sat in the chair Garvey had vacated. “As far as we can tell, yes.”

  “Damn.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Damn damn damn.”

  There was a research base set up in California working on a cure for Elixir, but it hadn’t found success. Some of the infected humans they’d treated so far were improving, but none were cured. Whoever had infected these young people had sentenced them to a slow and painful death and sent them to Murphy’s city to be unleashed in the vampire population there.

  “How many boats?” he wondered aloud.

  “There’s no way of knowing.”

  “I need you to get the word out to Mary Hamilton immediately. Belfast needs to be aware we’re not just looking for cargo anymore. We’re looking for carriers. Call Terry too.”

  “Already done.”

  “What have you done with them?” He put down the photos when he came to one of a girl no older than thirteen. “Fecking hell, Tom. What do we do with them? How many are there?”

  “Twenty-seven girls and fifteen boys. All from eastern Europe. Right now, I put Angie on getting one of the new warehouses outfitted as a dormitory. We’ve got doctors checking up on them—ones we trust—but some of them said these kids have weeks or months at most. We’re trying to find interpreters. Some of the kids speak a bit of English, so they’re helping those that don’t.”

  “We can’t let them into human hospitals or the general population. I don’t like keeping them captive, but—”

  “We have to. We’ve worked too hard to hide the existing infections from the human hospitals. And it’s not as if they can do anything for ’em.”

  Murphy had gone so far as to set up a private hospital outside the city where most of the human Elixir victims had been treated. But like sanatoriums of old, humans addicted to Elixir truly went there to die.

  “We’ll secure the warehouse,” Tom continued. “Make them as comfortable as possible. A lot of them are in very poor health already. Declan has a call in to Baojia’s people in California. He handles the security at the facility there, and we’re hoping he’ll have some ideas.”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “He’s also close friends with Lucien Thrax, the doctor working on it. We’ll do the best we can.”

  “Does Brigid know about this?”

  “Not yet.”

  Brigid had lost one of her closest human friends to Elixir, one of the first cases they’d ever seen in Ireland.

  “I don’t like leaving the city with this hanging over you, Tom.”

  Tom shook his head. “We’ll handle it. You need to go to London, boss. Now more than ever.”

  IF there was ever a time when Murphy needed to hit something—and hard—it was that night. He’d toured the warehouse not long after Andrew Garvey had left his office, overseeing the preparations from a distance. Elixired humans were more than tempting to vampires. Even the most self-controlled of his lieutenants had confessed to temptation near them. Thus, security for the converted warehouse had to be overseen by his most trusted humans.

  They were all angry. Brigid was wrecked. Anne was silent. Every vampire in his organization was on edge. No coincidence then that Carwyn had agreed to enter the ring with Murphy.

  Both men stripped off their shirts and tossed them over the railing. There were no humans in the club that night. Murphy had sent them all home early. He’d asked Tom for a bout, only to have the behemoth of an earth vampire volunteer.

  “No holding back?” Murphy said. “This should be interesting.”

  “Are you sure you want that?” Carwyn asked.

  “You think I asked Tom for a fight because I wanted easy?”

  Murphy bounced on his toes, the water in the room already drawn to his skin, coating it in a fine sheen of what looked like sweat. He flexed his wiry body and eyed Carwyn’s bulk.

  No way could that giant move fast enough to beat him, but if he got his hands on Murphy, all bets were off. Taking a punch from that bear of a man would put him down.

  Carwyn flexed his hands and smiled. “Say when, lad.”

  “You won’t be saying anything, old man.”

  The first blow caught Carwyn mid-laugh. His jaw snapped back as Murphy punched him full in the mouth.

  “Bloody hell,” the old earth vampire muttered, flexing his jaw. “They weren’t exaggerating.”

  Anne called from the ropes, “He was a bare-knuckles champion in his human years for a reason, Carwyn.”

  Puffed up from her words, Murphy almost missed the blur of movement that could have meant his end. He spun and dodged at the last millisecond. Was Carwyn boxing or wrestling?

  Did he care?

  Fighting at vampire speed meant that all his senses had to be alert. His heart pumped in time with his steps. One-one-two. One-one-two. He had speed, but Carwyn had strength. They flew around the ring faster than human eyes would be able to track.

  Murphy released his anger on the other immortal. His rage. His frustration.

  The children would die, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  Another punch, this time to Carwyn’s kidney.

  He couldn’t stem the river of drugs into his city with so many ships and only the slim night hours to properly police them.

  Carwyn’s fist glanced off Murphy’s cheek, splitting it open and releasing a torrent of blood. He felt his fangs drop and cut twin slices on his lower lip.

  Murphy had lost a son to this madness, and it had ripped out his heart. He’d almost lost his own mind.

  The pain fed the rage until a
ll he felt was the loop of sensation, the quick burning pleasure of anger and ache. Ducking behind his opponent, Murphy landed two vicious blows to Carwyn’s kidneys before he dodged away.

  But he couldn’t avoid the roundhouse punch to the jaw the earth vampire finally landed.

  Th-thunk. Thunk.

  Murphy crashed through the ropes and skidded on the concrete floor outside the ring, shredding his skin as he rolled. Carwyn didn’t stop. He followed and crouched to land another blow, but Murphy had already turned away, sending Carwyn’s fist cracking into the floor as Murphy leaped on the other man’s back, fixing his ropy arms around Carwyn’s neck and pulling hard.

  He could hear Tom and Declan shouting in the background. Hear Brigid and Anne yelling. He pulled back harder, felt Carwyn’s collarbone snap under his arm. Felt his own blood pouring from his eyes and mouth and nose.

  Carwyn reached up and patted his arm gently. “I yield, lad.”

  Murphy gripped tighter.

  “There now, Murphy.” Carwyn’s words were faint because Murphy was cutting off most of his air, but the bigger vampire was utterly patient. “I yield.”

  Murphy released Carwyn’s neck with a gasp, blood clouding his vision as he rolled to the side and spread his arms, his skin knitting together as he stared at the ceiling of the old gymnasium.

  “You didn’t have to yield.” He’d looked. Carwyn wasn’t even bleeding. Murphy had barely broken the skin.

  Carwyn gave him a small smile. “Feeling better?”

  “Not hardly.”

  Murphy could hear the other vampires approaching, but Carwyn waved them back.

  “They call you arrogant,” Carwyn said. “And you are. But you took on the responsibility of this town when you were hardly more than a boy. You grabbed the reins from a corrupt leader and wouldn’t let go.”

  “I wanted this city and I took it,” Murphy said, still staring at the ceiling. “Don’t try to make me a saint.”

  “I won’t. But the fact that this weighs on you as it does says everything about your character.”

  He let out a breath. “I’m so fucking angry.”

  “You should be.”

  Murphy finally turned his head to look at him. The old vampire’s blue eyes were ancient, the usual joviality stripped bare. Murphy understood why so many were drawn to him. He was as solid as the earth he drew power from. In that moment, Murphy didn’t feel like the vampire who led a city and a multinational corporation. He felt like a boy.