Rare Vigilance

by M. A. Grant

  When the meal finally ended, well after the rest of the restaurant had closed to the general public, the group gathered themselves up and began a slow procession to the door. Dinu and Vasilica clung to each other, unaware of the world around them. They whispered back and forth, slipping in and out of different languages as easily as breathing. Ioana followed behind them with amusement, keeping them on course and ignoring their tender exchanges.

  Atlas expected Andrei to follow Ioana, as he so often did. Instead, the large man stepped close and said, “You seem distracted, Mr. Kinkaid. Is something wrong?”

  He tilted his head back to meet Andrei’s gaze and replied, “New place, new security challenges. I’ll feel better once Mr. Slava’s back home.”

  “You have been behaving oddly all night,” Andrei pointed out. “Almost as if you expect something to happen.”

  Behind Andrei, Cristian stilled on his path to the door. Atlas kept his professional mask in place, hoping Andrei and Cristian wouldn’t see through it. “It sounds like you want to accuse me of something,” Atlas told Andrei, keeping his voice even. “I’d be interested to hear what you have to say.”

  “As would I,” Cristian agreed, surprising Atlas by taking his side.

  Andrei turned to his great-nephew with a frown. “Did you pay any attention to him at dinner, as I told you?”

  “Of course,” Cristian said lightly. His dark gaze flitted over Atlas and his mouth quirked in an odd smile. “But I doubt our focus was the same.”

  Andrei made a strangled sound and launched into a louder, firmer lecture in Romanian. Atlas hated that he couldn’t even attempt to defend himself from the accusations he knew Andrei hurled against him. Cristian listened calmly for the first bit. It was when Andrei began gesturing at Atlas and using a variety of new inflections that could only signal disgust that Cristian broke in. He didn’t bother to raise his voice. The melodious rise and fall of his quiet words landed like punches against Andrei, whose huffs and blusters were quickly silenced. The argument ended with a question from Cristian, one he repeated until Andrei muttered the appropriate response and stomped past Atlas for the exit.

  Atlas unlocked his knees and reminded himself to keep breathing slowly, even as relief rushed through him. In an effort to hide his response, he told Cristian, “I don’t think he likes me.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t. He warned me not to trust you.” Cristian didn’t look too concerned, despite the dire statement.

  Atlas reminded himself his attempted betrayal hadn’t been discovered yet. He was still alive, after all. He forced himself to sound casual when he asked, “Did he give any reason for you not to?”

  “Nothing I consider to be good enough evidence. I think the real issue is that you stole his job.”

  “What?”

  Cristian smiled at Atlas’s confusion. “When my mother fled her family, he was the only one who took her side. He knew her parents would send people after her and decided he’d prevent that from happening. He was her bodyguard, then mine after I was born. He’s angry that Father thinks we need someone else to watch over me now.”

  “And he’s taking that anger out on me?” Atlas asked.

  Cristian shrugged. “Maybe. He never got this protective with the other agents. But then, no other agent has lasted as long. So I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

  “Right,” Atlas muttered.

  “Come on,” Cristian ordered. “The others are probably waiting for us at the car.”

  Atlas nodded and followed him, desperately wishing for his shift to end. He needed to retreat and reassess his approach. Cristian’s defense of him tonight was fortunate, but Andrei would be watching him even more closely from now on. He hadn’t found a way to keep Bea safe. Between Jasper’s failure to act and Andrei’s open distrust of him, the night was a total loss.

  * * *

  He left his phone volume on when he fell asleep in the hope Jasper would call. Instead, a few hours after he’d finally drifted off, his sister’s custom text chime woke him from the hazy edges of his usual nightmare. He fumbled for his phone and held it close to his face, wincing from the screen’s light.

  Trip canceled. Lunch tomorrow?

  He rubbed at his eyes and read the message again. Decebal wouldn’t be traveling with Bea. She wouldn’t have to face the Wharrams and whatever they’d planned to do her job protecting a vampire. She was safe.

  “Holy fuck,” he whispered. He quickly typed out an affirmative and put his phone down. He’d only slept a handful of hours and knew he’d need more before his next shift.

  Rest didn’t return. His initial joy and gratitude at Bea’s good fortune warped the longer he lay awake thinking. Doubts crept in. He hadn’t heard anything from Jasper. Whatever made Decebal cancel the trip must have been unrelated, and far more important than Atlas cared to contemplate. Without any kind of warning from Helias or Cristian, he’d be walking into a completely unknown situation tonight. Had Andrei shared his concerns from last night with anyone besides Cristian? Or had a new danger presented itself?

  It didn’t matter how many scenarios he tried to plan for. He couldn’t escape the gnawing dread curling around him as he made his way up the private drive and parked in front of the house. He eyed the carefully parked line of the family’s cars as he headed inside, confused why there were so many of them out.

  Helias met him at the door. For the first time in their acquaintance, Helias looked...disheveled was the wrong word, but close enough for the slightly wrinkled suit sleeves and the lock of hair that fell free from the slicked-back hairstyle. “Mr. Slava is upstairs with Mr. Vladislavic,” the consilier informed him. “You have been asked to join them.”

  “Now?” Atlas asked.

  “Now.”

  Atlas swallowed. Avoiding this meeting would confirm his guilt. There was no choice but to obey. He followed Helias up the stairs and into the room.

  He tried not to flinch when the door clicked shut behind him, trapping him in the confined space with three—fuck, four—powerful vampires. Atlas’s pulse shot up when he spotted Andrei slumped in a chair in the corner of the room, near Decebal’s desk. Andrei seemed equally surprised to see him, since his lip curled. “What’s he doing here?” he asked Helias.

  The consilier slid past Atlas, careful not to touch him, and moved some paperwork out of another chair near Decebal’s desk so he could sit. “Mr. Vladislavic requested he be apprised of the situation,” he said.

  “What situation?” Atlas asked, glancing from Helias to Decebal. When he couldn’t read them, he sought out Cristian, who stood near one of the windows, looking out over the garden.

  Despite his crossed arms, Cristian looked oddly calm. He gave Atlas a bored glance before returning his attention to the security guards outside and some of Atlas’s nerves eased from his obvious apathy. Maybe there wasn’t a reason to panic yet.

  “There was a break-in at one of our medical clinics last night,” Decebal said, commanding Atlas’s attention once more. “For the near future, I will be the only one attending meetings at our other clinics. Helias is already adjusting Cristian’s schedule to reflect that. When I am confident our other clinics are secure, I will let you know, Mr. Kinkaid. Until then, Cristian does not set foot near any of them. Do I make myself clear?”

  The question may have been directed at Atlas, but Decebal’s determined look was not. He watched his son, who continued to ignore the meeting.

  “Yes, sir,” Atlas said, and waited for Cristian to get the hint.

  He didn’t, so Atlas cleared his throat subtly. When Cristian still didn’t react, he tried again, louder. Nothing. “Mr. Slava,” he urged.

  Cristian rolled his eyes—a reaction at last—and finally answered, “Yes, Father.”

  “Very good.” Decebal stood, a movement mirrored by Andrei, and strode for the door. “We will be back soon,” he called t
o Cristian as they exited, Helias trailing behind.

  Cristian didn’t stir from his place at the window, so Atlas stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited. The muffled sounds of doors opening and closing drifted up through the floor, followed by car engines turning over. Cristian leaned closer to the window, his breath fogging lightly over the glass, his shoulders a tight line as he watched the scene below play out. After a long, tense moment, he turned away from the window and pointed to Atlas. “Go start your car.”

  “What?”

  Cristian ignored the question on his rush toward the hall. “Start your car, Mr. Kinkaid,” he ordered over his shoulder.

  Cristian was nowhere in sight as Atlas made his way down the stairs, so he went outside, where his crappy car was the only vehicle left in the drive. He started it as commanded, either from curiosity or resignation or a mixture of both. The sound of the engine must have been the sign Cristian was waiting for because a moment later he emerged from the house with a nearly empty duffel bag and Helias hot on his heels.

  “Remember,” Helias warned, “you only have two hours. I have no way of stalling for you if you don’t make it back in time.”

  “I know,” Cristian promised. He pulled on the back door handle and frowned at Atlas when it didn’t open. “Unlock it,” he said.

  Confused, Atlas did. Cristian tossed the duffel bag in the backseat and slid into the front passenger seat. “We’ll be back in time,” he told Helias before closing the door and getting his seatbelt on.

  Atlas looked over the car roof to the consilier. He held out a hand to Helias and asked, “What’s going on?”

  “Mr. Slava has two hours to run an important errand,” Helias told him. “Please have him home before that time is up.” Helias’s phone chirped. He ignored it in favor of holding Atlas’s gaze and said again, “Two hours.”

  “He’ll be back,” Atlas said.

  Helias gave a wooden nod and dug out his cell phone. He walked away without another word, leaving Atlas alone with Cristian, a suspicious bag, and too many questions to know where to start.

  Chapter Eleven

  “We’re going to Nell’s,” Cristian said as Atlas pulled away from the house.

  “Why did Helias say you only have two hours?” Atlas asked.

  Cristian leaned against the window and tapped his knuckles against the glass. “That’s how long Father will be at the clinic.”

  Atlas tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “And why do we have to be home before your father?”

  “I might have told him I would stay at the house tonight.”

  Atlas started to brake, already looking for a place to turn the car around. His actions earned him a vicious look from his passenger. “Don’t turn coward on me now,” Cristian said. “None of the others want to risk Father’s displeasure and Andrei had to go with him. I figured you were the only other person who might not be afraid to come with me.”

  It was a childish taunt, but it worked. If he wasn’t positive they’d be able to get to Nell’s and back before Decebal returned, he would have been more conflicted about giving in to Cristian’s obvious manipulation. As it was, he put his foot back to the gas and returned to the original route that would lead them to the warehouse. “Why all the subterfuge?”

  “Father’s going to be tightening his grip on things for a while. I don’t know the next time I’ll be able to see Nell and the others.” Cristian frowned, then admitted, “I need to know they’ll be okay.”

  Atlas didn’t press further. All he could do was turn up the radio, keep an eye on the clock, and drive on.

  Cristian finally spoke again as they pulled up in front of the warehouse. “Father thinks someone’s going to come after me soon,” he admitted, staring out the windshield at the building. “I was the last person from the family to visit the clinic they hit.”

  Atlas swallowed. “That’s concerning.”

  “I know.” Cristian took a steadying breath. “Come in with me?”

  “If that’s what you want,” Atlas replied.

  Rather than admit it, Cristian unbuckled and climbed out of the car. He retrieved the duffel bag and waited for Atlas to follow. He did, lost in quiet contemplation. Pieces of the puzzle were coming together slowly and he feared he was responsible for the picture forming. He’d given Jasper Cristian’s schedule, including the clinics he’d visited. Last night, when Atlas texted him and demanded action, Jasper had replied, Taking care of it.

  He’d never thought to ask what it was.

  It wasn’t Nell who answered Cristian’s knock. The vampire who peered out through the cracked door was far younger, with wary eyes that widened at the sight of the visitors. “Cristian,” he said with outright relief, swinging the door open. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

  “Not for long, Samuel,” he said, handing over the bag. “We’re on a tight schedule tonight and—”

  “Please! M-Mary went missing two nights ago,” Samuel said. He stumbled over the name, voice thick with emotion, and a guttural tug of warning drew Atlas closer to Cristian, who was entirely focused on the conversation. “We haven’t found her.”

  “What?” Cristian breathed.

  He swayed like the man had delivered a blow and Atlas reached out on instinct, pressing his hand to Cristian’s back to steady him. The smooth fabric couldn’t hide the slight chill of Cristian’s skin, or the way his ribs expanded and contracted faster with his shortened breaths. Atlas must not have overstepped his place, since Cristian didn’t draw away from his touch.

  “She said she was hungry, but we didn’t know she’d slipped out until dawn. She didn’t come back.”

  Cristian tensed beneath his hand and Atlas knew what he’d ask. He wouldn’t be able to deny the request either, not when he was partially responsible for whatever had happened. He shifted his hand higher, pressing his fingertips into the strong curve of muscle at Cristian’s shoulder blade. “We’ve got a little time,” he murmured. He focused on Samuel again. “Any idea where she may have gone?”

  “She likes hunting two warehouses over,” Samuel said, pointing down the road they’d taken in.

  “We’ll start there then,” Atlas decided. The decision snapped Cristian from his stupor. He offered Samuel a weak smile and said, “I don’t know when I’ll be back, so take care of Nell for me.”

  “Of course,” Samuel promised. “Thank you for looking for Mary.”

  Cristian followed Atlas back to the car, where he opened his trunk and pulled out his tire iron. He didn’t know if they’d need it, but he had no desire to walk into an unknown situation without some kind of weapon.

  “What’s Mary like?” he asked Cristian. His flashlight wouldn’t illuminate, no matter how many times he shook it. The batteries were well and truly dead.

  “Funny and smart,” Cristian said quietly. “She’s been living on the streets of Scarsdale for far longer than you’ve been alive. She tends to wander the farthest afield for hunting, but she keeps close watch for daybreak.”

  Atlas closed the trunk. “Will she be dangerous?”

  “No.” Cristian shook his head firmly when Atlas gave him a look, and his mouth set in a stubborn line. “She’s not dangerous.”

  “You said she hunts.”

  “Four-legged prey, Mr. Kinkaid. Not many humans wander down here, and most of this group are afraid of being discovered anyway. Mary shouldn’t have come up against anything that would pose a real challenge, which is why I’m worried that she hasn’t come back.”

  “Okay. Stick close. Don’t get ahead of me, and if I tell you to do something, you’d better damn well do it.” He checked his phone as he turned on its flashlight. “We don’t have a lot of time, so no wandering off.”

  “Fine,” Cristian agreed.

  The warehouse in question wasn’t far, maybe three hundred feet away from where they’d parked.
Several flickering streetlights illuminated the area better than Atlas expected. Unlike the building Nell and the other vampires inhabited, this place was a wreck. The wide hangar doors were long gone, though the hinges of one of the doors were still attached the building, rusted and bent. Jagged shards of glass sat like misshapen teeth in the broken windows and stacks of rotting wood and crumpled metal sheets were stacked around the front edge. As he neared, he could see scattered tracks in the bare dirt out front—a variety of shoe prints, paw prints from dogs and cats, and something else he couldn’t place. He crouched beside that track, skimming his fingers over the odd indentations in the dust, the nearly humanoid print marred by narrow indentations near the toes that ended in pinprick points dug into the dirt.

  “That’s a new one,” Cristian whispered as he crouched to examine the print.

  Atlas grunted. Something about it seemed familiar, like a name on the tip of his tongue or a song whose melody he couldn’t quite place. But there wasn’t time to ponder it. He snapped a quick picture of the print and glanced toward the warehouse.

  The darkness beyond loomed like the mouth of a crypt. He rose and made his way into the shell of a building, Cristian close at his back. The additional light from his phone made the transition between outside and inside easier on his eyes, though he warily kept to the edges of the cavernous space out of an abundance of caution.

  “Do you hear anything?” he asked Cristian quietly.

  “No. Don’t smell anything either. That’s odd...”

  The fact stuck out once Cristian said it aloud. Mary had been out hunting, which meant there should have been corpses. There was no metallic scent in the air, no foul odor left over from when innards became outards, none of the signs he associated with decaying flesh waiting to be found. He sniffed the air again. Nothing. Which should have been impossible.

  He still woke from every nightmare panting, desperate to clear the fetid memory of rent organs and spilled blood from his nose and mouth. For it to be missing here, where he knew dead things should be...that unnatural detail bothered him most.