Afterimage

by Jaye Roycraft

  “Drago. Miss Jaks. I’ve been waiting for you.” Scott put a noticeable emphasis on ‘waiting.’

  Drago turned his head to Marya. “Wait here. I’ll have a word with monsieur Scott.”

  Less than a moment later they were in Scott’s office with the door shut behind them.

  “You know, Drago, I’m not happy at being up and about at six-thirty in the morning. I’m also not happy about someone barging in here, making wild accusations, cutting my face, and then asking me for a bloody favor two days later.”

  Drago ignored Scott’s complaint. “Two vampires tried to kill Marya last night, a master and his apprentice. Apparently they didn’t know I’d be there. Their misfortune. The master, named Carlo, was about six-foot-two and between two hundred fifty and three hundred pounds. Short, dark hair and a goatee and mustache trimmed in a unique way. The novice was about my height and build, crossed over in his twenties, and had long, blond hair. That’s all I know. Ring a bell with anyone you know?”

  Scott sighed and sat on the edge of his desk. After a moment, he shook his head. “No. But then again, I’ve only been here three weeks. I know very few American vamps.”

  “Whoever sent them will know very soon that they weren’t successful. Marya needs protection until I return, and there’s no one else here I can trust not to be part of Deverick’s scheme.”

  “Yeah? Well, lucky for you, mate, that this ‘cocky bogtrotter’ survived Talavera, hey?”

  Drago leaned very close to Scott. “Heed my instructions in this, monsieur, and succeed, and I will make you a thousand apologies. Fail me in this, and I will have your head. C’est compris?”

  Scott’s gaze was unwavering. “I was a soldier. I know how to take orders. Even those I don’t like.”

  “Good. Then we understand each other. This is between you and me, monsieur. I don’t need to tell you not to say anything of this to Deverick or any of his men.”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Good. Oh, and do be careful—not just with the girl, but yourself.”

  “Your concern is touching, Drago. Very heartfelt, I’m sure.”

  Drago leaned against the door and stroked his chin. “Deverick could have sent any of his other enforcers to tell Marya I had changed my mind, and she was to be terminated after all. Did you ever wonder why he sent you? I have. You’re an outsider. A very unwelcome addition to his little group. I think he’s set you up to take the fall in all this. So don’t trust anyone.”

  “If it’s got two legs, two fangs, and stinks of Undead, I don’t trust it.”

  “C’est bien! I should be back the day after tomorrow if all goes well.” He started to turn.

  “Drago.”

  He paused, his hand on the knob, and faced Scott.

  “Why all this fuss over the girl? A mortal. Worse yet, a bloody aberration.”

  He raised his brows. “I gave her life. She shall have it.”

  Scott snorted and shook his head. “Bloody Anti-God.”

  The words were whispered, but Drago heard them. It was nothing he hadn’t heard a hundred times over.

  Drago returned to Marya. She wouldn’t look at him. He laid the back of one hand lightly against her cheek. “I have to go. Be careful, and behave.”

  She jerked her head away from his touch, meeting his gaze at last. “If you’re going to go, then go.”

  “Au revoir, ma cherie.” The image of her face was already burned into his mind, yet he stared at her for a moment more. When he did leave, his vampiric gift of celerity took him swiftly away.

  DAMN ALL THE Undead! She hadn’t wanted him in her life and had been praying for the moment he would leave her. But now that the moment had come, she felt betrayed. All because of last night. He had saved her life last night, and she had been foolish enough to take comfort in his arms afterwards. She had reacted as if it had all been personal, forgetting that for him it was just a job. And now he was gone.

  She glowered at Revelin Scott. At least she had trusted Drago’s strength and power, if not his motives. She didn’t trust Revelin at all.

  His crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “Well, Miss Jaks, what am I to do with you?”

  As if she had any choices in the matter. She didn’t bother answering.

  He sighed again. It wasn’t a dramatic sigh, done for effect, as one gazing on his outrageous appearance might think. It wasn’t the wistful sigh of one lost in thought either, but simply one of weariness. “You can’t stay here, and you’re not staying with me. I guess that leaves Callie. Won’t she be thrilled.”

  Unlike Drago, Revelin made no attempt to be charming. In a way, she thought she preferred Revelin’s demeanor. At least she would always know where she stood with him.

  He buttoned up his vest. “Come on, then. I’ll lock up, and we’ll go out the back. My car’s right outside.” He locked the front door and headed down the hallway, apparently assuming she would follow. She hesitated for a second, then picked up her suitcase and dutifully trailed after him. Even if she had wanted to object, she had no alternatives.

  He drove her across town, but all she could think about was Drago. She had been scared last night—more scared than when she had tried to kill him. That night she thought she was going to die anyway, so she had felt she had nothing to lose. But last night life had been hers again, and last night the two strange vampires had tried to take that away from her. And they would have succeeded if not for Drago. She had killed one vampire, but had no delusions that she could have dispatched the second on her own. And Drago, damn him, had played on her fear and had neatly seduced her into his bed. No, she thought. That wasn’t fair. He had only held her, and he hadn’t tried to press his advantage to try anything more. He had supported her and listened to her like no one ever had. And the kiss . . . once again, he had been surprisingly warm and gentle. She had always thought that vampires would be cold and clammy to the touch—warm, perhaps, only after feeding—but Drago’s embrace had been a sanctuary of pleasure and comfort as well as safety. Still . . . he was gone and she was abandoned to a reluctant baby-sitter.

  On the way, she asked Revelin if they could stop at a fast food restaurant. She hadn’t eaten yet this morning, and she had no idea when she’d get her next meal. He complied, and soon afterward they pulled up at the rear of a large, well-kept house in a newer section of town. He unlocked the back door and punched in a code to reset the alarm system.

  He led her into a spacious living room, and with a wave of his hand indicated that she make herself comfortable. The presence of two large sofas and numerous chairs gave Marya the impression that the occupant did a lot of entertaining. Either that, or hosted lots of meetings. It gave Marya a very bad feeling. If this house were well-known by vampires in the community . . .

  Revelin’s voice interrupted her thought. “Callie’s my assistant and apprentice. She’s only up at night, so I’ll have to wait here with you until then. She’ll watch you tonight. I’ll stay as long as I can, but I might have to leave. In any case, I’ll be back again tomorrow morning.”

  Marya’s bad feeling worsened. She was to be fobbed off again? And to an apprentice? Still, Marya kept her mouth shut. To whom could she complain? Drago was gone, and Revelin certainly didn’t care if she lived or died. So again, she made no reply.

  Revelin’s gaze tiredly flicked down the length of her body. “Not the chatty type, are you? Well, that’s fine with me. The last thing I want to hear is a lot of moanin’ and groanin’ from a mortal. I am curious about one thing, though. What exactly did you do to land yourself in such a mess?”

  She returned his appraisal, fastening her gaze on his pale blue eyes and letting it slide insolently down his body. “I didn’t ‘do’ anything. It was my misfortune to be born with some of your blood.”

  He quirked heavy auburn brows at that, but his e
yes, like Drago’s, showed little emotion.

  She decided that enlightening him couldn’t hurt. “My grandfather was a vampire. Nicolai Jaks. Did you know him?”

  “No.”

  “I guess you wouldn’t have. He lived in Romania and only survived a few years after he was changed. His son, my father, killed him.”

  Revelin shook his head. “I’ve dealt with aberrations before, but their tainted blood has always been the result of vampiric contact, not birth.”

  “Listen, Mr. Scott, I don’t want to be rude . . .” Like hell she didn’t. “But I got only a couple hours of sleep last night. Is there a place where I can lie down and take a nap?”

  “Sure. I’ve got plenty of work to do. And call me Revelin. Follow me.”

  He took her upstairs and gestured to a bedroom at the head of the stairs. “You can use this room. Bathroom’s across the hall. I’ll be downstairs.”

  The room was sparsely furnished, so Marya had little to do in checking out her new surroundings. There was a bed, dresser, and a table with a lamp. She checked the window and found it closed and locked. A quick look out the window was enough to determine that it would not provide a good escape route. It was a long way down. The closet was empty save for a spare blanket and several folding chairs. She pulled the bedcovers down, sat on the edge of the bed, and wrinkled her nose. The scent of the Undead permeated the room and the house as a whole, but the odor of decay was especially noticeable and abhorrent on the bed. It was the smell of hundreds of dead insects, dry and fusty. The thought of sleeping in the same bed some strange vampire had was almost unbearable, but Marya was too tired to allow the feeling to interfere with her rest. She slid between the spread and the blanket and closed her eyes.

  Excerpts from her father’s book of death ran through her weary mind. Remember that though the vampire’s appearance is human, he has little in common with other men. The illusory beauty of the vampire is its most powerful weapon over man, for though it appears real, it is not.

  Genuine or not, she wondered if she’d ever see Drago’s austere beauty again.

  DRAGO ARRIVED AT Chateau du Russe after midnight, tired and irritable. Adelle’s greeting was both somber and without questions, nothing more than a quick embrace and the sound of his name on her lips.

  “You don’t seem surprised to see me, mon chou.”

  “I’ve spoken with Philippe. There have been so many rumors taking to the air the past few days that he hasn’t been able to counter but a few. None of them are good, Leksii.”

  He shook his head as he walked side by side with her to his private quarters. “I don’t care about rumors. What’s Nikolena’s mood been? Has Philippe said?”

  Adelle lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “He says she’s been quiet since you left. Very quiet.”

  Nikolena quiet? La directrice was never quiet. The situation was even worse than he had thought. “What time does she want me?”

  “As soon as you can be there. What can I bring to you in the meantime?”

  “Nothing. No, wait . . .” He halted abruptly, and Adelle stopped at his side. “Send Cerise away. And anyone else who’s here.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Well, there’s only Cerise and Angelique. She just arrived yesterday, but . . .”

  “Get rid of them. And don’t accept any back in.” He strode down the long hallway.

  “But . . .” He heard her behind him, hurrying to catch up.

  He held up a hand. “Enough, ma chere. Just see that it is done.”

  “Of course.”

  Something in her voice prompted him to stop and turn to her. “I’m sorry, Delle. It’s been a bad week. I should not take it out on you. I’ll make it up to you later on, I promise.”

  She smiled wanly. “Just promise me one thing. Curb your tongue tonight with Nikolena. She’s all that stands between you and the mob that prays to Saint Guillotine.”

  He slipped an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “Don’t worry, mon chou. I’ll hold on to my temper and my head.”

  ALTHOUGH DRAGO always dressed purposefully for his meetings with Nikolena, tonight he took extra time and care. The care was for how best to dress to placate Nikolena’s mercurial temper, and the time was for himself—to calm his own mind. Adelle was right. He would have to choose his words very carefully tonight. He wouldn’t beg for his life, but he’d have to be humble and sincere. Nikolena would know any spoken word—nay, any thought—that was not heartfelt. It wouldn’t be easy. In fact, Drago wondered if he could pull it off at all. Dissimulation and deception were easy. Honesty and self-deprecation were hard for any vampire.

  He donned loose, black silk trousers that tapered at the ankle and a white, silk shirt that hung open to his waist. Over this he wore a sky-blue satin rubakha that hung to his knees. The sleeves reached to the ground, with narrow openings for his arms to pass through at the elbows. The front opening of the rubakha ran all the way down the garment and was edged with silver embroidery, pearls, and semiprecious stones in every possible shade of blue.

  Before he left, he stopped to have a final word with Adelle, but the moment was taken up more in silent appreciation. As her gaze soaked in every inch of him, the admiration and affection was apparent in her eyes, but more than that was the desire she couldn’t hide. It was a desire that Drago knew Adelle would never act on, that in fact she hadn’t acted on in the past ten years.

  “There are no words, Leksii,” she whispered. “Good luck.”

  “I don’t know that luck will play a part, but merci, ma chere.”

  HE ARRIVED AT the Directorate offices at three in the morning, and for once Nikolena did not keep him waiting. He swept through the wide double doors and halted, as usual, to make his greeting and await her invitation to proceed.

  “Bonsoir, Madame la directrice.” He bowed gracefully and with every propriety, and there was not a part of his body that exaggerated or mocked.

  “Ah, Aleksei Borisov. Come forward.”

  Her voice was friendly and welcoming, but he could feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck. When Nikolena draped herself with pleasantries and good cheer she resembled nothing so much as a sunning snake. Innocuous, but deadly. He strode to the side of her massive desk, and when she extended her arm toward him, he sank to one knee and kissed the proffered hand. Intricate gold rings appeared too heavy for her slender fingers and small hands, but her movements were as light as air.

  “You look magnificent, Alek. Not that you don’t always look splendid . . .” She ran her fingertips down the portion of his chest bared by the open-fronted shirt. “. . . but tonight you look absolutely delicious.” She dragged out the final word, much the same way she dragged her fingers back up his chest and along his neck to cup his chin. “Good enough to eat . . . if I could but do so. Do I detect a design behind all this magnificence?”

  “Only one, madame, and that is to please you.”

  She smiled a very slow Cheshire-cat smile. He again felt the hairs on his skin bristle, as if the room had suddenly gone cold.

  “Sit, Alek.”

  He did, and she spent a moment staring into his eyes. He wanted to squirm under the inspection, but he held himself still, quieting his thoughts as well. He returned the scrutiny of her gaze. She looked no less regal than he did. Dressed all in gold, and with her straight, shoulder length ash-blond hair, she resembled a tiny tsarina. Her rubakha was of flaxen-colored silk, and the caftan she wore was of gilt brocade, heavily embellished with gold braid, gold embroidery, and hundreds of citrines and garnets in every shade of yellow, russet, and burgundy.

  “So you wish only to please me, Aleksei Borisov?”

  “Of course, madame.”

  Nikolena lifted an hourglass from her desk, turned it upside down, watched the sand trickle through the waist of the glass, then flung the instrument di
rectly at his head.

  He caught it deftly in one hand.

  “Do you know what that is, Alek?” Chill replaced the cheer in her voice.

  He steeled himself. “An hourglass, madame.”

  “Wrong! It is nothing more than the length of time you can go without getting yourself into trouble!”

  He reached over to replace the hourglass on the desk, but said nothing.

  “You left here less than a week ago. In the past two days I have been inundated with phone calls, mails, faxes, and written reports. All had to do with you, Alek, and not a single one was good news. I got an official complaint from Evrard Verkist that you’re harassing his enforcers for no reason. And well it seems justified! I received a complaint from Curt Deverick that you did not return to New Orleans to assist him there, and a grievance was filed by Revelin Scott stating you attacked him without provocation and made wild accusations against him. If that weren’t bad enough, you yourself send me a report that an aberration—who should have been terminated long ago—is still alive, and that two vampires, one a Master, are dead at your own hands! Do you deny any of this?”

  It was worse than he had expected. “I make no denials or excuses, madame. I do have an explanation, if you will hear it.” He had fully anticipated that Deverick would lodge a complaint against him, but hadn’t thought that the man who held the highest office in the Brotherhood, Evrard Verkist, would hear about the events of the week so quickly. Drago was especially chagrined to hear that Scott had reported him. And this was the man he left in charge of Marya’s safety.

  “Do you honestly believe that any explanation you could concoct would be reasonable enough or strong enough to counter all the adverse reactions your escapades have caused?”

  He was silent.

  She stood, picked up the hourglass, and hurled it at the stone wall behind her. The glass broke, and glittering shards fanned across the wall like fireworks, followed by floating trails of golden sand. “Well? Do you?”