Afterimage

by Jaye Roycraft

  Drago cut him off. “Forget the rest. Where are you now?”

  “At my office.”

  “I’m booked on the next flight to Jackson. We’ll discuss it when I arrive. Oh, and Scott . . .”

  “What?”

  “Nikolena has officially assigned you to me for the duration of this affair. So, monsieur, think very carefully about where your loyalties lie.”

  DRAGO ENTERED Scott’s office to find him sitting behind the front desk, his elbows propped on a stack of papers and one hand supporting his head. He lifted a haggard countenance at Drago’s appearance, but his expression swiftly restored itself, and the eyes that stared at Drago turned as sharp and cold as any he’d ever seen.

  “I should kill you right now, monsieur, for your carelessness.” Drago kept his voice very soft.

  Scott collapsed his arms. “But you won’t, because you need me, like it or not.”

  Drago dropped to a chair opposite the desk and leveled his gaze at the younger vampire. “How do I know you didn’t help engineer this whole thing?”

  Scott leaned back in his chair. “You talked about loyalty, remember? Well, it goes both ways. Trust me, or get yourself another bloody partner.”

  “Partner? You misunderstood me, monsieur. There is no equality here. You take orders from me.” Drago flicked Nikolena’s sealed order across the desk. “Just like I take orders from her.”

  Scott broke the wax seal, read the enclosed directives, and raised ice blue eyes to Drago. “At your service, then, Master.” No one could have missed the mockery in the last word. Before Drago could respond, Scott said, “A suggestion, then. Our time might be better spent in trying to solve this thing instead of bickering with each other.”

  Scott was right. Anger and temper would get them nowhere. Drago nodded. “Very well. Tell me what you know. Was there any blood at the house?”

  Scott sighed and leaned forward. “None. Not a drop. The lock on the back door was sprung, but there was no sign of a struggle. Nothing out of place. Marya left nothing behind. Her bag and all her things were gone, almost as if she went willingly. There have been no calls, no messages left for me, nothing. I contacted all the vamps I know in Jackson, but nobody pretended anything other than total ignorance.”

  Drago spent a moment in thought. “All right. It’s a game, then. Until we have proof otherwise, we assume the girls are still alive. Someone high in the hierarchy has them. It could even be Evrard Verkist.”

  Scott lowered his brows. “Verkist? Not Deverick?”

  “Deverick’s a petit poisson, a small fish.”

  “But where? Verkist has offices all over the country.”

  “It’s me he wants. He’ll let us know. In the meantime, we wait. And, I think, get some sleep—something which both of us have been very much lacking. I have a feeling, mon ami, that we shall need all our strength.”

  TEN HOURS LATER the van pulled to a halt, and Marya and Callie were ushered out of the vehicle and into the cool of the night. It had been a long, uncomfortable trip. The rear of the van had been converted into a small sleeping area, but the beds were narrow and hard, and there were no windows to relieve the boredom. A metal partition separated the rear of the van from the cab area. A small window in the partition had been kept closed for most of the trip, to keep the daylight from Callie, Marya figured, but also to keep Marya from knowing where they were going. Stops had been made for restrooms, but Marya had been closely watched the whole time, and there hadn’t been any opportunity to make a phone call or leave a message. Food was brought to the van. She had tried talking to Callie, but the woman seemed dazed, and could answer none of Marya’s questions.

  Now, however, she stretched cramped muscles and prayed that the journey was indeed over. Lifting her head, Marya was stunned at the sight of her surroundings. Gone was the lush, green overgrowth of Mississippi. They were on a mountainside high in the desert, and the lights of a huge city blanketed the valley below like a layer of stardust. The black sky stretched all around her, the multitude of stars above a faithful image of the glittering lights below.

  “Let’s go.” One of the vampires took her arm and turned her toward the face of the mountain. Before Marya was a vista as magnificent as the one she had just seen. Built flush against the rock was a huge house. The word ‘house’ seemed woefully inadequate. Dozens of lights illuminated the front of the building, adding sparkle to an otherwise stark, modernistic design of glass, stucco, and stone. Arched windows echoed the rounded curves of the russet roof tiles, and wings extended to either side of the grand entrance, like stiff arms trying to embrace the mountain. A landscaped courtyard and covered porch led to the entrance, and Marya was quickly guided inside. The interior was no less grand. A wide foyer sporting massive redwood beams in the ceiling and natural stone in the floors and walls gave the place a feeling of age and strength. The foyer opened directly onto a commanding sunken great room. Wide double doors to the great room were swung wide, revealing a very modern décor with colors of lavender, gold and gray.

  She and Callie were turned over to a dark-haired female vampire who led them down the foyer to the northern wing of the house. Marya passed a small kitchen and a large dining room which looked to be more of a gathering room. The vampire undulated down the hall to the far end of the wing where she stopped and showed them a luxurious bedroom with a private bath and a connecting door to an adjoining suite.

  “I’m Cheyanna. Make yourself presentable. I’ll be back in exactly one hour. The Patriarch will see you then.”

  The door closed soundly behind Marya and Callie, leaving them alone in a cage as gilded as any she could imagine. Marya’s thoughts weren’t on the room, though, for as fancy as the furnishings were, the room stank of the Undead. No, her thoughts were on what the vampire had just told her. The Patriarch. She knew whom she was to see shortly. She didn’t know his name, but thanks to her father’s journal, she knew what he was—the most powerful, highest-ranking vampire in America. Indeed, there was no one more influential except for members of the Directorate itself. Leaving this room to Callie, Marya opened the connecting door and made herself at home in the neighboring bedroom. She opened her suitcase and took out the best outfit she had. It wasn’t very elegant, but when she had packed she had no idea she would be having an audience with such a commanding creature. Of course the outfit wouldn’t be out of respect for him—it would simply make her feel at her own best. She took a long, hot shower and scrubbed her skin and hair several times over. The room may smell of death, but it was heaven to have her body clean again.

  She dressed in a long, narrow black skirt with a trail of embroidered red roses that wound downward from waist to hem, and a white blouse with long, flowing sleeves and a low cut neckline. At her throat she wore a red ribbon which held a black onyx pendant.

  What could the Patriarch possibly want with her? He had obviously gone to great lengths to bring her here. Ah, but this is not about me. Drago had told her this was about him before he had left for Paris two days ago. Was Drago already here? Had he flown here, wherever ‘here’ was, while she had traveled by road? Would she see him in just a few moments? The possibility set her pulse racing.

  In the dark van, Marya had tried not to think about Drago, but she had thought of nothing else. She knew she should hate him for what he was, but in truth he had not harmed her. Just the opposite. How many times in the past two days had her mind relived his saving of her life? His embrace afterward, soothing her fears? And the afterimage of his blue eyes, burned into her memory, was something she knew she’d never forget. So beautiful, yet so horrible. So empty, yet promising so much. Her heart pounding, she tried to think about the present.

  Perhaps the Patriarch had learned of Curt Deverick’s renegade schemes and wanted to personally apologize to Drago for the bad behavior of his underlings. After all, the Patriarch was ultimately responsible
for those who worked for him. He would naturally want to make amends with the all-powerful Directorate. With the end of the long trip, the shower and clean clothes, and the prospect of seeing Drago again, Marya felt better than she had since she had left her own house. This huge misunderstanding would gracefully be resolved tonight, and they could all go home.

  The door abruptly opened, cutting short her musing. It was Cheyanna.

  “It’s time. Come with me.

  The woman led her to the large, airy great room. “Make yourself comfortable. The Patriarch will be with you shortly.”

  Cheyanna disappeared, leaving Marya alone to admire the raw beauty of the space around her. A waterfall was built into one rock wall, and skylights above opened the room to an expanse of night sky. The sofas and chairs were covered in fine gray leather and were smothered in pillows and throws of shades of lavender and spice. Hidden lamps illuminated the waterfall and abstract paintings which decorated two other walls, and gold torchieres lit everything else.

  Mesmerized by the endless flow and splash of the water streaming down the rock falls, Marya heard nothing until she felt a presence directly behind her. It was the aura and scent of a very old vampire, and she thought it might be Drago. She spun around, and the man before made her forget the waterfall, Drago, and everything else.

  Tall and well built, it was nevertheless his coloring that held her attention. Long, smooth silver hair cascaded to his shoulders, and gray eyes burned dark against a pallid complexion. Two long scars, one across either cheek, marred an otherwise rugged yet attractive face. “Welcome to Fata Morgana, Miss Jaks. Do you know the meaning of that name?”

  His voice held the barest trace of an accent that, like Drago’s, sounded French, yet the intonation lacked the silkiness of Drago’s smooth voice. “No.”

  “It means ‘mirage.’ Isn’t that what one expects to find in a desert?”

  Marya blinked. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a desert. I’m not even sure where I am.”

  The vampire turned to the tall windows of the fourth wall and spread his arms to the side. “Below us lies the Valley of the Sun. I am a great fan of irony. Come. Sit down.”

  She sat in a huge leather chair, feeling small. He, on the other hand, poured himself into a similar chair, and it seemed to shrink in comparison. He wore a pale gray silk shirt adorned with a white lace cravat and white cuffs, and black trousers cut in the most current and expensive style. A huge diamond stick pin skewered the lace at his throat.

  “My name is Evrard Verkist, the Patriarch. You do know what that means?”

  She nodded. “You’re the father of the family called the Brotherhood.”

  He smiled. “That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”

  Enough of the pleasantries. “Why am I here, Mr. Verkist?”

  “You’ve caused my people quite a bit of trouble the past few days.”

  “Forgive me if my trying to stay alive ruined somebody’s day.”

  He smiled again, but there was no more warmth in the twist of his mouth than there was in the frost of his eyes. “You have no notion of what you’ve started, have you?”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he gave her no chance.

  With one hand he stroked the cravat’s lace as if it were a long beard. His hand was pale even against the white lace, and his lucent fingernails almost glowed. “Spare me. I know it’s not your doing. The Directorate has long been meddling in my affairs, but this latest plot of Alek Dragovich to malign my people has got to stop. That’s why I’ve invited everyone here. This crusade against the Brotherhood will end, one way or another.”

  Was he indeed here? Anticipation of seeing Drago did strange things once more to her body, nearly overshadowing the import of Verkist’s words. Plot of Alek Dragovich? Verkist had it wrong, didn’t he? It was someone else who had arranged for her death, not Drago.

  “Then Drago’s here?” She tried to keep her voice dispassionate.

  Verkist’s mouth twisted again, letting her know she wasn’t fooling anyone, and her gaze shifted from the froth of lace to the scars that angled in new directions with every movement of his mouth. “So, l’enforcier is still the ladies’ man he always was. Even so, I’m surprised he was able to seduce a mortal with your dhampir blood. I would have expected you to be more resistant to his dubious charms than that.”

  “He did not seduce me.”

  Verkist laughed. “Denial is ever the response from those so conquered. Just know this, young lady. None of my people were responsible for changing the order regarding your final evaluation. I know this because I issued the order myself.”

  This man was as irritating to talk to as any vampire she had met. Conquered, indeed! “First of all, no one has conquered me. Secondly, by your own admission, you’re the one who started all of this, not me.”

  He laughed again. “I would not be so foolish as to try to forge Drago’s order. No, the order to terminate you came from Drago himself, just as Revelin Scott told you. Drago is going to use this affair as an excuse to wage war against me.”

  Marya was confused. “But why would he wage war against you?”

  “The Brotherhood is mine. No one holds more power than the Patriarch. But the Brotherhood is also Drago’s. He’s the Directorate enforcer assigned to the United States. It has often put us into conflict over the years. You are but one more attempt on his part to exert his influence—to remind me that my position is technically subordinate to his.”

  “So where is Drago?” Since he was already aware of her interest, she saw no reason not to learn the answer to her most burning question.

  “He’ll be here soon, don’t worry.” He rose, seemed to float to the door, and opened it. Cheyanna stepped in. “You’ll be called for when he arrives. In the meantime follow the instructions of my staff, and you’ll come to no harm.”

  Back in her room, Marya took off her fine outfit and threw herself onto the bed. Drago’s coming. She wanted to think of nothing else, but Verkist’s words had been too disturbing for her to ignore. L’enforcier is still the ladies’ man he always was. So what? She would not let that statement change her feelings. She herself would have guessed no less. Drago, with his wicked black hair, killer eyes, and lean, strong body, no doubt had had women falling at his feet for centuries. She had no illusions that she was anything but a promise to be kept. He had sworn to keep her alive, and he would do just that. Seduced, indeed! If Verkist only knew how wrong he was there. Drago didn’t want her. She was an aberration. And even if he did want her . . .

  For a brief moment she imagined herself in his embrace, feeling the deceptive power in his lean, hard body. Her mind replayed the memory of his kiss at the hotel, and she felt again his mouth on hers, warm and sweet. But also very controlled. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him when his control wasn’t so tightly reined in. Just as quickly, she ended her fantasy. No, she was nothing more than a vow. He would come for her, resolve this misunderstanding, and take her back home. But Verkist’s other words came back to her as well, and she knew none of it would be that easy.

  Verkist was lying, of course. She had no doubt he was either covering up for one of his minions, probably Deverick, or that he himself was to blame for her termination order. To think otherwise would mean that Drago had been playing her for a fool all along. She didn’t even want to consider the possibility. Not that she doubted Drago was capable of such deception . . .

  Damn all the Undead! In the past week the four words had become her favorite curse.

  DRAGO’S PHONE RANG, rousing him from a light sleep. He had taken a hotel room not far from Scott’s private residence, and he rolled over and grabbed his cell phone. “Dragovich.”

  “Drago, it’s Scott. You were right—the call came. It was Callie. She and Marya are on their way to Phoenix.”

  Drago sat up.
“Then it is Evrard Verkist. He’s got a stronghold there, Fata Morgana. I’ve been there. The place is a fortress. Did she sound herself?”

  “No, that’s what worries me. I’m sure she’s been bespelled.”

  “Call and book us for the next available flight to Phoenix. Call me back with the flight number and departure time.”

  “If we go, it’s a trap. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Mon ami, I would be disappointed if it were not.”

  Eleven

  A VAMPIRE KNOCKED on Marya’s door the following morning and informed her that she should dress again for the great room. When Marya asked why, she was told only that she would be waiting there.

  Waiting for what? For another audience with Evrard Verkist? What could he want with her this time? Guilty thoughts of the vampire she had killed invaded her mind. Drago had assured her that there would be no repercussions for that act, but now she wondered. If the blond novice she had sent to the True Death had been one of Verkist’s vampires, the Patriarch might well seek retribution.

  As she showered, a new thought came to her. Maybe it wasn’t bad news after all, but good news. Perhaps Drago had already arrived and was in the building even now. The thought prompted her to dress carefully, and, it being her best outfit, she once again put on the black skirt with the roses and the white blouse. When she was ready, Cheyanna escorted her to the great room.

  Verkist was nowhere to be seen, but Callie was there as well as six other vampires, Cheyanna included. Special room-darkening blinds and drapes covered the windows, and closed panels sealed off the skylights. The only light came from the hidden lamps and gold torchieres. Marya sat next to Callie on one of the sofas. Thankfully, the confused look was gone from Callie’s face, and the belligerent frown that Marya had seen at the Jackson house was again in evidence.

  “Callie, what’s going on? What is everyone waiting for?”