Philippe, the most eager, spoke first. “We’re agreed then, yes? We will support you unconditionally, Drago, and you, in return, will ensure that your coattails are broad enough to carry us with you to Directorate standing.” Drago studied each of them in turn. Philippe, despite the frivolous ornamentation of his outward appearance, weighed a glance on Drago as cold and calculating as round shot aimed at the heart. De Chaux, nicknamed le docteur la mort, Doctor Death, by his peers, sat with the stillness of his namesake. Since there was no trusting the future actions of either man, Drago could only look to their past deeds. The two men were opposites. Philippe was efficient and relentless in his work, but his way with words far outclassed his way with people. Ricard, on the other hand, was a chameleon. He could blend into society with grace and good humor, or he could stand out with the presence of a force to be reckoned with. But he lacked Philippe’s fire.
“I agree to nominate and back both of you for Directorate positions. Ricard, your vow?”
The Doctor’s hazel eyes were as ever-changing as his demeanor—at different times green, gray or golden. His gaze rested lighter on Drago than Philippe’s leaden stare, but no less steady. “I will always be yours to command, Drago. You have my support.”
“Philippe?”
“I will back you and assist you in any way I can.”
Drago stood. “We have an alliance, then, gentlemen. Our toast.” He raised a goblet shimmering with the dark fire of life.
Philippe and Ricard both rose, and each in turn lifted a goblet.
Drago gave the toast. “The oaths of an alliance are sacred. May we all keep our vows and prosper in the effort. To l’ alliance!”
The crystal chalices rang against each other, the blood was downed, and the pact sealed.
Drago studied Philippe now as he did then. “I never broke my vow. I backed De Chaux for Patriarch all I could. And you, Philippe—you wear the mantle of Directorate status.”
“As a clerk!” Chenard’s fists were balled at his sides as tightly as his words were flung.
Drago gave a casual shrug of one shoulder. “You have no people skills, mon ami. Everyone knows it. Your wretched tête-à-tête with Marya last night showed that hasn’t changed.”
“She’s . . . an . . . aberration!” The three words were drawn out, as if Philippe were trying to explain a basic fact of life to a child.
Drago turned his back on his aide both to hide his anger and give him time to calm it as well. He wandered to one of the markers. Confederate rifle pits. Brother against brother. His suspicions had proven true. Perhaps this was a fitting setting after all. What was this, if not brother against brother? He stared at the faint depression in the ground, grass covered and green with life. He must do no less now, nearly 140 years later, than what these soldiers had done. He must dig in and persevere.
He took a deep, cleansing breath and walked slowly back to Philippe.
“Nevertheless. I did all I could for you. I never broke my vow. Why do you break yours now in this ill-begotten attempt to have me killed?”
Philippe laughed. “How did you know?”
“As you said, you were the obvious choice. No one else could have executed the forgery so precisely. Your own meticulous attention to detail gave you away, mon ami. But why? I never broke my promise to you.”
A muscle twitched under the fair skin. Somehow Philippe’s passion seemed at odds with the perfection of his fussy grooming and appearance. Perhaps it was just that Drago had never seen him display anything other than cool efficiency.
“You don’t have any idea what I’ve had to endure these past fifty years, do you? The consequences of everything you did fell on me. Me! Not you. I’ve suffered the fallout day after day, while you travel in blissful ignorance of your actions. And when you do come to Paris, you spend more time at your pleasure than business, then complain when you have to spend a moment under Nikolena’s lash.”
“What can you hope to accomplish with this, Philippe? What is it you want?”
“It’s not just me, Drago. I’m part of a new alliance now. We all feel your time is past, and we want your position opened up. I don’t expect to be chosen as an enforcer, but there are others I back who would do your job and get the results without the mess to clean up afterwards.”
Drago stood silent. Had he really been so blind as to what had been happening around him? Or had he sensed it and just not cared? How many were in this ‘new alliance?’ Even if he dealt with Philippe, how many more would come after him?
“Answer one question for me. Is De Chaux part of your new alliance?”
“No. He cares nothing for the Directorate now.”
Drago was glad. He had always had a true liking for Doctor Death. “Or perhaps it is just that he remembers his vow?”
Philippe ignored the barb. “Enough of this. It’s time.”
“Time for what? You can’t kill me, Philippe. Not and get away with it.”
Philippe smiled the carefree grin of one without a worry in the world. “We shall see. It is my hope that you will take care of matters for me.”
Drago hadn’t feared this encounter with Philippe. Perhaps it had been the ‘death wish’ Marya had talked about, or maybe it was just a feeling of inevitability—that whatever was to happen would happen. But now a new sensation of dread stole over him. Philippe would not have been so rash as to proceed without a plan. Adelle.
“Say what you mean, Philippe. I am in no mood for guessing games.”
“Ah, but it is my game we play now, isn’t it? But it’s simple. End your own existence, and your women live.”
Was he serious? End his own life? “If I die, no matter how I die, Adelle, as my servant, will perish as well. The bond between us is too great for her to survive without me. You know that.”
“I do. But last night was very enlightening. It became all too clear that there is another mortal you care for, though for the life of me I don’t know why. Take your own life, and the aberration lives. Force me to kill you, and both women die as well.”
The feeling of dread deepened, pervading his mind and body like a disease. He felt lightheaded, almost dizzy, yet his feet felt mired in iron boots. “You may have Adelle, but I have Marya.”
Philippe laughed again. “You say that as though you don’t really believe it. But go ahead—find the truth.”
Drago slowly pulled his radio from his pocket and depressed the call button. “Scott.”
“Yeah, Drago.”
“You have Marya?”
“Of course.”
Philippe stroked his goatee, a wisp of a smile curving one side of his mouth. “Are you reassured, Drago?”
He didn’t answer.
Philippe held out one hand, curling his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion. “Give me your radio.”
Drago wasn’t about to hand over his lifeline to an enemy. “How long have you known me, mon ami? Almost two hundred years? Do you really think I’m going to lay down and die for you?”
Philippe laughed. “Oh, I think I know you better than you know me. The radio is of no matter.” He pulled out a cell phone and hit a programmed number. “Scott? Chenard. Bring the car and the girl up right away.” He disconnected the call and hit another button. “Bring her. Now.”
Seldom before had Drago felt not only so totally helpless, but so frozen by indecision. Once upon a time he would have never hesitated, but would have lashed out at his enemy with every bit of his power. And he would have shown no mercy. At another time, in another place, Philippe would be dead by now, his spine severed and his heart torn out. But now Drago merely stood, his anger having no outlet, his energy having no clear course of action. So he controlled both as tightly as he could. The result was a feeling of numbness in his limbs where there should have been quickness, a conflagration in his mind wher
e there should have been cold clarity.
He stood, powerless, and watched Scott’s car pull up the narrow track, stopping about twenty-five feet away. He saw Scott say something to Marya and saw her shake her head in disagreement. She knows something is wrong. Suddenly she looked through the windshield at him, a question clear in her raised brows. He made no sign to her. She shook her head in confusion, took one more look at Scott, then shoved the car door open and jumped out, running back down the road. No mortal can outrun a vampire, though, and in seconds Scott caught her. He slowly escorted her back to the group, gripping both Marya’s arms behind her back as if she were handcuffed.
The deadness Drago felt extended to his voice. He could only stare at the young enforcer and focus all the accusation and rage at the vampire’s betrayal through his eyes.
If Scott felt any of it, he gave no outward sign. “Make one wrong move, Drago, and I’ll bloody well kill her right now.”
Marya’s eyes were dark saucers filled with confusion and disbelief. They pleaded with his, but he had no answers to give her.
A high-pitched laugh, almost like that of a hyena, escaped Philippe’s lips. An undignified sound, but he didn’t seem to care. “You look surprised, Drago. I can’t tell you how much that pleases me.”
“I suspected that either you or Scott was behind the forgery. It never occurred to me that it would be both of you.” The honest statement was a tactical mistake, and Drago knew it, but no lies slid from his tangled thoughts to his tongue.
Patches of afternoon sunlight poked through the oaks and lit Scott’s head, warming the color of his shaggy hair to a gleaming bronze. The blue eyes, though, shone pale and cold. “Sorry, Drago. This cocky bogtrotter found a better offer than to be bloody baby-sitter to an aberration.”
Eighteen
MARYA HAD SAT in the car with Revelin, trying to convince her heart and pulse that she was perched calmly in the middle of a nineteenth-century time capsule, not running the New York City marathon. The sound of the cell phone ringing startled Marya and accelerated her heart rate even more. She turned to Scott as he unclipped the phone from his belt and answered it. The conversation lasted only seconds, and Revelin answered with only ‘right’ before disconnecting the call. He put the car in gear and started driving up the road.
“What’s happening? Who was that?”
He didn’t look at her. “We’re wanted.”
Something didn’t make sense. “Why did Drago call when he was just on the radio a moment before?”
“Mine to obey, not question.”
She panned her gaze through each car window, even turning to look behind them, but all was as it should be for a peaceful sanctuary. But there will be a battle today. She was sure of it.
“Rev, something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“Just stay close to me, Marya. Everything’ll be rum.”
She looked ahead and saw the van, its rear doors thrown wide open. Drago and Philippe stood nearby, watching their approach. Revelin stopped the car well back of the van.
“Get out, Marya.”
She stared at him and blinked. “Drago said for me to stay in the car.”
“He wants you out there, now.”
She shook her head. “No. Something’s going on.” She looked out the window at Drago, silently begging him for direction, but he stood as motionless as one of the park’s monuments.
“Get out of the bloody car, Marya. Now.”
She swung the door open, pushed off from the door frame, and ran back down the road, not looking back. She hadn’t taken twenty steps, though, when Scott’s hand grabbed her arm and jerked her to a halt. Her breath came in gasps, and she couldn’t get enough air. “No . . .”
He held her tightly and pulled her to him. “Shut up and calm yourself down! Just do as I say, yeah?”
Before she could think to fight, he had her arms bent behind her back and marched her back to Drago and Philippe.
Revelin’s voice grated in her ear. “Make one wrong move, Drago, and I’ll bloody well kill her right now.”
After that she heard none of the taunts. All she could see was Drago’s staring eyes, their blue touch as empty as she had ever seen them—bare of power, uncomprehending. The look scared her like nothing else ever had.
Philippe started talking again, and she tried to concentrate on his words.
“Really, Drago, you shouldn’t be so surprised. I’ve been planning this for months. It was I who long ago planted the seeds with Nikolena to have Scott transferred from the Circle to the Brotherhood. Over time she came to think of the idea as her own. Not a small feat for someone with no people skills, wouldn’t you say, Drago?”
He didn’t answer.
Why doesn’t he do something? Marya wondered, bewildered. But the answer came to her as quickly as the question had formed. Because of me. Fear for me has him frozen. Her own tongue was plenty loose. She twisted in Revelin’s grip.
“You lying, two-faced bastard. How could you?”
Revelin laughed. “Is that the best you can come up with? I was called worse when I was still bloody human.”
She heard a car engine, and everyone turned as another vehicle pulled up behind the car. A dark-haired man exited the driver’s door, glided to the passenger side, and pulled Adelle none too gently from her seat. Adelle’s furrowed brow and darting eyes showed the same bewilderment Marya herself had felt a moment ago. The man held Adelle in front of him with one arm around her neck and the other around her waist. Adelle’s mouth worked silently, but no words came forth. Her eyes, though, were everywhere, finally settling on Drago.
Marya looked to Drago as well, but it was Philippe who spoke. “Excellent. Now that we are all assembled, you can see, Drago, that like it or not, you really have no choice. Perform the deed, and I’ll let them live.”
Drago shook his head and started circling Philippe slowly. “No, you won’t let them live. Marya will have seen too much, and Adelle will die anyway. I do have another choice, and that will be to take as many of you with me to la Belle Mort as I can, starting with you, Philippe.”
Philippe was quick to respond, backing up with each step that Drago took in his direction. “I’ll cloud the girl’s mind. She won’t even remember today.”
“She has dhampir blood. She won’t cloud.”
“Then how’s this for incentive? End your life and they both will die quickly. Fight me and they will be subjected to every pain and indignity my imagination has concocted in three hundred years.” He glanced at Marya and Revelin. “But of course all the members of the new alliance will share in the spoils. That would please you, Scott, wouldn’t it?”
“Bloody right. Taking anything belonging to Drago would please me.”
All the names Marya had called the enforcers that had interviewed her over the years came flooding back to her. “You damned abomination! Unholy perversion of everything right and just!”
Philippe frowned. “Scott, do us all a favor and shut her up, will you?”
Revelin pulled up on her arms, and she cried out, but more in anger and despair than pain. A draft of chill air washed over her, and Marya could barely breathe, but she knew it wasn’t Revelin’s doing. The warmth and fresh air of the glade was gone, replaced by a suffocating shimmer of energy that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and cold sweat run down her spine. It was the aura of vampiric power, and there was only one vampire here with enough age and authority to exude such a tangible force.
They all felt it, for all eyes shifted to Drago before he even spoke. “Chenard, I promise you one thing. Regardless of whatever else happens here today, you will die. That is no pretty vampire lie, monsieur, but truth, bald and ugly.”
The words crackled through the air, sending a shiver through Marya’s body, but before Drago could make good the promise, Scot
t’s voice rang out like a gunshot. “Drago!”
Drago’s gaze shifted from Philippe to Revelin. The vertical groove between Drago’s brows extended well up into his forehead, and his blue eyes were rounded with the look of a madman. The bloodlust, thought Marya. Philippe would die, but she had no doubt she would perish as well. Drago couldn’t save both her and Adelle, and Marya knew that his first loyalty was to his servant.
Eddies of cold chased through the trees, bringing darts of pain she felt on her face like frozen rain driven by the wind. She gasped for air and wanted to turn her face away from the stinging assault, but she couldn’t. Her gaze was riveted on the source of the storm, and there was no escape.
“Mon ami, don’t think I have forgotten you. Philippe will have company on his journey to la Belle Mort.”
Revelin snaked one arm around her neck in a perverted embrace and laid a cheek against her hair. A staccato burst of laughter peppered her ear. “Drago, listen to me! In my life, I have prayed but one prayer: ‘Oh Lord, make my enemies ridiculous.’ And God granted it.”
A strange stillness settled, and Marya felt a shift in Drago’s aura. She drew a deep breath at last and waited, watching Drago’s mad dog eyes. They were still on Scott, as if Philippe all of a sudden had ceased to exist.
“Do you understand, Drago? You have but one bloody choice. Finish it.”
There was a tension in Drago’s face that released, and Marya saw a subtle shift in his eyes, but she couldn’t decipher what the change signaled. Resignation? An acknowledgment? But of what? His earlier display of power hadn’t frightened her, but this strange calm did.
“You are right, monsieur. I will sacrifice no more innocents to my lust. When we have lost everything, including hope, life becomes a disgrace, and death a duty.”
She understood all too quickly. “No!” This time the shout ripped from her own mouth. “No, Drago. You can’t!”
Drago ignored her, turning to Philippe. “What instrument of death would you have me use?”
Afterimage Page 28
