Wolf at the Door

by Christine Warren

  His honeysuckle flower. Dropped right into his lap like a Christmas cracker. His mouth curved into a grin, and he sat forward in his chair. Maybe God didn’t hate him after all.

  Seven

  Cassidy silently cursed her grandmother’s flair for the dramatic and edged into the Council chamber. Despite Adele’s best efforts to interest her in politics, this was the first time she had gone below Vircolac’s inviting main floor or done any mingling with anyone on the Council. So much for her decade-long lucky streak in avoiding it by having “a class to go to/teach that night.” It looked like the jig was up, and she was now well and truly stuck in Vircolac’s basement. She had to say, it didn’t look as if she’d been missing much.

  In walking down two flights of stairs, she felt as if she’d traveled back in time seven hundred years. She half expected to look down and see the floor beneath her feet covered with rushes, like a medieval castle hall.

  She tugged self-consciously at the sweatshirt she wore. The minute she stepped into view, all eyes turned to her. Of course, everyone else wore their elegant party togs, and here she stood, looking like some white trash cousin from East Bumbleford.

  Go, me.

  “Ms. Poe, thank you for joining us.” The dark, magnetic man at the head of the table flashed her a smile and gestured toward two empty chairs side by side. “Your grandmother has spoken very highly of you. I felt the Council might benefit from your knowledge this evening, as both an educator and a member of a very impressive family.”

  “Um, thanks.” Eloquence had always been Cassidy’s strong suit.

  She stood awkwardly as an anonymous lackey pulled out her chair, and she slipped into it as quickly as possible. It took a second to get herself settled, mostly because she needed to close her eyes and take a few deep breaths before she felt capable of meeting the gazes of the world’s twenty or so most powerful Others filling the room.

  A couple of silent “ohm mani padmi ohm“s and a quick prayer later, Cassidy blew out a breath and raised her head to find herself staring straight across the table into the whiskey-brown eyes of a very satisfied-looking Lupine.

  What sort of evil god did I piss off recently, and if I make myself a human sacrifice, would my blood soothe his malignant rage?

  Cassidy wrestled back the urge to lay her forehead against the table and start pounding, but only barely. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to set her hair on fire with one of the torches. It wasn’t as if she could call any more attention to herself than her grandmother already had, so what did she have to lose?

  Besides this paralyzing sense of doom, of course.

  And the necessity of ever having to look into the eyes of the stranger whom she’d nearly schtupped up on the roof, where anyone could have walked in on them. At the moment, she could feel his gaze on her like a physical touch, and she had to fight not to shiver. The man needed no encouragement.

  “Now that we are all together, I would like us to begin.” Rafael De Santos rescued her from mortification by rising from his chair and surveying the group before him. He commanded the attention of the Council as surely as he commanded the attention of every female in every room Cassidy had seen him in. She figured his wife must either be a saint or a Playboy bunny. Or maybe both, she considered, remembering a glimpse she’d caught of the curvaceous blonde on her way out of her grandmother’s house to one of her “classes.”

  “First with a welcome to our overseas guests,” the Felix continued. He turned to face several people unfamiliar to Cassidy, along with the Lupine Who Would Not Be Named. “Mademoiselle Mireille Chaleur of France. Herr Martin Geist of Germany. Señor Cristos Allavero of Spain.”

  Each of the delegates nodded to the assemblage while Cassidy tried to put faces to names. It gave her a fabulous excuse to avoid looking at the Lupine across the table.

  The Frenchwoman was easy. Tall, brunette, and striking, with pale, porcelain skin and remote, dark eyes, she reminded Cassidy a bit of Cyd Charisse, the dancer in all those 1950s musicals, but about ten times as gorgeous. She was also the only woman who had been named. The men cooperated by being suitably ethnic to distinguish themselves from each other. Geist had the looks of an Aryan poster boy, blond, slim, and faultlessly erect, while Allavero was shorter, darker, and stockier and gave the group a courteous smile along with his nod.

  “And of course,” De Santos continued, “we have Mr. Richard Maccus representing Great Britain, and Mr. Sullivan Quinn of Ireland.”

  Damn the Felix for forcing her to look back at her nemesis.

  Bracing herself, Cassidy took her time memorizing the man from Britain. His features ran in sharp lines and planes that should have made him look harsh but instead lent a sort of austere beauty to his face. It helped that he looked right back at her out of liquid dark eyes the color of mink, glinting with curiosity and magic. She would never describe him as harmless, but he looked a heck of a lot less predatory than the man seated next to him.

  Cassidy whipped out a few Zen techniques—though she’d have chucked every last one of them for a Valium—and forced herself to look once more at the Lupine. At least she knew his name, now. She didn’t have to keep thinking of him as the anonymous wolf she’d nearly screwed. Now she could call him Sullivan Quinn, the named wolf she’d nearly screwed. That relieved oh so much of her anxiety.

  Cassidy, remember: A lady does not hurl all over the Council chambers.

  A few deep breaths kept her hors d’oeuvres in her stomach, but the control felt tenuous. If the Lupine’s gaze got any more smoldering, she’d end up wreaking havoc on the polyurethane.

  “We are pleased to have you all here with us.” De Santos once again came to Cassidy’s rescue. She’d have to remember to name her firstborn son after him. “I apologize for the abrupt way in which you have all been summoned to this meeting, but I am told a matter of utmost urgency has prevented us from waiting for tomorrow’s scheduled hour.”

  The Felix turned toward Quinn, one dark eyebrow raised.

  It looked almost as if the man sitting next to the Lupine had to elbow him in the side to get him to notice the cue.

  “Uh, yes,” Quinn said, snapping to attention and clearing his throat. In any other circumstances, Cassidy might have laughed. In these circumstances, she just gave thanks that he’d finally stopped staring.

  “I’m afraid we’re faced with a matter of some urgency,” the Lupine said, his voice growing stronger and more forceful as his attention focused back on the Council. By the time he completed his sentence, he had every eye upon him and looked every inch the diplomat. Yet one more reason why Cassidy should stay far, far away from him. She’d grown up in a family of diplomats. She knew they were trouble.

  “When we planned this trip, my compatriots and I intended to come here and regale you with stories of the history of our kind.” His voice became compelling as he set the stage for his tale. “We were going to remind this Council of the early days, when humans were the minority among Others. When the Fae ruled their kingdoms in far corners of the globe, and the werekin roamed the plains, fields, and forests. When magic-users held a place of respect among us. And of the days even before then, when those from the world below could walk freely where they held no ill intent.”

  As he spoke, Cassidy could hear the Lupine’s soft Irish brogue grow thicker, like a gathering mist hovering gently over the room. He spun the yarn with skill, drawing everyone’s attention and holding it fast, like some old bard or storyteller reciting the history of his people in the light of a village fire. As an anthropologist, Cassidy had a deep respect for the storytellers in any culture. They were the ones who passed that culture on, into the hands of the next generation. Sullivan Quinn was one of the best she’d ever listened to.

  “Then man began to spread, growing more numerous and more powerful until they outnumbered us, tens of thousands of them for every one of our kind. The Beautiful People retreated to Faerie. The fur-folk began to walk more in the image of man, and to conceal
their differences in the shadows. Magic became something to hide, lest the fear of the humans lead to suspicion and loathing, or worse. Those like us went into hiding, living beside the humans, but never allowing them to gain real knowledge of our society. We became their fairy tales and folk stories, their ghost stories and nightmares.”

  Cassidy had heard all this before, they all had, but the Lupine had woven a spell around every being in the room.

  “Now, the world around us is changing once again. The humans are learning more about their environment, beginning to accept the possibility of things they might before have dismissed as superstition. But that very change presents a new danger to our people.” Quinn looked at each of the delegates in turn as he went on. “We have always known that our greatest vulnerability to the desire of humans to destroy us has been the very truth of our natures. For centuries we have lived in peace among them because we concealed our powers and our numbers from them. The key to our downfall always rested in the possibility that one day, a human fanatic would be able to find enough compelling evidence to tear away our veil of secrecy and leave us exposed to a new and deadly wave of persecution.”

  Cassidy heard the room begin to stir, and frankly, she couldn’t blame them. If this speech was leading where she thought, things could get messy. Quick.

  “The truth is that change is upon us, whether we choose to prepare ourselves for it or not.” Quinn leveled his rich, whiskey gaze at De Santos and spoke firmly. “In fact, we have learned tonight, just a few hours ago, news that tells us change is upon us now, and we have no choice but to face it.”

  The murmurs from the Council members grew louder until De Santos shifted in his chair and held his hand up for silence.

  “While most of us are too strong to fall prey to those who hate us,” Quinn continued, “our few and carefully chosen human companions and confidants are not, and many of them possess just as much knowledge and evidence of our existence as we have ourselves. One of them has been taken.”

  Her breath already caught in her throat, Cassidy would never forget the next words he spoke.

  “Ysabel Mirenow, human companion to the vampire Gregor Kasminikov, has been kidnapped by an organization that calls itself the Light of Truth, and if I and my fellow delegates are correct, she will provide them the evidence they need to expose us to the human world in a matter of days. Our delegation is here to propose that we beat them to the punch and reveal ourselves on our own terms, before it’s too late.”

  The tension in the room broke in a wave of angry voices. From all sides of the room, Others made their disbelief and their upset plain. Surprise filled them, along with a good dose of unease, not that Quinn could blame them. He wanted them uneasy. Hell, based on what he and Richard had learned less than half an hour ago, he wanted them shaking in their ruddy boots.

  “Quiet, please,” De Santos ordered. After another short burst of whispers and muttering, the gathering complied, and the Felix turned his attention back on Quinn. “This is quite a revelation. How long has the woman been missing?”

  “About twenty-seven hours. Too long for us to hope we could reach her before the Light of Truth gets what it wants. We have to take action. We need to come up with a plan for revealing ourselves to the humans before the Lightheads do it for us.”

  “And there is no chance of a misunderstanding? No chance that she and Gregor have argued, and she’s gone to visit her mother?”

  “Her mother has been dead at least fifty years.”

  De Santos ignored the sarcasm. “What have our friends in Russia already done about this?”

  “Kasminikov has his best men out looking for her, of course,” Richard supplied, finally sharing some of the bloody responsibility for this fiasco. “Not only is he upset that his mistress was taken, but he also comprehends the gravity of the situation. Even if it’s too late to do anything for Ms. Mirenow, he understands something has to be done to contain the fallout generated by the kidnapping. We’re not talking about rushing into the Unveiling for kicks. We no longer have a choice.”

  The Unveiling was what Others called the eventual revelation of their kind to the humans. It had always been a theoretical term, a reference to something that would happen in a far distant future, but not something anyone needed to worry about today. Quinn had started worrying.

  “Well,” De Santos said, after an eternity of stillness. “This does put events in a whole new light, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t see how,” a new voice broke in. “She’s just one human. Hardly anything over which to excite ourselves.”

  Quinn glanced down the length of the Council table to identify the speaker as one of the three vamps in the Inner Circle, but he couldn’t be sure which one. Like all vampires, this one sat like a king giving an audience to the peasants, simultaneously bored, arrogant, condescending, and vigilant against his own overthrow. Quinn didn’t need to know the man’s name to dislike him. He just had to look into the eyes as flat and empty as a snake’s and watch the expressions of anger and contempt on his aristocratic face. The two-thousand-dollar suit and diamond-studded tie tack didn’t hurt, either.

  “One woman, easily dismissed and easily replaced,” the vampire continued. “There is no reason for us to concern ourselves with her unfortunate predicament. If the Europeans think it’s such a problem, let them deal with it. It’s no reason for us to take action, let alone to Unveil.”

  Oh, yeah. Quinn hated him on spec.

  “This is not only a European problem,” he said, his teeth gritted against a snarl. “The Atlantic Ocean doesn’t insulate you from this threat.”

  “There is a lot more than an ocean between us, Mr. Quinn.”

  “But there’s nothing between you and the Light of Truth. We also have reason to believe that the orders for her kidnapping might have come from a newer cell within their organization. One operating right here in America.”

  Eight

  The news dropped on the room like a mortar blast, echoing off the stone walls and even stonier faces. Quinn braced himself for the nuclear fallout that was undoubtedly on its way behind the shock. He wondered if they’d stocked a room down here with canned goods and blood bags. Though the current residents were more likely to eat each other than a mixed fruit cocktail.

  That truth sat up and waved as chaos exploded in the Council chamber. Several of the American Council members jumped to their feet in protest, which made a couple of the Europeans leap up, as well. At least seven languages contributed to the din, and fur flew as strong emotion prompted partial shifts in at least one of the werefolk present. An exchange of blows seemed imminent when De Santos proved why he held his seat by leaping up onto the table and roaring.

  “SILENCE!”

  The room quieted to a subdued buzz, then after a quick look at the Felix’s face, to the requested silence. Quinn didn’t need that second look. He knew a powerful animal when he saw one, and he kept his mouth shut.

  “We are not here to start a war,” De Santos growled, glaring the delegates down one by one. “This is a discussion, and we will conduct it civilly. The only bloodshed to occur in this chamber is what I will cause if anyone cannot contain himself.”

  His audience judged the Felix meant business and began retaking their seats, the grumbling remaining at a minimum. When all this was over, Quinn might have to hit De Santos up for some tips, diplomat to diplomat. Cat or no, the guy had game.

  De Santos gave another snarl and stepped down onto his chair and then onto the floor. He still looked coiled to spring, though, radiating alertness and tension.

  “Now, everyone shut up and stay seated until I tell you to move.” Almost everyone shut up and stayed seated. Quinn was definitely making an appointment.

  “There’s no reason to have us sit when we’ll be leaving so soon. This ‘emergency’ meeting is clearly a waste of our time.”

  “I said sit, Francis.” The Felix barely spoke above a whisper and there was no heat in his voice, but there was a
definite threat. The vampire sat.

  Hearing De Santos say the name jogged Quinn’s memory. Francis Leonard. His mention in the Council briefing memos placed him at no more than four centuries old, but apparently his morals had proved even more corrosive than the average vampire’s. That was the danger with being immortal. The longer you lived, the more you witnessed, the further removed from humanity you became, and the more flexibility began to creep into your ethics. It was usually only the very old or very insane vampires who became dangerous. Quinn guessed Leonard might have decided to get a jump on things.

  “What does it matter if they have taken the wench?” Leonard snapped. Hostility for the head of the Council rolled off him in waves. “And what does it matter if they’re operating out of the White House? It makes no difference. They’ve captured a human, not an illustrated edition of the history of our kind.”

  “I think you fail to see the implications of the situation,” Quinn said, trying to keep calm when all he wanted was to knock sense into some hard, American heads. “The woman is human, which is the reason the fanatics were able to get their hands on her in the first place. Had she truly been one of us, she would’ve been able to evade capture or destroy the ones who attacked her. But she’s also thoroughly enmeshed in our culture. She’s been the companion to a vampire for more than half a century. In that time she’s heard and witnessed a thousand things humans should never see, any one of which would condemn us in unfriendly eyes.”

  “Seeing is very different from being, Mr. Quinn,” De Santos said.

  “I am well aware of that, but these people aren’t only interested in what Ysabel Mirenow has seen. They’re interested in what she’s become. She’s been with Kasminikov since the end of the humans’ Second World War, and she was twenty-five when they met. Yet at eighty-five years old, she appears to be barely out of university. That’s only possible because of the blood she’s shared with her lover. That blood changed the chemistry of her body, the way her cells multiply and divide, the way they keep from dying off. It’s evident on every surface of her body, but it will be even more evident under a laboratory microscope.”