The guard had ducked back while she was speaking, so she hadn’t caught his reaction to her name, or her father’s, who also happened to be the guard’s commander. But the gates immediately rolled back to either side, moving along metal rails that were inside the wall and looked to have been replaced recently. Security clearly had been improved, and she wondered about the reason as she drove through and into the Fortalesa’s huge main yard. There was a well-concealed parking garage around back for the many full-time residents, both vampire and human. But visitors parked at the far end of the yard, near the barracks, where there were several parking spots lined out for that purpose. It felt odd to be a visitor in the place where she’d grown up, but it shouldn’t have. She no longer considered the Fortalesa her home, and never would again. If not for her parents, she’d never have been there at all.
She was already parked and out of the car, the back door half open while she reached inside for her backpack, when the scent of her mother’s perfume filled the air. She turned into Ramlah’s embrace, dipping her head to cover the tears that filled her eyes. It didn’t matter that she was now a head taller than her mother. In an instant, she was transformed into a child finding comfort in the embrace, in the familiar scents and sounds of home. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it all until that moment. Damn it. I am not going to cry like a fucking baby.
“Laylita, mija,” her mother crooned, wrapping her arms around Layla as if she truly was still a little girl.
Layla straightened, which made her so much taller that she had to bend over to hug her mother again. “Mama. How’s Papa? How’s everything?”
“Perfect now that my daughter has come home. Come, close that door. We’ll have tea.” Ramlah waited while she slung her backpack over one shoulder, then locked and closed the door of the rental car. Linking their arms together, the two women strolled across the mostly dirt- covered yard.
Layla glanced into her father’s office as they passed. It was full daylight, and he was in charge of the Fortalesa, but the room was empty. Not a great surprise. He rarely spent time in his office. Ferran Casales liked to be on the wall with his troops, not sitting behind a damn computer, as he’d often said.
“Where’s Papa?” she asked, as they started up the stairs to the family quarters.
“Oh, he’s around somewhere. Now that you’re here, he’ll join us soon enough.”
“He still knows everything that’s happening inside these walls, huh?”
“I tell you, mija, he’s worse than ever. He’s hired many people to take over some of his duties, but I swear he’s busier than he was before he hired them.”
Layla dropped her pack in her childhood bedroom, then settled at the small table in the warm and sunny kitchen. “And what about his heart?”
Her mother didn’t meet her eyes. “His heart?”
“Mama, you said he was having chest pains. He should have his heart checked.”
Your father insists it was only a pulled muscle.”
“Did he see the doctor? Is that what the doctor said?”
“No. He did finally agree to see a doctor, and the doctor said . . . ” Her mother’s lips pursed as if fighting back the next words.
“What? What’s wrong?” She couldn’t believe even her stubborn father would ignore the most obvious signs of a serious problem. As for her mother . . . she’d always been too willing to go along with what her father wanted. It had always frustrated Layla that her strong and intelligent mother lost half her brain cells and most of her backbone when it came to dealing with her father. Ferran was not a garrulous man, but he was perverse enough to enjoy a good argument. And yet she’d never seen or heard a serious disagreement between her parents. “Chest pains could be serious, Mama. We need to catch it as soon as we can. Postponing will only make it worse.”
“Make what worse?” her father demanded, his boots thudding on the landing outside the door.
“Papa!” Layla went into his arms, just as she had her mother’s, but with a lot less care. Whereas her mother was a petite beauty, her father was big and gruff, with a deep chest and a voice to go with it. His arms tightened around her, still strong and hard with muscle despite his years. “Finally, you come to visit us! It’s a wonder you remember how to get here.”
She laughed. “A lot’s changed, that’s for sure. What’s with the new gate? At first, I didn’t think they were going to let me in.”
“You exaggerate. My people all knew you were coming, as does Lord Xavier. He’ll be happy to see you.”
That was one reunion that was never going to happen, but Layla didn’t say anything. If she mentioned it to her parents, they’d insist on knowing why. She hadn’t talked about her reasons when she’d left, and she wasn’t about to start now.
“Sit, amor meu,” her mother said, hustling her father over to the table. “I’ll pour you a cup.”
“A moment, no more,” Ferran said, sitting with a weary sigh.
“Busy?” Layla asked casually, dropping down onto the chair next to him.
“Oy,” he responded fervently. “I’ve got four fighters still too wounded to fight, and there’s so much to do.”
“Wounded? How?” she demanded.
Her parents exchanged a silent look. “You might as well tell her,” Ramlah said, switching on the gas flame under a freshly filled kettle.
“Tell me what?” She looked at her father. “You got me here with whispered half-secrets, and now it looks as if you’re gearing up for the zombie apocalypse. What’s going on?”
“Zombies,” Ferran muttered, shaking his head.
“Papa. Tell me.”
Her father heaved a deep sigh. “I’m getting old, mija.” He raised his hand when she would have protested. “Don’t argue. For once, just listen.”
She was shocked into stillness by his words. She’d been his shadow most of her life, the son he’d never had. She’d followed him around, learning everything he did, everything he thought. And he’d been just as devoted to her. He’d never ever criticized her, never told her to listen for once. Her reaction must have shown on her face, because he immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close enough to kiss the side of her head.
“I love you, you know that. But you do love to argue, Laylita. I know,” he continued, cutting off her protest. “You get it from me, and I raised you that way. Life can be hard on a woman, and I wanted you strong enough to fight.” He chuckled. “I succeeded in that, didn’t I? But now, I’m an old man, and I need you to listen.”
“I’m listening,” she assured him and zipped her lips shut with a finger to make him smile, terrified now by whatever he was about to say. What would she do if her father were seriously ill?
“I’ve commanded this Fortalesa for over forty years, since before you were born. Only the day guard, to be sure. But we all know that’s the greatest danger for Lord Xavier and the others, and I’m proud that he’s trusted me for so long. But now . . .” His mouth tightened in irritation. “I made a mistake. We’ve had peace for so long and we get along well with the humans in the town, with all our neighbors. Lord Xavier is powerful, but fair to his people. They respect that and return it twofold by respecting his rules, and being honest with him.” He paused when her mother slipped a cup of tea in front of him, looking up with a smile of thanks, then sipping slowly while she walked around and sat across from him at the table.
“As I said, it’s been peaceful, and I took for granted that it would stay that way.”
Layla was dying to ask questions, but held back and waited.
“My team here is a good one. They’re well-trained and loyal. I haven’t slipped that badly. But they’re not enough. Their quality is good, but I need twice as many of them to deal with what’s happening.”
She was all but biting her tongue to kee
p from demanding to know what the fuck was going on. But she was still feeling the sting of his earlier comment, and knew he’d get to it. Eventually.
“We’re under attack. Humans,” he added, sounding genuinely confused. “Three separate attacks in the last two and half weeks, and only during the daylight. They come out of the trees, armed with good weapons—rifles mostly, a few automatic pistols, and plenty of ammo. They’re decent shooters, but not professional. I’m certain they’re not trained soldiers—more like civilians who’ve been given a few lessons.”
“Has anyone been hurt?” she asked quietly. She’d grown up with some of the fighters who worked for her father.
He shook his head. “Nothing at first. They seemed to aim at the wall instead of the people, and there weren’t that many of them. There were more when they attacked the second time, a week later. More of them and some minor injuries for us. Lord Xavier became concerned then. One attack was a nuisance, a hate crime against vampires. But two? That was something else.”
Layla had to fight against the urge to make a face every time he said, “Lord Xavier.” Not just Xavier. Oh, no. It had to be Lord. As if the bastard vampire wasn’t just a man like any other.
“But the second attack represented a major shift in the battle. Not for us, but for them, because their fighters began to die,” her father continued, seeming puzzled by their willingness to accept casualties. “My fighters are not like the enemy’s. They are well-trained and disciplined and they will use the full capability of their weapons in defense of this Fortalesa. We have families living here, women and children, civilians. When the guards are under attack, so are they. And we fight back.” He met her gaze.
“What do they want? And why do they think this will get it for them?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet. But someone has to be doing the organizing, getting them those weapons, providing enough training to use them. Unless there’s now a store selling MP5s at the Plaça del Mercadal.” He shook his head. “But so far, I haven’t been able to find who is behind the attacks. The coward doesn’t lead his people into battle. He huddles somewhere far away.”
“Have you followed—?”
He nodded. “We’ve tried, but they slip away into the forest and hide”—he shrugged—“long enough that my soldiers lose their trail. And this is my own failure. I don’t have enough people, much less trained investigators, to track them down. The fighters may be simply returning to their homes. But why are they attacking? They must regroup with their leader at least some time, but I can find no evidence of such meetings. And yet, how else would they coordinate their movements, or know where to pick up fresh ammunition?” He threw his hands up in frustration. “None of it makes sense.”
Layla considered everything he’d said. He was right about the terrain. The forest surrounding the Fortalesa was nearly endless, covering hills that dipped and rose again with no break in the tree cover. Xavier owned some seventy-two of the surrounding acres, and as far as she knew, had no intention of clearing any of it. He liked the coverage it provided, the privacy and the defense. Now that she had education and training of her own, both from the university and from years spent on battlefields around the world, she understood why Xavier liked his trees, liked the privacy and the defensibility. It would have been even more defensible if he’d cleared a mile-wide killing zone all around the Fortalesa, giving the enemy nowhere to hide. But she understood why he hadn’t done it. He would have achieved greater defensibility, but the price would have been a near total absence of privacy. Not to mention the splendor of the tree-covered hills, their cool shade in summer and fresh scent in winter. They were simply too beautiful to despoil.
It seemed a fanciful reason for a hard-ass vampire lord, which Xavier definitely was. But he’d always been more than that, for most of her life at least. It was part of why she’d fallen so hard for him.
Her thoughts screeched to a halt. Had fallen, she reminded herself. Past tense. She’d been young and stupid. But she wasn’t anymore.
“I can recommend some very good people from Madrid,” she told her father. “Good fighters who can help you—”
“I don’t want very good people, mija. I want the best.”
Her gaze narrowed. Oh no. She got it now. She was absolutely not going to fall for this. “The local fighters are excellent, Papa. I’ve worked with them. I’ll give them a call while I’m here.” She reached for her cell phone.
It was her mother who stopped her. “Your papa needs your help,” Ramlah said in her soft voice. “Not from strangers, Laylita. From you. His daughter.”
“Mama. I signed a contract in France. I cannot just—”
“The doctor says he might need an operation.”
Layla froze. “Operation?” She looked from one to the other. “Papa?”
“Si.” Her father all but spat the single word. “They want to cut open my heart and—”
“They’re not cutting open your heart, Ferran,” her mother corrected mildly. “They don’t know yet what is wrong. That’s why they want more tests. You might need only those stents they talked about. To open your arteries.”
Layla’s heart was still beating too fast, and she knew her mother was much more stressed than her calm words revealed. It was an act for her father, and Layla tried to do the same. “And if they can’t?” she asked. “Put in the stents, I mean.”
“Then heart surgery,” her mother admitted.
“And they will cut my heart open, as I said.”
“Papa,” Layla said in exasperation. “Even if you need surgery, that’s not how they do it. When are the tests?”
“We have an appointment with the specialist in two days. But only if this stubborn old goat agrees to go.”
“Of course you’re going,” Layla said, genuinely surprised.
“Am I?” her father demanded. “And who will take care of all of this”—he gestured out the window, with its view of the courtyard and the high surrounding wall—“while I’m sick? It might be several weeks before I can do my job the way it needs doing. And who will take care of the Fortalesa until then?”
Layla made a tsking noise. “Gabino is perfectly capable of—”
“Gabino left two months ago. He moved his family to Madrid to be closer to his wife’s parents. They’re getting too old to be alone, and her brother lives in Portugal.”
“Then who’s doing his job while . . . No wonder you’re exhausted, Papa. You’re trying to do it all yourself, aren’t you?”
“No,” he said firmly. “I am not. I’ve promoted Danilo from the ranks. She’s very smart and very capable. If this were a regular time, a peaceful time, as it’s been for fifty years, she’d be fine. But it’s not, and Danilo is not yet experienced enough to handle a true crisis. The situation with these human attackers could blow up at any moment.”
Layla knew what she had to do. She didn’t want to, but there was no choice. She was no doctor, but she knew enough. Her father needed his heart looked after, whether with stents or something more serious. Without treatment, he could have a major heart attack, and possibly die. What was the inconvenience and embarrassment of dealing with Xavier when measured against her father’s life?
She had to help, had to cover for him until he was at least well enough to walk the battlements and order everyone else around.
Layla closed her eyes, trying to steady her stomach. She wanted to throw up at the very idea of staying in the Fortalesa, of dealing with Xavier night after night. But she swallowed it down, put her arm around her father’s broad shoulders, and said, “Have the tests, Papa. I’ll stay until you’re better again. I can do this.”
Her mother’s eyes filled with gratitude, but her father gave her a stubborn look. “You have your own job, and your own people to worry about.”
“Brian can handle them, especially now.
The man who hired us, Clyde Wilkerson, is in residence at the vineyard for now, and is planning to stay for the next few months. The most that will happen is that drunken party guests will try to walk through the vineyards after dark, and fall in the dirt. Every one of my people is bored to tears. We’ve been running drills just to stay busy and keep our skills up. My guys will be fighting each other for the chance to fly here and help out. What do you say, Papa? You think I’m good enough to fill your shoes for a while?”
Her father didn’t answer right away. He was studying his hands, his fingers as scarred as her own, as battle-marked as any full-time warrior’s would be. He seemed to be considering her words, and for a moment, she worried that he didn’t think she could do the job and was trying to find a way to tell her so. When he finally raised his head, it was to look at her mother. Layla did the same and saw fear shadowing the love in Ramlah’s dark brown eyes, fear that she’d lose him, begging him to save himself for her, if for no other reason.
He took his wife’s hand across the table, and spoke without looking at Layla. “All right,” he croaked, his voice rough with the same emotion that had filled Ramlah’s eyes with tears. “When?”
Layla sighed deeply, mostly from relief that her father would go through with seeking help. But a small part of her was sighing because she didn’t want to stay in this place. Not even for a single night, much less the weeks it might be before her father was well enough to return to full duties.
“I’ll need some time to get up to speed on your personnel and routines. I know a lot’s changed since I left. I’ll also be bringing some of my people in. They can be here tomorrow. And in the meantime, you need to call that specialist and tell him you’ll be there.”
Her father’s jaw tightened for a moment before he cracked it open and said, “Tell me what you need. I’ll see you have it.”
Chapter Five
THE SKY WAS STILL streaked with the glorious colors of a sun barely fallen behind the horizon when Xavier woke. It was well before any of his vampires, as he was old enough and strong enough to withstand the sun’s reflected light, although not even he could have walked beneath the sky before full dark. His early wakening did, however, permit him to take stock of his surroundings, to play back in his mind any daytime events which had penetrated his sleep, giving him time to consider consequences.
Xavier: Vampires in Europe (Vampires in America Book 14) Page 6
