by Caris Roane
She breathed in as she took brisk steps. She swiped at her cheeks, folded a tissue into her hand, and blew her nose. She had so much to contribute. She could make a difference in the war. Why couldn’t she get Madame Endelle to hear her?
After a few minutes, she began to calm down. A few minutes more and she brought the lavender folder once more into her hands then popped it open.
“Alison Wells,” she murmured. “Blah-blah-blah … preternatural empathy, dematerialization of objects, mental shields, blah-blah-blah.” With so much power, the Commander was probably planning her demise. Even with all seven warriors guarding her ass, Alison Wells would not likely survive her first two hours on Second. Hah!
These truly ungenerous thoughts had an effect. Havily’s rage fled as her conscience kicked in. To say she was severely disappointed was to say the least. She knew she had it in her power to make an enormous change for the better in Endelle’s administration. However, this ascendiate, the mortal Alison Wells, should not have to pay for her temper.
As she read the document, her eyes widened and she sucked air between pursed lips. The mortal could even dematerialize! Good God, she was powerful. She’d probably been in hiding on earth, maybe not literally but in a dozen other ways. She would need information, and lots of it, just to keep her sanity.
Very well.
She turned her organized mind to the task at hand and moved to her desk. She began making notes, all sorts of notes, starting with, Attempt to explain a difficult, callous, and quite ancient Supreme High Administrator to a hopeful ascendiate.
* * *
At midnight, as promised, Marcus folded to the steps outside Endelle’s administrative headquarters. He hadn’t been on Second in a very long time, not even to see what changes had occurred. As he looked up at the massive building then turned around in a circle, the architecture stunned him, as did the extensive intricate landscaping. Hanging gardens cascaded from dozens of floors.
Since he’d built half his massive fortune on the highly lucrative trade between Mortal and Second Earth, he’d seen many pictures, of course. However, the photos failed to capture the beauty of the modern world Second ascenders had created. Phoenix One had many strong buildings, but nothing like this.
The air smelled different than on Mortal Earth as well, cleaner, of course. There were fewer inhabitants to wreck the environment and there was also a deep commitment to plant life, which went a long way toward keeping the planet healthy, clean, oxygenated.
He took a deep breath. His chest felt strangely tight, absurdly emotional. Second had been his home for thirty-eight hundred years before he’d had his fill and returned in self-exile to Mortal Earth
Now he was … home.
Goddammit. His ascended vampire nature knew the difference between Mortal Earth and Second. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, to have such a profound sense of belonging.
He ground his teeth. Whatever the global society had been able to achieve in terms of the environment, however, the power struggles had been a disaster and his sister’s death had been the last straw. He’d blamed Kerrick for having married her, for having made her a target, and yet he’d also blamed so many other things. The Commander, for instance, should have been offed centuries ago, and Endelle’s administration was a sinkhole.
He moved into the building. Not knowing the layout, he took the elevator to the top.
Once in the hall, he saw the broken glass and paused. Turning around, he noticed that a black briefcase lay against the far wall where the glittering debris trailed to an end point.
Instinctively, he dropped into a crouch. His wing-locks set up a steady vibration. He took deep breaths. He extended his senses, reaching for the enemy target. Nothing returned to him.
Huh.
As he rose, he assessed the situation then snorted. Someone had lost her temper, no doubt. Typical.
He didn’t bother with the sliding doors. He stepped over the low metal casement of the broken window. The lights were off over the entire southern stretch of workstations. His gaze made a quick pass, hunting for anything out of place, a wink of light, a piece of furniture, anything.
But the only thing he detected as unusual was an odd scent in the air, a kind of perfume that made his neck muscles jump … and, shit, his groin muscles tighten.
What the hell?
He looked up and down the wide hallway. All he saw were a few ill-tended palms in enormous bronze pots and a row of sickly-looking pink plants fronting the glass office wall—nothing that could account for the fresh and rather sweet floral scent that assailed him. He flared his nostrils, parted his lips, and took in the scent, breathed it in, all the way into his lungs and into his brain. He exhaled and breathed again.
The fragrance made him dizzy and his heart sped up, like he needed to be prepared to give chase. Once more his wing-locks responded, thrumming, preparing for flight.
Fucking weird.
What was Her Supremeness pumping through the air-conditioning system and why did it give him the strangest sense of well-being? It even affected his libido. He had a sudden hard-on.
Holy shit.
He ignored the odd smell and his body’s reaction to the scent. His gaze drifted over the sea of desks. A mountain of disgust followed. With all the modern technology available to Second Earth, why were there mile-high mounds of paper everywhere? Had Endelle not heard of a paperless office?
He shrugged.
Whatever.
He would only be here for three days, four at the most.
He followed the path of lights into a corridor off to his left. He moved past glass-fronted offices. Again all the rooms were weighed down with stacks of paper. He shook his head then stopped in his tracks outside the door to Endelle’s office. The scent was stronger now and very familiar. What was he smelling? He closed his eyes and ran through a litany of flowers, starting with the ones he sent to women he intended to bed—not roses, not carnations, not lilies. What the hell was that?
An old memory struck.
Of course. His sister, Helena, had planted this shrub in Scottsdale Two—on the mansion grounds of the home she’d built with Kerrick. She had trained a dozen or so shrubs against a long stone wall at the back of the property. The plants had thrived, growing into huge mounds. Green-throated hummingbirds came around to enjoy the fluted red flowers, and sparrows built nests deep inside. Yeah. He was smelling goddamn honeysuckle, a fragrance he loved. He always had and right now he even weaved a little on his feet. He was hard again as well. So, where the hell was all this sensation coming from?
He planted his hands on his hips and shook his head. Second Earth bullshit.
Again … whatever.
He dipped his chin and forced his senses to clear. When he was ready, he gave the door a shove, caught sight of a woman he hadn’t seen in two hundred years, and barked his laughter. “Sleeping on the job, Madame Supremeness?”
Endelle jerked her head up, a trail of saliva draining from her mouth. She swiped the drool with a quick backhand. “Marcus, you dumbfuck! You nearly scared me half to death.” She glanced at the clock on her desk. “Well. I slept for half an hour. Just set a new record.”
Marcus might have had a comeback if these simple words hadn’t slapped him hard across the face. Endelle never slept?
“Oh, shit. I drooled all over the Buenos Aires report.” She finally met his gaze. “The Commander had my ambassador killed about an hour ago.”
Holy shit. “So he’s killing ambassadors now?”
“Sure. Why not? He’s an ambitious man.” She looked him up and down. “And you are still one hot vampire. Goddamn, Marcus. Two centuries on Mortal Earth has not changed you at all except you look bigger.” Her gaze skated from shoulder to shoulder.
“I work out,” he said.
She arched a brow. “So I see.” A smile curved her lips. “Thanks for coming.”
“I told you I would. I just hope to hell this is important.”
“It is. I�
�ve had Seer reports from around the globe that this ascendiate has the ability to shift the tide of war. No specifics, though.”
Marcus nodded. “So how far along is she on her rite of ascension?”
“She hasn’t answered her call yet.”
Marcus scowled. “Then why the hell am I here?”
“Relax, gorgeous. Should be any time now. The ascension is imminent.”
“That’s it? Imminent.” This did not make sense, not in any dimension. He narrowed his eyes. “And by the way, what the hell do you mean no specifics? You used to have an incomparable Seer network. The information you got always kept you one step ahead of Greaves.”
Endelle lowered her chin, and her striated brown eyes darkened. “Intel from my Seers Fortress has shrunk to the size of a frog’s nut and no, I don’t know why since the administrator of the facility, by law, doesn’t have to let anyone on Second pass through his front door. Yeah, you should look shocked. We have a lot of new rules on Second because we’ve got this fucking committee, COPASS, which now tells me where, when and how to wipe my ass. As for global Seer information, it’s much less reliable. Most Seers, as you know, are beholden to their local High Administrators.”
He frowned. “COPASS?”
“The Committee to Oversee the Process of Ascension to Second Society.”
Marcus laughed. “Who the hell made up that name? It’s a joke, right?”
Endelle rolled her eyes. “Nobody thought to check the acronym before the vote went through.”
“Another bunch of fucking bureaucratic idiots.”
“Pretty much, but it has simplified the war, brought it in close, and for that I should be grateful.”
“In what way is the war simple? Kind of an oxymoron, don’t you think?”
Endelle shrugged, and for just a moment she wore every one of her nine thousand years like a weight on her shoulders. “One of the first rules put in play was a proximity rule. Attacks involving the Warriors of the Blood only occur at the Borderlands now—legal attacks, that is. Homes, estates, whatever, of both Greaves’s generals and my Guardians of Ascension are off-limits. No bodily harm is allowed, either.”
“What happens if the rules are violated?”
“Complaints are filed, court dates set, judges preside, and death vamps executed, usually fall guys, but the bottom line is that the war is more contained now than it was.”
He frowned. “But this doesn’t stop death vampire depredations on regular citizens in either dimension, does it?”
Endelle shook her head slowly. “Death vampires need dying blood, so no, but our Militia Force is strong now. Although the inherent problem has not changed—”
“Four Militia Warriors to bring down one death vamp.”
“Yep.”
“And Greaves agreed to this proximity rule? Really.”
“Shit, yes. Do you know how many of his generals we offed before the proximity rule?”
“A lot. So why the hell did you agree to it?”
Endelle was silent, her mouth grim. He waited but she didn’t speak. She just looked at him from her ancient brown eyes.
Then he realized the why of it, and his temper flared. “Goddammit,” he cried. He punched the air and paced in a circle. “This was because of my sister and her kids. You did this because of them. A buck short and a day late, Endelle.”
She caught his gaze and held fast so that he stopped moving. “You think I didn’t feel guilty as hell about what happened to them?”
He looked away. Jesus, the pain of the whole damn thing started at his feet, flowed up his legs, hit his abdomen, and twisted his stomach into a knot. Shit. “It wasn’t your fault.” Not even a little since he knew exactly where the blame lay.
She released a sigh. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, to come back, even once, but it’s fucking great to have you here.”
Marcus resisted the pull, the deep tug on his soul whispering to him that he was home. He had known Endelle all of his ascended life, four millennia. They had a long history together, twice as long as even Thorne. But the hell he was staying. He just couldn’t.
“Three days, Endelle, from the time the female answers her call to ascension until she ascends, and not a second more. So why did you recall me? Why now?”
Endelle shrugged. She drummed her fingers on her desk. “I have a spasm in my back telling me the Commander’s ready to give us a good assfucking.”
“Your language has gotten even more flowery since I was here last and speaking of flowery, what the hell have you been doing? Have you got a PlugIn bouncing a perfume around? It’s even stronger in here. Sort of like honeysuckle.”
Her brows rose to perfect black arches over her brown eyes. She actually leaned back in her chair, and a smile formed off to the left side of her mouth. “Something flowery, huh? Sorry. No perfume, no PlugIns. Maybe one of the admins brought in a spray-bottle of Febreze. Of course, there was a woman in here a couple of hours ago. Maybe you’re smelling her perfume.”
He felt uneasy, like his nerves were being scraped raw one at a time. He glanced around. “Whatever it is, it’s bugging the shit out of me.”
“Affecting your Johnson?”
He just stared at her. Like hell he would cop to that.
For some fucked-up reason, Endelle started to laugh. “Well, well. Isn’t this a kick in the pants. Two in one night. Can’t be a coincidence. Jesus. I’m starting to feel … hopeful.”
“What the hell are you rambling on about? Two what?” He kept glancing around trying to place the scent, which right now tickled his balls. Jesus H. Christ.
“So,” Endelle drawled. “You still know how to use a sword?”
* * *
Within the dream, the downtown Phoenix alley pulsed with energy. Alison walked along the fractured asphalt, her heart light, her mind aglow. She had been waiting for this her entire life, for an event so extraordinary that her life would be changed forever, transformed, that all would at last make sense to her, the strangeness of her abilities and powers, her sense of not fitting in, the deep longings she experienced that had for the past few weeks formed a powerful ache in her chest.
The dream shifted. Suddenly Darian appeared, the man now known to her as Commander Greaves. He materialized in front of her, beckoning her to come to him, to be with him, to serve him. Fear rained down on her head in heavy waves. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her legs trembled. The alley had become a place of danger.
Darian smiled in his gentle manner at first, then his large round eyes narrowed. A feral light entered his eye. His left hand transformed into a frightening claw.
Her heart thundered against her ribs. She had to leave the alley now. She tried to move, to turn away from him, to go the other direction, but her feet wouldn’t move. He advanced, closer, closer. There is still time. Come to me. The claw reached for her.
Alison woke up. Sat up. She was soaked and trembling. She covered her face with her hands. What was happening to her? Why the dreams? Why Darian? Why the alley? Why this longing so fierce that her heart felt ready to burst?
Why vampires and a vampire club?
She slid her legs over the side of the bed. She wore a camisole and soft cotton pajama bottoms, but the damp fabric irritated her suddenly too hot, too sensitive skin.
Sleep would not find her again anytime soon. The dream had wrecked her in every possible way. She even fought a heavy bout of tears.
Her thoughts turned back to the club, to seeing the warrior called Kerrick. Some of the tension inside her eased as she brought forward her memories of him.
At the medical complex, he had called himself her guardian. What had he meant by it, and what exactly was this dimensional world in which he lived? And why was she so ridiculously attracted to him?
She stood up, crossed her arms over her chest, then paced her bedroom, back and forth. She just didn’t understand her present reality. She felt compelled to action, to do something, but what?
She glanced at th
e clock. The minute hand ticked just past two in the morning. She made a quick decision. She would go to the alley right now. There had to be a reason why this particular Phoenix backstreet kept calling to her, kept appearing in her dreams.
As she dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, and a light sweater, doubts assailed her once more. Two in the morning didn’t exactly bring out the best in a city, especially in some of the impoverished areas adjacent to downtown Phoenix.
On the other hand … the dreams! She was sick of them, of waking up to them, of waking up sweat-slick because of them.
The night’s events had tossed her life up into the air, and she needed to find out exactly where all the pieces were meant to land. After all, there had to be a very specific reason why she kept dreaming about this godforsaken alley.
* * *
At a quarter past two in the morning, Kerrick awoke to a stiff neck. He’d fallen asleep in a chair in his library and apparently crunched his neck in the process. He rubbed out the muscles, finding some relief though not much.
He looked down. He’d dropped off to sleep with a book about ascension history on his lap written by a rather pretentious Frenchman by the name of Philippe Reynard. Reynard taught at the university in Scottsdale Two and had risen as the acknowledged expert in his field. However, the information Kerrick sought, as in how to overcome the breh-hedden, or even any useful information on the subject, just hadn’t surfaced in this really pompous tome, Treatise on Ascension: A Cultural Perspective and Analysis. Jesus.
Reynard had called the Warriors of the Blood “the righteous backbone of modern society, the hope of the future, the wellspring of all good things.” He liked a compliment as well as the next guy, but this bullshit rankled. The warriors were anything but righteous, and as for a wellspring of all good things, “a death squad for pale blue things” would have been a lot more accurate.
Well, thank God he had the night off. Things seemed to be pretty quiet. Thorne hadn’t called once. Good. He could rest, set his resolve, and put some strategies in place for avoiding all contact with Alison should she choose to ascend.
