“Is there anything you need?” If there’s any chance that he can help us, I’ll give him the moon and stars if need be, Charles thought.
“I won’t know until I can talk to her,” Joshua answered, in a detached, professional tone
“Hopefully she’ll come around before then.” Charles felt the small shining orb of hope that had been growing in his chest sputter and die.
“It’s going to sound mundane and silly, but have you tried something as simple as smelling salts?” Joshua asked, with a soft laugh.
“You’re right, that is mundane, and no, we haven’t tried it. I’ll mention it as soon as I get off the phone,” Charles replied. Why didn’t we think of that one? Oh right, sometimes the mundane things slip our minds.
“Good. I’ll try to come up with a few more options in case that doesn’t work.”
“Thanks. We’ll have someone at the airport to pick you up.”
“Thank you,” Joshua answered, just before he hung up.
“He’s going to get along just fine,” Charles muttered under his breath.
Nicholas got Morgan settled in the king–sized bed, and brushed an errant lock of black hair from her face, letting his fingers trail down her cheek, as a soft sigh escaped her lips.
“She does look more relaxed,” Marcus commented, from the door, and Nicholas knew he was right. “If only we could do something about this fever.”
“I’d say we need to let Lucian know, but I’m reluctant to do anything that involves him right now.” Nicholas shook his head, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“You still don’t trust their theory?” Marcus asked, a note of uncertainty in his voice. He closed the door. If they were going to have this discussion, it was best done with as much privacy as possible. Seeing as it could end up getting us all killed in the end, I guess a little caution isn’t out of order.
“There’s no proof.” Nicholas shrugged, and sat on the bed beside Morgan.
“What does your instinct tell you?” Marcus asked, knowing that this wasn’t his decision.
Nicholas closed his eyes, and his shoulders sagged a little, as though he was shutting himself off. After a few moments silence, he shook his head, and looked at Marcus with haunted eyes. “Keep him away, until we know more.”
“I think you’re right. We should see what this Joshua, has to say, and go from there.”
“It’s all we can do, but I don’t like waiting.” Nicholas sat on the edge of her bed, and took her hand in his. Without realizing that he was doing it, he started making small circles with his thumb.
“Why don’t you stay with her? Talk to her, I hear humans think it does wonders. What harm can it do?” Marcus offered, with a slight shrug.
“I can’t. You know we need to…” Nicholas began, but Marcus cut him off.
“Assassin, you need to stop. You’re trying to distract yourself. I’ve seen you do it hundreds of times. Even though saying it makes me sound like a woman, you need to stop and deal with your shit.”
“What if I lose her?” The words were hollow, as though Nicholas had already resigned himself and Morgan to that fate.
“Then we find everyone involved, and take them apart piece by piece. I’m thinking over a period of days, perhaps weeks, and bathe in their blood,” Marcus answered, in a low purr that sent a chill down Nicholas’s spine. He knew Marcus well enough to know that the Roman would make good on the threat. “But going out tonight to search for the Renegade isn’t going to help anything. Trust me to find my Blood Daughter, and the law breaker.”
“Are you sure?”
“Can you really sit there, and tell me that you don’t think the two incidents aren’t connected?”
“I can say it. I don’t think you’ll buy it, and I have to agree with you.”
“Take the night to recharge. Check in with Michael and Adain. Ask them to see if there’s anything out of the ordinary at the compound? Maybe Lucian left some clues behind. Beyond that, do nothing. The boyos can handle Lucian if he returns.”
“If it means you’ll stop acting like a Mother Hen, yes.” Nicholas chuckled, punching his friend in the shoulder. “Now get the hell out. Call if there’s anything you need, or think I need to know.” Marcus turned and walked out of the room, sealing the door behind him.
8 – NEW ORLEANS – SEPTEMBER 28. 2009
MORGAN WOKE, AS sharp calls of Ravens pierced the silence. When her eyes adjusted, a thrill of recognition ran down her spine. Grey mist rolled over green hills, stained with slashes in shades of crimson, from bright as rubies to black. Shaking her head, Morgan shifted her gaze up to where clouds of black forms wheeled, and streaked across the darkening sky. I do not want to be here, she thought, even as an unknown compulsion pushed her to her feet. She walked, unseen by shadowy forms, as they reenacted the battle that had taken her human life. Julian stood in the center of the clearing, his solid form a stark contrast to the shades locked in their dances with the reaper. In the maelstrom of the madness, her Sire turned silver eyes on her. Morgan stopped short; Julian’s eyes were filled with a cold, hateful fire.
“It was not supposed to be like this,” he muttered, his natural Slavic accent cutting through the words more than normal.
“What do you mean, Sire?” she asked, moving to stand by his side.
“Have you never wondered what brought me here?”
“You mean while I was still human?” Morgan asked, her natural curiosity helping her to get over the trepidation she felt, at being back at this place in time. Is this real? Or is this all some kind of figment from my misfiring imagination?
“It wasn’t a coincidence. Lucian brought me here the first time,” Julian muttered, looking off into the distance. “You were too young to remember.”
“Why?” Her mind reeled as the clash of weapons fell silent. The combatants moved as though someone had slowed time, to draw out each movement.
“You are a smart woman Morgan.” Julian started walking toward the phantom warriors. “Think on it, now, and when you wake.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” she insisted, and fought not to wince at the petulant tone in her voice.
“I would not seek reason where there is none.” He stopped moving, and a smile curled Julian’s lips for a moment before it was replaced with a look of sadness. “My Sire has shown his true self, and I fear what may come.”
“What is this place?” Morgan looked around, it felt real and yet there was a sense of wrongness that sent warning tingles along her flesh.
“The dream realm, its manipulation is one of my talents,” he answered, with a hint of pride.
Morgan frowned; the enigmatic answer was beyond her understanding, though it seemed to make perfect sense to Julian.
“Will I remember this?” She looked around scowling.
“Yes, and know this, I have never regretted bringing you into the dynasty. Time grows short. Look to the family you created, they are your greatest asset,” he answered, staring over the horizon.
“I don’t understand.”
“Remember, and forgive me,” he whispered. Morgan had a moment to wonder what he meant, the question forming on her lips, before a blade ripped through her flesh from behind.
Morgan woke, gasping, heat spreading across her back, fighting panic, as her eyes adjusted to the low light. She sat up, and touched her back with deft fingers searching for the wound her mind insisted was there, finding only smooth flesh. “Just a dream.”
“What was that, love?” Nicholas asked at her right, his voice rough from sleep.
“Nothing, go back to sleep.” She lay back on the mattress, snuggling close to him, finding some measure of peace.
“You sound like Marcus,” he grumbled, while settling in beside her, draping an arm across her torso.
“Mmm, that could be frightening,” Morgan muttered, and stroked Nicholas’s hair, while her mind wandered back over the words Julian had spoken in her dream. What did you mean, it wasn’t a coincidence? Was t
hat just a dream or something else? She thought, as Nicholas’s breathing slowed, and Morgan knew he’d never been fully awake.
With the velvet darkness of sleep beginning to tug at the edges of her mind she thought; I have got to find a way to feed. I cannot abide being this weak. Then she succumbed.
When Morgan woke again, she was alone in the silent room; the dim light from a bedside lamp casting shadows along the walls. Feeling a sense of peace and relief wash over her, Morgan remained beneath the blankets for a long time, breathing in the scent of Nicholas’s cologne. When the townhouse had been built, Morgan had a thin layer of a unique soil blend that combined the earth from each of the birthplaces of her family members, its strange magic lending her strength, and helping her wounds heal, but it was nowhere near what she needed. I need to be able to feed. She glanced over at the blinking red light on the safe room’s control panel, showing that the system had been armed. So Nicholas thinks there’s something going on. He’s not taking chances, once it’s engaged, you can only open it from in here. She slid out from between the covers, and put her bare feet on the floor.
Fifteen minutes later, Morgan was standing in the hall near the kitchen. She could hear voices, and wasn’t certain she wanted to interrupt. She moved to the end of the hall, and peeked around the corner to see what was happening. Her seldom–used professional kitchen had been pressed into service. Charles stood behind the stove, concentrating on adding ingredients to some concoction in a large stockpot. The pot overflowed with thick aromatic steam in billowing clouds, which clung to the sides, and dissipated before hitting the stovetop.
“Well, he’s the best hope we have right now, even if he’s taking his sweet damned time to get here. What did he have to say?” she heard Nicholas ask, the tension in his voice palpable.
“He’s only got theories right now.” Charles began.
Charles glanced at Nicholas, and nodded before he finished. “The most plausible possibility is that Morgan somehow ingested the blood of a hereditary sorcerer.” On his left, Christophe was chopping several varieties of plants into uniform pieces. Nicholas sat on one of the high bar stools, leaning on the island with his elbows, dark circles under his eyes.
“A what?” Nicholas asked, shaking his head as though he was having trouble following what the younger vampire was talking about.
Tucked in a shadow, Morgan nodded, as her mind echoed his question.
“According to Joshua, there are magic users who can learn their talents, and there are others who carry their ability in their genes, their blood, quite literally it would seem.” Charles explained as though he was in a lecture hall speaking to a group of students. “His theory is that the blood somehow caused a reaction that has changed Morgan’s vampiric nature.”
A hereditary sorcerer? Morgan thought, letting a frown cross her features. And when did they get in touch with Joshua? How did they get his number? How long have I been out?
“It’s the only explanation for the fever that he can think of. I gave him permission to check in with a friend of his who’s a member of the Conclave of Sorcerers, to confirm his theory. That’s what’s taking him so long. He’s having trouble finding his contact,” Charles answered, as he rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand.
I think I understand how he’s managed to move among humans with such ease, Morgan thought, feeling her mind wander as she watched him. Most of us gain a certain amount of stillness as we age, an economy of movement that marks us as different, even after almost five hundred years Charles hasn’t found that stillness. I wonder if that’s a bad thing or not.
“How does this help us?” Marcus asked, from where he sat at the kitchen table with a laptop open in front of him.
“It gives us an avenue of exploration. He also gave me some information on a drink that sorcerers use, in this situation, to help them when their talents emerge later in life.”
“You want to experiment?” Morgan asked, as she stepped into the kitchen, putting her hand out, steadying herself against the wall. The world spun out of control. What the hell does this mean? How do I cope with this? Will it kill me? Questions whirled through her mind, answers shrouded in mystery. The others stayed where they were, stunned for a moment, as she crossed to where Nicholas sat. He stood and helped her onto the bar stool next to him.
“It’s the only thing I can think of right now. It’s obvious we can’t let you drink pure blood,” Charles explained with a slight shrug. “I’m wary to try something like an IV. If blood is the problem, injecting it into your veins may do more harm than good.”
“Is there anything else?” Morgan asked, feeling as though she was waiting for a guillotine to fall, that breathless moment when the hope of rescue springs only to be cut short by the metallic hiss of the falling blade.
“He said there’s a remote chance that this could pass, and you will, in the long run, be back to normal. However, it’s much more likely that this will change your nature forever.” Charles’s words were chosen with care, and delivered at a slow pace. Morgan knew he was trying to deliver unpleasant news with a certain amount of tact.
“Change?” Nicholas shook his head.
“Again Joshua’s theorizing. But he did say that it was possible that she might end up with the abilities of a sorcerer.”
“What the hell were they thinking?” Morgan whispered, her mind flashing to the image of a shining needle sliding into her flesh. This has got to be what human doctors call ‘shock,’ she thought, feeling as though she was standing outside herself, watching the situation unfold.
“They?” Marcus asked, his voice cutting through her blood soaked visions.
Morgan didn’t answer for several minutes. The room would have been silent if not for the rhythmic tapping of Christophe’s knife on the cutting board.
When she showed no sign of speaking, Nicholas decided to be direct. “Are you ready to give us some answers?”
“I’ll do my best.” She ran her hands through her hair, and to the back of her neck, as if trying to curl in on herself.
“What happened at the club?” He fought his natural tendency to be forceful. This is my wife, not a Renegade I have to break for information.
“I don’t remember much about that night.”
“We need to know whatever you do remember,” Nicholas coaxed, rubbing her back in small comforting circles. “Please love, I wouldn’t ask, if it weren’t important.”
“All I can remember is Lucian, standing over me with a syringe, telling me everything is going to be fine,” Morgan’s voice trembled as she spoke. “Oh Gods, Nicholas, the pain was unbearable.” She looked up at him. He watched her with a confused frown, and she knew what he’d done but asked the question anyway, “You invited him here?”
Charles slammed the ladle he’d been stirring with on the spoon rest, and swore with concise eloquence in French. The knife in Christophe’s hand started moving faster, turning the plants he was chopping into a green pulp. Marcus started pacing the room, muttering under his breath in frustration. Nicholas shook his head, and wrapped his arms around Morgan, offering her a measure of his strength.
“He is the head of your line, and your Grandsire.” This confirms what we’ve theorized about Lucian. Unfortunately, this makes things much more complicated. Nicholas was yanked out of his thoughts when Morgan pushed against his chest. Acting on instinct, he held on to her, and whispered endearments to her in his native Russian.
“I have to get out of here.” She shook her head, brow furrowed in concentration. I can’t risk Lucian forcing a confrontation, Morgan thought, her mind running over her options.
“Morgan please, I need you to be rational. You can’t leave in this state,” he soothed, as she fought against his embrace.
“Why did you call him?” she demanded, fighting both him and the panic rising in her throat.
“I couldn’t reach Julian, and Lucian knows more about our kind than any other. It seemed like a logical decision, at the time.” He
answered a note of fear creeping into his voice.
Not good, not good at all, Morgan thought, feeling his arms around her like a vise. “I have to get out of here. Let me go Nicholai,” Morgan begged, trying without success to break free of his hold.
A memory slithered to the forefront of her mind: Lucian, whom she’d always trusted, his soothing voice assuring her that it was better if she didn’t fight, as if that were even possible after the initial dose of sedatives hit. As the drugs slithered through her system, Morgan’s limbs grew heavy, leaving an awful awareness of her other senses. Every touch, scent, and sound was etched in her memory with perfect clarity.
“You don’t trust Lucian?” Nicholas asked, keeping his tone careful, measured. Damn it! I feel like an ass for pushing, but I have to be clear here. If I’m going to put myself between Morgan and the head of her bloodline, I have to know that her story isn’t going to change. If I don’t tread with the utmost care, it will mean that Lucian will be exonerated, and will cost us both our heads.
“Mon Dieu!” Christophe spat, “how much proof do you need?” He slammed the knife onto the counter, the handle snapping with the force. “She just said that he gave her an injection. You know that her condition improved once we started keeping him away from her.”
“I know what has been happening, Christophe,” Nicholas hissed, his voice low, as he turned storm grey eyes on the younger vampire. “Without information, my hands are tied. I need to hear it from Morgan, unless I want to call seven kinds of hell down upon me, upon us all.”
“I have to get out of here, Nicholas!” Morgan snapped, and wrenched herself free of his arms. Vertigo slammed into her; and it was only through sheer force of stubborn will that she remained on her feet.
“No,” Nicholas replied, his voice flat, as he watched Morgan through narrowed eyes that made his handsome face look hateful.
“Nicholas. You’re not being rational,” Morgan countered, fighting to remain on her feet. I really need to rest, but I can’t, not while I’m a target in the middle of those I care about most. I have to leave in order to make sure that Lucian and the Doctor don’t get any ideas about new research subjects.
Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) Page 8
