Old Sins, Long Shadow

by PG Forte

  In the silence that followed his departure, Armand turned to Julie. “I didn’t mean to disrupt your party, chérie. I’m sorry if I frightened you. It’s just… You couldn’t know it, but dressed as you are right now, you look so much like the girl to whom the dress belonged.”

  Julie gazed at them both uneasily. Damian could see the questions hovering on her lips, the indecision in her gaze. He shook his head, subtly warning her to silence. The situation was dangerous enough as it was. It would not be improved by further conversation.

  “Excuse me,” she said, slowly backing up the stairs. “I-I’m sorry. I forgot something. I-I need to go back upstairs for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

  Relieved, Damian watched her run up the stairs. “Well, I think that’s enough excitement for one night,” he sighed, turning back toward the ballroom.

  Armand put out a hand to stop him. “Damian, wait. I want to thank you.”

  “Thank me?” Damian looked at him in surprise. “For what?”

  “For what you did just now. You saved my life.”

  Damian rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t exaggerate, Armand. I doubt you were ever in any real danger. Besides, I didn’t do it for you. I wasn’t being entirely facetious, you know. He’d have been most upset if he’d hurt you.”

  Armand smiled wryly. “Ah, oui. I’ve no doubt he would. But, then again, so would I. I’m grateful you intervened. I owe you a very great debt.”

  “You owe me nothing,” Damian snapped. The only person whose thanks he’d ever wanted was Conrad’s. He was in no mood to settle for anything less. “Trust me, Armand, the only reason I intervened was to spare myself the tedium of having to deal with any more of Conrad’s brooding. I’ve had enough of that as it is. I promise you, I’m every bit as relieved as you are.” He smiled, pleased with the look of stunned surprise on Armand’s face. “Now, if we’re quite finished here, perhaps you’ll excuse me? I’m really quite famished.”

  Marc was somewhat surprised to see Damian return to the ballroom alone. He was even more surprised when, rather than rejoining him on the dais, Damian went straight for the snacks; pulling a young man from the dance floor with barely any warning and practically throwing him onto the first available couch. Marc had no idea where Conrad had disappeared to, no idea what was keeping his sister from making an appearance at her own party, but even left to his own devices, he was having no trouble keeping himself entertained.

  As the guest of honor and the son of the house it seemed everyone present was eager to make his acquaintance or get to know him better. He was not averse to either. Especially not while faint traces of the unusual power he’d tasted the previous evening still lingered in his system. He was hungry for more and anxious to meet anyone who might help him touch it again—like the woman approaching him now, for example. She seemed a likely prospect. Tall and fair, strikingly good-looking, she carried an aura of power that was palpable even from halfway across the room. The crush of people seemed to part before her purely on instinct, opening a path that led her directly to the dais. Directly to Marc.

  He smiled in greeting. “Good evening. Welcome to my party.”

  “Your party?” One elegant brow arced higher, two perfectly painted lips pursed into a petulant little moue. “Is it really? Well now, that is a surprise. Is Conrad no longer in residence?”

  “Oh, no, he’s here.” Marc scanned the room without finding him. “Although I’m not sure where he’s gone to, at the moment. I only meant that I’m the one he’s throwing the party for. Me and my sister, that is. I’m Marc, by the way.” He held out his hand.

  Lavender-blue eyes studied him curiously. “Georgia,” the woman replied, giving him her hand after a brief pause. “So, tell me, Marc, what is it you and your sister have done to merit being honored with so elaborate a fête? And on Halloween, of all days. I really can’t imagine what’s come over Conrad, all of a sudden. Why, I recall when the mere suggestion of such a thing would have been enough to enrage him.”

  “Really?” Marc grinned. “We didn’t do anything special. I think it was Damian’s idea. It’s just that today’s our birthday, you see.”

  “Your…birthday?” Georgia stared at him, lips curling into an expression of faint distaste. “Oh, surely not? You can’t mean to tell me someone had the incredibly bad taste to turn you actually on Halloween? Who was it? Not Conrad, I know. I can hardly believe even Damian would be capable of anything so tacky.”

  “Tacky?” Marc looked at her in surprise.

  “Well, clichéd, then. At the very least. I mean to say, vampires? Halloween?”

  Marc shrugged. “I guess I never thought of it that way before. But, that’s still not what I meant. Today’s our actual birthday—the day we were born.”

  “Your actual birthday,” Georgia repeated, the look of distaste growing stronger. “I see. Well, that does make a difference, doesn’t it? And you’ve chosen to celebrate that, have you? My, how very…very…quaint.”

  Marc stared at her in surprise, not certain how to respond. Luckily, he was spared the attempt by Damian’s arrival.

  “Was that my name I heard mentioned?” Damian asked as he came up behind Marc and clapped him on the shoulder. At the sight of Georgia, he stopped dead in his tracks, his expression a mask of joyous surprise that appeared completely staged. Marc was surprised he didn’t squeal in excitement. “Why, Georgia, darling, is it really you at last? Conrad will be so very pleased. You can imagine how thrilled I was when he told me you would be joining us.”

  Georgia gave him a frosty smile in return. “Hello, Damian. I see you haven’t changed. Tell me, does Conrad allow you out of the house dressed like that? It’s a wonder he doesn’t worry someone might try and steal you away. Again.”

  Damian sighed. “Dear Georgia. It’s always such a pleasure to renew our acquaintance.” He slid his arm around Marc’s shoulders, a gesture that struck Marc as being oddly protective. “I see you’ve met our birthday boy? Now, I must warn you, he and his sister are Conrad’s pride and joy. Alas, all the rest of us must resign ourselves to taking a backseat in his affections. But I forget myself. You, of course, are an old hand at dealing with such things. Isn’t that so?”

  Georgia’s eyes narrowed. “Where is Conrad, anyway?”

  “Oh…you know how he is,” Damian said, with a disinterested shrug. “I’m sure he’ll join us in his own good time. I’d offer you something to snack on, while you’re waiting, but I’m sure you’re much too fatigued from your journey to eat right now. I hope your flight was everything you expected?”

  “It was delightful,” Georgia growled from between clenched teeth. “And where did you say Conrad was again?”

  Damian batted his eyes and smiled wickedly. “Oh, but I don’t believe I did.”

  Fascinated though Marc was by their conversation, he was also alarmed by the fury building in Georgia’s eyes. And Damian, beneath his carefree demeanor, was so tense the arm he’d slung around Marc’s shoulders was vibrating.

  Marc was wracking his brain for a diversion when fate provided one for him in the person of his sister.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Julie said as she joined them on the dais. “Did I miss much?” Her eyes lit up as she caught sight of Georgia. She smiled shyly. “Hello. I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Hello to you too,” Georgia replied, staring at Julie as though she were a ghost.

  Damian wrapped his free arm around Julie’s waist and pulled her close. “Where have you been, niña? You’re missing your own party.”

  “I was just upstairs,” Julie replied, blinking innocently—a clear tip-off she was hiding something, Marc thought. “There was something I needed to do.”

  Damian sighed. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters. Allow me to introduce you to one of Conrad’s very…oldest…friends. Julie, this is Georgia.” He turned to Georgia and smiled. “Oh, wait. I’m forgetting. You like to be called Lady Lancaster now, don’t you?”

  Geor
gia smiled grimly back. “You know I’ve never been one to stand on ceremony.”

  Damian had opened his mouth to reply when Julie forestalled him. “Oh, so you’re the one. That’s what I was coming to tell you, D. Conrad said to let you know he’s gone upstairs, to his study. He said he was having refreshments brought up and that you and Lady Lancaster should join him there.”

  “Did he?” Damian replied, his voice flat. “Well. How splendid. Let’s not keep him waiting. Shall we?” He gestured for Georgia to precede him, then turned to the twins. “I’m sure we won’t be too long,” he said in tones meant not to carry any great distance. “At least I hope not. Behave yourselves, you two. And, Julie, no questions, chica. Understood?”

  “What was that all about?” Marc asked, after Damian had departed.

  Julie shook her head. “It means even when we find things that might help us learn about our past, they’re still not going to tell us what they mean. You see this dress?” she asked, indicating her costume. “I think it was hers.”

  “Hers?”

  “Our mother. I found it hidden in the attic—along with a suitcase full of other stuff.”

  Marc frowned. “So? What makes you think it was hers?”

  Julie shrugged. “Just something Armand said when he saw me in it. That and the fact that apparently Conrad had ordered him to throw the suitcase away.”

  “What?” Marc blinked in surprise.

  “Don’t worry. I hid it. But, forget that for a minute. What was that thing between Damian and Georgia? Things were looking pretty tense when I got here.”

  Marc rolled his eyes. “Yeah, tense. There’s an understatement. Damian was out for blood tonight. I can’t remember the last time I saw him like that. Whatever this meeting in the study is all about, I’m just glad we’re missing it.”

  “Well, I’m not!” Julie shook her head. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall, right now. We’re never going to learn anything if we simply wait for someone to tell us what we want to know. I’m tired of all the secrets, the hints, the unanswered questions. I’ve a feeling there’s a lot more going on around here than you and I know about. I’m going to find out what.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Hello, Georgia.” Conrad couldn’t help but smile as he rose to greet his old friend. It was good to see her, even despite the conflicting emotions she always aroused in him. “You’re looking well, my dear. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

  “Anything for my sire,” Georgia murmured demurely. Her sweetly respectful attitude was almost perfect—marred only by the hard glint in her eyes that made a mockery of her docile smile. As she moved toward Conrad, she kept her gaze trained on Damian, who circled around the room to stand behind Conrad and drape his arms around his neck. “Besides I think we both know who’s responsible for the short notice.”

  “I’m afraid the fault for that was mine,” Conrad said, steeling himself for her embrace. As Lamia Invitus, they had both been conditioned to react to any potential threat with violence, to challenge any sign of weakness, and to fight each battle as though it were their last. Although they’d both worked hard to overcome their early training, those old instincts were always present. If Conrad needed any more proof of that, he need look no further than his wholly unwarranted attack tonight on Armand.

  Forcing Georgia to meet him here, on his own ground, and while she was still fatigued from travel could give him only a small advantage, but it was better than having none. The weaker Georgia was—or the more distracted—the less likely she would be to notice Conrad’s condition. Having Damian at his back, close enough to allow his aura to blend with Conrad’s, for their strength to read as one indistinguishable energy signature, might also help.

  Still, as Georgia placed her hands in his and leaned in to kiss his cheek, he was as worried as he’d been in centuries. Would the beast within her still accept him as her ruler, now that he was so much weaker than before? Would he be forced to fight her? And, if he did, could he prevail? As Georgia’s power rose to meet his own, Conrad held his breath, hardly daring to blink.

  “Do you really think she’s looking all that well?” Damian’s voice broke through the tension. “I thought she looked rather haggard, myself. Probably just due to her journey, don’t you think? I’m sure it’s only temporary. Or, at least…one would hope.”

  Georgia drew back, snarling softly, as her beast oriented on this new target. “You wound me, my lord. But, perhaps neither of us are as pretty as we once were, or so I’ve heard.”

  Conrad threw up his hands. “Enough,” he said, using their squabble as an excuse to break contact. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Georgia.” He waved her toward an armchair. “I assumed you might be hungry, so I took the liberty of having some food brought in.”

  Georgia’s eyebrows rose. “So I see.” Her gaze puzzled, she moved toward the low table where a silver tray held several glasses and a crystal decanter filled with blood. “Not quite your usual fare, is it?” she observed as she poured herself a glass. “Might I inquire why?”

  “A necessary precaution,” Conrad replied as they seated themselves, she in the chair he’d indicated, he on the small couch opposite her. “I have a matter of some importance to discuss with you tonight. I couldn’t risk having anyone else present to overhear our conversation.”

  “Also, we really couldn’t take the chance of your losing control and damaging one of the staff,” Damian murmured curling himself on the couch beside Conrad. As always, Conrad found himself distracted by the grace with which Damian folded his long frame into so tight a space.

  Georgia glared at him. “In my sire’s house? You dare suggest I would show such disrespect? You forget yourself.”

  “Stop this bickering at once,” Conrad ordered. “To listen to you, anyone would think you were a couple of children.”

  “But we are children, are we not?” Damian batted his eyes flirtatiously. “Your children, now and always. Yours to love, or to discipline however you see fit…”

  Though Damian never once glanced in Georgia’s direction, it was clear his words were meant at least partially to taunt her.

  “I’ve warned you once already tonight to stop your teasing,” Conrad cautioned. “Don’t make me do so again.” Even knowing Damian’s behavior was all for show, Conrad could not stanch the ache his words had conjured. Mine. Always. Yes. That was exactly how it should be.

  Unable to resist the impulse to reestablish some claim, even a small one, Conrad reached over and removed the stick holding Damian’s hair in place. Smiling complacently, Damian shook his hair loose and leaned back, resting his head companionably against Conrad’s shoulder. Such a small gesture, and yet its intimacy tormented Conrad in a way he wished might never end. Unbidden, his fingers sought out Damian’s hair, twining themselves in the silky strands.

  “So what was this secret you wished to tell us?” Georgia asked, sounding bored. “The night grows late, Conrad, and I believe you have a party yet to host.”

  Conrad sighed. Boredom would soon be the least of Georgia’s problems. “I believe someone is attempting to revive the Invitus cult.”

  Georgia stared at him. “What? How? The texts have all been destroyed—we made sure of it ourselves. There is no one left alive who knows the process, save those of us who are sworn to see it ended.”

  “So I, too, believed until recently. Yet only a few months ago I was abducted and drugged, and questioned repeatedly about it by someone who obviously knew more than he should have on the subject.”

  “Drugged?” Damian, his face chalk white, pulled away from him. “You never told me that.”

  Conrad’s blood screamed at the loss of contact. It was all he could do to keep from dragging Damian back against him by force. “I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

  Georgia frowned. “But, Conrad, that’s impossible unless… You can’t possibly mean…?”

  “Yes.” Conrad nodded. “I’m afraid I do. It appears at least one of
the ancient texts—one detailing the recipe for the elixir—has survived.”

  “That Abbot in Milan,” Georgia said grimly. “You remember him? I knew he was hiding something. You should have let me kill him like I wanted to.”

  “What would have been the point? The good father had clearly decided to choose martyrdom over confessing the location of the scroll. He viewed the elixir as a weapon to be used against our kind. Confirming his poor opinion of us would not have helped our cause. I’d hoped, in time, he might be made to see the wisdom of our arguments.”

  “What is this elixir?” Damian asked.

  Georgia moved restively. “Conrad—don’t!”

  “It’s all right, Georgia.” Conrad smiled wryly. “I doubt Damian will decide to start drugging us anytime soon.” He turned to Damian. “It’s a distillation made from our own venom. An extremely potent substance, one capable of rendering any vampire unconscious.”

  “Any vampire?” Damian repeated, his voice faltering. “Even…even you, querido?”

  “Did I not just say as much?”

  “I suppose it could not have been something else?” Georgia asked. “Some newly manufactured drug we’ve never encountered?”

  Conrad grimaced. “No. That’s one trouble, at least, we need not fear. I recognized its foul flavor all too well.”

  “And are you sure this is the same formula you thought was lost?” Damian asked. “Could not someone have stumbled on a new method of producing it?”

  “But for the questions I was asked—and the fact that my captor knew to call the drug by the same name by which it has always been known—I might have considered that possibility.” Conrad shrugged. “But, no. I do not believe that’s the case. Which is both good news and bad.”

  “We should contact the others,” Georgia insisted. “Emrys, at least. They must be apprised of this.”

  Damian stiffened slightly at the name. Conrad pretended not to notice. He shook his head. “Not yet. At this point, I would prefer to handle it ourselves. The fewer people who are aware of it, the better our chances of annihilating the threat once and for all.”