by Mindy Klasky
She, too, started to snarl, but she caught herself before the sound could rip its way from her throat. Her eyes narrowed beneath their canopy of sparkling emerald makeup, and she jutted out her lower jaw like a stubborn toddler. “Richardson,” she said stonily, matching the epithet with a distinctly prejudicial motion as she holstered her gun.
“What about him?” Terror swamped my question.
Eleanor delayed her reply, wasting time to nod a command at Alex. I couldn’t see his face, but I sensed him sheathing his blade. Only then did Eleanor say, “He hired Braxton to steal a thumb drive.”
“Hired him?” My voice grew shrill. “How do you know that?” And before anyone could answer, I thought of a more pressing question. “What was on the drive? What information was so valuable?”
Eleanor nearly spat out the words: “The list of our sanctums.”
I dipped into the knowledge I had drunk from James—was it only two weeks before? Sanctums. Technically, vampires’ lairs, but the term applied to any imperial residence. Sanctums were kept absolutely secret from all but the closest of allies. Vampires were especially vulnerable in their sanctums by day, liable to be bound with silver, staked, burned.
I stared at my shattered desk drawer.
I was responsible for this. I had left Braxton in my office, trusted him to stay there. I’d given him all the access he’d needed to break into the supply closet, to crash through to James’s office.
I barely heard Alex say to Eleanor, “Go. I’ll stay until James gets back. You’ll have to find a place no one would ever think of.”
Eleanor barely glanced at me as she shook her bright red curls. “You need time yourself! Where are you going to— “
Alex cut her off. “Don’t worry about me. I have a place.”
Eleanor’s hand twitched over her gun as she headed for the door. “Be careful, Alex. This threat is real.” Before he could respond, she hurried away, moving so quickly that I could swear she left behind a cloud of eyeshadow dust.
In the silence she left behind, I asked, “What’s a Level Five?”
“A complete lockdown. James phoned it into the courtroom, and Eleanor executed the command. Judge DuBois locked himself in chambers. Lawyers, witnesses, everyone else, down the trapdoor. Every open office in the building had to be secured before the alarm could be lifted. Yours was furthest from the threat, last to be checked.”
Great. Way to make the human girl feel like everyone was looking out for her best interests.
At least Alex’s explanation told me why my computer hadn’t worked. “Fine,” I said, trying not to sound offended. After all, James had already known that Braxton wasn’t here. I’d been safe all along. But that made me wonder… “Where is James?”
“After calling in the Level Five, he left the building. He went to the office where he hired Braxton and the others. He … questioned someone there. He checked back with Eleanor before we began the full office sweep.”
I picked up on Alex’s hesitation. “Questioned?”
Alex’s look confirmed that I didn’t want to know the details. “He confirmed that Richardson’s involved.”
“What about Clarice Martin? She had to be in on this too.”
Alex’s voice was flat. “There isn’t enough to bring her in. Yet.”
Yet. I was somehow certain that she would have covered all her tracks. She was too good an attorney to have left herself vulnerable.
Alex glanced at his wristwatch. I said, “Don’t you have to find your own refuge for the day?”
He fiddled with his cufflink. I wasn’t an expert on sprite emotion—not by a long stretch—but I was pretty sure he was embarrassed. He refused to meet my eyes as he said, “I can get to a safe place before sunrise. I have a … companion who will take me in.”
A companion. The way he shaded the word, I was certain that he was referring to a human. And I’d give my own eyeteeth if that person wasn’t male. What had James said to me? “We leave our Sources better than we found them, with money, or shelter, or some other answer to their physical needs.”
Was that standard policy for all imperials, interacting with humans? What did a sprite take from a mundane, anyway? At least it didn’t take much imagination to figure out what needs Alex met for his companion.
Before I could decide whether to press for more information, the door to my office crashed open.
CHAPTER 11
I SHUDDERED AT Alex’s involuntary hiss. His shoulder was hard as iron when he shoved me back against my desk, planting his instantly taut body between me and the new threat. He drew his poniard smoothly, raising it against whatever threat was about to enter.
Except that the threat was merely an exhausted-looking James.
Alex’s blade was sheathed as quickly as it had manifested. “Eleanor cleared this office and the inner ones,” he reported, sounding like a midnight sentry reporting for duty on the western front. Which, I realized, he sort of was. We all were. We were all foot soldiers in a long-running imperial war. And ready or not, I’d been drafted the day that James accepted my application for Court Clerk.
James nodded and gestured toward the hallway. “Go ahead, then. But don’t go to your sanctum. It won’t take Richardson long to crack the encryption on the drive he stole. I’m sure he had experts ready to work on it, the instant Braxton delivered.” James’s eyes were grim.
“I’ll be fine,” the court reporter said. He gave me one more quick look, as if to confirm that I was safe and sound. With a start, I realized that he was actually asking a clandestine question, checking to see if I would keep his companion confidential.
I nodded once, and he darted out the door. I imagined that he’d be difficult to track in the pre-dawn streets of D.C., his dark clothes melting into the shadows as he ghosted toward his secret refuge. I turned back to find James staring at me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, finally saying aloud the words that had been scrabbling around my mind for hours. “I shouldn’t have trusted Clarice. I shouldn’t have left her here with Braxton.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is, though. I should have made them wait in the hallway. Locked them out.”
“Given him another door to break down?” James shook his head. “He would have gotten in here somehow. They clearly planned this. Those guards came from a source that should have been secure. Richardson has infiltrated further than we ever thought. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”
James didn’t look sorry, though. He looked furious. He left no room for argument when he said, “Let’s go. I’m driving you home, making sure that no one follows you there. I’ve already phoned the D.C. police. They’ll keep an eye on your place during the day.”
“How could you do that?” My protest was equal parts indignation and fear.
“I’m the Director of Security for the District of Columbia Night Court. When I say that an employee has been threatened in a legal proceeding, the police listen.”
“Did you assign cops to everyone else?”
He gave me a grim look. “The police would ask too many questions if I gave them the other addresses. The imperials can protect themselves.” James curled his fingers around my elbow and hauled me toward the door.
Truth be told, I was frightened.
And so I let James march me down to his Mercedes. I let him drive us through the still-dark streets, taking the turns that he remembered flawlessly from the one other time he’d driven me home. I let him glide into a parking space a few car-lengths from my front door. I let him stalk around the car like a trained bodyguard, open my door, fast-walk me to my doorstep.
He loomed over me while I fumbled in my handbag for my keys. His shoulders were broad enough that they blocked the light from the streetlamp. I bit my lower lip, feeling awkward and unprepared. James clicked his tongue in frustration and plunged his hand into the darkness, coming out with the brass fob.
“Thanks,” I said, holding out my hand for the keys.
He ignored me and selected the right one on the first try. As it had the only other time he had stood there, the lock turned smoothly under his ministrations, opening without the customary stutter that I battled every single time I came or went.
Before I could move, James stepped in front of me, closing his fingers around my wrist like a bracelet specially designed to match my hematite band. “Invite me in.”
He was standing too close. I wanted to edge back, but I knew that my shoulders would brush against the rough brick wall behind me.
I shouldn’t invite him in. I shouldn’t give him permanent access to my home. I shouldn’t rip down the one guaranteed defense that a human had against vampires.
“Sarah,” he said, his voice so low that I felt it more than heard it. “I need to be certain that you’re safe. Your address wasn’t in my files, but anyone could find it from public records. I need to make sure that Richardson’s men aren’t already here.”
“Vampires couldn’t cross my threshold.” I heard the pleading in my voice, the request to be told that everything was truly all right, that I would be safe.
“Richardson can hire humans. They could be waiting inside. Waiting to eliminate you.”
Eliminate. I thought I might be sick.
A part of me wanted to agree with James, wanted to hand over all responsibility for my safety, my protection. Another part, though, was afraid of the creature beside me, overwhelmed by the strength I’d seen demonstrated repeatedly in the Old Library, even in the public corridors of the courthouse.
James still held my wrist with one hand, but he raised his free fingers to my face. I felt the granite chill of his palm settling against my jaw, his thumb brushing against the pulse that suddenly leaped to life beneath my ear. “Sarah,” he whispered. “Please.”
I closed my eyes and lowered my chin. “Come in,” I said. “Come into my home.”
He had us both over the threshold so quickly that I stumbled against him. I felt the hard line of his leg through his trousers, the sturdy support of his chest as he closed the door behind us, automatically engaging the dead bolt, the flimsy lock inside the knob, the chain. He folded his hands around my biceps, restoring me to my feet, only stepping away when I nodded to indicate that I had regained my balance.
Light leaked in from the front window, a weak blend of streetlamp and moonlight. I felt, more than saw, James move to my bedroom. I flushed at the thought of him seeing my pristine bed, my comforter precisely settled over my sheets. I heard him slide open my closet door, imagined him cataloging my hangers, my blouses and skirts and trousers, all arranged by color and style. A heartbeat later, my shower curtain rattled back on its metal hooks.
There weren’t any nooks or crannies in the living room, and an invader would have to be hiding inside the oven if he’d taken up refuge in my kitchen. I was safe, then. My home remained untouched.
In the dim light from the street, though, I could just make out that James was glaring as he stormed back to my side. I could feel the tension radiating from his body; I was certain that his fangs were about to lock into place. I took a step back toward the door, toward the threshold that could have kept me safe if I’d forbidden him from entering in the first place.
“What?” I asked, remembering that I was supposed to take deep breaths, that I was supposed to soothe him with my unflappable calm. Unfortunately, my pounding heart had launched a very different plan.
“Gardner.” The single word was saturated with disgust.
“What?” I asked again, even though I knew exactly what he’d said, even though I suddenly understood precisely what he meant.
“Last night?” he hissed. “You had him here last night?”
“He brought me home from a party,” I said, hating the way my voice leaped into a treble register. “Nothing happened!”
Not that I should have to explain if anything had. Not that James P. Morton was the boss of me. Except for the minor fact that he, um, was.
James said, “You have no business —”
My embarrassment fueled me to cut him off. “You have no business! I work for you, James. That doesn’t mean you own me.”
“I trusted you,” he said, the words made more urgent by their stark simplicity. “I trusted you with secrets about the Night Court. I trusted you not to entertain an investigative reporter here in the privacy of your own home, not to share my secrets with anyone else.”
“Nothing happened!” I shouted.
Not that I hadn’t wanted something to happen. Not that I hadn’t thrown myself at Chris like some lovelorn teenager coming home from her first school dance. Angry with myself for the sudden blush I knew was painting my cheeks, I turned away from James, struggling to take three deep, calming breaths.
Turning your back on a vampire—that’s not actually recommended in the training manuals.
When James spoke, I was startled to realize that his chest was close against my back. He had closed the distance between us silently. “This isn’t a game, Sarah. You should understand that, after the Level Five tonight. You cannot endanger the safety of my court with Christopher Gardner.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I bent the rules for you, Sarah. I broke them. You have more information about us than any human has ever had, any human without Enfolding. This is Allison Ward, all over again.”
I tumbled back into the whirlpool of my shame, of my guilt that I had subjected my best friend to James’s invasive control. That I had endangered all of the imperials, that night with Allison. Just like I’d put them in harm’s way tonight, with Clarice and Braxton. Nevertheless, I raised my chin in defiance because I had to do something. I had to defend myself. “You told me I should meet with Chris!”
“I made a mistake.”
Those four words shocked me into silence. I was pretty sure that it had been decades—maybe even centuries—since James had admitted failure. Especially to a human. To a woman, even more.
He swallowed hard, and then he met my eyes before he repeated, “I made a mistake. I don’t want you getting close to Gardner. I don’t want him here with you.”
I couldn’t believe it. My stoic vampire boss was actually admitting that he needed something from me, something personal. His confession sat between us for a silent eternity as I weighed how much James had said aloud, how much he hadn’t dared to say. At last I licked my lips and said for a third time, “Nothing happened.”
“It could have.”
“It didn’t. And it won’t, so long as Chris is writing his article.” I remembered the grim look I’d seen on Chris’s face, his stubborn commitment to morality. The irony of Chris’s immutable code of journalistic ethics satisfying James almost turned my lips up in a bitter smile.
Almost.
I saw blatant skepticism on James’s face, sparking beneath the blue of his eyes. Even as I realized that he was actually torn, that he wanted to believe me but wasn’t sure he could, I realized something else. Something far more pressing.
“I can see you,” I said. Sure, that sounded stupid, but it got the point across. James’s eyes were blue in the grey light of my living room; they no longer looked black.
He glanced at his watch and swore. “You distracted me.”
Somehow, I didn’t think that James had ever let anyone distract him before. Not from something as important as the sun. Instinctively, I shied away from that emotional tell. I asked, “Do you have enough time?”
I knew the answer before he shook his head. “No. Not with Richardson’s men out there. Even if I could get to my sanctum, I can’t be sure it’s still safe.”
I felt sick. I knew what was at stake here—no pun intended. I’d known it since Alex had filled me in, back at the courthouse. I never should have let James drive me home. Yielding on that point, I shouldn’t have wasted time debating about Chris. Now, I’d kept James out till dawn; I’d kept him from taking the most basic steps to protect himself from Richardson’s ver
y real, all-too-deadly threat.
I looked around my kitchen and living room, at the furniture that was growing more defined by the second in the light from my front window. Glancing into my bedroom, I could see that it wasn’t any better in there; the brightening pre-dawn glow was already leaking through the half window, already awakening the blues and greens in my comforter. My closet wouldn’t help; the sliding doors were fitted with shutters that would let in burning stripes of light as soon as the sun was high enough.
The bathroom. The tiny, windowless bathroom. That was the only possible solution.
“Come on,” I said, moving before James could agree. It only took me a few seconds to gather up my pillows, to toss them into the bathtub. I automatically twitched them into place, making them lie evenly, despite the fact that they immediately reminded me of the lining inside a coffin. I tried to shove that image aside as I tugged three clean towels from the cabinet beneath the sink, hurriedly folding them into a makeshift headrest.
I looked up to find James silhouetted in the bathroom door. He shook his head, as if he were confused, as if he were falling asleep on his feet. “Sarah, I can’t,” he said. My name sounded like a question on his lips; his words were an exhausted child’s protest.
“You can,” I said. “And you will.” I reached out for his hand when he continued to hesitate. His fingers closed around mine automatically, but I scarcely recognized his touch. In the lightening dawn he had become tentative, vague, nothing at all like the stoic instructor who routinely thrashed me in the Old Library.
I tugged his shirt out of his trousers while he stood in front of me like a little boy. I felt like a nurse as I unfastened his belt buckle, as I loosened the button at the top of his slacks. He barely managed to help me after I untied his shoes; he stepped out of them clumsily, resting both hands on my shoulders to help him keep his balance. He started shivering; his teeth chattered like a baby’s rattle.
“Wait here,” I said, ducking into my bedroom to gather up my comforter. James lurched forward as soon as I left him. He barely managed to catch himself on the doorframe, to curl his fingers around the molding.
