Fallen Embers

by P. G. Forte

  Hawk pointed at Julie. “Marc ordered me to keep an eye on his sister while he was out of town. Told me to make sure she was safe.”

  Conrad’s eyebrows rose. “I see. And did he specifically order you to come here? To intrude on my property, assault my people?”

  “Hey, I didn’t assault no one. I was the assaultee.”

  Conrad waited.

  Finally Hawk shrugged and answered, “No, okay? He didn’t say to do any of that. But, fuck, man, what was I s’posed to do? Letting his sister get her face chewed off sure doesn’t count as ‘keeping her safe’ in my book. You know?”

  “Yes. I do know.” Conrad stared at him a moment longer, then sighed. “I believe I am in your debt. Now tell me, how much of what has happened here tonight have you understood?”

  “Tonight?” Hawk shrugged—an exaggerated motion in keeping with the clownish look of blank confusion that appeared on his face. “Oh, hey, don’t ask me. I don’t know nuthin’ about nuthin’. I mean, whoa—what? Did something happen here? For reals? See? I’ve forgotten already.”

  An angry growl rose from Conrad’s throat as he took a step toward him. “Do not attempt to play games with me!” Even with his arms full, he managed to appear menacing. “Answer my question—now!”

  Hawk paled and shook his head. “N-n-nothing—I swear! I was just following orders. I haven’t understood a goddamn thing all night. I promise.”

  “Interesting.” Conrad’s eyes narrowed. He studied Hawk for a moment longer. “Tell me, do you always do exactly as Marc tells you to do?”

  Hawk’s eyes widened. “Of course. He’s my sire.”

  “Of course,” Conrad repeated the two words over and over again, beneath his breath. “Of course. Of course he does. Clearly, I shall have to begin taking tips from Marc. Very well.” He turned to Damian. “Check him over, por favor, and if you’re satisfied he’s healed, you may send him home.”

  Damian frowned. “But, Conrad…”

  “No more arguing, Damian, please. I’m confident we can depend upon Marc to deal with him appropriately. Unlike some of us, he seems to have his people well in hand.”

  Damian nodded stiffly. “Yes, querido. Of course.”

  “Conrad?” Armand put out a hand to stop him. “Wait. Before you go…”

  But Conrad shook his head. “Not now, Armand. Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it later.” He glanced around at all the anxious faces staring back at him. “But, perhaps, if the rest of you will kindly wait for me in my study…” He paused, his gaze going once again to the woman in his arms. A look of pain crossed his face and he could not keep his voice steady as he finished. “I will be with you all shortly.”

  Julie stared after Conrad, feeling more confused than ever before in her life. She was only vaguely aware of Damian questioning Hawk in his sternest tones. It seemed as though everyone else was on the same page, speaking the same language, following the same script—everyone but her. She still didn’t understand exactly what had happened, but she was pretty sure she’d done something stupid, and had nearly died for it. In fact, if it weren’t for her two unlikely saviors, Hawk and Armand…

  Armand. Happiness expanded in her chest, like an unexpected blossom on a stubbornly improbable vine, pushing up through a crack in a city pavement, bursting into glorious bloom—and all in the middle of winter. Armand was back. He’d come back for her! What did any of the rest of it matter?

  She turned to him impulsively, and felt her joy diminish. He was staring worriedly at her, something else she didn’t understand, and didn’t much care for. “Armand…you saved me.”

  “Did I?” He took hold of her shoulders and stared intently at her. “Please, chérie. Please tell me it wasn’t true what they said. Christian never bit you, did he?”

  “No.” At least…she didn’t think he had. She shook her head. “I would have noticed, right?”

  “I should never have left you here,” Armand said with a groan. “I should have taken you with me. If only I’d realized the extent of the danger.” He fixed her again with a baleful glare. “Did you bite him?”

  The remembered taste of Christian’s blood filled her mouth. She licked her lips without thinking.

  Armand groaned again. He closed his eyes and swore beneath his breath. “Nom de dieu de putain de bordel de merde de saloperie de connard d’enculé de ta mere.”

  “Stop already!” Julie couldn’t help but laugh. She was pretty sure that was every curse word she’d ever learned in French—and then some—all strung together. “What kind of swearing is that? No, all right? I didn’t bite him either. Jeez!” At least…she didn’t think she had. She certainly wouldn’t be doing so again, that was for sure.

  “You’re certain?”

  Julie clamped her mouth shut. Hope had filled Armand’s eyes. Hope and something that looked very much like love. There was no way in hell she was saying anything that might shut that down. “I don’t understand,” she said instead. “Why is everyone acting so crazy?”

  Apparently that had been the correct response. Armand sighed with relief and hugged her hard. Any harder, and her ribs might have cracked. She could barely even breathe. It felt…nice, even though it prevented her from saying anything at all when Armand whispered, “Oh, chérie. Never scare me like that again.”

  Then again, maybe he wasn’t really expecting an answer.

  Conrad laid Georgia on her bed as gently as possible, still she groaned in pain as he slipped his arms out from beneath her. He pulled a chair up to the bed and sat beside her. “Tell me how this happened,” he begged, although what he really meant was, tell me it’s not true.

  “It was my fault,” Christian replied. “That night in Florence, when she asked for your help, I didn’t trust that you would save her. I had already been talking to others who said they could help, who claimed there was an easier way to kill Rupert—a better way.”

  “The alchemists who created the disease,” Conrad guessed.

  Christian nodded. “I suppose. Or others to whom they’d passed on the knowledge. I didn’t realize it at the time, but they infected me.”

  “And you, in turn, infected her.” Conrad gazed reproachfully at Georgia. “And all this time, you knew and never said anything?”

  She shook her head weakly, but didn’t speak. It was Christian who continued. “Neither of us knew at first. There were no symptoms! The fact that it was already in my blood when I was turned inoculated me, and every time she drank from me, it strengthened her, it kept the disease at bay. It was only when she turned the others—when they all fell sick—that’s when we realized something had gone wrong.”

  Conrad sighed. “So what Armand said is true? The rest are dead?” Georgia sobbed and buried her face in her pillow. Conrad stroked her hair, knowing there was nothing he could say or do to comfort her. To be forced to kill your own loved ones—was there any greater tragedy?

  “We still didn’t know for certain,” Christian continued. “It took decades to figure it out. Everything I’ve just told you was pieced together over time. I’ve studied and learned and experimented—that’s how I know I’m right about this. About Julie.”

  Conrad snarled. Were he any less terrified, he might easily have killed Christian on the spot for even mentioning the girl. But the fear that held him in its grip, prohibited any movement. He was frozen, save for the blood that flowed like ice in his veins, the heart that shattered anew with every beat. “What about Julie?”

  “She can save us. I have proof. You must let me show it to you!”

  Conrad shook his head impatiently. “I care nothing for your proof!” That was not what concerned him at the moment. “The disease. Does she have it?”

  For an instant, Christian didn’t answer and Conrad held his breath. He’d tasted death so many times over the centuries, been on the brink time and again, but it had never seemed so bitt
er or so close.

  Finally, Christian shook his head. “No. No, she doesn’t. I can prove that too.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  San Francisco, California

  Anno Domini, 1857

  Georgia didn’t wait for the driver to hand her down when the carriage pulled to a stop in the dusty street. As soon as he’d reined in his horses, she drew her veil over her face and stepped out of the cab, ignoring his surprise. She was in too much of a hurry to waste time with social conventions. Her senses told her she was not yet too late, but she’d learned, over the centuries, not to rely overmuch on such things. Her timing was lamentable more often than not. She was taking a huge gamble coming here, but what choice did she have? Someone had to do something, after all.

  Clutching her reticule in her hand, she hurried up the wide front stairs and knocked imperiously on the door. “I’m here to see your master,” she informed the wary-looking servant who came in answer to her summons. She brushed the veil away from her face, doing her best to appear harmless. “Would you be so kind as to tell him I’m here?”

  “I-I’m s-sorry, miss,” the servant replied. His voice was shaking as badly as his hands. The nervousness in his gaze would have caused her to doubt his word, even if she didn’t already know he was lying. “But M-m-mister Q-Q-Quintano is not at h-home at present.”

  “I happen to know otherwise. So, pray, do not waste any more of my time with such nonsense. Where is he?”

  The quaking man shook his head but said nothing.

  Georgia rolled her eyes. Why had she even bothered to ask? “Never mind then.” She sighed. The servant gasped as she picked him up and moved him bodily aside. She ignored his surprise and swept past him into the house. “I will find him myself.” How hard could it be, after all? Her senses were already telling her Conrad was somewhere on the premises. The house was not so large he could hope to evade her forever. And the fact that he hadn’t yet killed this hapless servant had to be a good sign.

  “Miss—don’t!” the man protested. “Please. For your own safety’s sake, stay away from him. The master…he’s not himself, miss. He-he’s not well.”

  “Thank you,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the hall staircase. “But I am already aware of that fact. It’s precisely why I’m here. Now, be a good man and draw some of these curtains. Your master needs dark if he’s ever to recover his health.”

  Upstairs, it was even more disturbingly bright. The stained glass in the window on the landing helped somewhat, but the trees on the property were not yet tall enough to deflect the sunlight and the building dwarfed the houses around it, so there was very little shade. For a vampire—and a man who put such high stock in the idea of blending in—this house seemed an exceedingly poor choice of a dwelling. She’d have wondered what Conrad had been thinking to buy such a place, but she feared she already knew the answer to that: he had not been thinking, at least not clearly.

  Dust motes danced in each shaft of sunlight as Georgia made her way down the hallway. There was a set of double doors at the far end of the hall that drew her attention. Something told her she’d find what she was looking for behind them. She tightened her clasp on the bag in her hand, thankful that she’d had the forethought to come armed. Bearding a wild beast in its lair had never been a favorite pastime, but one did what one must to survive. That was one lesson she’d learned exceedingly well over the centuries.

  She knocked softly on the door. “Conrad? It’s I. Georgia. May I come in?”

  A low growl sounded from inside the room. “No. Go away.”

  “Unkind. Would you really turn me away when I’ve come so far just to see you?” When Conrad didn’t answer she tested the door and was relieved to find it unlocked, but only because it saved her the trouble of breaking it down. Otherwise, the fact that Conrad had not locked it behind himself was a very disturbing detail indeed. Was he hoping someone would sneak in and stake him in his sleep? She would have judged his servants far too timid for such a step, so perhaps he was expecting another vampire? If that was the case, it was even better luck, on her part, that she’d arrived first.

  “I’m coming in now,” she called through the door. “Pray allow me to do so, love. I’ve no wish to fight you.” Still no answer. Georgia took a deep breath. She pushed the door open and was all but blinded by the relentless flood of light.

  “Merciful heavens.” She hurriedly pulled the veil back across her eyes. “What madness is this?” Conrad was lying sprawled across the floor, as though he’d stumbled and fell and had simply not bothered to get up again. Her senses warned her that he was still quite capable of doing so if he wished, however, so she gave him wide berth as she headed for the windows and quickly pulled the drapes closed.

  She sighed in relief as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Cautiously, she crossed the room to where Conrad lay, still unmoving. She crouched beside him and eyed him closely. “This will not do, you know—lying about on the floor in the middle of the day. Why, one might almost mistake you for some no-account beggar, rather than the master of the house. Now, tell me, my love, what is this all about? What is it that ails you?”

  “He’s gone.” Conrad’s face was stark as he raised his head to face her. His features were twisted in agony. His eyes were hopeless. “Gone. Destroyed. I killed him.”

  “I see.” Georgia kept her composure, but not without an effort. “Well, well, I am sorry to hear it.”

  Conrad’s pronouncement was more than a little unsettling. Had he dispatched some important personage? She’d heard no rumors of such a thing, but if that were indeed the case, it would be most worrisome. Still, she chose to remain optimistic. Conrad had his fortune yet, so far as she knew, and it was a considerable amount. Surely it was enough that he could easily buy himself justice, even in this strange new world. If not…well, there were other, older methods by which the two of them might contrive to make the matter go away. And, if even that failed, as a last resort, he would simply have to go away himself.

  Blessedly, they were on a continent where there was yet an abundance of wilderness. With very little effort, a man might lose himself for several decades here. So, however bad the situation might be, it was far from hopeless. They’d both survived worse.

  “But who is it you’ve killed, love? Tell me. Let me help you.”

  “Damian.” Conrad’s voice all but broke on the name. “I’ve killed Damian.”

  “Oh!” Georgia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or swear in frustration. “Conrad, really, what nonsense is this? It’s too bad of you to worry me like that. You’ve done nothing of the sort!” But Conrad had let his head drop to the floor again and would say nothing more. Misery radiated from him. Georgia sighed.

  “My love, please, I hate to see you in such distress. I do not know how you came to be so terribly misinformed, but I assure you Damian is not dead. He is in fact very much alive, most annoyingly so. He is merely keeping his distance, which, for him, is so surprisingly prudent a move, that I imagine you must have ordered him to do so. Why did you think him dead?”

  “I lost my temper. I…I attacked him.”

  “Yes, yes, so I’ve heard. The merest scratch, what of it? It was a harsh lesson, perhaps, for someone so vain, so spoiled, so used to being pampered. I don’t doubt he had it coming, however. No one would ever dare fault you for your treatment of him, you know. And, hopefully he’ll have learned something from the experience.”

  “No. No excuses. He’s gone. Dead and gone. I’ve killed it—he said so himself.”

  Sighing, Georgia rearranged her skirts and settled herself more comfortably on the floor. She dug around in her bag and pulled out one of the glass vials of blood she’d brought with her. “Here, love, why don’t you eat something? I fear you’ve been neglecting yourself most shockingly, and you know no good can come of that!”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Conrad m
uttered, but as Georgia uncorked the vial she could see how he stiffened, how the scent of the blood called to him. “Nothing matters now. I’ve lost him.”

  “Allow me to disagree, love. What happens to you matters a great deal to those of us who call you sire. Think of us, if you please. Or, if you cannot find it in you to be concerned with the rest of us, then think of Damian. Consider his position in this. It’s obvious you already feel badly for your actions toward him, why compound the damage by leaving him friendless and forcing him to fend for himself?”

  “I’ve already forced him into doing that,” Conrad said, but he’d raised his head and was eyeing the vial greedily. “Have you not understood a thing I’ve said? I’d hoped to protect him, but I could not even protect him from myself. He could hardly do any worse without me.”

  “And, yet again, I fear I must disagree with you.” Georgia held out the vial and breathed a sigh of relief when Conrad snatched it from her hand. He emptied it in a single swallow and was already reaching to take the next one from her before she’d even uncorked it. Giving up, she merely opened her bag and laid it on the floor between them, happy to let him root each of the six vials out and empty them in turn. “How have you failed in your role as protector? No one has harmed him but you yourself—which you were well within your right to do. I am convinced no one else would dare touch him—now, even more than before. You must know it was not the tattoo itself that’s kept him safe all these years. And, if I may be frank, pretty though he looked with your ink upon his skin, surely the marks you’ve left upon him now are even more of a deterrent. Who could look upon them and not think twice before doing anything to cross you? For, if that’s how you deal with a loved one who’s caused you displeasure, how might others fare should they fall afoul of you? Indeed, as I’ve said, I’m quite convinced he’s even more protected now than he was before.”