The discussion continued most of the night. There was agreement that we keep on with the plans for building up the Kiev bureau. Jean-Louis and I talked about the Huszar’s attempt to lure young women with the promise of everlasting life, and what that might mean to our finding true celebs to follow.
One of my tasks was to have Francois get in touch with all the fashion houses and alert them that we were searching for Eastern Europeans. The oligarchs were so private that finding them was difficult, so finding their shopping patterns was next best.
Jean-Louis was continuing to meet with Karoly and Alessandr who were quietly talking to Huszar family members about their dissatisfaction. Matthais’ violent leadership was fine during the wars, and helped the family weather the hardships during the Communist era, but now that money was flowing and people traveling, they were itching to get a piece of the action.
And for them, that didn’t mean just going out on nighttime raids for food. They saw the glitz and glamour and wanted in on the goodies of fame, fast cars, beautiful women and expensive clothes. Some of the younger members of the Huszar family were 300 years old, but having been turned at 18 or 23 or whatever, in their prime as young adults, they still had testosterone raging. That made them good soldiers for Matthais. And it made them lust for more of the material things of the regular world, mostly revolving around women.
The Baron, Bela and Jean-Louis groaned. “That’s one of the reasons we don’t take many young people as acolytes,” Jean-Louis said. “Chasing after women gets in the way of business. They’re also more unstable and make the family vulnerable to scrutiny.”
He had the grace to let a small grin cross his face. That was one of the reasons the Kandesky elders were upset at Jean-Louis when he started showing an interest in me. Most of them had been in stable relationships for centuries and to have the second in command get seriously involved with a regular—a regular on their payroll and an executive in their business—could bring a lot of scrutiny.
Those pitfalls didn’t hamper the Huszars. Money could buy them entree into the echelons of attractiveness. Money could buy them bait for women—jewelry, fast cars, travel, luxury—even though many of those women always had an eye out for the richer, older, sexier men. Of course, the Huszars had one thing that trumped all the money and power—eternal life. Using money and all the trappings lured some young women, and the hook was set with the lifetime guarantee.
What they didn’t see, and what the Huszars didn’t tell them, was that they couldn’t trade on their youth and beauty forever. They still had to be seen in the regular world and people would talk when they never aged. So they bought an eternal life where they gave up the pleasures of being seen and admired in the regular world, for a world that only admired them as a lure for others.
As Jean-Louis ran down our assessment of the Huszars, Pen nodded in agreement. She had been one of the world’s leading celebrities, not an actress, not an aristocrat, just a beautiful, cultured woman admired for years for her panache and elegance. The time had come a few months before when the Kandeskys bowed to the inevitable.
Pen had been a star in the celebrity world for better than 40 years and tongues were wagging about lots of surgery; it was time for her to retire. In today’s digital world of 24/7 news cycles, instant communications, cloud computing, images never went away and even in a century, some sharp-eyed photographer or editor might recognize her if she were to re-emerge as a celeb.
“We have so much more than the Huszars.” The Baron waved his hand around. “Not just material things, although we have a lot more of that, but interests, businesses, influence. We move in spheres that the Huszars have never conceived. It would be incredibly dangerous to allow them money and power. They supported Hitler because it helped them out. They have no understanding or caring about the way the world folds in on itself. How one action can have severe consequences, not only to them but to others. Can you imagine if they aligned themselves with one of today’s rogue states?”
Everyone murmured. We all understood the potential chaos that could be unleashed. The Huszars had to be reined in and controlled, our only discussion was about finding the best way to do that.
I was beginning to droop and still hadn’t taken Jean-Louis to task over scaring the hell out of me when I thought he’d been killed. He felt my emotions and stood. “I’m taking Maxie to bed; she’s probably on the edge of shock.”
Wait a minute. I wasn’t a child, to be put to bed! I started a snide comment then bit my tongue as a combination of fatigue and desire swept over me. I was tired. I wanted Jean-Louis. Comforting me while I fell asleep was fine and all, but I wanted this beautiful man to make love to me. I wanted his hands to undress me. I wanted his lovely, naked body next to me and I wanted him to make me forget.
Chapter Twenty
We were engulfed in a whirl of activity the next few days. Jazz and I had two or three Skype conversations a day, I talked with Francois, Taras and Carola about the upcoming holidays, I had to work out coverage assignments for the spring fashion shows and always, wonderfully, magically there was Jean-Louis.
I felt at the top of my game, with an enthusiasm and energy I hadn’t had since my first months with SNAP, when I was making a name and creating my persona. All those self-doubts were gone. Without that nagging sense that I was in over my head, I just let things roll off me instead of hunting for hidden messages.
These few days were a respite from the tension with the Huszars, and Jean-Louis was able to spend a few hours with me every night. It’s wasn’t just the sex that was making me want more of him—although it was glorious. This man clearly had years of experience with women and my skin tingled when he touched me, knowing what was to come.
Best part though, was that he was letting me know him. He told me stories of his turning and how difficult it was for him at first as an acolyte of the Baron. How hard it was for him to learn to feed and not always kill. How traumatic to find an attractive woman and know that he couldn’t have her forever. How he hardened himself to short relationships and tamped down the qualms about using women.
But he didn’t tell me about Magda. His wife. His one love.
He had casually asked me if I would let him feed off me, but when I cringed, he backed away. I was falling more in love with this stunning creature, but I couldn’t give my life completely over to him.
“I won’t ever push you to become my donor. I have plenty of food and you’re too precious to me to frighten away,” he whispered to me one night as he was stroking me. My legs fell open and I wanted to take all of him into me but I wasn’t able to let him pierce my skin.
I knew this idyll wouldn’t last, if for no other reason than my legs wouldn’t hold me up after he left to go to his own rooms.
And I was right.
One night, the Baron summoned all of us to the media room. He had CNN on one screen, Al Jazeera on another and BBC on a third. All of them were reporting on an overnight attack on an Afghan town that left 25 dead. What was so different about this attack was that no one was taking credit for it. No Taliban communiqués, no Al Qaeda statements, no traces of car bombs or other incendiary devices. What witnesses they could find reported some shots, but most of them only saw black-robed figures going into the victims’ homes.
After a few minutes of watching the news tapes loop, the Baron muted the televisions. “Well, what’s your best guess?” He turned to us but was really addressing Jean-Louis.
“It doesn’t take a genius to know this one.” Jean-Louis was pacing, running his hands through his hair. “This has Huszar written all over it, and the Taliban and Al Qaeda are trying to keep their distance. I knew it was going to be a bloodbath if they got mixed up with the rogues in the area.”
I just sat there, open-mouthed. “Why would terrorist groups want to hook up with the Huszars? They don’t have the same aims. They don’t care about Islam. They don’t hate the West.
“Or do they?” I turned to Jean-Louis, then the Baron,
looking for some answers because this didn’t make sense.
“No, the Huszars don’t have those aims. Their aim is to gain power, control and money. This looks like a product sample. Showing off a new weapons system to a potential buyer.” The Baron shook his head and hit the remote button, sending the newscasters into the void. “I, we, were afraid that something like this might happen. Once they contacted with the Chechens to do some of their daylight work, it’s a small step to contracting with all those thugs for nighttime work. The one saving grace is that they are the weapons themselves, so they can only do limited damage.
“But what a handy addition to have. I doubt that Al Qaeda, or whomever, is paying them very much. A little cash, you provide the food and bingo, the Huszars stage a raid and scare the populace into toeing the line.”
I shuddered. All those poor people in the Middle East and Eastern Europe. Centuries of warfare, shifting tribal alliances, and now modern warfare, terrorists and vampires at large. What did they ever do to deserve this?
The Baron turned to Jean-Louis. “Take Sandor and a couple of demons. Go pick up Bela. Meet Karoly at the tunnel in the Neutrality and bring him in. We need to talk.”
Jean-Louis nodded and headed for the armory and all I could do was sit there making fish-faces with my mouth. I finally got my body to move and ran to the armory myself.
“Take me with you,” I begged as the demons loaded up Sig Sauers and filled magazines. Jean-Louis turned to me, astounded. “Are you kidding? You’re what most of the Huszar energy is focused on.”
“But they must have taken me off the agenda, if they’re putting themselves up as murder for hire with terrorists!”
“Don’t bet on it.” Jean Louis pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, picked up a coil of silver wire and handed it to one of the demons. “This is just an aside. They can’t make the money from these idiots that they can from you. Plus, hanging out with thugs, terrorists, rogue states, doesn’t get them the panache they want in the West. Even if they make a lot of money, they can’t flaunt it. They’d never make the A-list, probably not even in Kiev.”
“I still want to go. Maybe even more, if I’m still a target. I don’t want to be cowering behind some demon while you’re out there getting yourself killed!” My voice started to quaver.
That made him stop. “Are you worried that I might get killed?”
“Of course I am. Most of what you thought was an adrenaline hangover in Kiev was residual fear about you. If you get killed, I don’t want to be here any more.”
“Hummm, that’s sounding awfully like a suicide wish. I still won’t let you commit suicide, though.”
I stomped my foot and the gesture startled me. I hadn’t stomped my foot since I was five and my crummy sister wouldn’t give me my doll. “It’s not suicide, you big doofus, it’s the opposite. I worry less if I know what’s going on than I do if I have to guess what’s going on. It’s much scarier to sit and wait for news.”
He sighed. He sighed again and slapped the gloves on his leg. He sighed again and rolled his eyes at the demons, but they didn’t respond. Clearly, they weren’t picking sides in this lose-lose proposition.
He paced around the armory, ostensibly looking for weapons, but really looking for an answer that would shut me up. He didn’t find one.
He sighed. “All right. But, we’re only going to the end of the tunnel. We’re not going into the Neutrality. We’re just going to meet Karoly and bring him back. You can carry a knife and some wire. Two demons will be in front of you and one behind. Don’t get away from them. Oh, I hope I’m not going to be sorry.”
I looked up at him. Now that I was going, I was scared to death, but I meant what I’d said. No matter how scared, it was better than the stress of waiting to hear that he was dead. “You won’t be sorry, my love.” There, I’d said it in front of the demons. No matter how much I wanted to hold him now, that show of emotion wasn’t done.
There was a small door in a niche in the armory and as we headed through it and down a flight of narrow stairs, I was glad that I’d been SoCal dressed when Jean-Louis and I were in my apartment, before the summons from the Baron. I had on jeans and a shirt and grabbed a tailored leather jacket and a pair of soft-soled shoes as we’d headed out. Most of the time, I was barefoot in my own rooms, a California holdover that made Jean-Louis crazy, but, hey, we all had our idiosyncrasies.
He was a vampire and drank blood; I went barefoot.
Chapter Twenty-one
The staircase was some twenty steps down and then leveled off to a floor that sloped slightly downward. It was carved out of the stone heart of the mountains and lined with more paving stones. Although the air was damp and smelled old, the tunnel was dry.
Sconces every few feet lined the walls, for the days when the world was lit only by fire. This was now, though, and the tunnel was wired for electricity in addition to the heavy, powerful flashlights carried by a couple of the demons. When I looked closely at the flashlights, I realized they had heavy silver switches and belt hooks and doubled as weapons.
We didn’t make much noise. Jean-Louis had made sure none of us jingled. All weapons were holstered or otherwise secured and we all wore silent shoes. He’d told me that he didn’t think the Huszars knew about the tunnel, but none of the Kandeskys took any chances.
The shapeshifters roaming the Neutrality above us had keen hearing and the night birds, particularly the owls who called these woods their own, could hear a mole in its den. The owls weren’t part of the Huszars, but when an owl alerted to some sound, the shapeshifters, usually werewolves, paid attention.
We walked, silently but quickly, for what felt like twenty minutes when I realized the floor was now slightly sloping up. After another five minutes, we came to a second set of stairs, leading up into a well of darkness. Sandor motioned us to stay at the bottom, the lights and flashlights were snapped off, and he headed up. When he got to the top, I could hear a creaky sound, like an unoiled door opening, a breeze of fresh air trickled in and the darkness wasn’t quite so dark.
Jean-Louis headed up, followed by another demon. I was itching to go up those stairs, so when Sandor and Jean-Louis were no longer at the top, I climbed up. I got to the top and stuck my head out just as a crashing, smashing sound came tearing through the underbrush. Yelps and brutish grunts echoed off the trees, but no voices...and no trace of Sandor or Jean-Louis. I started to climb out when something grabbed my leg from behind and dragged me down, not caring if I hit the steps or not, and a hand slapped across my mouth.
I hit the stones at the bottom of the stairs so hard I was winded. Then I felt, I don’t think I consciously heard, a demon. “Do not say a word. Do not make a sound. There is danger.”
So I huddled at the foot of the stairs, unable to see in the pitch black, hearing only crashes from above and, once again, not knowing if Jean-Louis was dead or alive—or captured by the Huszars.
Some minutes later, the creak sounded again, feet quickly and quietly rushed down the stairs and a demon said “Let’s go”. I was unceremoniously picked up and carried, fast enough that I felt air flying by, and suddenly we were at the other set of stairs. The flashlights flicked back on and I saw Sandor, demons, Jean-Louis, Karoly and someone I didn’t know.
An unseen hand pulled a well-oiled door open and light from the Baron’s armory flooded the top of the stairs. We climbed up and out, again Sandor in the lead, and now I got my first good look at the newcomer. He looked faintly Asian, maybe Slavic, with wide-set black eyes in a darkish face; taller and slimmer than the other Slavs I met in Kiev.
His hand, when he reached out to shake mine, was finer-boned and his skin cool. I got the impression that he stopped himself from clicking his heels together and bowing. “Hello, I am Bohdan, from Ukraine. You must be Miss Maxie. I have heard much about you.”
Wow, he had more manners that all the other Huszars put together. I’d have to ask Jean-Louis about him.
I nodded, he smiled, Jean-Loui
s waved his hand in a “wagons, ho!” gesture and we were herded back into the media room, where Pen, the Baron, Milos and two Kandeskys I didn’t know were chatting while the talking heads on the TV sets silently mouthed the day’s horrors.
“Welcome Karoly.” The Baron indicated some chairs. “And I see you’ve brought Bohdan. How are you old friend? I don’t see much of you these days.”
“No sir. Leonid is watching me. I even participate in the attack on Miss Maxie and Jean-Louis in Kiev to divert any suspicion.”
Bohdan may have come from a mannered background, but English wasn’t his first, second or probably even third language. The Baron switched to what I thought was Russian and one of the demons leaned over to translate for me.
It seemed that Matthais was getting frustrated at his attempts to kidnap me, so he starting branching out. Opening our SNAP bureau in Kiev gave him an opportunity to orchestrate a grab and blame the Chechens or some other Mafia-style group. When Jean-Louis and Nikoly managed to deflect the grab, Matthias thought, correctly, that he had a mole in his Kiev staff. He recalled some of the Huszars and Bohdan was now right where the Kandeskys wanted him, just across the Neutrality.
A translator whispering in my ear lost some of the nuances, but the gist was that the Kandeskys were mounting a big disinformation blitz. They moved up the inaugural broadcast from Kiev, and ran clips of me at the parties for the Kirov Ballet. They also shot a party for the daughter of the Azerbaijan president, an incredibly lavish affair paid for by the Baku oil money, and cobbled together a story introducing the new celebs.
Of course this was new, even if the parties were several days earlier, because no one had seen them before. And for damn sure the Azerbaijians, Ukrainians and other oil-soaked oligarchs on the edges of the Caspian Sea didn’t want their faces in the media. They were media-smart enough to not complain, but a lot of the footage was the back of swarthy men and beautiful women holding their hands in front of their faces.
SNAP: New Talent Page 9
