“Space to do what?” Rose asked.
“To live. To hide without hiding. A place of safety and peace.”
“Just who exactly is us?” Mike growled, still glaring at Nazeem.
“Us,” Alec answered in a smooth tone, a wave of his hand encompassing the room. “The supernatural community.”
Mike snorted. “We’re a community now? I must have missed that memo.”
“Of course we are. Voiders, vampires—even sensitives like Rose have special needs that are hard to provide for out in the world. My employers believe there is more that unites us than divides us and it’s time our various factions reach out to each other.”
Alec paused. Rose found some reassurance in the fact no one else seemed to have any idea what he was trying to say. Ian’s confusion was palpable, and while Rose couldn’t read either Mike or Nazeem, their silence spoke volumes.
“We brought you here,” Alec continued, “because my employers believe St. Petersburg is the perfect location to put their plan into action.
“Forgive me if I’m being slow,” Rose said. “But what plan?”
Alec lifted the silver lid from the large dish in front of him. “Have some stroganoff. It’s a specialty here.”
That was all the invitation Rose needed to reach for the potatoes. And some bread. The butter on the dish beside her plate was real and shaped like little flowers. Food was good. Rose was hungry and everything smelled very expensive. Food made sense. Rose could wrap her mind around the food. Unlike whatever it was Alec was circling around.
Ian also approached the food with enthusiasm. Mike looked as suspicious of the stroganoff as he was of the vampire. Nazeem took nothing.
Alec continued. “My employers need people to be their public face. To be negotiators, diplomats and, when necessary, police.”
“Police?” Rose interrupted as she buttered one of the still-warm rolls. “What do you mean police? What law would we be enforcing?”
“Peace,” Alec said through his Ken-doll smile. “The specifics of the definition and your approach would be yours to work out.”
Rose chewed that over, still unsure what he was getting at. But Alec wasn’t done. “All I’m asking for initially is a month’s commitment from all of you. We’ll cover your expenses plus fifty thousand dollars up front. You can get to know the city, get to know each other, put together a plan. At the end of the month, if you don’t think this is possible or we don’t think it’s possible, everyone walks away friends.”
Rose didn’t miss the sideways look Mike gave Nazeem at the last word. She, herself, was trying not to drool over the idea of that much money. More than she could make in a year! It would mean the end of student loans and credit card debt.
“And after a month,” Nazeem asked, “What then?”
“My employers are prepared to offer each of you a million dollars for a year’s contract.”
Rose stopped moving, a forkful of stroganoff only an inch from her mouth. Had she heard that correctly?
Nazeem broke the silence that had followed Alec’s remark. “I can’t help but wonder who these most generous employers of yours might be.”
“They would prefer to keep their identities anonymous for now. But I can tell you they’ve spent years researching—they hand-picked the four of you for your exceptional talents and expertise.”
A million dollars. This couldn’t be real. But Alec was sincere. Rose could see it on his face. “Why are we worth so much to them?”
“Business,” Alec answered simply. “To my employers, this is a small investment to create a safe haven to meet, to work, even to live.”
Mike had pulled back in his chair, arms crossed. It didn’t take a sensitive to see his dislike of all of this. “What gives your employer the authority to do this? What gives them the right to dictate people’s lives?”
“Money and power.” Rose had to respect Alec’s honesty. “We’re all part of the invisible war, one way or another, and no government on Earth has laws that apply. If there are organizations trying to regulate it,” —Rose didn’t miss the way Alec’s eyes lit on Mike, Ian, and Nazeem in turn— “they’re flailing beneath the weight of their own secrecy and ignorance of each other. It’s time to try something new.”
“An interesting proposition.” Nazeem’s emotions were there, pulsing against Rose’s senses, but they didn’t resonate in any way she could understand. Yet.
“Is it?” Mike’s gravelly voice demanded. “What interest is this to a vampire?”
“As Alec said, the world is changing.” Nazeem’s tone was low and even and impossible to ignore. “Electronic databases, cooperation between governments, watch lists. Travel becomes complicated, especially with your American initiatives against people who look like me. The idea of a safe haven is most compelling.”
“The other vampires in the city—” Alec began.
“Other vampires?” Rose interrupted, remembering Mike’s reaction to Nazeem. “There’s more? Are they dangerous? No offense,” she added quickly in Nazeem’s direction.
“Not all vampires are monsters.” Nazeem’s lips quirked, almost a smile. “No more than we were before we died.”
That earned another disdainful snort from Mike. “I suppose you couldn’t bear the sight of the cross before you died either?” Nazeem gave a mild shrug. “Exactly. Don’t try to tell me you people are no different than when you were alive. I know better.”
“Now Mike,” Alec tried to mediate, “We won’t get anywhere if we can’t—”
“I need a cigarette.” Mike pushed his chair back. He circled wide around Nazeem as he stalked from the room.
Alec sighed. “Obviously, y’all will need some time to think about this.”
Rose still didn’t understand what they were supposed to be thinking about, but she knew she wanted it. The money was one thing. The challenge—the mystery—was too interesting to walk away from. But most of all, this was her way in. This was her invitation to the world that had been hiding from her all her life. And they wanted her.
She studied Ian and Nazeem, tried to figure out what was going on in their heads. Ian was agitated. Nervous and excited and all at a pulsing, screaming volume that seemed more real than anything Rose had ever felt.
Nazeem eluded her. Even his face was inhumanly still. His gaze flickered to hers, caught her looking, and his lips curved to the barest hint of a smile. “I beg everyone’s forgiveness,” he said, standing with an easy grace. Nothing like the hurry Mike had shown. “As we seem to be finished with the meeting for now, I will leave you to your dinner.” He bowed his head to them and left.
Ian only lasted a few minutes longer. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I could use some air.” And he was gone.
Rose wasn’t willing to let the meal go to waste. She spooned up more stroganoff. “I guess I’ve got one question for you, Alec.”
Alec was unsettled, wary. Rose saw it in the crinkle of his eyes. “Go ahead.”
“What’s for dessert?”
CHAPTER TWO
Saturday Continued
No question about it, the Astoria was a nice hotel. Mike couldn’t deny he appreciated that. Over the course of his life, he’d stayed at least once in every crappy roadside motel in the midwest; a well-funded travel account was a nice change.
Too bad it was nothing but a gilded veneer over a pile of crap.
Out of habit, Mike reached for his cell phone before he remembered he’d left it packed in his suitcase. Even if there were some way of making it work in Russia, Mike didn’t intend to stay long enough for it to be worth the effort of figuring out.
The hotel had been kind enough to provide English instructions for international phone calls. Mike studied the sheet, then used the desk phone—as opposed to the bedroom phone or the bathroom phone, and just how many phones did any one person need in a hotel room?—to dial home. It only took him two tries.
“Archdiocese of Chicago, Cardinal Novak’s office,” came a brisk, female
voice, echoey with distance.
“Carol, it’s Mike Sullivan. Is Stan free?”
“Just a sec, Mike.” There was a pause, the sound of papers rustling. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Russia?”
“Not for long, if I can help it.”
Carol’s snort of laughter cut off and was replaced by a grainy recording of Handel’s Messiah. Only two refrains of “For, Unto Us a Child is Born” later, the music cut out and Cardinal Stanley Novak, Archbishop of Chicago picked up. “Mike? You there?”
“Yeah.” Mike skipped over any pleasantries, got straight to the point. “This St. Petersburg business—it’s nothing we want to waste our time with. It’s about—Hell, I don’t even understand what it’s about, but they want me to play nice with a vampire. These aren’t people the Church wants to be working with.”
Stan should have laughed. The idea of Mike hanging out with a vampire was preposterous. Stan should have agreed it was a good joke and offered to have Carol arrange for Mike’s flight home. Instead, Stan was quiet for long enough Mike thought he’d lost the connection. “Hello?”
“I’m still here.” Mike’s stomach fell. Stan had been Mike’s direct superior for over ten years now, and they’d been friends for much longer. Mike had heard that particular tone plenty when Stan was about to give Mike an assignment he knew Mike wasn’t going to like.
“What’s going on?” Mike asked.
Another pause, then, “You can’t come home.”
“What are you talking about?” Obedience was one of the virtues Mike had never mastered. “What the Hell? I came out here to evaluate the situation, and I’ve evaluated. It’s crap. It’s nothing we should be involved with. It’s a waste of my time.”
“I’m sorry, Mike, but Rome thinks otherwise. I’ve been instructed—this came through channels—my hands are tied. They want a Templar involved.”
“Then you should send someone else. I’m too old to be making friends with a vampire. I’m too old to be babysitting. I’m supposed to be retired, remember?”
“I’m sorry,” Stan repeated. Mike could have cheerfully choked him with his own apology. “But you’re the one they asked for.”
And there it was. “Who asked for? Who’s calling the shots on this?”
“You know if I could tell you, I would.”
Oh yes, Mike knew. Thirty-plus years in service to the church—Mike knew exactly how it went. “Thanks for nothing, Stan.” He hung up.
This wasn’t the first time Mike had hated an assignment, and while he could hope it was the last—well, he’d thought that before. He was supposed to be done with all this. Which only made it worse.
And long past time for the cigarette he’d used as his excuse for leaving dinner.
* * *
The last thing Mike needed right now was to stare at a damned church, so he left the hotel on the side facing away from the big cathedral. Sparse lights illuminated flat-faced buildings with dark, blank windows staring down at the empty street.
Rutledge had warned them not to wander alone after dark, but Mike had spent a lifetime fighting demons and the evil men who served them—he wasn’t about to cower inside for fear of muggers. As he walked, Mike lit a cigarette and hunched into his coat, annoyed with the wind and the chill. It wasn’t enough the Archdiocese had yanked him out of retirement; they’d found him a city even more arctic than Chicago. Someone back home was getting a good laugh out of this.
Mike had earned his retirement, dammit. He should have been done with cold nights and dangerous missions. He should be back in Chicago, watching the Illini get their asses kicked by Ohio State, not exploring dark streets halfway around the globe, wondering who he’d pissed off to get sent here.
Mike couldn’t read the street signs—couldn’t even puzzle out the sound of the words through the Cyrillic letters—but he felt confident in his ability to find his way back by the big golden dome of St. Isaac’s that towered above the downtown rooftops. The sharp, bitter wind off the river cut through Mike’s coat. The city felt vacant. Haunted. Mike wondered what all the little sensitive girl got from it.
Rutledge had made it sound like this was a nice neighborhood—or at least a touristy one. On the surface, it certainly looked pretty enough. Nothing plain or modern—no glass and steel skyscrapers in this city. As far as Mike could see, the dome of St. Isaac’s was the tallest thing around. A feel of old-world elegance that seemed odd in a city younger than New York or Boston. Every building that lined the street had columns or gargoyles or some other flourish to make it stand out from its neighbors. And their ornate stone faces were painted in pale yellows and oranges and greens. Historical buildings, gated courtyards, plenty of atmosphere. Just the spot for a nice evening stroll. Except…
Except.
The streets were empty. Mike had only seen two other pedestrians so far, and both had looked eager to be somewhere else, hurrying along with their shoulders hunched and eyes downcast. No cars at all, although he could hear the sounds of traffic not too many blocks away. The locals knew something or felt something. One of the first lessons of the invisible war—keep a close eye on the natives. They knew where the bad stuff lived, even when they didn’t know they knew.
All around, shadowy doorways, empty courtyards, and stairwells into darkness—what might be lurking just out of sight? Rutledge had said there were vampires living in St. Petersburg. Could the city be home to worse things? Mike had been fighting this war long enough to know that there were worse things.
Ahead lay a bridge across one of the many canals that cut through the city. The Venice of the North, a brochure in the hotel lobby had pronounced. A lone figure stood on the bridge, leaning out over the railing, staring down into the water. Mike recognized him at once. One of the kids—Ian. Christ, they were all kids here. All but Mike. Even the vampire looked young, though with their kind, it wasn’t like you could tell just by looking. Why was it always the children who got shoved to the front lines?
Mike took out another cigarette and joined Ian on the bridge. Ian’s hands were buried deep in the pockets of his duster, but that was the only concession he made to the chilly November night. No hat, no scarf—his coat wasn’t even buttoned. Ah, youth. Mike remembered being twenty-something and invincible.
Ian gave an absent wave as Mike stepped up next to him. His hair shone like molten fire under the streetlight as Ian angled his head to look back out over the canal. No natural color, that. Of course, Ian wasn’t exactly human.
“Looking for something, Irish?” Mike had to cup his hand around the cigarette to shield it from the wind that whipped over the water.
“Just looking.” Ian’s voice had that same unearthly quality. Nothing strange enough Ian couldn’t pass—although he’d never be someone who could lose himself in a crowd—but to a man as keyed to the supernatural as Mike, the signs were obvious.
Soldiers of the invisible war were used to keeping secrets, but Ian had nothing to hide from Mike. “I know what you are,” Mike said, leaning down to rest his elbows on the rail that held them safe from the freezing water below. “I teamed up with a guy like you about fifteen years ago. We hunted monsters together for a while.”
Ian turned to Mike, his expression unreadable in the streetlamp-created twilight. “I know what you are, too. Templar, right?”
Mike nodded, blew a cloud of smoke into the frigid air.
“So it makes sense why you’re here. Of course the Church is going to want one of their magic-cops in on this. And if there are vampires in the city, it makes sense to have one of them on our team.” Ian leaned back over the canal, his bare hands resting on what must be very cold stone. “What I can’t figure out is what I’m doing here. I haven’t seen any sign of the folk since I got here, and it isn’t like they’re good at laying low.”
The folk. Short for the fair folk. The fae. Fairies. Wild, bloodthirsty, inhumanly vicious—no, they weren’t good at keeping a low profile. It wasn’t in their nature. Mike had gotten his own crash
course in the folk back when he was running around with the other hunter like Ian.
“It’s not that I mind an all-expenses paid trip,” Ian continued. “St. Petersburg is gorgeous and I’ve always wanted to visit Russia. But it makes me nervous when I can’t figure out why it’s worth a million dollars to someone that I be here.”
“Kid, everything about this makes me nervous.” Hidden motives and a haunted city. What could go wrong? “Come on, we should get back to the hotel.”
Ian shook his head. “You go on. I’m going out. See what passes for club-hopping in this country. Try to make the most of my time here.”
“Dangerous to wander alone.”
Ian flashed Mike a cocky smile, reminding Mike once again of that time long ago when Mike himself had felt young and immortal. Before Mike had watched too many other young, immortal men die. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He walked away whistling. Mike squared his shoulders against the wind and began the long, cold walk back to the Astoria.
CHAPTER THREE
Early Sunday Morning
Rose dreamed, but not of herself.
Rose was a man. A terrified man. She was with him, inside him. Both herself and himself all at once.
She…he…was blindfolded. Hands on her arms both supported and dragged her across a smooth floor, cool under her bare feet. Either blood or sweat ran down her back, soaking into the waistband of her skirt…jeans.
Pain, yes, there was pain. Dream or no dream, Rose felt every aching bruise, every scratch, every wrenched joint. She…he…had put up a hell of a fight, but the attackers had been too numerous.
Her head throbbed hard. Even for a dream, her awareness was too murky. A concussion, probably.
Who were these people? What did they want? Where were they taking her? The man didn’t know, and therefore Rose didn’t know, but neither of them expected anything good.
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