Lazar lifted his hand when all three hunters began to talk at once, and shushed them. “I know. I know this has all stemmed from the best of intentions, and a devotion to duty none of us here could deny. But you’re putting yourselves in acute danger now, and that we can’t allow. So,” he said, gazing from face to face, “here’s what I propose.”
Running me out of town? Forbidding me the premises? Denying me any rights to friendship or information?
“Join us,” said Lazar.
Elizabeth blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Join the network in an official capacity. Train as a hunter. As you go through the process and discover your strengths and weaknesses, we can decide among us where you would best fit in, as a special adviser to various teams or a permanent part of one team. Your undoubted value would then be properly harnessed and protected by our code of conduct; you’d stand a better chance of survival. To say nothing of the survival of your friends, who are also at risk through this laxness. I don’t think you’ll have any quarrel with our pay, conditions, or pensions.”
Elizabeth felt as if she were picking her jaw up off the floor. It seemed to take an awful lot of time and effort. After everything that had just been said in the way of criticism, disapproval, and distrust, he really was recruiting her. “Are you serious?” she managed.
“Deadly serious.”
“How did you get here?” Saloman asked in tones of vague amusement as Dmitriu bolted into the house and slammed the door on the sun.
“By means of a taxi and a thick tarpaulin,” Dmitriu replied, throwing the latter carelessly on the floor of Saloman’s uncluttered hall. Saloman stood at the top of the first flight of stairs, wearing only a pair of dark linen trousers that he hadn’t troubled to fasten.
“How very enterprising of you,” he murmured as Dmitriu strode the length of the hall and began to climb the stairs. “Er . . . did you want something?”
“Just news,” Dmitriu replied. Pausing, he sniffed the air. “Is she here? The Awakener?”
“Her name is Elizabeth,” Saloman said mildly, “and no, she isn’t. She’s communing with the hunters.”
Dmitriu glanced at him as he passed into the drawing room. “Isn’t that rather an unholy alliance for Saloman’s mistress?”
“That rather depends on what she does with it. News of what?”
Dmitriu felt the steady gaze on the back of his neck as he looked around the drawing room. Saloman’s computer was open on one of the tables, surrounded by a clutter of papers. Dealing in the human world, Dmitriu thought, with a familiar mingling of bafflement, admiration, and distaste.
“Luk,” he said, turning to face Saloman. “Have you found him?”
“No. I doubt I’ll be able to before he breaks cover again. I couldn’t in Istanbul.”
Dmitriu frowned, dropping into the nearest chair, which was almost ridiculously comfortable. “That leaves us no time to prepare for the fight. I don’t like these odds.”
Saloman shrugged. “I might be able to get to him through Dante, but so far Luk has him covered as well.”
Dmitriu studied his face, looking in vain for traces of anxiety. “Are you worried?” he asked at last.
Saloman strolled over to the polished grand piano. “About what?”
“Luk! Can you kill him?”
Saloman sat on the stool and sounded a random note with one finger. “I killed him before.”
“This time he has allies, and he’ll use them. When he strikes, if you’re alone, Saloman—”
“I’m assuming I can call quickly for support.”
“Here, in Budapest, you’ll get it,” Dmitriu acknowledged. “But perhaps not quickly enough. Will the Awakener fight for you?”
Something almost like a smile crossed Saloman’s face and disappeared. “Elizabeth. Yes, she would fight for me. But I’d rather she didn’t. Not against Luk at full strength.”
“Is he?” Dmitriu pounced. “At full strength? Aside from the fact that he hasn’t yet taken the life of his Awakener.”
“No. He ran from us too fast last night. He isn’t ready yet, and he’s sane enough to know it.”
“Then when he is ready, he’ll strike quickly, hoping to catch you alone and unprepared. You should consider gathering bodyguards.”
Saloman spread both hands on the piano keys and began to play. “Luk would simply blow them through the wall. Besides, I will not move about the city like a despot frightened of assassination.”
The music was familiar to Dmitriu, and beautifully played. Chopin. He’d almost forgotten this talent of Saloman’s.
Dmitriu stood up. “I will come and live here. Bring in another few vampires—strong ones who are your friends. No one will suspect you of fear if you’re simply with friends.”
“I do not want other vampires here. I’m not afraid of Luk.” He spoke tranquilly; his face was serene as he continued to play. But it was too late. His fingers had stumbled on one of the notes, telling Dmitriu all he needed to know.
Saloman wasn’t afraid of Luk. Not physically. He’d face anything the world threw at him, with joy in the fight. But he did fear all the emotional baggage that came with Luk.
Without a word, Dmitriu got up and left the room.
“Good-bye, Dmitriu.” Saloman’s voice followed him down the staircase.
“I’m not leaving,” Dmitriu said grimly.
Instead, he walked through the kitchen to the basement staircase and jumped down into the cool, damp darkness of the cellar. Here there were no distractions and he could think.
He tried quite hard to talk himself out of it. He remembered his own anger and Saloman’s pain and suffering in every detail. And yet what lingered with most strength was the vision of a solitary vampire stepping out of the misty darkness that surrounded the ruins of a Scottish church, sword raised in defense of the maker he’d betrayed.
Dmitriu sighed. “Please, no,” he begged of no one in particular. But it was a question of Saloman’s tolerance. Saloman’s survival. It was time.
Maximilian. Maximilian, you bastard, speak to me.
The message went through clearly, and yet there was no immediate response. Unless you counted the stunned astonishment that seemed to bounce back to him.
Dmitriu?
Get over it.
There was another pause. Then: What do you want?
Shift your despicable arse to Budapest.
I don’t leave Scotland, Maximilian said distantly, as if that settled the matter.
Yes, you fucking do.
Silence greeted him. For a moment, rare rage swamped Dmitriu, before he realized Maximilian hadn’t actually gone. He had nothing to say, but his path was open.
Max, he needs you.
Even when they’d escaped the building and found a table outside their favorite café, it seemed that no one wanted to be the first to speak. Elizabeth glanced up from her coffee and watched the hunters gaze thoughtfully into their own steaming cups.
Konrad, continuously and rhythmically stirring, suddenly dropped his teaspoon. “All right. What do you think, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth sighed. “I don’t know. To be honest, I turned up half expecting him to make this suggestion. I’d nearly decided to refuse, and then when he started bringing up everything I’ve done wrong, I thought I was mistaken and he was going to ban me from the premises instead. You could have knocked me down with a feather when he offered me a place.”
“Then you’ll still refuse?”
Still. Elizabeth smiled faintly. “You asked me before.”
“You turned us down,” Konrad recalled.
“That was before the battle with Saloman. I just wanted it to be over. I wanted nothing more than to be free of all of that.” She waved her cup around the table. “Not you guys, obviously, but everything else. Vampires, killing, emotional turmoil. I wanted it all to go away so that I could crawl back into academia and be safe.”
“But you don’t really want that,” Mihaela said sh
rewdly. “You grab each crisis with us as if it’s a lifeline.”
Elizabeth’s smile turned lopsided. “Do I? Probably. Things changed after the battle in St. Andrews.”
“Because you realized you were good at it?” Konrad hazarded.
“No . . . not really.” She set down her cup and met his gaze. “I discovered I couldn’t kill Saloman.”
“Not on your own,” Konrad agreed.
“No, I could, in theory, kill him on my own. Because I’m the Awakener. My body could do it. The rest of me just wouldn’t.” She’d never told them this before. Yet despite the discomfort that wouldn’t allow her to be still in her seat, she knew it was time. “I held the stake; I could feel the power in me and knew I could do it. But I dropped the stake. Deliberately.”
She turned to face Mihaela. “It was like a veil falling away from my mind. I knew it didn’t matter what he’d done or what he would do; it didn’t matter how much I hated myself or tried to fight it. I couldn’t run away and I couldn’t change it.”
Mihaela’s dark eyes were wide, almost frightened. “Change what?” she asked huskily.
“That I loved him. I had since the night he kidnapped me from the Angel. Or maybe before. I don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. Because I still can’t change it. And now I don’t want to.”
It couldn’t have been much of a surprise to any of them, and yet the sudden wave of almost physical pain that emanated from Mihaela nearly knocked her off her chair. She felt it like a blow, yet the pain was undoubtedly the other woman’s.
“Mihaela,” she whispered, seizing her friend’s hand and squeezing it. “I’m not dead.”
Mihaela let out a sound that might have been a sob or a laugh. “No. Sometimes I think I am,” she said incomprehensibly. Her hand turned in Elizabeth’s, squeezing back, and the pain seemed to recede. Glad as she was, Elizabeth felt curiously shaken, not just by Mihaela’s obvious unhappiness, which turned out to be far more profound than Elizabeth had ever guessed, but by the strength of her own empathy. She’d always been good at reading people’s emotions, but recently, with the development of her telepathy, she seemed to be picking up far more than facial expressions and body language.
Forcing her mind back to the discussion, she glanced at Konrad and István. “You see my predicament here. I’m pretty sure Lazar would withdraw his offer if he knew what I’ve told you. As a hunter, in many eyes, I’m too badly compromised.”
István shifted his chair to give his long legs more room. “And in your own?”
Elizabeth lifted her cup and drank before she answered. “In my own . . . I can see the advantages. I want to help protect humans from vampire attacks, from unspeakable fear and violent death. I have no conflict there with the aim of the organization. But—and training me won’t change this—vampires are worthy beings too. I believe that under Saloman that will become more and more obvious. There will always be rogue vampires, as there are violent and criminal humans. Society needs to be protected from both.”
“You know you’re speaking heresy,” Mihaela said, withdrawing her hand in order to pick up her coffee cup.
“I know. I couldn’t join without voicing it. And in voicing it I would be ejected from the premises forever. Perhaps I should just remain an unofficial friend of the network.”
“The network won’t change,” Konrad warned. “It must remain true to the principles of its foundation. Eliminating vampires.”
“Everything changes,” Elizabeth insisted. “The world is changing now—Luk himself prophesied some major change of power stemming from what happens here in Budapest. It could be change for good if we just play it right. . . .”
“Under Saloman?” Mihaela said. “You do realize you’re now advocating his domination of the world? The thing to which, more than anything else, you were once steadfastly opposed.”
“I still am. I’m not keen on tyranny of any description, however benevolent. And, in fact, Luk’s prophecy seems to imply that Saloman loses power. Look, I’ve sown the seeds of the idea of mutual cooperation in Saloman; I’d like you to think about it too.”
István smiled slightly. “Tiny cogs like us don’t influence matters like that.”
“Yes, we do,” Elizabeth argued. She hesitated, then: “Saloman doesn’t believe that revealing the existence of vampires will lead to the war and slaughter that you envisage.”
“But it would,” Konrad retorted. “And rightly so. Elizabeth, however good your intentions—and I believe they are good—your thinking is seriously flawed. There can be no peaceful coexistence with vampires. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever.”
Elizabeth transferred her rueful gaze to István and Mihaela. “You see? I’d make a rotten hunter. Besides which,” she added, making a clean breast of everything, “I’ve been offered another job in Budapest. At the university.”
“You can do both,” Mihaela said earnestly. “Many do.”
It seemed nothing Elizabeth said could rid them of the idea that her rightful place in life was as a hunter. It baffled her, in a pleased sort of way—until she saw Mihaela’s gaze flicker to István, and realized they hoped that being a hunter would finally part her from Saloman.
Chapter Thirteen
Rudy murmured, “Nice one, Cyn.”
Apart from that, there was no sound in the basement of the building he and Cyn had worked hard to turn into a gymnasium and training area. They’d done it all with material found in dumps and junk shops, mainly because they had very little money between them. Cyn was proud of what they’d achieved, and her confidence had been further boosted by the praise of Pete Carlile and the two other survivors of vampire attacks who’d joined their little troop and come to the basement tonight to help welcome the soldier John Ramsay.
At the Brit’s entrance, all conversation and clowning cut off as if someone had thrown a switch. John Ramsay stood just inside the door facing them. A backpack was slung over his right shoulder. Apart from one important point, he looked exactly as he had in the photo Cyn had seen on the Internet.
Although his steady eyes didn’t flicker as they moved around the room, there could be no doubt that he heard Rudy’s remark.
At last his gaze found Cyn, whom he must have recognized from her own photo. “Don’t sweat it. I shoot with my right.” He sounded very Scottish, and aggression clearly boiled beneath the deceptive calm of his mocking voice.
“Shooting doesn’t touch the bastards we’re fighting,” Rudy snapped.
Ramsay moved. It looked as if he simply flexed his fingers, and yet an instant later, something flew from his one hand with enough force to whiz as it passed her ear.
Cyn jerked around in fear. Typical! Only I could find the Internet knife psycho from hell.... But it wasn’t a knife that had buried itself at the center of the dartboard target hanging on the wall. It was a wooden stick. She dared to breathe again.
Rudy turned his gaze from the board to Ramsay. Although his lip curled, Cyn could tell from the gleam in his eyes that he was secretly impressed.
“You learn that in the British army, son?” Rudy asked.
“Nah. Glasgow pubs on a Friday night. You get all sorts of bams in there.”
Rudy grinned openly.
Cyn said, “What’s a bam?”
“Nutter.” Ramsay stuck out his hand. “John Ramsay. Pleased to meet you, Cyn.”
Cyn, inclined to think she might just have made the right choice after all, let her face relax into a smile as she took his hand. His grip was firm, but naturally so, without anything to prove. She liked his eyes too. They were what had drawn her to invite him here. Blue and piercingly intelligent, they seemed to have layers of character: a certain attractive calm, even wisdom beneath the turbulent defiance of youth.
“And you, John. This old fart is Rudy Meyer. He likes you.”
As Rudy and John solemnly shook hands, the others ambled forward to be introduced too.
“And you’re all survivors of vampire attacks?” John said, e
xamining each of them with open curiosity.
“Except Cyn,” Rudy replied. “They steer clear of her unless she attacks them first.”
The blue gaze came back to her. “Why’s that?”
She shrugged. “I can feel them. I know what they are. They seem to get that and it freaks them.”
John frowned. “Me too. Only, I met one once who didn’t mind. She seemed more curious than dangerous.”
“They’re all dangerous,” Cyn warned.
“I know.” He dropped his backpack on the floor. “So what do you want me for? You all seem able to take care of yourselves.”
“We want to take care of other people,” Cyn said, just a little self-consciously. “We’ve been killing vamps for years, Rudy and me, but we want to understand the bigger picture. We want to be more effective. Fight as a team, protecting one another as we go.”
He knew this, of course. They’d discussed it by e-mail.
“We want to be able to go to wherever there’s a crisis, like Turkey, and make a difference. A real difference.” She lifted her chin. “We want the world to hear about vampires and not laugh. We want people to know.”
When Elizabeth finally fell asleep, and he’d had his fill of gazing down at her peaceful face, Saloman gently unwound his limbs from her warm, soft body and rose from her bed. At least, it was the bed she had chosen for her rooms from the several stored in the attic.
He was aware she’d elected to make one of her rooms a bedroom so that neither of them ever felt obligated to sleep in the same bed as the other. It would remain a choice. Saloman, who had lived through many ages and many customs, found this arrangement as acceptable as any other, and when she’d made the bed up to her satisfaction and brought him to see it in situ, he’d admired it, laid her upon it, and made love to her for most of the night. In between lovemaking—and sometimes during— they’d talked about things that didn’t matter to the world, only to him and to Elizabeth.
He could lose years of his existence this way, he thought without displeasure as he pulled on his shirt and trousers. Elizabeth was a distraction, however he looked at her, and for a vampire with the world to rule perhaps that wasn’t a good thing. Saloman didn’t care. Right now, the distraction was especially welcome. He could locate neither Luk nor Dante, nor even their remaining Turkish followers.
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