Blue might not agree with my nonverbal communication, but he accepts it with only a slight taint of disgruntlement in his sigh. He begins once Jhez returns with a tumbler of steaming herbal tea for him. “I learned more from that hypno-hit than expected. As it happens, there’s a few different brews making rounds on the streets. They’re unique to dealers and their turfs, mixed to meet the needs of their clientele. So imagine my surprise,” Blue pauses, taking a careful sip of tea, “when this one turned out to be a very rare mix. Created specifically for use by vampires.”
“Unusual,” I comment with diplomatic disbelief.
He grins. “I had much the same reaction. But the combination and toxicity suggest that use by anyone not of vampire lineage would be lethal.”
Garthelle shifts in discomfort at the far end of the couch. I can almost feel his need to correct Blue’s terminology. “I’ve heard of such concoctions but didn’t think there was truth to it. Let alone a distribution network, or demand.”
Blue shakes his head and swallows more tea. “They’re not widely distributed. In fact there’s only one dealer who handles them, and he refuses to hawk them to just anyone. He only makes them for select customers who have very ‘distinguished tastes.’”
“Don’t suppose you managed to finagle the name of this client out of your contact, by any chance?” Jhez asks, perching on the couch arm beside me.
“No. The usual confidentiality agreement holds, of course.” He glances at Garthelle. “Unless you got a warrant.”
The Monsieur of York stands up and moves around the back of the couch, out of sight. When he finally responds, his voice is tense with strain. “It’s not likely I will. This isn’t that sort of investigation, I’m afraid.”
I don’t like the sound of that. “Someone dies and that’s not reason enough for an exhaustive effort?”
Irritation radiates from the lyche, hits the back of my shoulders with the force of a physical blow. “It’s not that simple, Black.”
“Obviously.”
Jhez grips my shoulder. “Blue, you say it’s lethal to those not of . . . vampire ‘lineage.’ What do you mean?” She phrases the query with caution, her voice as still as the surface of a lake—beneath which run swift and deadly currents. I know precisely what she’s aiming for. Mixed blood. Crossbreeds. Something that no upstanding lyche, not even the filthiest chi-sucking vampire, would contend exists. Unless they crop up as chi-thieves.
“Exactly what I said.” Blue buries his grimace behind his glass as he takes a drink.
Garthelle shifts, the slightest rustling of fabric precipitating a longsuffering sigh. “May I correctly assume you’re suggesting the dealer’s clientele is perhaps not lyche, but mutts?”
Is that what they call us? I don’t think I want to delve any further into his tightly ranked alte Geld than we have already. Nothing good can come of this. Nothing at all. And there is no reason I can see for him to so desperately need our assistance in this matter.
Mutts, are we?
He won’t get any further cooperation from me. At least not until he divulges the full scope of his predicament. Or whatever the fuck he’s calling this.
Then the pain shooting through my stiff shoulder and tender muscles finally registers, and I glance up at Jhez, who’s trying to bore into my flesh with her fingertips. Her stoic expression is spoiled by the terse line of her lips. The room is devoid of conversation, utterly still. Seems neither she nor Blue care for Garthelle’s terminology any more than I do.
“Right.” Blue stands up, clinking the half empty glass down onto the coffee table. “I’ve gotta run.” He looks at me, his gaze flat and withdrawn, before turning toward the door. Jhez’s grip falls away from my tortured joint as I stand up to follow our friend into the hall and pull the door shut in my wake.
“Blue, wait.”
He stops, pivoting slowly to face me. A cynical smile coils across his lips. “Be careful, brother. I understand you’re only doing what you feel you must. Really, I do. But I can’t be around him.” His usually jovial tone is absent, his words falling heavy on my ears.
I close the distance between us and embrace him. His aura is thick and prickly as it slides against mine. My eyes flutter shut as I feel the pain of his past resonate through him, tainting his aura a sickly hue. “I’ll come find you later tonight.” His arms tighten around me in response. “Will you explain? Please?”
He pulls back to stare at me and his eyes are dark, muted by his haunted aura. “Will you take another dose?”
I stare at my feet, shuffle my weight. “I want to understand.” Because whatever’s causing this reaction, it’s not really in his past if the scars still fester like this.
He watches me, silent.
“Yes, okay? I’ll shoot up right now. I promise.”
He looks away, nods curtly, then walks down the corridor to the lift.
I walk straight for the bathroom, without looking at either of them, and load another of Blue’s dampener capsules into the hypno-hitter. Shoot myself up before I have a chance to think about it any further. Or talk myself out of it. I told him I would, and I won’t break my word. Not when our friendship seems so precarious.
No, not precarious. We’ve known each other too long for that. But there is something going on. And he wants me . . . cut off from vamp influence when he talks to me. That’s fine. I pass on the chi-booster. Hitting those too close together is dangerous. I remember Kenna and her fuchsia outfit all too well.
When I ease the bathroom door open, Garthelle and Jhez are both staring at me. Waiting? Talk about performance anxiety.
“Mutts?” I push the bathroom door shut behind me and lean back against it, folding my arms. I’m not certain how aware Garthelle is of who we are, but I intend to find out. Because his level of awareness is directly related to how much of a slight he meant that to be.
Garthelle’s lips curve into an empty smile. It’s the same expression I recall all too vividly from my first encounter with him, and I rub absently at the bald spot behind my left ear. He’s lounging in the center of the couch with his arms draped along the back, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles beneath the glass table.
“Black, Blue, and Red,” he murmurs. A chuckle slides from him as he stares off across the room.
“Who coined that term, anyways?” I’m persistent. Even at those times when I know I probably shouldn’t be. But he’s pushing too far this time. And the irony isn’t lost on me in the least. He might insist on using lyche, but he can’t stop me from thinking vampire. Gaia, I want to stick my tongue out at him. And not in a twisted, perverted way either.
“Does it matter?”
“It’s distinctly lacking tact, perhaps?” Jhez settles into the lounge chair to sip Blue’s abandoned cup of brew.
I watch her and narrow my eyes, trying to gauge what her reaction will be if I surrender to my desire to drill at the vampire mercilessly.
“Don’t think so hard. There’s smoke curling out of your ears.” She only spares me a glance before turning her attention back to Garthelle. “Tell me, if you don’t mind too terribly, why it is that you have a term for something when you don’t feel the need to acknowledge its existence?”
His face is an iron mask, cold and expressionless. The man doesn’t care much for my sister’s tone.
Not good, not good, my mind chants like a mantra, a shield of thought to buffer the impact of his imminent explosion.
The corner of his eye twitches.
Jhez and I, we’re dabbling in something we know nothing about and our ignorance is going to get us killed unless Mister Secretive takes it upon himself to educate us. Fast.
Garthelle’s head swivels in my direction. The languid movement is keenly at odds with the sharpness of his yellow eyes. “It’s rather obvious, Black, that I’ve no choice in the matter at this juncture.” His lips curve but this time the expression softens his features a notch. “Annoying side effect, isn’t it.”
Not a
gain. I clench my eyes shut and thump my head back against the door. Perhaps the impact will jar some sense into me. Shake something loose. One way or another, I’ll learn to live with the side effects. The alternative isn’t something I’m willing to face. Not right now.
Despite the fact that I like keeping my thoughts to myself, thank you very much. Can’t have it both ways, though. There’s always a price to pay for freedom. And that’s some irony for you.
“Come sit down, Black. This will take a while.”
Jhez pushes away from the lounge chair and makes for the kitchen. “In that case, I’ll start dinner.” Garthelle’s eyebrows arch up his forehead and she pauses by the couch. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll hear every word, rest assured.”
I slide into the vacated lounger and relax into Jhez and Blue’s residual warmth. Meeting Garthelle’s searching gaze, I get the impression he’s as confused by us as we are by him.
“Perhaps,” he says after a moment, “this would be easier if I showed you.”
Jhez halts and turns back slowly. “Show us what.”
“Why it is that we don’t encourage crossbreeding with humans.”
“You make it sound as if we’re . . .” I stop myself, realizing what was poised on the tip of my tongue: “different creatures.” It’s the truth. The disclosure proved that much. And with one noun, I’ve all but confessed our sordid secret. As if he weren’t already privy to it? I don’t know. He is now, though. If he had any doubts, I just allayed them.
Garthelle smiles softly, knowingly. “You don’t know what it is your twin has done, do you Red?” His attention remains focused on the pristine surface of the table cowering before him.
Jhez doesn’t say anything. She glances at me, a faint frown tugging at her mouth; glaring holes in the back of the vampire’s head offers her greater satisfaction, judging by the glint in her eyes.
“This might be difficult for you to appreciate given your lack of familiarity with lyche. You’re aware we don’t all feed from humans. It’s not so much required for our survival, the belief goes, as it is a craving. Some think those with a stronger craving actually possess an inherently weakened chi that requires them to replenish it with the energy of others.”
“What’s this to do with ‘mutts’?” Jhez and I ask simultaneously.
“Shortly after the disclosure, lyche were scientifically classified as a separate species. Genus Homo, species hirudo. As such, we’re still young. Most believe that in order to strengthen the quality of our differences, we should refrain from ‘diluting’ them. Others just say it isn’t acceptable to fuck lower creatures.” I blanch at the crass edge in his voice and he pauses, lifts his gaze to study me. “There are instances, though, where crossbred lines have managed to demonstrate abilities that are wholly distinct. Not entirely human, not entirely lyche. Many find the result repugnant. Others view it as a threat.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “People always fear the unknown. That much certainly hasn’t evolved out of our nature. And if nothing else, mutts represent the unknown: the random and inexplicable idiosyncrasies of evolution.”
“Greater potential for something, or someone, more powerful than the lyche.” The room feels cold. I chafe at the hairs standing up beneath my sleeves, not caring what he might think. The derision, birthed of fear, is understandable. It’s why we call them vampires, after all. Or . . . one reason. We’ve done it in the Blue District for so long . . . it seems the collective culture has forgotten there even was another name for them.
“Not just the potential, I think,” Garthelle whispers. He stretches his palm across the suede beside him. “Different doesn’t mean stronger or better. It just means . . . different. Come here, Black.”
I stare at him. The air around me is ice, frozen shards stabbing into me from everywhere, even inside my lungs. How long will it take for the drugs to kick in? Didn’t take very long for the side effects to resurface, that’s for sure.
He knows. One black eyebrow arches up his pale forehead as if in solemn consideration.
The blood in my veins grows heavy; the heat surging through me sears the chill away in the space of a heartbeat. It pools in my stomach, tickling at the congealed mass of energy still lurking there. My eyelids feel heavy and I want nothing more than to close my eyes and relax, languish in the pleasant sensation of bliss.
“Come here.” His words, firm and insistent, reach across the living space and sink directly into the triggers he’s playing with. The pleasure fades slightly but the demand remains, persistent.
And I want to get up and go to him. No other thought, desire, exists.
I sit down on the couch next to Garthelle, but he isn’t smiling. His fingers grip my jaw. The touch licks over my skin like the radiant heat from a bonfire. And then, as swiftly as it began, the thick flood of sensations drains away. Sludge down a waste receptacle. No. Spring sunlight sliding behind an ominous thunderhead.
“You.” His whisper is rough, slightly hoarse. “You are a mutt. You’ve twined our chi. I turned the tables on you, but you . . . what you did was more than a simple case of chi-theft.”
I’ve not the first clue what he’s talking about.
“I thought all lyche had the ability to influence humans this way,” Jhez interjects cautiously, sounding tense and uncomfortable.
“Not on this level. Telepathic impression, suggestion, and residual control? Yes. Nothing like this.”
“But this is you, not Black. You’re doing this to him. He’s not doing anything to you,” she insists, irritated. “You’re the one who turned the tables on a chi-thief, by your own admission.”
Leonard’s gaze doesn’t waver from mine. His pupils contract and dilate, dramatically, as if he’s flexing muscles in an attempt to wrench loose from a physically superior foe. And failing miserably despite his most valiant efforts. “You think Black has done nothing? I think it best you believe that.” He grits his teeth, pulling his lips back in a momentary snarl before managing to get himself back under control. “There’s something else, something more, going on here.”
“Right.” Jhez sounds like she’s misplaced the last shred of her patience. “So you don’t think this can be reversed, right? Is that what you’re saying? What does that make us? Indentured servants? Slaves? Need I remind you that the agreement you and I have, Monsieur, was made under duress? As I recall, there was an understanding that this employment would be short term. To terminate when this condition ended. Now you suddenly discover that’s not going to occur. And you want to blame it on us?”
“You are being compensated quite handsomely for your employment.” The corner of Leonard’s eye begins twitching rhythmically. “I expect Black and I will work out a manageable truce, given some time.”
He sounds distracted, not entirely engaged in the discussion. I can’t decide if that annoys me or amuses me. Both, perhaps. “What sort of time frame are you renegotiating? I don’t recall a ‘truce’ between me and you being enough in the past. In fact, you found it sorely lacking and that’s what led to all of this in the first place. Why should I believe you’ll be satisfied with renegotiating the arrangement with me? When nothing’s really changed?” This won’t happen without my input, not this time. Never mind that the lyche isn’t making a whole lot of sense.
“Yeah,” Jhez says. “We’re being compensated handsomely. I’ll give you that. But this arrangement is deviating from the agreement, Le Gross. Not something either one of us is willing to tolerate.” The tone of my sister’s voice ratchets steadily upward in volume as she speaks, each word harder and colder than the one before. “Either we find some way to alter the details, or we part ways here and go back to the streets. We’ll take our chances with the vindictive johns who think they can mete out vigilante justice on a pair of chi-thieves.”
Right. It took them, what? A decade, at least, to find us this time. I’m sure we can manage just fine. Being the kept ’walkers of the Monsieur of York might make for a more opulen
t lifestyle than we’ve known, but the lack of freedom is a piss-poor tradeoff.
Being owned leaves a bitter, rotten aftertaste in my mouth.
“Why don’t you go start dinner and give me a moment?” The fine thread of tension cording through the lyche’s voice makes it more order than request.
Jhez is a fleeing blur of red moving in the unfocused background of my awareness. Garthelle’s yellow gaze, dark brows, smooth skin, and finely chiseled features are in sharp, contoured detail. The only thing I can focus on. The only thing I want to focus on. Beautiful, frightening. Arousing, terrifying. My visceral reactions to him are dual and counteractive. I’m repelled and drawn at the same time, and that alone is confusing, disconcerting. I can’t think of a single other instance where I’ve found myself attracted—sexually, anyway—to a creature I knew was inherently dangerous. Capable of killing me. Granted, Jhez and I are both closet adrenaline junkies. It comes with the territory of Nightwalking. No doubt the Monsieur of York would correct me, claim it comes with the territory of chi-theft.
What I don’t understand is why I don’t want to look away. Yes, he has beautiful eyes. And there’s a faint scar trailing along the left edge of his hairline that disappears out of sight into his black hair. His lips part slightly and the corners of his mouth twitch. His nostrils flare, pupils constricting and expanding rapidly in a spasm of effort to extricate himself.
But from what? Me?
“Do you understand now?” he asks hoarsely.
I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue, feeling hesitant, confused. “Understand what?” My voice is a rasping whisper, nothing more.
“What it is you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done.” I give a slight shake of my head and stare at his dark lips, tracing their curving outline with my eyes. “With all due respect, it takes two to tango, vampire.”
Blacker than Black Page 15
