by Lisa Edmonds
Charles’s anger became white-hot fury. Behind us, both Sean and Bryan took a step closer.
“I do hope your stay is brief,” Charles told the visiting vamp before I could respond. “I am sure you are needed back home. Safe travels.” It was a clear dismissal.
Barclay’s eyes glowed silver in anger. He and Charles eyed each other for several long moments. Finally, the other vampire bowed to me, turned, and departed.
“Well, that was interesting,” I said.
Stay away from him, Charles said in my head. He is known to take women by force for both blood and sex.
Why does that not surprise me? I responded.
Barclay rejoined a small group of vampires standing near a grotesque painting of a group of young women being led to an altar that dripped blood. He caught my eye and raised his glass in my direction.
I deliberately turned away and leaned my head toward my companion. Ten bucks he calls his home his lair, I said to Charles.
He chuckled aloud, but his eyes remained fixed on the Seattle vamp. I had rarely seen Charles lose his trademark cool, but clearly Barclay was odious enough to rate overt loathing.
Why hasn’t the Court dealt with him, if they know this about him? I asked. Drinking blood from non-consenting donors is a violation of both vampire and human law. And a capital crime in many states, though not in California or Washington state.
Charles finally returned his attention to me. He is not without allies in both the human and vampire world. The situation is complex.
I scowled and sipped my drink. I still had Trent Lake’s phone number; he’d insisted I keep it after he moved to Seattle to become the assistant director of the SPEMA field office there. Barclay was from Seattle. I was willing to bet Trent would go after Barclay, regardless of whatever allies the vampire had. I didn’t think about it too much now, not in such close proximity to Charles, who might overhear a stray thought, but it might be worth giving Trent a call to see if anything could be done about Barclay.
I longed to turn around and look at Sean, but I kept my attention on Charles and the scene in front of me. Around the room, the guests chatted quietly among themselves, but no one paid the least attention to their security. Doing so might jeopardize my cover as Charles’s arm candy.
More importantly, Sean was wearing a tailored tuxedo and I was trying very hard not to think about how good he looked and how much I wanted to get him home and take that tuxedo off with my teeth.
I sipped my champagne and focused on the other guests before my hormones got the best of me and Charles mistook my body’s reaction to Sean in a tux as a response to his flirting. I recognized a few faces in the crowd, but most of them were vampires and not ones I knew personally.
So, besides the cup, what are the other items up for bid tonight? I asked Charles. I disliked talking to Charles telepathically since the ability to do so was a result of him biting me without my consent, but with so many sharp ears around us, this conversation was better had in our heads.
I understand there are six lots, all collector’s pieces. I am interested in a few for my own collection. Neither of the other items you are seeking is among them.
I’ve already obtained the hand mirror, so after this, the only thing I’m missing is the cuff. For the record, I’m authorized to bid on the cup, up to ten thousand dollars.
He tilted his head. If I may, perhaps it would be more seemly if I were to bid on your behalf.
When I started to object, Charles added, You are here as my guest, as my ‘arm candy,’ as you so colorfully put it. If you were to bid, you would attract quite a lot of attention, which I am sure you would prefer to avoid.
He wasn’t wrong about that, but I frowned. If you win the bidding, you’ll have possession of the cup. What guarantee do I have you’ll turn it over to me or my client?
Charles smiled and flashed his fangs. Perhaps you will have to take my word?
Only Herculean effort kept me from scowling. That is not very reassuring.
He grew serious. You wound me. Have I not kept my word in all our dealings, from the moment you first began working for the Court?
He had me there, though I might have pointed out that drinking my blood while I was in a coma might not have been a violation of his word, but it had been a terrible violation nonetheless. We’d come to a kind of fragile understanding about that, however, and there was little point in revisiting that discussion since each of us possessed the means of the other’s destruction. He knew I wasn’t the mid-level earth and air mage I claimed to be, and I could use our connection to control his body or even kill him. Neither of us was anxious for anyone else to know about either of those facts.
I could tell by Charles’s expression that he knew what I was thinking, and he sensed I’d chosen not to bring it up. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod and turned his attention back to watching the room.
At ten minutes to midnight, two doors opened at the end of the hall and a man appeared. “If you would all please follow me,” he said.
Charles offered his arm. I set my glass down on a table and we joined the rest of the guests.
As we approached the doors to the salon, there was something of a bottleneck and our movement halted. A familiar warm body moved up directly behind me. I knew without turning who it was.
It was a risk, but I reached back with my free hand. Strong fingers caressed mine and hot golden shifter magic ran over my skin as Sean squeezed my hand. The scent of forest filled my nose and a little of the tension drained out of my shoulders. Then we were moving again and he let go. I missed his touch immediately.
I wasn’t sure if Charles had seen or sensed our brief contact, but he covered my hand with his and drew me closer.
Stop provoking Sean, I snapped. You’re being childish, and I’m not a prize for you to be fighting over.
I have no idea what you are referring to, Charles replied, his voice in my head pure innocence. I am merely concerned that you may lose your footing on the marble floor. It appears to be treacherous.
My response was brief and quite profane. Charles shook with silent laughter.
Game face, I told myself as we reached the doors of the salon.
At an ordinary auction, the goal was to win the bidding on the item you wanted.
At this midnight gathering, the goal was to bid, win, and get out alive.
It became quickly apparent the kind of auctions Charles regularly attended were very different from any I’d seen before.
There were sixteen bidders in attendance, plus that many security escorts lined up along the walls in the salon. A solemn vampire named Marcus introduced each item, opened the bidding, and acknowledged bidders with a somber “Sir” or “Madame” rather than by name. There was certainly no crass, loud, fast-paced auctioneering; this was a high-class affair where all the bidders were deadly serious about their bids.
The hosts of the event were equally serious about security. As we entered the salon, we crossed strong wards and a magic suppression spell settled over us like an invisible, prickly blanket. It didn’t smother my magic entirely, but neither I nor anyone else would be able to unleash any strong magic or spells without first breaking the wards, which I assumed were full of landmines designed to incapacitate or kill anyone who tried. Considering the kind of clientele who came to these events and the powerful nature of the items for sale, it made sense the hosts would do everything in their power to ensure both the safety of the participants and the security of the valuables.
Lot 1201, the first item up for bid, was a dagger resonant with blood magic. Marcus informed us the weapon would drain the magical energy of its victim into the person who wielded it. A low murmur ran through the assembled guests, and then the bidding began at the reserve price of five thousand dollars.
Charles didn’t bid on the dagger and I tuned out as the bids went back and forth, climbing in increments of five hundred dollars.
Despite my resolve to not think about it, my brain return
ed to the alleged “lost” memory conjured up by the hand mirror and the possibility that my biological father might still be alive. I made sure my shields were strong so Charles didn’t accidentally overhear any unguarded thoughts and tried to put it out of my mind. There was nothing I could do about it right now; there would be time to think about it all later, when I wasn’t sitting in a room full of vampires.
The sudden sound of wood striking wood startled me out of my reverie. Instead of a traditional gavel, Marcus had a fist-sized wooden ball that he tapped on his podium to close the bidding. The dagger had been sold for ten thousand dollars, to a beautiful female vampire I didn’t recognize. Assistants took the dagger backstage and Marcus informed the winning bidder she would be able to take possession of the dagger at her time of departure, once payment was made in full.
Lot 1202 was a vampire relic: a wine bottle spelled to preserve the life energy in human blood kept inside. Lot 1203 was far more intriguing to me. It was an object of power, a flat golden ring about eighteen inches wide designed to focus a mage’s power. They went for twelve and eighteen thousand dollars respectively. A male vampire I didn’t recognize bought the bottle. The ring went to a human man in a dark suit who looked to be either a broker or someone’s proxy. Charles bid on each, but only at the beginning and never seriously. Court mages were capable of creating bottles like Lot 1202 and presumably the profit margin on objects like the ring were too small to make it worth his while.
Most of the audience appeared to be here as spectators rather than active bidders. Perhaps none of the items offered so far were of interest to them, or events like this were a place to be seen as much or more than a way to acquire magical items of, as my client had put it, “questionable legal status.”
Lot 1204 was Esther’s cup.
It was presented in a velvet-lined wooden box by a silent assistant. As the assistant walked the cup past the assembled bidders, Marcus spoke. “This cup is a unique item dating from, we believe, the early sixteenth century. While it is rather plain in appearance, the cup is quite remarkable. Drinking from it permits a vampire to remain awake for one hour past dawn and to walk without harm in direct sunlight.”
A murmur ran through the guests. I almost sighed aloud. I’d hoped the cup’s power would remain a mystery, but someone had recognized its magic. If I got outbid, I’d have to either attempt to recover the cup some other way or report to Esther that it had gone for more than I’d been authorized to spend. Though she had seemed far more interested in recovering the cuff, I wanted a one hundred percent success rate for this job.
That’s the cup, I told Charles.
Understood.
The bidding began at the reserve price of five thousand dollars. The female vampire who had won Lot 1201 opened the bidding. Charles inclined his head and Marcus accepted his bid for five thousand five hundred dollars. The female vamp bid again, and again Charles put in a bid. Back and forth it went, until the price reached ten thousand dollars and the female vamp declined to offer another bid.
I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when I glimpsed movement out of the corner of my eye and Marcus said, “A new bidder. Ten thousand five hundred. Thank you, sir.”
Vincent Barclay. Son of a bitch.
Marcus looked at Charles questioningly. Without hesitation, Charles nodded.
“The bid is eleven thousand,” Marcus said.
Charles, what are you doing? I asked. Ten-thousand-dollar limit, remember?
No response.
To our left, a deeper nod from Barclay. “Twelve thousand,” Marcus said, reading the other vampire’s body language.
Charles inclined his head again. “Thirteen thousand.”
Charles.
Barclay raised his index finger. “Fifteen thousand.”
Charles raised two fingers. “Twenty thousand.”
Barclay made the same gesture. “Twenty-five thousand.”
Charles again. “Thirty thousand.”
I started to sweat. Charles?
Barclay raised his eyebrows. “Forty thousand,” Marcus said.
Charles followed suit. “Fifty thousand.”
Barclay hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. Something flashed in his eyes: frustration, maybe, or irritation. Either way, he looked to be reaching his limit.
Charles made a kind of seated half-bow. “Sixty-five thousand,” Marcus intoned. He looked at Barclay.
No response. The Seattle vamp was expressionless and still.
A few beats passed. Marcus tapped his ball. “Bidding is complete.”
Mindful of the many vampires in the room, I’d kept my breathing slow and steady, but as the assistant vanished behind the red velvet curtain with the cup, it was everything I could do to stay calm. Charles, what the hell? I was only authorized to spend ten thousand dollars.
Then the cup is mine, he replied, his voice in my head as emotionless as I’d ever heard him be. You were outbid by a factor of six. Your client will hardly be able to complain.
I seethed. Your little pissing contest with Mr. Vincent Barclay just cost me a big bonus.
No response. I chanted swear words in my head and hoped he was hearing them.
Lot 1205 was already on exhibit: a wide gold cuff covered in a delicate vine pattern, with a network of tiny red crystals forming four stylized flowers. As the assistant passed me, I sensed ancient blood magic.
Marcus addressed the audience. “This cuff is believed to have belonged to the Borgia family, but its age is estimated to be more than two thousand years old. Its purpose is to rein in a newly risen vampire’s bloodlust, ensuring a smoother transition. Bidding will begin at the reserve price of five thousand dollars.”
Charles won the cuff, agreeing to shell out nineteen grand for it. I wondered if he intended to use it himself when he created new vamps or resell it. If I ever decided to speak to him again, I’d ask.
The auction paused for a brief interlude before the final lot was presented. Wait staff circulated with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. I took a glass when it became clear I would be the only one who didn’t, and a cracker topped with fancy cheese and a thin slice of smoked salmon.
When everyone was settled and the wait staff had departed, Marcus reappeared behind his podium. “Honored guests, I am pleased to present the evening’s featured item, Lot 1206.”
The crown jewel of the auction turned out to be a painted stone that had once belonged to Vlad Tepes when he resided at Poenari, his fortress in Romania. Where Vlad currently resided was one of the vampire world’s most closely guarded secrets. Charles had told me once that humans should hope they never found out.
Marcus cleared his throat and the low murmur of conversation faded to silence. “Ladies and gentlemen, the bidding shall commence at the reserve price of twenty thousand dollars.”
The bidding was intense and Charles was in the thick of it. By the time the sale price surpassed eighty thousand dollars, most of the bidders had dropped out and it was down to Charles, the female vampire who had won Lot 1201, and—of course—Vincent Barclay.
Barclay hadn’t wanted to spend more than sixty grand on the cup, perhaps because he was here for the stone. Judging by the bidding frenzy, there had to be more to that stone than its value as having once belonged to Vlad Tepes, but I sensed no magic from it. The stone was about four inches long and roughly oval-shaped. It had originally been brightly painted, but now the paint was mostly gone, making it impossible to discern what the image had once been.
At seventy-five thousand, the female vamp dropped out and once again the bidding was between Charles and Barclay.
Back and forth they went. One hundred thousand. One-ten. One-twenty. I discovered I was holding my breath. Vampires didn’t breathe, of course, but even the fangy undead appeared to be watching the bidding war with bated breath.
I was watching Barclay when Charles bid one-fifty and saw the almost imperceptible tightening of his eyes that signaled the Seattle vamp was reaching
his limit. This was looking to be an expensive night for Charles if he won.
Barclay bid one-sixty, but a heartbeat too slow if he wanted Charles to think he wasn’t backing down. Charles went in for the kill and bid one-eighty.
After a pause, Barclay demurred. Marcus tapped his strangely shaped gavel and bidding ended.
My curiosity got the better of me. What is that doohickey, anyway? I asked Charles as everyone rose. I don’t sense any magic.
Not all objects of power use the same kinds of magic, he replied.
At Charles’s summons, Bryan and Sean approached. “Stay with her,” Charles instructed Sean. “I must render payment and arrange to take possession of my purchases. We will return in a few minutes.”
Sean gave him a nod. Charles and Bryan disappeared behind the red curtain, along with the other winning bidders and their escorts. I feigned the bored expression of a piece of brainless arm candy left with the hired help.
Sean leaned close, his lips almost brushing my ear. “I thought you had a spending limit of ten grand for that cup.”
“That was all Charles,” I murmured, my eyes scanning the room as the other guests filed out. “Believe me, we’re going to talk about it once we’re in the car.”
I was about to apologize for the way Charles had been needling him when my eyes met those of Vincent Barclay.
The Seattle vamp was standing by the doors with an enormous bodyguard who looked, impossible as it might seem, larger than Bryan. I had the thought, and not for the first time, that bodyguard physiques were a kind of power-play thing for vamps. When it came to hand-to-hand combat, size wasn’t the deciding factor for enforcers whose reflexes, strength, and stamina were enhanced by regularly drinking vampire blood. I’d seen Adri beat the stuffing out of men twice her size, so having the biggest bodyguard was less a matter of security than good, old-fashioned dick-measuring.
It wasn’t the size of the enforcer that made me pause, however; it was Barclay’s eyes. They were pure black and filled with hate. After years of torture and abuse at the hands of my grandfather, few things frightened me anymore, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a chill as the Seattle vamp glowered at me.
