Key to Conflict

by Talia Gryphon

  “We’ll be back for you Tanis. You are part of our little family.” Gillian assured him. “Marines never leave one of their own behind.”

  He nodded from his grave. “I am glad to have such friends.” Then closing his eyes, Tanis waved his hand, closing the earth and giving himself up to the oblivion of Vampiric sleep.

  “He isn’t yours, miss, not any longer,” Grace squeaked, inches from Gillian’s face.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Kimber wanted to know, snatching Grace out of the air and pulling her close enough so that she was cross-eyed.

  The tiny demi-Fey shrieked and kicked at Kimber’s nose. “I love him!”

  Great Jolly Green Giant balls. Gillian rolled her eyes. “And you would do anything for him, right? Anything to save him?”

  “Yes! Anything!”

  “What did you promise Dracula?”

  The tiny Fey body trembled and Grace burst into tears in Kimber’s hand. “It was an exchange, miss!”

  “Go on.”

  Sobbing, she continued. “He has my murderer as his servant. I promised to help keep the Vampire alive, to give him hope until Dracula could get his brother here so he wouldn’t despair and Face The Sun, but I fell in love with him. Dracula was supposed to destroy the one who killed me if I managed to do this!” She wiped her nose on Kimber’s thumb.

  “Ew! Gross!” Kimber nearly threw her.

  Gill stopped her with a hand on her arm. “So you traded your vengeance for his brother’s life?”

  Kimber raised her eyebrows at the tone. Even Pavel stepped closer. Gillian’s voice was chatty, almost pleasant. “You were willing to condemn a man you don’t know to death? For revenge?”

  The former Ghost nodded miserably. She was noticeably less attractive with snot on her upper lip. Forlorn and pathetic, she wilted in Kimber’s fist. She snapped to attention when Gillian grabbed her wings and extracted her from the fist.

  “No! No!” Grace yelled, realizing that her size was just right for being flung into a tree, a rock…a pile of dog doo, which was what Gillian was now dangling her over.

  “I ought to pull your wings off, you little bitch!”

  No mercy was in Gillian’s Nile-green eyes. “You set my friend up, you used his brother, you used us. Tell me why I shouldn’t twist your tiny little head off.”

  “I cannot!” Grace wailed, covering her face with her hands and waiting for the inevitable.

  “Then change back to normal size so I can kick your ass,” Gill snarled. “At least that way it would be a fair fight.”

  “I cannot do that either! I do not know how!” Grace sobbed again.

  “She’s stuck, Kemo.” Kimber smirked.

  “Great. Well, she’s coming with us,” Gill snapped, then bellowed to the Dark Elf. “Trocar!”

  He appeared at her elbow. “You screamed?”

  “Bind her,” she ordered him.

  The Dark Elf murmured a few words and the Fairy wilted, this time into silence. “How the hell did you do that?” Kimber gaped.

  “She is still a Ghost. Inhabiting the body of that Fey does not make her something different. She responds to binding magic like any Ghost.” Trocar took Grace from Gillian and popped her into a pouch he materialized from somewhere on his Red Riding Hood Stud outfit.

  “Let’s get back to the hotel, change, and figure out our next move.” Gillian and Pavel gathered their things. Pavel noted where they were by scent, then lead the group of Daywalkers back to their temporary digs.

  CHAPTER

  32

  W HILE Gillian and the gang were having their adventures, Aleksei was en route from Romania. Emotions he had suppressed roared through his tall, muscular frame. He was furious with Gillian and heart-wrenchingly proud of her too. Tanis’s relief at seeing Gillian had flowed through their blood bond earlier, and he knew his brother was safe. Safe because a little blonde ex-marine, too delicate looking to be a soldier, had rescued him.

  He knew also that his brother slept now as he himself soon would on the plane. Aleksei and Tanis’s rebirth were separated by only a few months and, up until very recently, their abilities as Masters had been fairly equal. Now that Aleksei had come into his own true level of power, only Tanis would still be termed a Master. Aleksei’s newfound power was closer to legend.

  Vampirism was a fickle gift. It blessed all who received it with extraordinary abilities. Most Reborn received only a modicum of what the Masters received. The Masters themselves received the ability to create more of their kind, in addition to higher, more significant levels of inherent skill. The difference in power between an average Vampire and a Master was like comparing a chihuahua to a rottweiler. Unfortunately, no one could be certain of the level of gift they would receive or bestow. It was a crapshoot and only a few won the Reborn lottery.

  Then there were a few…a very, very few, that it blessed with almost godlike power. Those gifts took time to manifest over the centuries. The rottweiler would suddenly evolve into a Tyrannosaurus Rex, becoming a true Vampire Lord. So far, the ages had only seen the creation of four such individuals, at least that were known to all the others: Osiris, Dionysus, Dracula and now Lord Aleksei Rachlav.

  Aleksei hadn’t known the measure of his own power until recently when the dampening screens Dracula had maintained around his homeland and habitat had begun to fail. Now he had their power but had no idea how to utilize it to save his people. That, combined with Gillian’s abdication, made him a trifle bit cranky.

  The sun was up, dawn was upon him, yet the familiar torpor had not taken him yet. It waited while he safely moved about the shielded and curtained interior of the plane until he lay within an ornate box, lined with Romanian earth. He’d brought it mainly for transporting Tanis, knowing that his brother would be injured and in need of rejuvenation.

  It was there, waiting like a heavy veil to draw over his mind, while he contemplated what he would do, could do, once he found their little party. Aleksei held it at bay like a gentle sleepiness as he closed his eyes, resting for the next few hours until he could rise and hold those he loved close again. His last thoughts were of a pair of Nile-green eyes in a delicate face surrounded by shimmering gold hair as his consciousness shut down.

  Arriving back at the hotel, Gillian and the rest opted for food, showers and bed, in that order. They needed to process what they’d seen and what had happened.

  “What the hell was with all those bodies?”

  Kimber wasn’t shy, she started stripping off the minute the hotel door closed, much to Pavel’s amazement. He stared at her then seemed to realize that Trocar was in the room and moved to stand in front of her. The Grael smiled, moving to the bedroom to remove his tight, red leather jumpsuit.

  Gillian was already in the bathroom divesting herself of the stained, smelly clothing and yelled back, “I think the Ripper had taken a turn in his pathology.”

  Silence was her reward, so she poked her head out of the door. Everyone was staring at her. “What I mean is, the main streetwalkers in Jack’s time period were women. Now that’s changed. He’s targeting what in his mind is worse than a woman selling her body. A lot of those bodies were trannies. He must have a real beef against men masquerading as women.”

  “He’s also still got his problem with women,” Kimber interjected. “You didn’t see him wipe off his hand after he had it in your hair. It was like you got cooties on him or something.”

  Gill lost her balance trying to remove a boot and fell against the sink. “Shit!”

  There was a clomp as she tossed the offending boot against the wall. “The difference is that like most serial killers, he is adapting and getting better. It’s harder to hide a body these days, so he’s taking advantage of a convenient drop spot. And it doesn’t surprise me that he wiped off his hand after touching me. Jack’s female victims were all sexually assaulted all right, but with a knife, not his penis. He’s got issues that have to do with more than just sex.”

  “Even Vampires
are sensitive to the odor of death, mellian,” Trocar’s lovely voice interjected, changing the subject slightly. “Why would the others allow this travesty to continue within their resting place?”

  Gillian thought about that for a moment from her floor seat. “Obviously Jack, or whoever he is, is an important piece in Dracula’s scheming, so he tolerates more than he normally would.”

  “Or Dracula considers Jack sort of a thug or muscle for him. Like an enforcer. Jack does the dirty work and Dracula continues to look like the strong ruler who never gets his hands dirty,” Kimber said helpfully, smiling up at Pavel and his protective stance in front of her.

  The Werewolf certainly was handsome and…her eyes flicked down for a brief instant…hung like the proverbial horse. Pavel blushed under her appraisal, causing Kimber’s generous mouth to widen more. She winked at him and he shivered. Oh yeah, Gillian, mission…right.

  “Or that Dracula is a worse monster than the Ripper could ever be and he’s just ignoring it for now,” she finished finally.

  That thought sobered everyone’s mood right up. “I’m taking a shower.”

  Gillian snapped the door shut and lost herself to hot water and shampoo for a few minutes. She emerged to find Trocar draped artistically across the bed, clad only in a loose robe with a tray of fruit and cheese set out.

  “Where’s Kimber and Pavel?”

  “I believe they mentioned a Jacuzzi.”

  “Terrific,” Gill muttered, completely conscious of the fact that she was wearing only a towel and had a gorgeous hunk of hot male Elf on her bed.

  She skirted around him and went to her bag to dig out something, anything, to wear so she didn’t feel so damn exposed. Trocar couldn’t help smiling. He was in a more accessible position this time and she knew it. Before, in the Marine Corps, she had been his superior officer and fraternization had been completely impossible. Now the situation was much different. She was still the leader of this mission but she needed him more, relied on him to an extent. It made her vulnerable in a way, something his predatory nature found very attractive.

  “Stop staring at my ass before I knock your lights out,” Gillian growled as she felt his eyes sweeping over her.

  Her empathy had been on hold for a while, but like any natural talent, it wouldn’t be denied for long. Being near her friends, people she cared about, made it impossible to keep shielding. Trocar desired her. He’d never shied away from that, unlike herself. Before as his commander, she couldn’t afford the luxury of considering it, but now…now was not a good time. Plus there was Aleksei to consider.

  Shit. That was someone she didn’t want to think about right now. He was going to be pissed about all this but happy that Tanis was alive, er, still Reborn and functional. She gave herself a mental shake as she pulled her clothes free of the backpack. Thinking about Aleksei right now was not a good idea. The time period between him being her patient had expired but they were in the midst of a turf war and she couldn’t afford to spare her concentration.

  “Keep your eyes averted, Lieutenant,” she snapped.

  Trocar laughed musically. “We are far from a real battlefield, my former Captain. But I will allow you to shield yourself with your clothing while I take a shower.”

  The door closed as she turned and she was treated to a gleaming ebony length of thigh and curved buttock as the Elf abandoned his robe outside the bathroom. Rolling her eyes, she finished dressing in her turtleneck and a pair of shorts she’d forgotten were stuffed at the bottom of her pack. Yanking the laptop out of the pack, she snapped on the wireless router-adapter and fluffed the pillows on the bed so she could lay against them. Pausing, she pulled her shorts farther down over her thighs. No use in giving Trocar a show when he came out when nothing was going to happen between them.

  Pulling up her e-mail, Gillian wasn’t surprised to find a number of urgent, then frantic, then vaguely threatening e-mails from her friend at the IPPA, Helmut Gerhardt. Figuring direct contact was better than answering a dozen e-mails, she dialed his private number, munching on the fruit and cheese as she waited.

  Dr. Gerhardt was understandably worried after not hearing from her for several days. He kindly filled her in on current events in Fang & Fairyland. They weren’t good. The mainstream press and authorities were starting to notice that a higher percentage of Humans were having disagreeable experiences with the denizens of the Paramortal. Cautionary reports abounded and some communities were jacking up curfew times for Humans which was causing a hell of a hue and cry.

  Bodies were being discovered daily and more people were going missing nightly. Apparently the effects were being seen on a global scale. There wasn’t a country that hadn’t had at least ten or twelve violent and mysterious deaths in recent months. Modern-day forensics were only helpful if you had data to compare. Vampire, Fey and Lycanthrope DNA was being collected almost hourly, but with no central database, it was difficult to track down a specific subject. Especially if all their pals were going out of their way to make them remain invisible.

  Each branch of law enforcement, particularly in major metropolises, had Paranormal officers, detectives and administrators. Some had been added after legalization, some had just come out of the proverbial wardrobe to the surprise of their colleagues. They were familiar enough with their own kind to know where to look and whom to ask, but they were just as hampered as their Human counterparts by simply being employed with Human agencies or working with Humans. The occasional Paranormal private investigator often wound up another statistic since they had no buffering employer who would miss them if they didn’t show up at a briefing.

  Gerhardt was adamant that Gill be extremely careful and get back to Count Rachlav’s relative protection as soon as possible. Gillian snorted at that, reminding him that she and her group had rescued the other Rachlav from almost certain death.

  There was a pregnant pause in the conversation as Gerhardt considered. “Very well, Schatzi, I trust your skills and your judgment, but there are those here who prefer to err on the side of caution. No one will sanction you for what you’re doing, but there is a point, Gillian, where you must look to your own safety. You are not a police officer.”

  “Helmut, I’m not leaving my friends to hide in relative safety. This whole thing is a turf war. No, I’m not a cop but I am a soldier and at the moment, you’re paying me to be both a psychologist and a field operative. I’m trained in warfare—okay, Human warfare—but this isn’t much different. It’s more subtle, mind you, and there is a lot less property destruction, but it’s warfare.”

  Gillian’s voice had a hard edge that Gerhardt recognized as her no-nonsense commanding voice. “As a psychologist, I know what kind of a psychopath we’re up against, Helmut, and it’s bad. Dracula is not your run-of-the-mill fanged menace and he’s got Jack the Ripper as his new best friend and playmate. Which reminds me, the Ripper has switched vics on us—he’s doing women and transvestites now.” She let that sink in.

  “Gillian, if the Ripper is still alive and has shifted his perspective, then he is evolving as a killer and a sexual sadist. Be careful and do not confront him—be a soldier and kill him if you have to, but do not, under any circumstances, take him on alone.” Gerhardt was absolutely determined.

  “Rehabilitating him is not on my agenda, Helmut,” Gillian stressed. “I rather like the shoot now, ask questions later approach, myself.”

  “I understand, my dear, I truly do.” He sighed. “But you have been such a positive force for our profession, whether you realize it or not, and most of us forget that you are also a decorated soldier. I know you can handle yourself.”

  Gerhardt was the closest thing to a parent figure she had and Gillian appreciated him. He continued. “In the Human and Paramortal worlds there are good individuals, bad individuals and very bad individuals. Not all Paramortals fall into the worst catagory, but that’s the way Humans are going to see them again very soon. It was not long ago that Vampires, Ghosts and Lycanthropes were used a
s threats in stories and film to frighten people; the Fey were not held in high esteem either. There is a thin line we are all treading, Gillian. Psychologically, there is still help we can provide, but can’t, if the tide is turned again.”

  It was Gillian’s turn to sigh. “I know. It’s idiotic. I’m doing the best I can, Helmut. Aleksei took good care of me but now it’s my turn to start helping out. I’m a soldier first, no matter how much I hide behind my diplomas and medals for propriety’s sake and my profession. Fighting on this level is something I’m learning. I don’t want to wind up dead either, at least not in the manner I’ve seen. I’ll be careful. Just hold down the fort, be ready with bail money and I promise to check in more often.”

  He realized that was as good as he was going to get, so he acknowledged her. “Think of the paper you can write after all your field work there.”

  There was a smile behind the voice, and Gillian felt warmed. He also failed to tease her about addressing Count Rachlav by his given name. Some things are better left untaunted.

  “Thanks Helmut. I’ll have you proofread it for me.”

  They said their good-byes and hung up. Just in time for Gillian to watch Trocar glide out of the bathroom, dressed in a towel.

  Gillian felt her mouth go dry. Trocar was a vision of solid, glossy, black perfection. Gracefully in that manner that only an Elf of any sort could pull off, he doffed the towel and slid into a luscious-looking robe and pants made from spider’s silk. That he did it without treating her to any more Grael eye candy was amazing. She watched him warily as he approached the bed.

  “Don’t even think it, Trocar. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit tonight.” She glared at him as he slid into bed next to her, smiling and lovely.

  “Think what, Gillyflower?”

  Gill cringed at the nickname and under his intense, iridescent gaze. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what? I am not touching you.”

  He wasn’t. He was just uncomfortably close. Gill refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her nervousness by shifting away from him. Shit and double shit. He smelled of the crisp, icy woods when the first snows fell. Clean, refreshing, light snow and icy pine–scented Elf. His iridescent eyes sparkled like faceted jewels and his jet-black skin gleamed with a shimmery blue cast.