Lothaire iad-12

by Kresley Cole

  Ellie carried the drinks back to the counter, setting one in front of the oracle. “You don’t look like a hag to me.”

  “And I’d so hoped not to disappoint you.”

  “So what’s your real name?”

  Silence.

  Ellie’s gaze fell on an old book lying near the pestle. “Is that a spell book?” She picked it up, running her fingers over the cover. “Never felt such soft leather.”

  “Made from a human devoted to skin care.”

  Ellie dropped it with a shudder. “Can you really see into the future?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I open a window?”

  “No.”

  “Your ears are pointy.”

  “And your eyes work.”

  “I could do that grinding for you,” Ellie offered. “Why don’t you put me to work?”

  “I believe Lothaire’s orders were to sit down, shut up, and touch nothing. I suggest you obey them, Elizabeth.”

  Her condescending attitude rankled. “I’m not a child.”

  “To us, you might as well be.”

  “What if I knocked you out and stole your phone?”

  The fey rolled her eyes. “Try it, mortal.”

  Planning to. “Count yourself warned, Hag.”

  “Even if you could somehow wrangle it from me, I have it code-locked.”

  Dang it, back to sympathy. In a more conciliatory tone, she said, “You can call me Ellie, if you want to.”

  “I don’t want to.” Hag ran the back of a blue-stained hand over a glossy brown curl. “Look. If this is the part where you try to befriend me in order to get me to help you, save your breath. I serve Lothaire’s interests only.”

  “And Saroya’s? You don’t care that a psycho killer’s about to be loosed into the world?”

  “If that is Lothaire’s wish, then it’s mine as well.”

  “You fear him that much?”

  “I owe Lothaire my life. Regardless, you’d be crazy not to fear the Enemy of Old.”

  “Are you two involved?”

  “Of course not. He has a Bride he remains faithful to.”

  “But Saroya and Lothaire aren’t intimate.” At least, I don’t think they are. . . .

  “I’m not discussing this with you—”

  Lothaire appeared in the room, making Ellie jump in her seat. Since she’d seen him last, he’d donned a long trench coat, tailor-fitted over his wide shoulders. He was out of breath, with streaks of dirt along one cheek and mud splashed up his legs. “Has Saroya attempted to rise?”

  “She’s not in right now,” Ellie said tartly. “Can I take a message?”

  “You vowed to me that you’d allow her to rise!”

  “Saroya’s not even trying.” Where’s the fire, vampire? He’d been away from the goddess for years. Now he just had to see her?

  “What did you say?”

  “Not—a—twitch.”

  Lothaire launched his fist into the wall, then disappeared.

  Hag sighed over the hole, then got back to work.

  “Is he always so . . . intense?” Even when Ellie and Lothaire had shared a somewhat normal conversation last night, he’d been thrumming with something.

  “You are stupid to taunt him. If he loses control, you will die—badly.”

  Note to self: find out her definition of badly. “What would it take to get you to help me? All I need is one call.”

  “Nothing you have. Now, shut up.”

  Two minutes later: “You got a bathroom?”

  “Thinking to escape?”

  “Thinking to pee, actually.”

  Hag waved her toward a side hallway. “Do not open the windows or shutters anywhere in this house.”

  “Fine.” In the bathroom, Ellie closed the door behind her, pacing. “What am I going to do?” she murmured. “What to do . . . what to do . . . ?”

  “Come with me,” a whispering voice answered.

  A voice. From the freaking mirror!

  Ellie flattened herself against the door. “Wh-who are you?” Open mind!

  “The cavalry, here to save you.” A woman’s hand appeared directly beside Ellie’s stunned reflection—it looked as if it came from inside the mirror.

  Cavalry? Her heart leapt. But then she remembered what Lothaire’s enemies would do to her. Harems, whoring, and horns.

  Ellie whirled around and flung open the door, racing back into the kitchen. “Hag!” she cried. “There’s—there’s something in the mirror, something that wants me to go with it.”

  Hag dropped the leaves she’d been sorting. “Mirror?” She collected a machete from a hook on the wall. “Mariketa the Awaited. She must have searched every mirror in the world for your reflection.”

  “Who’s Mariketa?”

  “She is the leader of the House of Witches, a notorious band of mercenaries.” Weapon in hand, Hag started for the bathroom.

  This isn’t gonna end well for Mariketa. Ellie cautiously followed Hag. “Witch mercenaries? You have got to be kidding me!”

  “They’ve deciphered our boundary encryption. Or at least part of it.” At the door, Hag said, “Go inside and tell her that you want to go with her.”

  “Uh, all right.” Ellie entered, then faced the mirror. “Hey, are you there, cavalry?”

  The voice answered, “Don’t have all day, Bride of Lothaire. Got nickel beer and disco bowling tonight.” Mariketa sounded so human, so normal, that Ellie had misgivings. Especially when Hag crept to the side of the mirror and raised the machete.

  Mariketa continued, “I can’t breach the plane of the glass, ’cause of the old-skool boundary spell. But you can reach into the mirror and grab my hand. Hup-two, and I’ll do the rest.”

  Hag waved her on, so Ellie said, “Yeah, okay, here I come.”

  The fey eased her hand inside the mirror, as though dipping it into a pool of water.

  Mariketa said, “Gotcha.”

  Hag replied, “No, I’ve got you.”

  Her machete struck through the glass. A shriek erupted. “Ahhh! You BITCH!”

  In a spray of blood, the fey leapt back; Ellie gaped. Hag was holding the witch’s severed hand.

  As some kind of beast roared from within the mirror, energy began building in the air, making the fine hair on Ellie’s arms stand up.

  Using the blood, Hag frantically drew weird symbols onto the glass, finishing just as a flash of what looked like lightning torpedoed toward them.

  “Hold . . . hold steady,” Hag muttered. The bolt ricocheted off the plane of glass and back into that darkness. Another scream sounded—“You’ll pay for this, fey!”—then silence.

  The glass was solid once more, the symbols seeming to seep into the mirror before disappearing.

  Hag sagged back against the wall. “They knew enough of our key to find you. Dark gods, that was close.”

  “You saved me, thank you.”

  Her face paled. “It was too close. I should have changed the encryption an hour ago. You weren’t invisible to enemies. Lothaire will kill me for this.”

  “No harm, no foul? I don’t have a scratch on me.”

  “You do not know Lothaire.” Hag’s expression was stricken.

  “What if I didn’t tell him?”

  “And what would you want in return?”

  Ellie’s gaze dipped to her phone. “You know what I want.”

  “I vowed to the Lore never to betray Lothaire. Even if I wanted to let you call, it’s impossible to break an oath to the Lore.”

  “Then what can you give me?”

  Hag’s eyes darted. “I don’t know . . . I can’t think.”

  “Better hurry. He could return soon. Hey, maybe you could answer twenty questions for me.”

  In a rapid patter, Hag said, “I’d have to reserve the right not to answer certain questions if said answers might adversely affect Lothaire’s interests. A clever person could glean much solely from the questions I refused.”

  Like how I just gleaned
that it was even possible for Lothaire’s interests to be adversely affected? And that you think I’m clever? “Then promise me information about this world, about immortals in general.”

  “Help me clean up, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Um, yeah, I’m gonna need you to vow that to the Lore.”

  Hag squinted at Ellie. “I have a very portentous feeling about you. But I want to live. So, I vow to the Lore to give you information about our world.”

  “All right. Tell me what you want me to do. . . .”

  Hag gave her a powder to pour over the sink and along the machete to make the blood disappear while she disintegrated the witch’s hand in another vat.

  When everything was set to rights, Hag said, “It doesn’t matter how clean we’ve made it—you’re going to give us away. He’ll see right through you.”

  Ellie returned to her stool. “Look, it’s just like when the Law comes around asking about a still or a lab. Even if I’m caught with a jar of shine in my hand, I’ll deny it. I turn into a brick wall. I’m not the weak link here—”

  “I smell witch blood,” Lothaire intoned from behind them.

  The fey whirled around a little quickly, but Ellie was an expert at this. “Yeah, I cannot believe you freaks ship shit like that through the USPS.” She drummed her nails on the counter. “I plan to report you when I escape.”

  “Uh-huh.” Lothaire narrowed his eyes at Hag. “What potion called for witch’s blood?”

  “I strengthened the boundary spell against them specifically after you told me of the bounty. The House will stop at nothing to capture Elizabeth.”

  He scrutinized Hag’s face, clearly suspicious. “Such foresight.”

  “I am an oracle.”

  Good one.

  “How goes your search, Lothaire?” Hag asked.

  “I get closer.” He turned that penetrating gaze to Ellie. “Saroya?”

  “Not a peep.”

  “If I find out you have held her back . . .”

  “Dang it, I’m not!”

  Lothaire evinced the most terrifying look that Ellie had ever seen on a man. It gave her chills, made her want to dive for cover. Then he disappeared.

  Ellie was about to exhale a pent-up breath when she remembered an old cops’ trick. “Straight face, Hag. He’s coming right back.”

  20

  T hey’re up to something.

  Lothaire returned to Hag’s home seconds later to catch them sharing a confidence, a look of relief. . . .

  He’d made himself invisible, but he merely found the fey stirring her pot while Elizabeth continued to drum her nails on the counter.

  With narrowed eyes, Lothaire returned to his task. Yes, up to something. But he didn’t have the time—or the clarity—to delve.

  Over the last few hours, he’d covered miles, racing outward from Riora’s empty temple through an ancient forest.

  Since he could only trace to places he’d previously been or places he could see, he had difficulty covering large amounts of ground. It was almost as easy to run, following the trails animals made as they fled his presence. Even other predators fear me. . . .

  Though this task could help him complete his Endgame, he found his thoughts drifting to Elizabeth yet again, this time to the look of longing on her face as she’d stared at the sea.

  His satisfaction over that had proved curiously less than he’d expected.

  Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Or how she’d melted for him earlier at the apartment?

  Because even I look like an option.

  He’d never had trouble with females before. Now two had come into his life, as if solely to plague him.

  One didn’t seem to desire him; the other did, but only because she’d been deprived of any male. That mouth of yourn feels so good. . . .

  What would he do if Saroya still hadn’t risen by tonight? Betray his Bride?

  Lothaire’s need to be faithful wasn’t for sentimental reasons, but for logical ones. He’d studied the truly great kings and queens in the Lore, and historically, royal couples who amassed power together did not sleep with others.

  The males didn’t take concubines. The females didn’t secretly slip into others’ beds.

  The pair presented a united front to the world, with no cracks in their foundation for enemies to worm their way into. Each demonstrated utter loyalty—only to the other.

  Lothaire couldn’t argue with facts.

  He’d expected this unity with Saroya, had planned for it. But technically, Elizabeth and Saroya were one and the same. If his Bride didn’t see the difference, then perhaps he shouldn’t scruple over it. He could enjoy Elizabeth and still be faithful—

  He tensed, catching the shifter pack’s scent. He tracked it to a den entrance, then plunged inside.

  Into the earth. Stay focused. Five ash vines. In. Out.

  He followed a tunnel to a vaultlike cavern—their central gathering place, with offshoot passageways in all directions. Around a fire, bedding covered the ground, and stone benches lined the walls.

  Roots dangled from the ceiling like grasping fingers. The earth grinding over me . . .

  Block out that memory. Or stare into the abyss. Block it out. Focus!

  He scented mortals somewhere deeper in the cavern. Their slaves.

  The shifters began to emerge from other tunnels. Dozens surrounded him, all in their human forms, but tensed with aggression.

  The largest one, the alpha, said, “A vampire dares to enter our territory, trespassing near our women?”

  “There is little daring to it.” Only a madman would enter a shifters’ den? Lothaire was beset with boredom. How many packs had he faced and slaughtered? Incalculable. “I seek ash vines. Give them to me, and I’ll spare you all.”

  “Who the hell are you?” the alpha demanded.

  “I’m the Enemy of Old.”

  Alpha’s eyes went wide. “You killed my father and three older brothers.”

  Lothaire drawled, “Never heard that before.” Apparently, he’d killed so many family members that he must have significantly affected the Lore’s population. Doing my part for the environment.

  A burly no-necked male said, “The leech targeted an alpha’s line? Now he’s going to die.”

  Broken record.

  “Let’s leave him be,” a more cowardly—or wise—shifter advised. Others murmured in agreement.

  “Are you all crazy?” Alpha glowered. “There’s thirty of us. One of him.”

  Out of the corner of his mouth, the coward insisted, “But . . . but it’s the Enemy of Old.” Then to Lothaire, he said, “We’re out of the vines, and our supplier won’t have them for weeks. I vow it to the Lore.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Alpha ordered.

  No vines. Lothaire should trace away, not risking his bloodlust, ensuring he didn’t drink any of these animals in the heat of the fight—

  “Look at that,” No-neck said, “he’s going to trace away, run back to his king. Oh, wait—your king got killed, just last spring. Assassinated in his own castle.”

  The king Lothaire had served. The king he’d failed.

  The death I both mourned—and celebrated.

  A quiet rage simmered inside Lothaire. His mind grew tunnel-visioned. Everything around him slowed until even their racing heartbeats sounded ponderous, like clocks ticking in oil.

  The alpha will slash with the claws of his dominant left hand. I’ll slice off his arm with my right, use my left to sever his jugular. Coward will hesitantly attack from behind. A kick backward will connect with his chest and crush his rib cage. No-neck will snatch up a stone bench, swinging while I punch through his chest and remove his heart.

  The rest will react uncontrollably, shifting and attacking as a pack.

  “You’ve erred for ill.” Lothaire bared his fangs. “Now you all get to die.”

  21

  “ So what’s my reward for saving your fey ass?” Ellie asked when Hag returned
to the kitchen.

  Shortly after Lothaire’s last suspicious pop-in, Hag had excused herself, saying she needed to check on something. Now that she’d returned, she stared at Ellie with a strange intensity.

  “Go to that bookshelf.” Hag pointed out a rickety set of shelves. “Look for a very old tome entitled The Living Book of Lore. It’s a self-updating encyclopedia of our world.”

  “Encyclopedia?” Score! Ellie found it, cracking open the musty pages. The words were handwritten in an old-style script, but legible.

  “If Lothaire returns and finds you with it, I’ll deny pointing it out to you.”

  “Ten-four.” Moments later, Ellie reclined with the book on a deck lounge chair under the nearly full moon.

  At once, she searched for a “goddess of blood” or “Saroya” or “soul reaper,” but came up empty. Discouraged, she turned to the Vampires entry. Now there was information for the taking! She began reading intently about the vampire factions.

  Lothaire had sneered to her, “I couldn’t expect you to understand the political machinations of vampires.”

  Therefore it was imperative for Ellie to understand them.

  The Forbearers were a relatively new army of turned humans led by a natural-born vampire named Kristoff the Gravewalker. They’d vowed not to drink blood straight from the flesh—to forbear. Their eyes were clear, their minds strong. Kristoff ruled them from his castle on Mt. Oblak.

  The Daci were supposedly another faction, thought to be the first vampires. They were rumored to exist in an underground kingdom—with a fabled black castle that no one in the Lore could find. Nor could any prove their existence.

  The Horde was the main vampire kingdom, populated mostly by the Fallen—red-eyed vampires like Lothaire who’d killed as they’d drunk their prey. They were led by Tymur the Allegiant, so called because he served whatever king sat upon the throne.

  Even if his previous master had been slain by his new one.

  Since King Demestriu’s death the year before, Tymur and other loyalist vampires had held Castle Helvita, the royal seat, as they waited for the next heir to come forward. They would only accept a legitimate royal heir who held sacred the Thirst—the need for vampires to drink from the flesh.