by Keri Arthur
His gaze shot to mine, disbelief evident. “Truly?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “How long have you and your lady been together?”
“A number of years now. Our arrangement—” He hesitated, an oddly calculating light touching his eyes. “—suits us.”
Curiosity stirred—about him, and about his unnamed lady friend. I touched his arm lightly and unleashed my seeking skills. “I do hope tonight doesn’t tax her strength and send her back to her sickbed.”
Images began to flick through my mind. They were fragile things, but filled with desires and urges that were, I suspected, not the norm for those of the ruling houses—at least if Charles was anything to go by. Julius Valkarie liked to play with leashes and ropes, and he had a preference for boys who were very, very young. As young as Bear, had he been alive.
A shiver that was part disgust, part anger ran through me, and it took great control to keep my touch light on his arm when all I wanted to do was punch him.
“Are you cold?” he said, his expression a weird mix of cold amusement and concern.
“A little.”
I dug deeper into his mind. Seeking information this way wasn’t ideal—generally, when using touch rather than sex, it was better to have a specific question or item in mind rather than a more open slather, grab-everything approach. The latter often resulted in unwanted information—like his sexual preferences, and the fact that the only person he really cared about was Julius Valkarie. I narrowed my focus and attempted to find more about his partner. Fleeting images of a tall woman rose, but she had little more substance than one of my ghosts. It seemed she was the very last person he was thinking about right now.
“Would you like your coat retrieved?” he asked.
I pulled my hand away and resisted the urge to wipe the feel of him from my skin. I didn’t care about his bisexuality or his fetishes, but I drew the line at anything involving children. “I’m sure another of these fine champagnes will warm me up.”
As he motioned to one of the blue-clad figures, Cat’s energy hit me, sizzling across my skin like fire. Something was very wrong.
More than just wrong, she said. Branna just walked into the ballroom.
Wasn't that just what we needed right now. But how in Rhea's name did Branna even get in? He wasn't an elite—he was both an outcast and a mercenary. At the very least, the fact that he lived in Chaos rather than Central should have set off a multitude of alarms.
Is he disguised? I leaned forward a little, trying not to be overly obvious about it, but the seating area was too far inset to give any vision of the raised foyer area.
No, Cat said. He comes as himself. And he wears the charms.
Which meant we needed to stop him before he got anywhere near me. Is he just wearing the two?
No, four.
So he hadn’t yet managed to give a set to Dream—was that why he was here now? What other reason could there possibly be for him being at an event like this?
“What would madam like to drink,” a polite voice said.
My gaze jumped up to the blue-suited man who stopped in front of me. “A champagne, please.”
“Indeed.” He plucked a fluted glass from the silver tray he was holding and handed it to me. “Would you like anything to eat?”
“No, thank you.”
Another chime sounded, louder this time, and the babble of voices began to die down.
“Things finally begin,” Julius said. “Though I do rather hate these formal bits of the evening.”
“Except, of course,” I murmured, “when the formal bits require your participation.”
His gaze shot to mine, his surprise quickly dissolving to amusement. “Indeed, you are right. And I begin to see why Charles is so enamored with you.”
Branna is on the top of the steps, Cat said.
Can I push him down them? Bear said. Please.
“Charles is an eminently sensible man,” I said to Julius, and then added silently, You can't push him down the stairs. It would be too obviously an attack, and could well tell Dream we're here.
He's walking down to the ballroom floor now, Bear said. A waiter approaches with drinks—I could trip him up when he's near Branna, and steal the charms in the confusion.
I hesitated. Okay. But be careful. Cat, keep watch and warn Bear if anyone appears to be taking a little bit too much notice of Branna.
Will do.
I took a sip of my drink as the lights dimmed a little and a small woman with blonde hair and a pinched expression walked onto the stage. In the sudden hush, the crash of metal and glass was extraordinarily loud.
“What was that?”
Even as I asked the question, I rose and walked to the platform's edge. At the back of the room, near the foyer stairs, stood Branna, his hair a gleaming mane of gold in the room's fading light. His white tunic was splashed with red wine and his expression was thunderous, but he didn't say anything as several blue-clad figures fussed around him.
“It would appear one of the waiters has been rather careless,” Julius commented as he stopped beside me.
We have the charms, Cat said. What do you want done with them?
I hesitated. While it was logical to return them to either Jonas or Nuri, it was a very real possibility that sometime in the very near future I might need such charms myself. Take them back to the apartment and hide them under the mattress.
Okay.
As my two ghosts raced away, Branna suddenly felt his wrist and then spun around, glaring first at the floor and then at the people surrounding him. To say he was livid with fury would be something of an understatement—I could feel the heat of it even from where I stood.
“My, my, he does not look happy, does he?” Julius murmured. “I pity the fool waiter who ran into him. I suspect he will be out of work on the morrow.”
“Accidents do happen.”
“Not in the Crystal Ballroom, they don't.”
After the small woman on the stage had formally welcomed everyone, a spotlight speared the shadows now crowding the platform, highlighting a curtained area to the right of the stage. I cast a final glance at Branna; he was on the move, his gaze never still, his nostrils flaring as he neared each cluster of people. Trying to find me via scent, I suspected, which meant he wasn't aware of my ability to change mine as easily as I could change my appearance.
I moved back to my seat and sat down. A curtain on one side of the stage was pushed aside and a tall, thin-faced blonde woman walked into the spotlight. Shock raced through me, and it was all I could do to remain motionless.
Because this was the woman I'd chased through the rift in Carleen and into Government House.
Ciara Dream herself.
My fingers twitched as if desperate to reach for the weapons I didn't have. She walked toward the middle of the stage, the spotlight that tracked her movements highlighting her gauntness and the almost translucent quality of her skin. In fact, she was so pale that even from where I was sitting I could see the pulsing of her blood through the veins in her neck....
The thought died as my gaze narrowed. There wasn't an oddly shaped birthmark on her neck, and there should have been if this woman was indeed Dream.
Had she perhaps forgotten to add it when she'd last shifted shape?
No, I thought, as I studied her intently. While this woman was almost an exact replica of the form I'd witnessed Dream change into as she'd walked toward that rift, there were subtle differences. A broader nose, sharper chin, longer hands. But perhaps the biggest difference was the sheer lack of power emanating from her. The air around Dream had practically crackled, the force of it so strong—so corrupted and alien in its feel—that it had made every hair on my body stand on end.
But while this woman might not be Dream, it was pretty obvious she was closely related to the identity Dream had taken over. There could be no other reason for the similarities in appearance.
I leaned closer to Julius and whispered, “Is that your lady?”<
br />
“Yes.” He glanced at me. “Why?”
“She looks familiar, although I do not believe we have ever met.” I hesitated. “I do feel I should know her name.”
He smiled, but there was speculation in his eyes. “Indeed you should, given she is the city's chancellor.”
I smiled, even as tension stirred. “I've only recently returned to Central, and names were never my strong suit.”
“And yet she has been in the position for many years and is well known beyond the walls of this city.”
Meaning I'd just made a major mistake. I shrugged casually. “I apologize if my lapse offends you.”
“It does not.” He paused, his gaze returning to the woman on the stage. “Her name is Karlinda Stone.”
Undoubtedly either Jonas or Nuri could tell me more about her—and, more particularly, if she had any siblings or not.
Charles walked onto the stage and was again introduced. He knelt in front of Karlinda, head bowed, as she proceeded to list the names of all those who'd held the position before him. I shifted slightly in my seat, my gaze searching the crowd, looking for a replica of the woman on the stage.
“Are you bored, Lady Catherine?”
I took a sip of champagne and then glanced at him. “Would you be offended if I said yes?”
He smiled. “No, indeed, as I suffer the same infliction. Tell me, what is it that you do?”
“I'm between positions at the moment, I'm afraid.”
“But when you do work?”
I hesitated. “I'm a sexual massage therapist.”
His laugh was soft, but it nevertheless ran across the silence. The woman on the stage glanced our way and frowned. As did Charles.
“I do not think your lady approves of such outbursts,” I murmured.
“She doesn't approve of much at all. Her family are fundamentalists; in fact, it would be extremely amusing to introduce you to them.”
I raised an eyebrow, even as my heart raced that little bit faster. An introduction was exactly what I wanted; if nothing else, it would be the quickest and easiest way to uncover if Dream really was impersonating someone from Karlinda's family. “And why would you wish to vex them so if you know beforehand they would not approve of my profession?”
“Because I do not approve of fundamentalists.”
“And yet you have a relationship with one.”
His smile flashed, but there was cold amusement in his eyes and perhaps even a touch of disdain. Not for me, but rather for Karlinda. “Because, as I said, it suits us both.”
A statement that made me wonder what—given Julius's bisexuality and preferences for young men—she was getting out of the situation. I didn't know much of anything about the fundamentalist movement, but the very nature of the word suggested a belief system that went back to basics—and surely that also meant sex. It was doubtful she'd be into leash and rope play—unless, of course, that was what he meant by a beneficial relationship. Perhaps their relationship was a cover for darker desires.
I watched the ceremony for several more—exceedingly long—minutes, and then switched my gaze to the two guards standing on either side of Charles and the chancellor. Both were armed and watchful, their gazes constantly roaming the room, looking for any sign of trouble or danger. Yet there was something about the man closest to Karlinda that stirred my instincts, though I had no idea why. And if said instincts had any idea, they were frustratingly mute.
Movement caught my eye and I glanced around to see Branna step into view. He paused, his gaze sweeping first the people immediately around him and then the seating area. I took a sip of champagne and schooled my features into an expression of bored disdain. His gaze went right past me, then recognition stirred and he looked back. Not at me. At Julius.
He began to make his way toward us.
Which suggested he knew Julius. But did that, in turn, mean the man sitting so elegantly by my side was the reason for the kill order? And that he was working with Dream?
How else would someone like Branna—who was, for all intents and purposes, an outcast, and as such would never have been invited into middle society let alone the upper echelon—come to be in a place like this?
He walked up the steps and strode toward us, every movement vibrating with the anger I'd so often sensed in him. It was an anger that had come from the war, a fury that stemmed from the loss of everyone he cared about, and one that had become so inflamed the minute he'd learned I was déchet that it seemed he’d been claimed by an unreasoning form of insanity.
He stopped in front of Julius and knelt down. He didn't even glance at me, though his closeness had my skin twitching. “Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but I was wondering if you know where Hedda Lang might be. She was supposed to meet me here, but I cannot find her.”
Julius sniffed—a disdainful sound if ever I'd heard one. “I have no idea where that woman is, nor do I care. And you are in my line of sight, young man.”
Branna made a low sound that rather reminded me of a growl, but did nothing more than nod and move away.
I watched him for several seconds and then glanced at Julius. “Such impertinence.”
“Indeed,” he drawled. “But the fault is not his but rather Hedda's. She should not have given him clearance to come to this event.”
My stomach clenched, even if my expression remained cool and calm. “So you do know him?”
“Not really.” He shrugged. “I merely dealt with the formalities finalizing the contract he accepted.”
Oh shit. I drank more champagne. “What sort of contract? He does not look the type who would be looking for menial work. He looks too mean for that.”
Julius chuckled. “Indeed, he does. And it was a simple hunt order for an escaped felon. Nothing serious.”
There was nothing serious about a hunt order? Rhea help me.... I shifted a little closer and let my arm touch his. It wasn't the best type of contact for seeking, but I couldn't do anything more without being obvious. “I do hope you're not forced to deal with fellows such as he on a daily basis. That would be... unpleasant.”
“Indeed,” he replied, even as my psi skills snagged a title—Minister in charge of Home Defense. “But fortunately, I merely sign the paperwork. It is Hedda and her people who handle the day-to-day operations of our department.”
Meaning Hedda Lang was his second-in-command? That would certainly explain all the military and government equipment and boxes we'd uncovered in the various bunkers we'd raided. As his second, few would bother questioning her orders—especially if Julius didn't particularly pay too much attention to what he was signing.
“Why would Hedda invite such a man to an event like this?”
Branna was now on the far side of the room—I could see the top of his golden hair as he prowled along the edges of the room.
“Rhea only knows,” he said. “She's sometimes a strange woman.”
If this Hedda was indeed Dream, then that was something of an understatement.
I glanced toward the platform and saw that the ceremony appeared to be coming to its conclusion. A blue-clad woman was carrying a velvet cushion to Karlinda. On it sat a metallic crest similar in style to the ones already inset into the mirrors on the rear wall.
Cat whisked back into the room. The bracelets are hidden in the apartment.
Where's Bear?
Watching Branna, she said.
I leaned forward and glanced to the right. Branna appeared to be heading back toward the elevator foyer. Perhaps he'd given up on trying to find Hedda.
If he leaves this room, can you both follow him? We need to know where he's hiding out if we're to have any hope of dealing with him.
Will do, Bear said.
Cat's energy kissed my cheek. I do not like the feel of the man beside you. Be careful.
It's usually me who's saying that, I said, amused.
She giggled. I know. It rubs off.
She left, leaving me alone with the man she disliked. I ret
urned my attention to the platform and watched the remainder of the ceremony. Once Charles had placed his family's crest into the empty mirror, polite applause rolled around the room.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“The official part of the evening, yes.” He rose and offered me his hand. “And now the fun begins.”
I hesitated, and then placed my hand in his. And got a weird flash of... not darkness, but rather emptiness.
I frowned, unsure what it meant, but he released my hand before I could delve any further, and led the way off the platform. As I followed, music began to play, the beat heavy and languid.
Charles helped Karlinda down the stairs and kept a hand under her elbow as they walked toward us. The older woman was more than a little unsteady on her feet and there were deep shadows under her eyes. She really wasn't well.
Charles released her into Julius’s care and then wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed me soundly. When he finally released me, he said, “Karlinda, this is Catherine, the woman I was talking about.”
She held out a rather limp-looking hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
I clasped her fingers lightly, and couldn't quite control the gasp that escaped as a multitude of images hammered into my mind. Images of pain, blood, and darkness, of skin being pierced, and of a weakness that rose as life was drained.
“Are you all right?” Charles asked, concern in his tone.
I nodded, unable to do anything more, my throat dry and my thoughts skipping along as fast as my pulse. Despite the confusing rush of images that continued to batter my senses, one thing was abundantly clear.
Karlinda Stone wasn't sick.
She was being drained by a vampire.
Chapter Eight
But how was something like that even possible?
No vampire could survive in Central—not when the light towers bathed every single part of the city, permanently erasing the shadows and therefore any chance of a vampire ever stepping foot on her streets. Dream and her partners might have succeeded in giving the vampires who'd recently attacked Chaos some form of immunity to both firelight and normal light, but ultraviolet had still turned them to ash.
