“I might be needed elsewhere…eventually.”
“You are needed. Right. Here.” Cicero’s claw tapped the makings of his chair’s arm.
Francis clenched his jaw very tightly. Seeking help from Cicero may have been a huge mistake. Payback was obviously coming. Francis couldn’t hear Cicero’s thoughts, but it was a safe thing to assume.
“Of course, Cicero. For I am but a lowly servant to the elders of the Parliament. As I always have been,” he said darkly.
Cicero released a hideous guffaw, loud and invading, into the cold room. The severity of the sound startled Francis and reverberated off all the stone and glass.
“Comrade! I’ve always appreciated your sharp tongue. But are you not aware of what’s coming?”
“Comrade? Is that what I am to you now?” Francis tried to sound as indifferent as possible, picking dirt from under his tapered nail.
Cicero threw a suggestive look at Ophelia. The ruby corners of her lips quirked up, her eyes glittering. With one of her claws lifted to Francis, she made a pushing gesture, and in the very next moment, his chair flew back several meters, almost slamming into a wall.
Francis white-knuckled the armrests, and even though his heart was dead, he swore he felt it jump. Gasping, he peered dubiously up at the two of them.
“What sort of trickery is this?” he cried. “How did you—” But fear choked back the rest of his words.
Vampires couldn’t do things like that, could they? He’d never known any of his kind to have such special powers.
“I suggest you pay attention now. You haven’t the slightest idea what the Dark Gift is capable of. Don’t be so arrogant.” Cicero pushed up from his chair, turning to the concealed fire, his back facing Francis. The light encased his sharp silhouette, making him glow ethereal and demonic. “You have yet to understand the capacity of what you are—to reach your full potential. Now that you’ve come back to me, I want to teach you all I know. Together, we can swallow up every ounce of light—suck it dry. Aiden Price thought he’d own the world. But he didn’t comprehend what it costs and the interest that comes with bargaining for it. I do.”
Francis shot to his feet as well. “But you can’t—”
“We’ve already begun.” Clasping his claws behind his back, Cicero glared at Francis from over his pointy shoulder.
“You are insane! There must be balance!”
Cicero began to pace slowly, a snide grin darkening his features. “Your precious Vladislov didn’t believe in balance. Neither do I. What do you want, Francis? Light or Dark? Only one can reign….”
“You’re elderly and daft, as he was. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“You don’t see the opportunity laid at our feet now,” Cicero hissed. “Would you like another demonstration of what I mean?” He held his claw at the ready.
Francis, for once, didn’t know how to respond. He exhaled, sitting back down in his chair.
Cicero focused, making a great beckoning motion with his hand and Francis’ chair slid back to where it had been before. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, out of breath from shock.
“We, as you know, are elite because we have been around for an eternity.” Cicero’s grin grew wider as he spoke, each word twisting through the room, slow and treacherous. “We’ve had the chance to hone our abilities beyond other men of the Dark. And we’ve discovered this: As we age, we become the opposite of what our adversaries become. They grow old. They become ugly. And then… they die. They lose strength—lose ability. The more we consume, the more we gain and the longer we live. And your Valek… he is a genius.” The last word came out brighter, almost with laughter.
Francis remained still, fists clenched.
“You know…I am not one who usually reads…” Holding up his claw, Cicero beckoned again. Sounds of pages fluttering came from the far end of the room. Then, he caught a thick volume in his fist with a thump. He chuckled, bringing it to his chest. With the lick of his thumb, he fingered through the pages.
“Anatomy of Vampires: Volume One,” he crooned. “By Alistair Vlain. A mortal. You knew his partner, didn’t you?”
“Yes. A-Andela,” Francis stammered, thinking of the beautiful and pale woman who had been a member of his coven in Prague. “She perished during the uprising… She’s gone. And Alistair is long dead.”
“Francis…do you know why her beloved Alistair went to such great and dangerous lengths to gain this information?” Cicero shook the book near his head.
Francis gaped. He didn’t know how to answer.
Cicero barked out another sharp laugh. “Oh me, oh my. You don’t even know the blood running through your own coven, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your Andela—a Hungarian, was she not?” He said it to Ophelia who smiled knowingly. “She was an important member of our society, but I guess she kept that part of her mind hidden. She was able to do that, you know.”
“I could hear her thoughts,” Francis argued.
“Only the thoughts she wanted you to hear. But I’ll tell you a secret,” Cicero said with electricity in his voice. He licked his thumb and turned another page. “Andela was a Rákóczi. More importantly, she was the granddaughter of the great Francis II, Rákóczi of Hungary.”
Francis shrugged. “What does that have to do with anything? I didn’t come here for a history lesson.”
Cicero tsked and shook his head. “Francis, as the newest member of Parliament, these are all things you ought to know. You should educate yourself. The Final Seven.”
“The final seven what?” Francis was growing impatient and tired.
“The fall of the Order,” Cicero hinted, speaking slowly as if Francis was an imbecile.
“Yes,” Francis nodded, trying desperately to prove he knew a thing or two about his own origin. “Ordo Draconum. We were once the most influential chivalric order in Europe. It deteriorated when Sigismund was destroyed in 1437.”
Cicero shuddered. “You’re almost correct.” His eyes flashed. “But, you are missing a key piece.”
Rolling up his sleeve, he revealed a dark tattoo on his forearm. It was the symbol again—the Ouroboros—a serpent entwined around itself over the image of the cross and sword, eating its own tale.
“Infinity,” Cicero hissed. “Gods on earth. The Order will never deteriorate, because we will never deteriorate. The destruction of Father Sigismund was a threat, so we went into hiding. But the Light is fading and now…we will return. The House of Drăculești can never be destroyed, for good ol’ Dracula shared his blood with so many before they took him. He knew, you see?” Cicero’s gaze went hazy, as though he’d drifted into some dream. “The only things you will never defeat…”
Francis’ gaze flicked up to the massive flames again before scouring the surrounding hall. “So…you retreated. Of course. You chose to hide under the very spot of the final coronation. Under where Sigismund rests. Under Prague.”
“You catch on quickly when you’re not thinking so much about your hair.”
Francis shook his head. “But…The Final Seven?”
Cicero inhaled. “The final seven families who continued to preserve the ways of our Order despite societies above.” He pointed up, seeming to indicate the world teeming over their heads. “The final seven families who were brave enough to keep the Order of the Dragon alive while we lie in wait down here in this crypt.”
Francis winced. “So, what of Andela? She was part of one of those seven families?”
“Indeed. Her blood was royal. When she was changed, she fled out of fear. The Parliament sought her at once, of course. Anyone with blue blood in their veins…I want. They will play an integral part as we form our army and fight back at last against the Light.”
“And her husband?”
“He was very special. Human, though when his wife became altered, he did not run from her,” explained the bald Vampire, Oslo, in a voice like kettle steam. “He did not fear her. A fat
ed human. We thought he might be a valuable bridge—someone to educate mortals—to convince them to yield to our power when the time comes. We need them in order to survive, and so we must revere them. Not simply…hunt them.”
Francis was reminded of Charlotte then. A fated human.
“So we employed him. Alistair. We gave him this duty,” Cicero continued, his eyes cast down at the book again. “A single member from each of the Final Seven must document a volume—a truth about our kind to re-educate the human race—to prepare them. Andela was going through quite the ordeal upon her transformation, so because she was unable, Alistair stepped in. He completed the task on her behalf.”
Cicero held out the Anatomy of Vampires: Volume One to Francis who took it in his claws, marveling now. Why didn’t he know any of this?
“A book for every secret…” mused Ophelia.
“A book for every circle of hell…” continued Oslo.
“A book for every family,” crooned Cicero. “I particularly enjoyed the last chapter. The one about feeding on Light blood.” His smirk turned dastardly and evil. “Your Wizard…he was cunning. Imagine living with such a secret. And hiding it from the man he loved.”
Francis sneered and cast the book back at Cicero who caught it with ease. “Common knowledge is easy to find for those who seek it.”
“Is it?” Cicero’s amusement faded into a twisted and ugly bitterness. “Vladislov had this title banned throughout Occult societies after I turned you into the beast you are!” He bared his fangs. “He had the entire last chapter removed from every, single print of this book! This war is because of you, you selfish thing! ARE YOU SO BLIND?”
“No, it isn’t. You just said it. This war is as ancient and unforgiving as you are!” Francis folded his arms and batted his eyes. “And, about Vladislov and I, I am sure I do not know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh no?” Cicero hurled the book at Francis’ head, but he dodged it in an instant. “Do not toy with me, Francis! It’s been too many years! Why you returned to that barbarian is beyond me! He never loved you! I could have given you everything!” he roared, his claws curling. “Every copy, every secret…destroyed! Those seven books…they are holy to us now—the last shred of culture we have left to all we are. They are sacred and the Regime burned them like trash! If we know the secrets, we gain access to all of our power. We need those books! Do you know how many original copies of Volume One are left in the world? Three!”
“Where did you get that one?” Francis indicated the book now strewn across the floor.
“From your silly, little home after it was pillaged. We were lucky Vladislov’s cronies didn’t find it.” Cicero collapsed back into his seat, sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose like he needed a cigarette.
Francis was exhausted too. Adrenaline, whatever corpse version of it he possessed, buzzed under his skin.
“At any rate, you are here now,” Cicero sighed. “I understand you had no other choice. I always knew the night would come—the night you’d come crawling back to me when Vladislov would finally be through with you.”
“I’m beginning to feel sorry for my decision. Tell me. Why have you requested my audience tonight? It can’t be because you simply wanted to tell me all of this. I was enjoying my evening stroll around the river well enough by myself. Clearly, there is something you wish to demand of me.”
Cicero glared up at him through his fingers. “I want what you’ve been coveting. I want him back. You know, don’t you? You’ve known since the moment you drank from him.”
Francis tasted fear on his tongue again. There was no pulse in his chest, so the reaction was a simple, sinister cold under his skin and a sour taste in his mouth.
“Why? He paid his debts to you, Cicero. He is innocent in all of this. He is finally happy. Let him alone.”
“No, no.” Cicero wagged his finger. “We need him. Don’t you see? Valek Ruzik’s name is spreading throughout Occult society. He led an uprising against an entire dynasty of sadists. But the hard work isn’t over yet. We need that kind of power here, on our side. When you first brought him to me, I knew he had promise. I could see it those years ago. Your service to the Parliament is never finished. Once a member, always a member. And we have reason to believe…Valek, too, is blue blooded.”
“Valek is a free agent. He takes no sides.”
“I want him here.”
“He won’t come.”
“He will, if there is bait….” Ophelia spoke up again, her voice, soft and delicate. “That girl is an awful lot like Alistair Vlain, isn’t she?” Her glare slid over to Cicero’s Cheshire Cat-like grin. “She’ll be of great use to us.” She bit her lip.
Promptly, the two grand doors burst open at the front of the Ivory Hall. Footsteps resounded as someone new approached.
“Ah. Milo. At last.” Cicero’s grin grew wider.
This Vampire was shorter than the others, his hair chopped and dark, his eyes narrow. His structure was thick and box-like. His suit was incomplete—only adorned in slacks and a silk, midnight-colored shirt. On a pewter chain around his neck was an Ouroboros pendant. It matched the symbol tattooed into Cicero’s forearm. He reminded Francis of the Russian mob. And in a dialect as thick as any person’s from Moscow, he said, “The book has been delivered, my Liege.” He bowed halfway at Cicero who nodded his approval.
“Good, Milo. That is all.”
With another curt nod, Cicero’s crony regarded Francis before retreating out into other parts of the dismal underground.
“What have you done?” Francis asked, his panic building.
Despite being of the Dark, the Parliament was not his ally. They were dangerous. They had their own world-dominating motives. At least the Light counter-balanced their power. Not anymore.
Cicero snickered. “Relax. Sit down.”
With another wave of his claw, Francis’ chair flew forward, the seat catching him behind his knees, buckling them. He fell back, never feeling so deficient in his entire blood-devouring existence.
“How are you doing that?” he panted.
“We need more blue blood in the order. Only we have these capabilities. Shame you’ll never know what it feels like.”
“Please,” he pleaded. “Don’t hurt the girl.”
“Francis, Francis! We don’t want to hurt her.” Cicero exchanged a new look with Ophelia and Oslo. “We want to harvest her. Her blood will make Valek unstoppable.” His features brightened. He tugged at his collar. “I heard about the deal you made with Valek. Sinister, Francis. Very clever.” He wagged his claw at him.
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Yes you did!” Cicero snapped. “But you’re spoiled. And her will is strong. Her blood must be intoxicating. I’ll wager the same arrangement. She will be…” He toed closer to where Francis sat. “the most protected thing in this…” He glanced up and around. “house.”
Francis bit his tongue, curling in on himself. He remembered the taste of her—how she quelled his thirst—the incredible high he got after feeding from someone with such tenacity—
“She is a friend now,” Francis whispered, defenseless.
“Very admirable, Francis, but don’t be childish. There are issues more serious than simple friendship. Like I said, I don’t intend on destroying her. After all, she must be someone very desirable if entire armies are being launched to find her. And…if she truly loves Valek, she’ll want to help.”
“The blood that launched a thousand fangs…” Ophelia sneered and then giggled quietly at her unfortunate joke.
“Tell me. Really. What is it? What makes her so special?” Cicero pressed.
Francis considered that for a moment. He locked eyes with Cicero. “She’s stared death in the face, and still, her will…does not bend. She lives with nightmares, but she finds their beauty instead. She’s never thought my claws were ugly.” He looked down at them. “She does not turn away from the gray of our skin. The rest of the world is harsh and
full of judgement. Charlotte lives with monsters and sees…people.” Francis inhaled deeply. His chest felt heavy again. “I’ve never met anyone like her.”
“You’ve never met Alistair Vlain,” said Oslo.
“No. I haven’t. And that makes me very sad.”
Cicero licked his chops. “You see? That’s what I want. Think about it. We, the undead…we are the opposite of life. We literally consume vitality. We feed off of it. And the more we get, the more we thrive. The stronger we become, the more Light will falter in our wake. She could be such an asset to the Parliament. It’s been an age, Francis. I am tired. The Parliament needs new talent. Valek. I want him to lead. And the girl is his fated. Don’t you know how powerful that is? The more blood he consumes of hers, the stronger he will be.”
“But you are forgetting our third law!” Francis said quickly. “The Law of the Invited. Vampires may only enter a mortal abode if they are invited in. Adversely, we cannot drag her down to Abelim against her will. We must invite her. And even then, she must accept the invitation.”
Which…she never would. She was smarter than that. There. He had them now. Francis folded his arms triumphantly. There was no getting around it. It was part of the curse, the Dark Gift –part of the magic that made them.
Cicero lifted his eyebrows, his wicked grin reprising. “But, Francis…I have invited her.”
Francis’ stomach rolled. “And? What was her response?” He struggled to swallow the panic in his voice.
“We await her response presently.”
“There needs to be balance,” Francis argued.
“Balance. Peace. Harmony. You should hear how idiotic you sound. One world order!” Cicero demanded, slamming his fist over the arm of his chair. “The mortals have been predicting this for centuries. Devastation. I want to ride in through Armageddon like a white night.”
He turned, marveling at the great fire behind the glass. He looked like the king of Hell. The dancing light reflected in his full moon-colored eyes.
“Humankind will soon have to answer to a superior race. An infinite race. But we don’t want to destroy them. Like Oslo said, we need them. We want to covet them—protect them.” Cicero chuckled. “Congratulations Francis…by scorning Vladislov, you’ve put this whole plan into action.”
Of Blood and Magic Page 4
