Still, I wasn’t about to let Christopher plunge the House and its hundred thousand employees into a battle with the nebulous numbers of the Vampire Nation. If Dracula didn’t want a war, I had to play on those feelings. Christopher’s quest to recover his wife and unearth his phantom conspiracy took a secondary priority, if it was anything more than a ruse.
“We met as part of an attempt to work out a truce between our two factions.” I took a deep breath. It was painful due to the half-healed wound in my chest. “He told me there’s a cabal of individuals who kidnapped his wife and have been manipulating events across the globe in order to start a war between the Vampire Nation and the House.”
I wasn’t happy revealing so much, but my situation wasn’t secure. I needed to somehow turn Dracula into my ally, even if I found him loathsome. If I couldn’t, I needed to get him to lower his guard so I could escape. From there, I could work on this problem from the outside. I swear, it was like playing chess without being able to see your opponent’s pieces.
Elizabeth, much to my surprise, responded first. Her posture shifted from suspicious to concerned. “Annabelle has been kidnapped?”
“So he says. I’m trying to find her. Well, I would be if I hadn’t been interrupted.”
That little dig caused her to lose all sympathy. “You little beater.”
Beater was a vampire slur for humans, coming from the fact that our hearts, well, beat. Personally, I preferred the human equivalent of bastard.
“What do you expect? He is a leader of the House,” Joshua said, crossing his arms. “They lie like they breathe.”
Dracula finished his drink, putting the glass to the side of his chair. “No, he’s telling the truth, at least as far as he knows it. Mortals give off certain smells when they lie. I have spoken to enough Committee members over the centuries to know which ones are capable of fooling a vampire’s nose. The Cleaver is not one of them.”
That was a backhanded compliment if I’d ever heard one. “Christopher came to me with the information that our recent troubles were being manufactured by a third party. I take it he doesn’t represent the Council of Ancients in this matter?”
Elizabeth snorted. “No matter his bloodline, he is unworthy of being a herald. Christopher Hang murdered and slept his way to the top of our organization. He would not be fit to be a voivode’s bellidix if not for his marriage to Annabelle.”
Which wasn’t an answer. That’s how everyone got their position in supernatural circles. Hell, a lot of regular circles as well. My father used to say more boardroom appointments were made with hookers and blow than PowerPoint presentations.
Dracula narrowed his eyes at me. “Christopher Hang was a member of the Council of Ancient’s staff. That was before he stole my sword and killed a dozen associates of mine on his way out. Forgivable crimes, if not for the fact that he was collaborating with your organization. Perhaps he is the individual behind all of our mutual troubles.”
“That makes no sense,” I said, wondering whether Dracula would tolerate being corrected. “I wouldn’t even know about the possibility of an agent provocateur if not for Christopher meeting with me.”
Agent provocateurs were the black sheep of the intelligence community. The worst of an already duplicitous bunch. They were the covert operatives whose job it was to incite rebellion, entice defectors, or goad enemies into making mistakes. Sometimes, they were involved in “false flag” operations, where they could pretend to be on one side, usually opposing, in order to get their enemies to fight one another.
I’d run dozens of these sorts of operations, but Christopher had always made it a point to avoid that sort of work. I would have discounted Dracula’s words—they came from the mouth of a madman, after all—but for the fact that Christopher used the Teutonic Knights as a catspaw. Then there was the fact that he was using me, after trying to kill me, no less.
He’d changed.
He wasn’t my friend anymore.
So why did I feel an obligation to him?
“Warlord, we need to investigate the possibility of Annabelle being in danger. You know what happened the last time she had one of her … spells,” Elizabeth said, her voice low and clear but holding an undeniable sense of panic. I wondered what sort of relationship she had to Christopher’s wife.
“We lost Europe,” Joshua said. “She should have been destroyed long ago.”
Dracula looked irritated, perhaps because he wasn’t used to being interrupted. Everyone in this plane was upset though, whether because of Christopher’s betrayal or the men I’d killed. It made me wonder if the so-called Warlord’s position wasn’t as secure as he pretended. “If Annabelle has gotten herself into trouble, Elizabeth, it is because of her choice to associate with questionable company.”
“But—”
“This discussion is finished!” Dracula hissed, burying his fingernails into his chair’s armrests. “I have indulged you far too much, daughter. Say anything further and I will have your head cut off and suspended from the bowsprit like Thatch.”
Elizabeth went silent, but I could see hatred burning in her eyes. Whoever Annabelle was to her, she was important enough that Elizabeth was willing to defy Dracula. Another useful piece of information to remember.
“Christopher isn’t on my side and he’s not on yours I bet, either,” I said, struggling to take control over my heartbeat and body. I was sweating like I was coming down from a high or an extensive workout.
The combination of the Bloodsword’s healing and Dracula’s mindfuckery had left me a mess. It was no wonder he could tell whether I was lying or not. I needed to relax if I was going to get through this conversation alive.
Dracula released his fingers from the chair and pressed them together. All trace of his earlier anger disappeared. His mood changed on a dime, and I wondered if he was putting on an act or he was genuinely insane. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your endorsement as meaning much.”
I cleared my head and stared at Dracula, risking eye contact. “I think Christopher’s a monster whom I want to kill. He betrayed the Red Room, betrayed the House, and is nothing more than a blood-sucking leech like the rest of you. He gave me the Bloodsword and Ruthford’s location because he wants to save your pack of murderers and scum. I don’t want war with you. It makes me sick that he’s fallen so low.”
It was ninety percent bullshit, but for the duration of the statement, I forced myself to believe it. I took up every bit of anger at his betrayal, his manipulations, and the attack to obliterate any positive feelings I had remaining. I gritted my teeth and projected more hate than I’d felt for anyone else before. I wanted him to believe Christopher was loyal, regardless of whatever crimes he’d committed. That was the only way we were going to prevent a war.
Dracula looked at me, pausing to rub his goatee. “You know, I think I believe you. Tell me, who does our erstwhile traitor think is manipulating events?”
“Protocol Zero.”
The weight of the words hung in the air for a second, no one reacting. Then Dracula burst out laughing.
“Is something funny?” I asked.
“Oh, my dear boy, you are out of your depth, aren’t you?”
“Excuse me?” I asked, tugging on my handcuffs. They were tied to the metal underneath the arm rest, but it wasn’t very well screwed in.
Dracula clasped his hands together across his chest. “Protocol Zero was one of the original thirteen Black Protocols drafted in 1948 by the Red Room and Harry S. Truman. It was created during the beginnings of the Cold War under the assumption that after the Black Sun was defeated, the greatest threat to the human race would be a secret takeover by vampires.”
I bit my lip. It wasn’t good when your enemy knew more about your organization than you. “Sounds … reasonable. If you were plotting that, I mean.”
“Ha!” Dracula laughed, the disdain thick in his voice. “As if I didn’t have better things to do than manage the affairs of cattle. A vampire exist
s to hunt mortals, not ranch them. Such a plan would also bring down the wrath of humanity’s gods.”
I raised an eyebrow. “They didn’t intervene during the last couple of Great Wars.”
“You’d be surprised,” Dracula said, looking as if he’d tasted something foul. “Protocol Zero authorized research and operations illegal under the House’s own laws. Its ultimate aim was to use sleepers and agent provocateurs across the world to trigger a war between supernatural factions, which would exterminate vampires worldwide.”
“Harry Truman was a cold son of a bitch, wasn’t he?”
“Better dead than undead,” Elizabeth said, her voice like ice. “Truman was a smart man. Enough so that he saw Pantheon Corp as a threat to the United States’s security, and the possibility of it taking over the democratic process—as it has.”
Pantheon Corp, my ex-wife’s company, was the world’s biggest manufacturer of everything. It was also a backer for the House, providing the vast majority of funds for our operations in exchange for access to magic, intelligence, and “favors” that were best not thought about too deeply. It was one of the few groups in the world that could match the influence of the House or Vampire Nation.
“Your father is a majority shareholder in Pantheon Corp, is he not?” Dracula asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Why do you ask?” I said, wondering what Dracula’s point was. My father, Nathan Hawthorne, had semi-retired from the Committee after my ascension. He still voted on the board but now served as the Red Room’s liaison to Pantheon Corp. It came with enough money that his previous billions were chump change.
“Because, Mister Hawthorne, if Protocol Zero were responsible for these events, then you’d know. It was your father who drafted it.”
Chapter Eight
I sat there, my mouth agape. The idea of my father being involved in this should have been ridiculous, but it wasn’t. Still, something wasn’t right. It wasn’t that I doubted my father was capable of planning vampire genocide, let alone sending in agents to brainwash or assassinate the Vampire Nation’s members. Every dirty trick I knew, I’d learned from him, and I had limits he didn’t possess. No, it was a matter of timing.
Thanks to the miracles of sorcery, my father was still a youthful-looking middle-aged man despite being a veteran of World War 2. He’d been a young man then, fighting the Japanese Imperialists alongside my mother (a dragon) and Frankenstein’s monster. Which, by the description, you should realize meant the Red Room hadn’t always been the stuffy backstabbing group of bastards it was today. My father had been an impressive agent back then, but that was all he’d been. He was eventually a friend of presidents, but it wasn’t until the seventies when he worked as Nixon’s liaison to the Red Room, taking care of the things he didn’t need to know about.
Narrowing my eyes, I pushed my willpower forward and once more felt Dracula’s impressive mind bearing down upon me. After his blunt force attack on my sanity, he was trying something subtler. The old monster was enhancing my paranoia and suspicions about my superiors, particularly my father, in hopes of turning me against them. It was possible Dracula knew about my longstanding antipathy toward my father. I had barely spoken to Nathan Hawthorne since Ashley’s “death,” only involving him in my business when the entire world was at stake. Some crimes could never be forgiven. But was he responsible for what Dracula was claiming? Not a chance.
“Nice try,” I said, waving my hand in front of my face. “I almost bought it.”
“It would have gone better for you if you had,” Dracula said, shaking his head. “Now, we’re going to have to kill you.”
“You can try,” I said, concentrating and causing the handcuffs to disintegrate into powder. About the limit of my power but something I still had enough juice to pull off. I was about to bolt, but I noticed none of the vampires were moving to attack. My instincts told me now wasn’t the time to move, despite the threat, so I stayed in my chair.
“Those were enchanted,” Dracula said, smirking. “Designed to suppress the powers of a wizard many times your skill level.”
“You should ask for your money back.”
Dracula surprised me by saying, “No, I think they were working quite well. Relax, Mister Hawthorne, I am not going to kill you now. Just … eventually. There may even be an alternative to your death.”
Despite my little trick with the handcuffs, I wasn’t up for fighting a single vampire, let alone the nine I counted on board this flight—one of whom was the most powerful bloodsucker alive. A part of me was seriously considering using everything I had to smash a hole in the plane. That way I’d have the comfort of taking out everyone else on board. Dracula and the other eldest would survive, but they’d spend the next few years regenerating.
“Tell me, Derek, what does the Bloodsword feel like to you?” Dracula said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Father?” Elizabeth said, dropping her earlier attitude problem to Dracula. Her tone was now affectionate and confused.
“It felt like someone mixed acid and LSD, and then poured it on my brain,” I said, wondering what the hell he was getting at.
I didn’t think he was trying to distract me so his men could jump me. They could get at me without difficulty. Then again, they probably had thought the same thing before I killed six of their operatives.
“The Bloodsword is a relic I have tied my essence to. Thanks to my pact with Tiamat-Abaddon, if people fear me, I can regenerate when fools like you try and destroy me. It is an indestructible item, so I have no fear telling you this. Nothing can scare a man who has nothing to fear from death. It is why I have allowed myself to become so famous.”
I snorted, realizing he wasn’t going to kill me just yet. No, he was going to bore me to death with a speech first. “Okay, Sauron, I’m sure the ego boost had nothing to do with it.”
Dracula made a dismissive wave of his hand. “There is that benefit, true. My point is, the Bloodsword is a symbol of my power, but I do not have to be the one to wield it. Our link transcends such foolishness. In the past, I have chosen others to serve as its wielder. As my champion. The position is now open.”
He is not my master, merely a wielder, the Bloodsword spoke. I choose who controls me.
Who are you? I asked. Why do I interest you?
You will know soon.
I forced myself to concentrate on Dracula’s words. “What? So, you can’t control me and were going to kill me, but now are going to offer me a job?”
“I can feel you drawing on its power even now,” Dracula said, stroking his goatee. “The sacrifices you offered the blade are very strong, and that magic is now flowing through you. If you agree to serve as my proxy in the matter of resolving this Protocol Zero business, I’ll bestow upon you the Bloodsword and significant rewards.”
“If I cared about money, I’d kiss up to my father,” I said.
Dracula snorted. “I’m not talking about money, Mister Hawthorne. You’re a poor wizard. My spies witnessed your rather pathetic performance against the Teutonic Knights earlier today. Your powers didn’t even awaken until last year when you defeated the Wazir. I believe it is because you are suppressing your true potential. Blood magic seems to be your forte. With the proper focus and training, you could learn to dominate your fellow Committee members. I can also introduce you to such pleasures as you would not believe.”
This time, Dracula filled my mind with a different set of images, far more pleasant ones. I felt power at my fingertips like I’d never experienced. I saw the Committee rotting in the ground, the entire House subservient to me, and my father hanging from a gallows. Life, centuries of life, was at my disposal, and I didn’t even have to become a vampire to enjoy it. The blood magic would keep me young and vital. There were salacious images too, Shannon and other women all turned into obedient slaves. Dracula oversold his pitch, though, since I had no interest in becoming a blood-obsessed, mind controlling rapist.
Feeling my chest wound heal over, I stared at m
y opponent. I felt strong now, stronger than I’d felt in—well, ever. “You’re not my type.”
Dracula just stared at me. “Three times you have defied me, Cleaver. That is the limit of my power. I can no more influence you now than the God I have forsaken. Unfortunate for us both.”
Things were starting to click into place. “You let Christopher take the Bloodsword. You let him set up the meeting with me. Hell, you might even be behind the kidnapping of his wife. Was all of this to ambush me so you could get a member of the Committee under your thumb, or are you a hell of a lot more scared of what Christopher was predicting than you’ve been letting on?”
“That, Mister Hawthorne, is something you’ll never find out.” Dracula waved his hand. “Dump him out the side of the plane.”
Elizabeth was the first to move, being the strongest and fastest of Dracula’s minions. She was almost on me, but my strength had returned, and I grabbed hold of my seat, only to give her a double kick into Dracula and two vampires behind her. Minka drew a pistol from a holster underneath her dress and began firing indiscriminately, shooting out one of the windows and causing a depressurization of the cabin.
I was grabbed from behind by Joshua as the large vampire began to pull on my shoulders so hard it felt like he was going to rip them out. Channeling my ki into the back of my skull, I slammed it backwards and crushed the front of the vampire’s face. Joshua let out a primordial scream, slackening his grip, which allowed me to give a judo throw into the rest of the bloodsucking horde coming at me.
I didn’t have time to think of why I felt so strong or what was going on. Instead, I went for the Bloodsword lying a few feet away against the front of the cabin. Wrapping my hands around the weapon, I felt the killing urge within me double, and then triple. It was ecstasy to hold the weapon again, and while it had betrayed me down on the ground, I knew it was my only chance of getting out of here.
Eldritch Ops Page 7
