House of Comarré Omnibus, page 70
part #0.50 of House of Comarré Series
Mal’s jaw dropped open and he sank back onto his heels. “Bloody hell. You’re in no shape to undergo something like that. Are you crazy?”
“Crazy mad, and I’m in fine shape.” Her hands tightened into fists, and a tarnished spark lit her eyes. “Once I get to the Aurelian, I’ll obtain the information I need, then slip out of the Primoris Domus undetected and find Tatiana.”
The name of his ex-wife and the woman who’d put him under his curse was like salt on an open wound. “Why would you want to find Tatiana?”
“Why else?” She held up a second finger. “To kill her.”
Mal ground his back teeth together. “I’m going with you—”
“I already said—”
He pushed to his feet and held up his hands. “Try to stop me and I’ll prevent you from going at all. You’d insist the same of me. You know you would.”
Chrysabelle was silent for an uncomfortably long time. “Fine.” She stared up at him expectantly. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked about the Aurelian’s answer.”
“I’m biding my time.”
“Because you think I’m not going to tell you?”
“The possibility had occurred to me.”
She eased back into the chaise, her chest rising slowly with a lengthy inhale. She let the air out again before she spoke. “She had a way to remove your curse, but”—a second sigh and she shook her head—“it’s almost not an answer at all.”
Tremors of possibility ran through him. “What? Tell me.” He’d do anything, anything at all to break free of the hellish weight pressing him into darkness. Even kill your pretty little blood whore? His jaw tightened, his anger at the voices almost unbearable. He forced the emotion off his face as her head came up.
Her eyes focused on him and yet looked emptier than he’d ever seen them. An unnatural coldness settled in his belly as she began to speak. “You must right a number of wrongs equal to the names on your skin. One for every life you’ve taken.”
He reached for something to steady himself. Finding nothing, he collapsed into the chaise beside her. “It’s impossible,” he whispered. A hurricane of laughter shook his bones. Even the voices knew what a herculean task that was. “I am never going to be free.”
“Mal, stop.” She grabbed his hands, her touch white-hot on his freezing skin.
He looked down. Beneath her pale fingers, blood seeped from his tightly clenched fists. He opened them. Deep gouges marked his palms. They healed as he watched, but the blood that dripped onto the carpet was there to stay. Like his curse.
“You vow not to prevent me from getting to the Aurelian and to Tatiana, and I will do everything I can to help you with this.”
Focusing on her was the best thing he could do right now. “I have a better plan. You go alone to see the Aurelian then come back through the portal and give yourself time to heal properly. Then, when you’re ready, we go together to Corvinestri and take care of Tatiana.” If Chrysabelle meant to kill his ex-wife, there was no way he wasn’t going to help. The voices cried out. He knew they believed Tatiana to be the cure to his curse. He knew better. “You know how dangerous she is. This isn’t something you should do alone. Not to mention I have enough of my own reasons to want her dead.”
She was quiet for a few moments, probably thinking. “Agreed. But we will also find a way to remove your curse.”
He closed his hands again, looking away from her. “No. We won’t. Because there isn’t one.” He stood and walked to the door. “Let’s go see Dominic about this signumist.”
Chapter Two
Dolores Linley Diaz-White, Lola to her friends and family, pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled the well-conditioned air of her city hall office. The report open on her desk was one of a hundred, maybe two, that had come in since the beginning of the week. Every day brought new ones, but they were all basically the same. Strange, unexplainable creatures had begun showing up in her city. The kind of creatures people called vampires and shape-shifters and bogeymen.
She glanced up as something swooped past her window. Something that looked very much like one of the gargoyles carved into the corners of the building. But she wouldn’t think that, because acknowledging that such a thing was even possible meant the things in her reports were possible, too. Instead, she shifted her gaze to the panel of wall monitors positioned across from her desk, the left side currently showing live feeds from Jacksonville, Tallahassee, Orlando, and Pensacola, the right showing feeds from various cities through the Southern Union. These creatures weren’t special to Paradise City. They were in every city in New Florida. All of the Southern Union, actually. New Orleans seemed oddly quiet, but then it had been that way since the rebuild after 2054’s Hurricane Edmund. As the mayor of a city that often took the brunt of such storms, she paid attention to those kinds of things.
She closed the report and added it to the stack of those waiting to be reviewed. Another hour of reading them wasn’t going to make the problem go away.
A knock on the door startled her. She checked the time. Almost nine. Was Valerie, her secretary, still here? Couldn’t be, Lola had sent her home two hours ago. Must be John Havoc, her bodyguard. But why? The man was as silent as a ghost. Followed orders like a born soldier and had already saved her life twice. In the last few weeks, he’d become more distant than usual and had taken to wearing sunglasses night and day. There was something else about him, too. Something that fell into the same category as the reports and the gargoyles. Something she kept pushing from her mind every time it reared its ugly head. But what she thought didn’t matter. He did his job. He could dye his hair blue if he wanted. His position was secure. “Come in.”
The door opened, and John stepped in, his shades securely in place. Behind him, a uniformed police officer entered. The officer cast a wary gaze at John, who waited for her nod of approval.
“Thank you, John.”
He grunted softly and left, back to his post.
“Sorry to disturb you at this hour, Madam Mayor, but the chief said you’d probably still be here.”
“No problem, Officer…”
He removed his hat. “Rodriguez, ma’am.”
“Hola, Officer Rodriguez. What can I do for you at this hour?”
He glanced quickly at the floor, then back to her. He was young, probably hadn’t been on the job long. Whatever he had to tell her, it wasn’t good news. Regardless, she could take it. She hadn’t been mayor this long without some rough patches.
“We believe we’ve found your daughter.”
St. Petersburg, Russia, 2067
Times like this, the need to kill coated her mouth like the remnants of a lover’s kiss.
Tatiana tapped her head against the high-backed wooden bench. One hundred ninety-two hours wasted. Eight bloody days they’d made her wait. She hadn’t even had a chance to deal with the two runaway comarrés. Madame Rennata would replace them gratis or Tatiana would find a way to make her pay.
Which reminded Tatiana that she could have returned to New Florida and done away with that other comarré whore by now, but no, she’d been trapped in St. Petersburg at the whim of Lord Grigor and under the watchful eyes of the rest of the House of Rasputin. Because of the powers this house possessed, she’d been forced to leave Octavian behind in Corvinestri. He was just a vampling, far too young and inexperienced to guard his mind against the likes of Grigor and his ilk. She couldn’t have Grigor tapping into Octavian’s thoughts and gathering information to use against her. Like Zafir’s death. Or that of his brother, Nasir.
She glanced down at her leather-clad hands and flexed the metal prosthesis that filled the right glove. Zafir’s alchemical masterpiece. Also his undoing.
She snorted softly. Part of her wished Grigor knew exactly what she’d done to those who opposed her. It would serve the mind-reading prat well to fear her.
A creaking sound brought her head up as one of the tall double doors across from her opened. Svetla, Grigor’s right hand and the Elder of the House of Rasputin, slipped out. Her midnight-blue silk gown swished around her wiry form, her frigid blondness too comarrélike for Tatiana’s taste, but then she’d disliked the woman since the first time they’d met. Svetla was hard to read. Her simplicity seemed too practiced to be real. She’d only just attained Elder status after Tatiana was awarded it. Before Tatiana, there had been no female Elders. Curious how Svetla’s predecessor, a noble who’d come to be a thorn in Grigor’s side, had mysteriously decided he’d had enough and walked into the Siberian sunlight. Regardless of her connection to Grigor, Svetla best remember whose hard work had paved the road to Elder. Tatiana had no time for weak imitators.
Svetla’s porcelain façade cracked enough to allow a narrow smile. “You may come in now.”
Returning a false smile, Tatiana forced down her anger at being made to wait. She steeled the mental barrier already in place and strode through the massive mahogany doors and into the chamber beyond. The council had long been called to order, and now the lords sat around Grigor’s table like fat Romans, a few with their Elders positioned behind them. Zephrim, Dominus of the House of St. Germain, smoked a cigar. Carafes of blood and vodka littered the table. She kept her lip from curling. How anyone could drink the two mixed was beyond her.
Grigor lifted his glass, half full of the rosy-pink concoction. “Svetla, shut the doors.” He tilted the glass slightly toward the seat beside him. “Then come sit.”
No chairs were available beside the one Grigor had reserved for his chew toy. Tatiana remained standing as Svetla did what she was told.
Once the other woman was seated, Grigor spoke to Tatiana. “Tell us what happened.”
“Lord Ivan is dead.” Tatiana reached into the pocket of her varcolai leather coat, curled her gloved fingers around the broken bits, and tossed what was left of him across the table. The shards of stone skipped over the wood; the largest—a bit of eye and forehead—came to rest in front of Syler, Dominus of the House of Bathory.
She’d once considered him a tentative ally. Now with Ivan gone, she wasn’t so sure. The security of that connection had to be determined.
The other Dominus looked on with curiosity. Timotheius, Dominus of the House of Paole, gasped, always the dramatic. “How did this happen?”
“Yes, I would love to hear that explanation. I’m sure you expect us to believe you had nothing to do with this?” Zephrim asked. He ruled the House of St. Germain fast and loose, letting just about anything go unchecked as long as it was in the name of alchemy.
“I didn’t. Not in the slightest.” Tatiana’s rage curled around her with comforting warmth. Behind secure mental barriers, she imagined turning her metal hand into a sword and skewering Lord Zephrim in the manner Vlad Tepes most often favored—through the groin and out the throat. The thought caused an inappropriate smile to crease her lips. She covered it quickly by drawing a hand across her mouth before speaking. “The comarré whore is now in league with a powerful coven of witches. Lord Ivan and I went after her. She and her compatriots ambushed us. The anathema, Malkolm Bourreau, was with her.” Several of the lords glanced at one another. “Not only is he alive and well, but he has also become her lover.”
“Poppycock. He’s been ashes for years. The report is in the council archives.” Zephrim refilled his goblet with blood.
“I can prove it.” She glanced at Grigor. Perfect. His family power of mind reading was just what she needed to corroborate her story. She opened her thoughts to him as she spoke, careful to show him only the parts of her memories that held Malkolm hoisting Ivan into the witch’s circle and Ivan being turned to stone. The part where she’d smashed his statue into rubble she kept hidden. “There. I’ve shown my thoughts to Lord Grigor.”
The other lords turned to him. Grigor pursed his mouth. “I never knew Bourreau myself. I cannot be sure this is the one of whom she speaks.” He stroked his narrow beard. “It does seem another vampire was responsible for Ivan’s death in conjunction with the witches.”
She smiled sweetly. “Thank you. I assure you, the vampire you saw was indeed Bourreau.” Blighty old ratbag.
“What is it that you desire, Tatiana? Your petition stated you had a request to make,” Syler asked. Something about his expression gave her hope. Perhaps the alliance still stood.
She paused, as though needing a moment to gather her thoughts. “This crime against the House of Tepes was perpetrated by the rabble that calls the Southern Union home. Anathema, witches, varcolai, remnants, and fae.” She threw up her hands in disgust. “New Florida is a ghetto of othernatural undesirables, and while it’s well and good that they should be contained in such a single, vile location, Lord Ivan’s death must be avenged, the anathema Bourreau must be put down once and for all, and the comarré whore must at last be brought to justice.” She paced a bit for dramatic effect, stopping to give the appearance of an idea suddenly coming to her. “I am sure I could take care of these things. I know New Florida. I have connections in place. I just need the right resources to make my attempt successful.”
“What kind of resources?” Syler asked.
She fixed her face into the most neutral expression she could muster. “Unlimited access to Nothos, to family funds, the ability to command an army of fringe—”
Timotheius interrupted. “The kind of resources a Dominus has.”
“What? Well, yes, I guess they are rather similar—”
“You want the council to appoint you the new Dominus of Tepes in Ivan’s place. Is that it?” Hints of silver played in Syler’s eyes, a mark of emotion. Whether from anger or elation remained unclear.
She held out her upturned palms, a recognized sign of submission among the nobility, knowing she must tread carefully so as not to upset the plans she’d been crafting for so many years. Slowly, she spun the words out. “Lord Ivan’s passing makes this necessary transition uncomfortable, I understand. It pains me to move forward with such haste, but Dominus is a position I am well suited for and a title I would be honored to wear.” She dropped her hands back to her sides. “I would take every necessary precaution to prevent Lord Ivan’s death from throwing the House of Tepes into disarray. Without reservation, I know that is what Lord Ivan would want.”
Lord Zephrim jumped to his feet. “This is outrageous.” He glared at the other lords. “She’s been Elder little more than a month and now she wants to ascend to Dominus? Forget that she’s a woman. She has no place asking such a thing.”
Lord Syler set his glass down. “If something happened to Grigor, would you balk at setting Svetla in his place?”
Lord Grigor nodded in approval. “It is the natural order of our system, Zephrim.”
“The natural order?” Lord Zephrim bridged his fingers on the tabletop and leaned in toward Grigor. “No one achieves Dominus without the say of the ancient ones. That is the natural order of our system. Unless you wish to go against them as well?”
Lord Grigor sat back, the nerves around his right eye twitching. “I would never go against the ancient ones. I live to serve them. For you to suggest otherwise, in my home, at my table…” He shook his head slowly. “Do not press my hospitality, comrade.”
Lord Zephrim took his seat. “I am only saying things must be done properly.” He turned to look at Tatiana. “Unless you have something to say about that?”
This time her smile was genuine. After all, the Castus Sanguis had chosen her as their instrument to break the covenant between humans and othernaturals, and their leader, Samael, had given her some of his power. She had nothing to fear. “No, please, the ancient ones must be consulted. And, of course, I am willing to abide by whatever they decide. May the ancient ones be served.”
The others recited the words in unison. “May the ancient ones be served.”
Lord Timotheius nodded toward Grigor. “As we have gathered in your house, it is your right to call upon them.”
Yes, Tatiana thought, because the rest of you are like frightened little rabbits running from the hawk. And well they should be. The Castus did as they pleased. Even if that meant turning on their children.
Lord Grigor whispered something to Svetla. She nodded, then got up and left. The other lords took notice and sent their Elders out also. Cowards. If the Castus wanted a sacrifice, a few walls would not prevent them from taking what they desired.
She moved one of the vacated chairs to the foot of the table opposite Grigor and sat, folding her hands in her lap as one might when awaiting the arrival of a friend for tea. Grigor ignored her. Fool.
He pushed back his chair, the felted feet making little sound on the cold marble tiles, and stood. His fur-trimmed robe fell open, revealing a charming pair of mother-of-pearl daggers on his belt. She would appropriate those as spoils of war when the time came. “It is my honor to call the ancient ones.”
Tatiana smiled at his bravado and settled back to await Samael. She’d not seen him in some time. Her smile faded, and she closed her eyes to send a silent plea that he was not displeased with her efforts.
