Blood Oath

Citation preview

Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

Resplendence Publishing, LLC www.resplendencepublishing.com

Copyright ©2011 by RP First published in August, 2011 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

CONTENTS A Note to You, Gentle Reader... The Major Players in Today's Tale Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three 3

Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five About the Author What to read more Shadow Ancients? ****

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****

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Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

Blood Oath A Shadow Ancient Story By Cammie Eicher **** Resplendence Publishing, LLC www.resplendencepublishing.com

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Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

Resplendence Publishing, LLC 2665 S Atlantic Avenue, #349 Daytona Beach, FL 32118 Blood Oath Copyright (C) 2011 Cammie Eicher Edited by Wendy Williams and Juli Simonson Cover art by Kendra Egert, www.creationsbykendra.com Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-360-7 Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Electronic Release: August 2011 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental. ****

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Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

A Note to You, Gentle Reader... **** The Ancients live among us, as "human" as we who have life spans of a century or so. Entry into the world of these vampires, the original species of man, is rare indeed. That we are so plentiful, and their numbers so limited, is due to two factors: We are the descendents of mutant Ancients, whose bodies operate at a much faster speed and thence wear out much quicker. Our more frequent reproduction led to short-lifers, as they're commonly referred to by Ancients, becoming the dominant species. The number of Ancients was greatly diminished centuries ago during the Dark Times, when clans warred against each other. Brutal murder decimated their people until, at last, the futility of warfare made those remaining take a hard look at their lives, and their future. The truce ending the Dark Times led to the formation of the council of elders. Each of the twelve clans has a ruling elder; these elders form the council. When there is a need for a high elder, the council chooses one from among their ranks. The only Ancient more powerful than the council and its high elder is the Prophetess, who protects and interprets the Book of the Ancients. She is determined not by man, but by destiny. 8

Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

Each clan has enforcers, who can be loaned to other clans or the council if needed. The council has its own enforcers, who protect the council elders and carry out their orders. The chief council enforcer answers only to the high elder. All Ancients must respect the vampiric code, which allows them to live within the short-life world: Code of silence. To protect their lives and their way of life, Ancients do not reveal themselves to the outside world, except for a few who are discreet employees, nor do they allow others to do so. Unwavering loyalty to the council of elders. Assistance to any clan or vampire upon order of a clan elder. The acceptance of the Prophetess as the final authority in all matters. Respect for the treaties forged with governments by the council of elders. The taking of an Ancient's life by another is forbidden, on penalty of death. After the Dark Times, the clans agreed that only enforcers would be permitted to take life, and then only upon the order of an elder. After the council of elders had a few decades to fine-tune their society, the position of executionist was created. Those in this highly-coveted position carry out death orders from the council of elders, following a proscribed ritual meant to remind Ancients what lies in store for those who break the Vampiric Code. A few more little things you might find of interest: All Ancients are lactose-intolerant, they live a thousand years 9

Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

(give or take a little), they heal at a rate that would confound any short-lifer doctor and in these civilized times, they find other ways to enjoy blood besides stalking an unsuspecting human down a dark street—well, most of them anyway. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

The Major Players in Today's Tale **** Misha Tsarentza—Former elder of the Eastern U.S. Clan, now high elder. Belle DuPont—Misha's personal enforcer/lover. Although a short-lifer, a genetic anomaly puts her life span at about three hundred years. Giorgio Montrosa—Chief enforcer for the council of elders. Leykin Reneau—Enforcer in training under Montrosa, who also shares his bed. Karina Griffith—Leykin's half-sister; their father is the former high elder Phillipe Lesage, who was killed by Misha in self-defense. Although of Ancient parents, she has short-lifer attributes and is believed by Misha to be the child of change that fulfills a prophecy from the Book of the Ancients. Arabella—The Prophetess's sister who raised Leykin. Stenos Petrinova—Misha's clanmate and closest friend. Tatiana Petrinova—Daughter of Stenos and Misha's goddaughter. Her mother was executed for consorting with a short-lifer. The Prophetess—The Ancient's highest authority, she alone interprets the Book of the Ancients. Quincy Hawthorne, Tomas Petrov, Stefan Margios and Duncan Phipps—The "Gray Ghosts" who made a blood pact to protect their way of life by any means necessary. 11

Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

Nekia—Beautiful and ambitious, she'd do whatever she had to in order to get what she wanted. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

Prologue **** Louisville, Kentucky: July 23, midnight "Death." "Death." "Death!" The single word echoed through the solemn chamber as the elders gave their recommendation one after another. When the last "Death" had faded, Misha Tsarentza rose to face the small audience. "So shall it be," he pronounced, his fist slamming against the massive desk with a crack. A council enforcer wearing heavy leather gloves approached the defendant, a slim twist of silver chain in his hands. Before he could bind the woman's hands, Nekia lifted her chin, met Misha's eyes and said, "I ask that the Prophetess be summoned." A shocked gasp fell into the silence. That was the ultimate appeal, and the ultimate insult to the council of elders ruling the Ancient world. Each clan had one seat, selected from within their own ranks, and the council's decision was law. Yes, the accused had the right to ask for the council's decision to be considered by the Prophetess, the vampire society's most powerful member. But from her position inside the chamber door, Leykin wondered how anyone, even this evil creature, could have so little respect for her clan mates. 13

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Ancients didn't beg for life. They stood tall and accepted the fate bestowed by the council. Her clan would forever share Nekia's shame, not only for her act in murdering the previous high elder, but her cowardice as she faced the tribunal. Darkness shaded Misha's voice as he stared at the beautiful woman in front of him and growled, "The request shall be granted." Before the enforcer could stop her, Nekia stepped forward. Addressing the council as a whole, she spoke two words that brought the elders to their feet in outrage. "I accuse." Leykin glanced across the room at her lover, Giorgio Montrosa, the council's chief enforcer. The scars on his face stood in deep relief as anger brought a flush of color to his linen-pale face. He stared straight ahead, hands tight at his sides, as if willing himself not to rush to Nekia and slice off her head himself. "Don't," Leykin whispered to him through the empathetic link they shared. She knew how hard he fought to control his rage. He was, after all, the one who had risked dying of silver poisoning to save the girl, Karina. That terrible night still came to her in dreams sometimes. Karina, a child of the high elder's clan, of pure Ancient blood but appearing human. Mistaken for Misha's goddaughter, stolen in a plot for power by Nekia and her acolyte Colin Fluet, Karina had been trapped inside a silver-lined cage in a tobacco warehouse. If Giorgio had not built up immunity from an attack of liquid silver that nearly killed him years earlier, he would have 14

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died that night. Sometimes, when the dream changed to nightmare, he did. Leykin woke gasping for breath, red tears staining her pillow, until her conscious mind pulled her from the dream world and back into reality. "Whom do you accuse?" Misha's harsh question broke through the babble of the elders' conversation and quieted the room. Shoulders squared, Nekia said, "Danforth Harrington. He forced me to act against my natural will and should share my punishment." Leykin had only met Harrington, who served as the senior U.S. senator from Louisiana, in passing. Giorgio knew him well, and hated him. "Enforcer!" Misha called. Giorgio stepped forward. "The execution is stayed until the Prophetess arrives and an investigation against the newly-accused is finished. You will see this order is obeyed." Although Giorgio bowed in acquiescence, Leykin could tell by the rigidity of his stance that his fury remained unabated. His loyalty to the council and to the high elder in particular was complete. He would die to protect any or all of them. His investigation against Nekia had been perfect, the case airtight. She knew if Harrington had been involved in the former high elder's death, he would be standing in this room right now. Giorgio would watch both their heads roll and take great pleasure in the sight. She followed the small contingent as Nekia was led out of the chamber, down the elevator and into a well-armored sedan waiting on the lowest level of the parking garage beneath the tall building. The gloved enforcer held her arm in 15

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a tight grip as she was placed in the back seat. Enforcers took their places on both sides of her before Leykin closed the door. The space between the elevator door and the vehicle was less than two feet, but security couldn't have been greater if the transfer had taken place in an open field. Leykin relaxed as the car sped away. Most of the time, she loved her job. She was lucky Misha had assigned her to Giorgio for training, and even more fortunate that no one seemed to know—or if they did, didn't seem to care—about her growing relationship with the council's chief enforcer. She'd been attracted to him from the moment they met. The age difference didn't matter, even though he was past 500 and she had just marked her first century of life. Maybe part of their connection was that in a people for whom family was of utmost important, they'd both been raised by someone other than their parents. Giorgio had been orphaned and raised by his clan. Leykin had been placed with the woman she called Granmama shortly after her birth and grown up in Minnesota, a cold and rural place few Ancients chose to call home. "Do you need a ride, Leykin?" She turned to see the high elder and his personal enforcer, the eccentric short-lifer named Belle, behind her. "I have some errands," she said. "I'll take a taxi." "You're certain?" Misha pressed. "My driver can assist you after he takes me home." "Thank you, but I'll be fine." She bowed, a gesture of respect she belatedly remembered. Ancient protocol wasn't big back in Minnesota. 16

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"As you wish." Once the high elder was gone, she pressed the up button and stepped into the elevator. She got off at the lobby level and went outside. She liked to walk when the night was at its darkest. She loved the glow of neon and the emptiness of the streets of Louisville. Kentucky had never been high on her list of places to live before, but she was beginning to love the state. The same way she was beginning to love Giorgio. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

Chapter One **** Lexington, Kentucky: Three weeks later **** A small knot of people stood at the side of a runway, watching the lights in the sky come closer. The night was cooler than usual and windy; Leykin felt a hint of the coming fall in the air. Giorgio stepped up beside her and spoke quietly. "Keep your eyes open and be ready for anything. I've got a hinky feeling." Leykin nodded. She tensed as the small jet rolled to a stop behind the terminal. She couldn't see through the dark-tinted windows, but she knew who was inside. She kept pace with Giorgio as they approached the plane. Two other enforcers joined them so the four flanked the steps as they were lowered. "Your Grace." Giorgio bowed to the slight white-haired woman as she made her careful way down. "Please, no formality tonight." The Prophetess smiled and touched his face. "For the moment, we are only old friends. I am so pleased to see you." "Thank you. I think there's someone else you'll be pleased to see as well." 18

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He motioned and Leykin stepped forward. The Prophetess gave a small cry of pleasure and held her arms open to wrap the younger woman in a hug. When she let go, she stepped back and studied Leykin. "I've only been gone a short time and you've already become like him." She smiled at Giorgio. "So professional, the perfect enforcer. I knew he'd be an excellent mentor for you." "And here I was going to take credit for putting them together." Misha Tsarentza, high elder of the Ancients, stepped out of the limo to greet the Prophetess. "I suspect you miss her companionship." "Your goddaughter has proved to be good company." She took Misha's arm as they walked the few steps to the vehicle. "Tatiana sends her regards and wants you to know she misses all of you." Leykin fell in beside the duo, part of the square of enforcers that blocked them from view. Tension ran high among the Ancients with Nekia's appeal scheduled for midnight. Extra precautions were taken to protect both the visiting Prophetess and the high elder. Leykin climbed into the limo with the two dignitaries while Giorgio took the wheel. The other enforcers rode in sedans, one in front and one in back, a caravan that proceeded down the interstate to a two-lane state highway. The hum of conversation between the Prophetess and Misha flowed around her, but her attention was on the world outside. At the first sign of anything out of the ordinary, they'd go into hyper-security mode. 19

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The night was dark, lit only by a slice of moon and starlight as the small procession drove down a tree-lined drive and stopped at the edge of a field. Torches lit a path that took them to a natural cut in the cliff that bordered the field. The council waited inside that rock house, made bright by candles and torches. Tonight's hearing was meant to remind those involved that law of the Ancients preceded the elegant council chambers and the twenty-first century life they now lived. The world might have changed, but the rules guiding the people had not. Immediately after the Prophetess heard the testimony and handed down her ruling, either Nekia would be taken immediately to the airport to fly to one of her homes or the executionists would take her away. Once the Prophetess was inside the cave, the enforcers took their positions. Leykin stood beside Giorgio at the mouth of the cave, prepared to keep Nekia from running out or anyone else from coming in. Although this decision would affect all Ancients, the proceedings were closed. The elders formed a horseshoe behind the Prophetess, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder in a stance of solidarity. Misha bowed to the Prophetess and stepped to the side of the room, signaling his temporary transfer of authority to her. "Bring the accused." The voice of the Prophetess was strong, belying her age-narrowed frame and white hair. Nekia was dressed in white tonight, her long, flowing dress curving around her perfect body. She walked between her jailers as if she was going to greet her fans or perhaps tape another episode of her popular talk show. 20

Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

Imprisonment had not diminished Nekia's beauty, Leykin decided as the accused was brought in to face the panel. Her pale face framed by long, black hair showed no sign of fear, and she carried herself with her usual self-assurance. Even with her wrists bound with silver wire, she displayed her usual arrogance by refusing to bow to the council. "Keeper of the Records, read the charges." Those words from the Prophetess began the brief legal proceeding. "Murder of the high elder. Treason against the council. Kidnapping and other acts against the people," recited the keeper of the records in a firm voice. "The accused has been found guilty by the council, which has ordered execution. She desires to plead before your Grace." The Prophetess stretched her arms in front of her, palms upward. She spoke in fluent High Ancient; Leykin could only understand a word here or there. Nekia, however, nodded as if she understood it all. When the Prophetess ended, Nekia began to speak. "I am only a foolish woman," she said, "who allowed myself to be corrupted by lust and greed. Punishment should be mine, yes, for I was a willing participant. But I followed the words of another, a man who promised that what we did was for the good of the people. Who promised me respect and power if I did as he commanded." Her voice broke; she dropped her head as if to compose herself before continuing. Falling to her knees, she began to speak again. 21

Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

"I beg that my life be spared. Or if it is to be taken, that all others who were involved be executed with me. Pardon me, your Grace, and I will be faithful to the needs of the people until I am taken by the fathers." Silence followed her impassioned words; time stretched until the Prophetess spoke again. "Keeper, call the witnesses." Here was the moment Leykin dreaded. If the Prophetess called her name, Leykin would be forced to relive that terrible time in the tobacco warehouse and the events that led up to it. To her relief, Giorgio's name was called instead. She listened as he took the oath of truth and laid out the details in blunt and simple language, details she filled in from memory. The murders of the former high elder and the member of the Brazilian clan that was to take his place, performed so Nekia might be the first woman to occupy a council seat. The plan to kidnap Tatiana and force Misha to persuade the council to vote for Nekia. The way it went wrong, with Leykin's own half-sister Karina imprisoned in a silver-barred cage instead. Watching the faces of the council elders, Leykin knew they were appalled by those events. Homicide among the Ancients had ceased to occur since the Dark Times, when the council was formed and the code of conduct hammered out. Nekia's admission of committing murder, even if at the behest of someone else, was an automatic death sentence. Unless she could convince the Prophetess that she was not of right mind. 22

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With a start, Leykin realized Giorgio was done. She tensed, afraid her name might be called to corroborate his story. Instead, the keeper called a different name. "Danforth Harrington, come forward." He stepped out of a corner and knelt before the council to take the oath of truth. "Your Grace, I did not know her soul was so dark," he said. "She asked that I sponsor her for the vacant seat by presenting her to the council. Believing that all Ancients are equal, and the council could benefit from a woman representative, I agreed. That is my only sin." The Prophetess looked left, then right, at the council elders. "Do you wish to question the defendant or the witnesses?" One by one, the elders shook their heads until the new elder from Brazil was polled. He stepped out of the semi-circle and tipped his head, studying Harrington. "You would have us believe your acquaintanceship with this killer was one of political interest only?" Harrington's blush was apparent even by torchlight. His lust for beautiful women was no secret among the Ancients. "At that moment in time, yes." "And at other moments in time?" "Had she offered me the opportunity to share her bed, I wouldn't have turned it down." The elder stepped back into the circle while Harrington bowed and retreated to his assigned place. Leykin suspected by the tightness of his face and the hard snap of his shoes as he walked away that he was both embarrassed and angry. 23

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A simmering tension permeated the room after the questioning was over. The council formed a tight circle with the Prophetess in the center. They spoke softly, their tone low so no one could overhear. A few moments later, the circle opened and the Prophetess stepped up to Nekia. "Throughout the history of our people, we have battled among ourselves, living in fear," she said. "When we finally became enlightened, we realized we have no protection from the others who walk this world but one another. A vow was made by each clan and each Ancient that we would no longer follow the old ways but create a society in which all are honored and respected. "You, Nekia of the Brazilian clan, have broken that vow for your own vain purposes. You have taken three lives; you have ripped the fabric that links us together. I declare the decision of this council to be just and uphold their verdict. I commit you to the executionists who will perform their duty this very night in the way of our people." Nekia's shriek bounced against the rock walls, a banshee wail of anger and frustration. Giorgio launched himself at her, wrapping his arm around her throat and shouting for the executionists to take her away. Leykin hurried to stand beside the Prophetess; Misha stepped up beside them. "It is done," he said as Nekia was dragged away. "The verdict was just." The Prophetess nodded. "My heart aches no less," she said. "This is a terrible day for our people that one of us kills with such a cold heart." 24

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She turned to Leykin. "I am proud of you, my child, for what you've done already and what you will do in the future. Now would you mind fetching an old lady her shawl from the car while I talk with our friend here?" "Certainly," Leykin murmured, glad to escape. Life had been so much simpler back in Minnesota, back with Granmama, when she'd wondered if she'd ever do anything exciting in her life. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Two **** "You couldn't wait five minutes, could you?" Leykin muttered at the sky as she tucked the bags of blood under her jacket and sprinted toward the luxury apartment building. The faux leather proved to be a paltry defense against the cold Kentucky rain that soaked her to the skin. When lightning flashed above her, she kicked into overdrive. At the ornate gate, she fumbled with the keypad, swearing when she transposed numbers and had to start again. Her clothes were drenched and her hair plastered to her cheeks by the time the wrought iron bars slammed behind her and she found sanctuary in the building lobby. She sniffed the air and caught the faint scent of wood smoke as she waited for the elevator to the fourth floor. With any luck, Giorgio was home and had built a fire. She was soaked, hungry and in desperate need of some together time with him. The mantel clock was striking midnight when she finally walked into his place. Satisfaction filled her at the sight of Giorgio in a wide chair across the room, flipping through papers in a manila folder. He tossed the folder aside when he saw her, jumping up to grab the box stamped Premier Blood Services so she could shed her sodden jacket. "If you'd called, I would have picked this up on my way home," he said. "I know how much you hate storms." 26

Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

"You were clear on the other side of the city," Leykin replied. "I wasn't sure you'd make it in time. You know how the supply house is. They lock the doors at midnight and that's it until dusk." "Thank you." Giorgio kissed the top of her head. "I'll enjoy this. Defrosted blood is all right in a pinch, but I do prefer fresh." Leykin gave a small shudder. "Personally, I'll take the hassle of finding fresh anytime over the convenience of that frozen stuff. I guess I'm spoiled from living in the country so long." He grinned. "Are you making fun of my city ways?" "No, although I do miss being able to go on a hunt anytime I want. Being with you, though...I'd say it's a fair trade." She reached up and touched his cheek; he grabbed her hand and frowned. "Talk about frozen. You're like an ice cube. Why don't you grab a hot bath while I start dinner?" Leykin didn't hesitate. She began pulling off her clothes as she headed toward the bathroom. Pouring in lavenderscented bubble bath, she filled the tub nearly full before slipping in. She sighed as the hot water covered her, warming her chilled body and relaxing her. She loved this tub; she could stay in it all night. She'd discovered Giorgio was a man who liked his creature comforts. He'd remodeled the bathroom into almost a spa, with an oversized sunken tub, a deluxe separate shower stall and marble floors. She could get used to the other little 27

Blood Oath [Shaow Ancients] by Cammie Eicher

niceties, such as racks warming the towels and gold fixtures shimmering against the white tile. Theoretically, her residence was an enforcer's suite provided by the clan. In reality, her few belongings had gradually been moved here to Giorgio's place. She dried herself on a fluffy white towel and slid into one of his shirts, rolling up the sleeves after she buttoned it on. The shirttails hung to nearly to her knees, making her feel positively tiny. Giorgio was kicked back on the couch when she walked into the living room. Two thick glass tumblers with his clan crest stood on a copper tray. "Pretty fancy," she said as he handed her a glass of Type AB blood seasoned with cinnamon and a touch of chocolate liqueur. "It's time we celebrated." His face creased into as wide a smile as his scars would allow. "Nekia's execution is over. That, and being pulled in front of the Prophetess, should put the fear of the fathers into Harrington. The council may have decided he had no part in the murder, but I'm sure he knows we found other troubling information during our investigation. "Trust me; I'd keep my nose clean if the Prophetess had her eye on me. My only fear is that he'll find someone else to do his dirty work, the way Nekia pulled the Fluet kid in." Leykin frowned. "Excuse me, but aren't you the one who said our time together is too precious to talk about work?' "I did say that, didn't I?" He patted the cushion beside him. "I'll save it for when we go on duty again." 28

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Leykin settled next to him, content to sip her blood and watch the leaping flames. "I missed you tonight." She entwined her fingers with his. "You were supposed to sleep in," he reminded her. "That's the reason for nights off, to laze around and do nothing." "Like you would know," she retorted. "When's the last time you slept until the middle of the night?" "The difference," he said, "is that I'm the council's chief enforcer. Everyone needs something all the time. You are a level one trainee. If we weren't on alert, you'd be doing the standard two 24s on, three nights off schedule." He smoothed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "But, hey, let's not waste our time talking about work." He drained his glass and set it on the coffee table. He wrapped his hand around hers, slipped the tumbler from her fingers and set it beside his empty one. A flutter of anticipation filled Leykin as Giorgio whispered, "I've been waiting for this all night." He tipped her face toward him with a gentle touch as she closed her eyes and waited for his kiss. When their lips met, she let her senses take over. The taste of honey on his tongue, the scent of his cologne, the slight tremor of his fingers as he traced the line of her neck...this was what she'd been waiting for. This was what she needed. She was breathless and aching for him by the time Giorgio slid his arms beneath her and said, "There's a much better place for this." She teased his neck with her fangs as he carried her down the hall, victory soaring through her when 29

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he hissed through clenched teeth, "Keep that up and we'll never make it to the bed." "Oh, I'm sure we will," she answered, laughter in her voice. "Eventually." "The bitch is dead and she's still going to ruin us all." Quincy Hawthorne glared at the flat-screen TV in his media room; the image of the woman he once loved and now hated dominated every news station. When the stock report was pre-empted for more news about Nekia, he heaved his nearly full tumbler at the entertainment center and shouted for his personal enforcer. Remir rushed in, stopping at the sight of the bright red blood and tiny glass daggers on the champagne-colored carpet. "I am not happy." Bitterness colored Quincy's words. There was no answer from Remir, who waited with bowed head for orders. The enforcer's eyes were drawn to the flickering screen and the crowd scene playing across it. Weeping women leaned on stoic men as the cameras panned across a secluded clearing at a nearby state park. The banner running at the bottom of the screen repeatedly announced that the famed fashion model and entrepreneur had been found slain in a manner so gruesome it made even the coroner sick. "Bring the car around." Quincy snapped the order, his attention still on the television. Remir bowed and headed down the hall. 30

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Alone again, Quincy began to curse the dead woman. There was no excuse for this. Her death had followed tradition. Nekia had been tried by the council and received a death sentence. Her execution was carried out as Ancient executions had been for centuries: her head severed, her heart torn from her body, and her corpse displayed for others to see and heed. Quincy sighed. In these modern times, following ritual had become difficult. The executionists had chosen an isolated spot, and still her body had been found. He cursed the idiot geocacher who stumbled upon the scene. Only a short-lifer would chase through woods seeking a trinket at dawn. If the fool had the decency to stay in his bed, the council's enforcers could have removed what was left of Nekia and burned her body in the Ancient way. Instead, the news media had latched onto the news of another celebrity death like a pit bull on steroids, with no end in sight for the relentless coverage. Quincy watched a portly man in a brown uniform approach a bank of cameras, ill at ease facing the throng of reporters. "The ferocity of this attack is appalling," the sheriff said in some sort of redneck accent Quincy instantly despised. "The top priority of my department, and the other law enforcement agencies in the area, is find the depraved creatures who inflicted these terrible wounds on this young woman and bring them to justice." Quincy gave a bitter laugh.

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"Young woman my ass," he said to the screen. "She's six hundred years old if she's a day. I've known her for four hundred, and she was well past her changing then." Sighing, he headed for the elevator that would take him down four floors to the ornate foyer. He should be among his fellow Ancients to hear the talk swirling among them. He needed to make some phone calls and remind his blood brothers of the oath they'd taken over a century ago—their pledge to sacrifice the council and the Prophetess to keep their people's existence hidden and their way of life from being destroyed. Things had been much simpler before the Industrial Age, when men invented machinery that drew the masses to the factories and the cities that housed them. Before telegraphs and telephones and now the blasted instant communication that announced every detail of civilized life practically before it happened. What good was wealth and power if it stole your privacy? "Your destination, sir?" Remir asked as he helped him into the back seat of the dark sedan. "Somewhere away from all this," Quincy said, waving his hand around him. "Where a man can think." "Perhaps a drive along the river?" "Ah, the river. That would be excellent." As the car rolled smoothly out of the driveway, Quincy settled back against the soft leather seat. He closed his eyes and relaxed as classical music filled the air around him. The death of that bitch was a one-day wonder. When he woke at tomorrow's dusk from a good day's sleep, the hellhounds that 32

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ran the global media would have found something new to gnaw on. Certainly there was a drug-addicted starlet somewhere waiting for her day in court. His mellowing mood was shattered by the vibration of the smartphone in his pocket. He pulled it out, making a face as he realized he'd been sent a text message. Dignity was another value lost to the twenty-first century. A man of his position shouldn't be summoned by a machine. Yet the words made it very clear: His presence was required at an Ancientowned building downtown. The council chambers filled the top floor; like many of his species, Quincy had a spacious office on a lower floor from which he ran his varied businesses. Sighing, he leaned forward and said, "Take me downtown and then wait. I've got a damned meeting." He left off the two words that angered him most—about Nekia. Who could imagine a dead woman could be more trouble than a living one? [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Three **** Giorgio swatted the firm rump under the tousled sheets and said, "Get up, sweetheart. We've got trouble." Leykin rolled over and glared at him through sleepy eyes. "You do know it's barely noon, right?" He nodded. "And we only went to bed an hour ago?" Giorgio quirked an eyebrow. "Depends on how you define it." "Okay, we went to bed three or four hours ago. But we only went to sleep a little while ago," she amended. "If you don't like the hours, resign as an enforcer." Giorgio pulled the blankets off her and onto the floor. "I'm sure The Pancake House has room for a server on the graveyard shift." "Ha, ha." Leykin rolled to her feet and walked naked to the adjoining bathroom. Giorgio admired the view until the door was shut, and then turned his attention to the walk-in closet and his girlfriend's wardrobe. He needed to save every moment he could. Choosing an outfit for her wasn't hard. She donned the same thing whenever she went on duty. Like Giorgio, she wore the standard enforcer's garb of a black suit and white shirt. Sometimes she added a narrow black tie. He was sure she thought it made her more like one of the guys. He didn't 34

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have the heart to tell her that with a body like hers, no one would ever mistake her for anything but a woman. "Ten minutes," he shouted through the door. "I'm going to start breakfast." "Make mine to go," she called back. "I intend to enjoy this shower. Who knows when I'll get the next one?" Giorgio opened the chiller drawer of the refrigerator, grabbed a bag of cow's blood and split it between two stone mugs. He placed them in the microwave and set the timer before grabbing a small soft-sided cooler from the cabinet. Humming to himself, he laid a blue freezer pack in it before piling three more bags of blood on top. He suspected this would be another day without time to eat properly. Giorgio finished his breakfast before Leykin appeared, wearing a cream shirt instead of white with her black suit. Her damp hair lay across her back in a single plait, and the only makeup she wore was a dash of blusher across both cheeks, her Little Miss Professional look. Giorgio still wanted to drag her right back to bed. "Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?" he asked, reaching for her. Leykin ducked away and shook a finger at him. "Too bad, buddy, you had your chance." Her grin belied the scolding words. "You made me get out of bed, so live with it." "You're mean in the morning," Giorgio replied with a smile of his own as he handed her a mug. "All part of my charm." 35

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Leykin grabbed the duffel that held her enforcer tools and headed out of the apartment. Giorgio followed, switching into work mode. He hit a control on his key chain and a black sedan in the parking lot turned on. "Tell me it's a big deal," Leykin begged as he opened the passenger door and she slid in. "If we're out at this obscene hour because some elder got caught cheating by his girlfriend, I'm going to be pissed." Giorgio waited until they were on the street to speak. Although some non-vampires lived in the complex, it was primarily occupied by Ancients. With their enhanced hearing, they could catch a whisper a quarter-mile away, and Giorgio needed this conversation to stay private. "Come on, tell me," Leykin demanded, impatience thick in her voice as Giorgio floored the accelerator. "They found Nekia," Giorgio answered in a low tone. Leykin's eyes widened. "They as in..." "Short-lifers." "Oh, shit." She slumped back in the seat and reached for her smart phone. "Has it hit the news?" "Globally, I understand." He'd checked the television over breakfast. Every cable news station was on top of the story, and even the network shows were running a banner along the bottom announcing the grisly discovery. The time for discretion was long gone. Giorgio reached for Leykin's hand and laced his fingers with hers. She'd come a long way in the months since they'd met. She'd been a green recruit on her first solo assignment; 36

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he'd already assumed the position of chief council enforcer, the top of the heap for Ancient enforcers. Giorgio discovered two things she had in spades were an ability to learn quickly and a disregard for caution. Although she wasn't reckless like so many new enforcers, she was still apt to rush in without waiting for permission. Not this time. While he headed the search for the enforcers who had allowed the corpse to lie unprotected, Leykin would be with Misha Tsarentza, high elder of the council, drafting a statement from Nekia's "business associates" in the southeastern United States. His first priority, though, was finding a way to break it to her. The situation was too volatile for him to risk letting her go along. Taking side roads instead of the freeways that intersected Louisville, Giorgio made it from his complex to the council offices in record time. He pulled into the parking garage beneath the high rise and stopped by the elevator. "Go ahead and park. I'll walk in with you," Leykin said. "You have a special assignment today," Giorgio said. "I've asked Misha to have you driven to his home when you're done. I'd like you to stay there for the time being." "His personal enforcer may not like me walking into her territory." "Consider it down time. You'll remain as his guest until I decide it's safe for you to come home." "Excuse me?" Leykin crossed her arms over her chest and fixed him with a cold glare. "Just do it, okay? I've got to get going." 37

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"Oh? Have big plans, do you?" "Simply doing my duty." "Which is dangerous, but that's okay because you're a man. Little ladies should cower where they can't get hurt." Leykin's eyes flashed gold and he saw the tips of her fangs as she spit the words at him. Giorgio gritted his teeth and counted to ten, then to ten again. "You're supposed to be training me," Leykin said. "Or do I cramp your style?" Giorgio tamped down his rising irritation and chose his words with care. "My experience outweighs yours by a couple of centuries," he said. "I trained at a less civilized time, when wits were as important as weapons. Gender has nothing to do with my decision. I care only for your safety." "That," Leykin said as she fumbled with the door handle, "is complete and utter bull. You've dragged along men who aren't as skilled or quick thinking as me, with no more training. While I'm with the high elder, maybe I'll request a different mentor." The door slammed behind her before Giorgio could snap back. He let loose with a string of rich curses as she stalked toward the elevator, her steps slapping on the concrete floor. He was heading into an assignment that could make him a hero or get him killed, depending on how he did his job, and all he wanted to do was run, grab that woman and drag her back home. 38

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"By the fathers," he muttered as he slammed the car into gear and headed toward the street, "of all the women in all the clans, I had to fall in love with that one." Leykin leaned against the thick fabric panel of the elevator, closed her eyes and tried to force the scene with Giorgio out of her mind. Maybe they shouldn't work together. She didn't care if it was the will of the Prophetess, as Misha reminded her during her last review. She wanted to be the best she could be, and that wasn't going to happen if she spent all her time standing guard. When the elevator dinged to signal her floor, she opened her eyes, squared her shoulders and straightened her jacket. Her duty at the moment was to serve the high elder, and she would do it well. She gave a slight bow to the enforcer guarding the council chambers and offered her name. He consulted a clipboard, and nodded. "You're expected," he said, reaching for the door handle. "I'll let myself in." Leykin grabbed it first and pushed the door open. Several men sat at the end of a long conference table, deep in conversation. She cleared her throat as the door swung shut behind her and said, "Good morning." Their heads came up as one. Misha greeted her with a warm hello and a smile; the others studied her with suspicion. "Your chief enforcer sends a woman?" one asked in a thick accent Leykin couldn't identify. Not German. Not Russian. But something similar. 39

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"He sent the enforcer I requested," Misha replied, his voice chilly. "Would you suggest I am incompetent?" "No, no. It is only that her beauty dazzles me." I'll dazzle you with a quick right hook, Leykin thought, wishing she could say it out loud. Or just do it. She was so tired of men assuming that since she wasn't butt ugly, she couldn't be any good. "We are pleased you could join us." Misha moved from behind the table to grasp Leykin's shoulders and kiss her on the cheek. The greeting was an act of familiarity; she knew he meant it as a message to the others that she was under his protection. After he stepped back, she headed for the corner of the room, the customary location for an enforcer during meetings. She was surprised when Misha motioned for her to join them. "We are preparing to meet the media, and I'd like you to help us," he said, moving over to make room for her beside him. Photos of Nekia were scattered across the tabletop. Most were modern, taken within the last quarter-century or so. But there were also tintypes and hand-tinted oil portraits, images from earlier times. The woman was gorgeous in all of them. Leykin knew Nekia's looks had hidden a black soul and a constant need for attention and control that led to her death. Her ego had driven her to deeds that threatened to expose their vampire race to the other, shorter-lived humans and threatened not only their way of life but their very future. 40

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Yet she was expected to help write a statement expressing sorrow at the loss of this absolutely evil Ancient. "Why are you doing this again?" she asked. "Those short-lifers sobbing their eyes out over her mourn for the shallow shell she presented to their world," Misha said. "In their world, we are her business associates, our fortunes entwined. It would appear odd if we neglected her demise." He nodded his head toward the man who'd questioned Leykin's presence. "Egon and she sat on the same Global Committee for Alternative Fuels." He motioned toward the blond beside him. "She was a member of the National Foundation for the Arts with Quincy. For the good of our people, we must stand together and speak in sorrow and praise, as if we actually mourn." For the good of the people—that was a phrase Leykin had heard repeatedly since she'd left Minnesota. Maybe she'd been sheltered, growing up away from others of her kind, but she didn't get the need to hide the Ancients' existence from the rest of the human race. She and Granmama had been two of only a handful of Ancients in the state, yet she'd never felt isolated. Or different from the short-lived humans who had called on Granmama as a homeopathic healer. Leykin wasn't about to argue with guys who could have her head chopped off with a wave of a hand, though. If they thought putting that witch on a pedestal was a great and glorious thing, she'd do what she had to. An hour later, after hearing countless revamps of a speech that would probably wind up as a 10-second sound bite on 41

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TV, she was sick of hearing Nekia's name. She was amused, though, by the careful wording Misha and his fellow elders created. "Perfect," she said after the last reading. She held up her cell phone so they could see the time. "We have exactly 15 minutes until you stand behind the mike in the lobby and make your statement. The cameras will be on you as soon as the elevators open, so why don't we practice getting to that mike so you don't look like a herd of loose cows?" Misha laughed, Egon glared and another man mooed. Leykin smiled as they trooped out into the hall to decide who'd take the lead, who'd make the speech and the locations for Leykin and the enforcer who had greeted her. The rehearsal paid off. Their motions were smooth as they stepped into the front lobby to a bank of reporters. Misha stood at the podium, the others behind him in a single line, with Leykin and the young enforcer flanking them. She stared straight ahead, hands clasped behind her back, as Misha delivered the short message. When he'd finished, she and her fellow enforcer moved in front of the podium to stop any reporter who might chase after the elders. Even after she heard the elevator door close, she held her position. It wasn't until the last TV cameraman packed up and left that she relaxed. "Good job," she said to her fellow enforcer. She'd felt his unease as the reporters shouted questions, and slipped into his mind to tell him to ignore them and avoid eye contact. Leykin sent him back to the council room to tell the elders the media was gone. Her duty was over. She knew Giorgio 42

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expected her to have Misha order a driver for her, but that seemed like a lot of fuss. Taking a taxi was easier. She stepped toward the security guard's desk to ask him to call one, but was stopped by a voice from behind her. "Excellent work." She turned to see one of Misha's associates smiling at her. She bowed. "Thank you." "I'm Quincy Hawthorne, by the way." He offered his hand; she took it for a quick handshake. "Leykin Reneau." "Ah, Montrosa's partner." Leykin cringed inside. Was that how she was known, as nothing more than Giorgio's sidekick? She nodded. "Please give him my regards. And again, very good work." She bowed as Hawthorne left and resumed her quest for a cab. On the short ride to Misha's Old Louisville home, her thoughts returned to two things: Giorgio's assumption that she had to do what he said, and the way that man saw her as an extension of Giorgio. She loved Giorgio, but that didn't mean she had to spend her life in his shadow. Did it? That question still plagued Leykin as she tipped the cabbie and started down the long drive to Misha's Old Louisville mansion. She'd been awed the first time she came here as a companion to the Prophetess. In the months since, the high elder's home had become nothing more than a big house where she was well known. Because of Giorgio. 43

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She relived the brief conversation with Quincy Hawthorne. Did he praise her work because of her own efforts, or because he believed Giorgio had orchestrated it? Did all the elders and high-ranking Ancients see her that way? "Good evening," she said as she passed through the kitchen. The chef and her staff were preparing the evening repast to be served upon Misha's return. "You look tired." The chef tipped her head and studied Leykin. "Are you eating?" Leykin smiled. "Like a horse." "Wait a moment." The woman disappeared behind the refrigerator. She reemerged seconds later with a stopped glass bottle in her hand. The contents were deep red, almost shimmering inside the container. "Specialty of the house," she said, pouring some into a stemmed goblet, which she handed to Leykin. "Blood from a young kid, seasoned with honey and cinnamon." With a grin, she added, "Kid as in goat, not as in person. In case you wondered." Leykin laughed and took a sip. The drink was delicious. That one small taste made her stomach remember how long it had been since Giorgio handed her breakfast on the way out the door. She left the kitchen with a small plate of lightly seared steak strips in her left hand and the refilled goblet in her right. Flipping the television to a vampire drama series just for giggles, she settled in and began to eat. Before she finished her second strip, Leykin heard Giorgio inside her head. 44

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"On my way to give Misha an update," he slid into her mind. "Then I've got to go back out again." Leykin's pleasure in the wonderful food dimmed as he withdrew and her mind was her own. He'd said I, not we. That meant she was being left behind yet again. She snapped off the television. Watching a pretend vampire burst into flames from sunlight usually made her laugh, but she wasn't in the mood anymore. Whether he liked it or not, she and Giorgio were going to have a talk. Either he let her function as a full enforcer or... Or what? She sighed. The trouble with giving ultimatums was that you had to back them up. The only other craft she had were some modest healing skills learned from her grandmother, but in this day of modern medicine, few Ancients were willing to go the homeopathic route. Giorgio found her curled in the corner of the overstuffed couch in the media room, staring at a blank screen, when he walked in with his own meal a half hour later. "Hi." He sat in a wide chair across from her. "Hi." There was no enthusiasm in her response. "How did things go at the press conference?" Leykin shrugged. "I stood there, I looked bad ass and then I left. You can probably see for yourself on the eleven o'clock news." Giorgio set his plate on the floor and leaned toward her, hands on his thighs. "What the hell is eating you?" he asked. "You were fine last night. Now you're ready to take my head off." 45

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"With what?" she asked, uncurling and planting her feet on the floor. "A paper shredder? I've got a whole bag of enforcer tools I might as well sell on e-Bay, because they're going to rot before I get to use them." "Come find me when you get over being pissy," Giorgio snapped, grabbing his plate and rising to his feet. "I'll be in the kitchen." Leykin grabbed his arm as he started to stalk away. "Wanna know what's wrong?" she demanded as he turned toward her. "I'm tired of being the little girl who gets a pat on the head and told to act nice. I want to fight. I want to rip someone's heart out of his chest while it's still beating." She rose on her toes and stretched until her nose was only inches from his. "I want to do my job, become the first enforcer to knock the mighty Giorgio Montrosa down a peg or two." Leykin knew she'd pushed too far when his black eyes shimmered gold with anger and his fangs descended to their full length. His large hands grasped her slender shoulders as he held her a foot off the floor. "You're good, but you're not that good," he growled. "I've got the blood of Ancients from seven centuries on my hands, forced to prove what kind of man I am. Killing our own hardens a man and freezes the emotions that make him human. You helped me thaw, and I thank you for that. "I thought I was incapable of love, incapable of compassion until I almost died. I love you, Leykin, more than my own life. Don't ask me to help you become what I used to be. I'd rather see you dead." 46

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He set her down and turned away. Her anger faded at the pain in his voice. She didn't know what Giorgio been ordered to do when Phillipe Lesage had been high elder, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. She knew Lesage had been so evil that she'd been hidden away so he'd never know she was his child. She knew Misha had battled him and killed Lesage to save his own life. She also knew whatever Giorgio had done to earn his place as the council's chief enforcer had scarred him, both externally from an attack of silver and internally from fighting his own conscience. He was right. She didn't want to live what he'd been through. But wrapping her in cotton candy and setting her on a shelf would eventually make them both miserable. "I'm sorry," she whispered, but it was too late for Giorgio to hear. He'd fled from the room, leaving his meal behind, along with the painful truth that it was time for them to sever their professional relationship. Love was wonderful, but not if it warped everything good between them. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Four **** Giorgio stood on the wide veranda of the limestone mansion and stared up into the dark sky. Once there had been nothing above but starlight, before man ruined beauty in the name of progress. He wanted to see the constellations. He needed to focus on something beautiful. The argument with Leykin had pulled him back to the ugliest moments of his life, when he killed other men not for justice but on an elder's whim. In those days of blind obedience, he hadn't respected the value of life. He killed because he wanted to advance. He wanted power. He wanted the things that being the best enforcer in the Ancient world could bring. Now all he wanted was to ensure Leykin's life. She was good, yeah, but she wasn't good enough yet. A split second of indecision, one wrong move, and she'd be the one with her heart ripped out and her throat slashed. "Giorgio, I am ready." The high elder's command sounded inside his head. Giorgio pushed his dark thoughts away and prepared to give Misha an update. His steps were heavy as he walked through the house and up the stairs to Misha's second-floor office. Misha was his usual cool self. As he bowed to the high elder, Giorgio wondered if he could stay so collected during a troubled time like this. Then again, he wasn't expected to. 48

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Enforcers needed a reserve of rage to call on if they were to do their job right. Again, his thoughts returned to Leykin. Did she have the capability for unbridled rage? More importantly, would her upbringing, so much gentler than Giorgio's, keep her from acting on it? "Please tell me you have good news." Misha's voice revealed the strain missing from his face. The weariness it held was testimony to the unprecedented task Giorgio had accepted. With footage of Nekia's tarpcovered body playing over and over on televisions worldwide, as well as instantly accessible on computers and smartphones, the slightest misstep could reveal the Ancients' presence in the world and lead to unimaginable consequences. Giorgio hated to tell this man he respected how little had been uncovered so far. Taking a deep breath, he answered, "We know the names of those on the corpse detail. They were ordered to stand guard and keep short-lifers away by whatever means were necessary." "I assume these men have been interrogated." Here came the part Giorgio really hated. "We have been unable to locate them, sir." Misha's hands tightened on the arms of his chair, and his eyes took on the gold glint that made Giorgio back up a few steps. "How can this be?" Misha asked, his tone deceptively gentle. "You have the services of every enforcer in the 49

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Ancient world at your disposal, and you're unable to locate four men whose identities are known. Is that correct?' "Yes, sir." "You have led the search for these men yourself?" "Yes, sir," Giorgio repeated. "I suggest you take advantage of the enforcers we have scattered across the globe. And I would suggest you begin intensifying the search now." Giorgio bowed and uttered a final "Yes, sir," before hurrying toward the door. He was almost there when Misha's voice interrupted him. "I would also ask that you institute a lockdown for every Ancient who has known Nekia well. It would not surprise me if someone is using this situation for his own agenda. I'm certain we both know to what end." Walking rapidly down the hallway to the steps leading to the first floor and his escape, Giorgio slid back into enforcer mode. Attempts to overthrow the council had been made in the past decade, first by the Ancients Underground, an informal association of young malcontents, and then by Nekia herself, with the unwitting backing of Harrington, the sitting senator from Louisiana. In a classic double-cross, Harrington had planned to get Nekia seated on the council and make her his puppet; Nekia hoped to use Harrington's influence to gain an elder's seat. Soon after, Giorgio suspected, she would have found an excuse to have him marked for execution. Luckily, both plans had unraveled, but not without two deaths and a kidnapping. He wondered now if the prophecy of the Book of the Ancients had been fulfilled. A shiver snaked 50

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along his spine. If so, these moments of discord would soon be an all-out battle, not only among the Ancients but against short-lifers as well. Quincy leaned back in his leather club chair and closed his eyes. Calling on the empathy that linked his people, he searched and found the men who had worn the gray uniforms of the Confederate Army with him. Tomas Petrov—Thomas Peters 150 years ago. Stefan Margios, known among the Rebs as Steven March. Duncan Phipps and Quincy himself, the final of the Gray Ghosts, nicknamed for their ability to infiltrate the Union ranks and slip safely out again. One by one, he made the mental connection and invited each man to join him before dawn. They'd banded together once to save their people and their way of life from being discovered. The time had come to do it again. "Sir?" Remir's voice intruded. "What?" Quincy snapped, his eyes opening. "The high elder requests your presence." Quincy smiled. Perhaps overthrowing the council would be easier than he expected. "Call a driver," he said. "And tell the kitchen staff to delay dinner. I may be late." Humming to himself, Quincy searched through his closet for the right suit and tie. It wouldn't do to meet with Tsarentza in his slacks and golf shirt. He needed to look good. Trustworthy. Twenty minutes later, satisfied with his appearance, he stepped into the backseat of the long, dark sedan. Remir took 51

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the front passenger seat. Normally, Quincy wouldn't bring his enforcer to a meeting at the high elder's home, but nothing was normal in the Ancient world today. He intended for Tsarentza to see him as an equal, despite Quincy's lack of elder status. Intimidation was an art he'd learned at a young age and was fond of employing. It was surprising, Quincy mused, how even the most powerful had their weak spots. He intended to find the high elder's and exploit it. That, after all, was what had made the Gray Ghosts so successful and so feared. Leykin immediately recognized Quincy Hawthorne. She squared her shoulders and adopted an enforcer's stance before opening the front door to admit him to Misha's home. "Good evening." She bowed a half-bow, as befitting an Ancient of standing. Only the elders received a full bow; the Prophetess was greeted with the most formal of Ancient honors, a bow with fingertips placed to forehead. "We meet again," Quincy said, offering a charming smile. "Have you taken the place of the beautiful Belle DuPont as the high elder's enforcer?" "Oh, no. I am still learning. I can't even dream of such a high position." Quincy patted her shoulder. "No need that you should. There are many equally satisfying positions for an enforcer these days." She acknowledged the compliment with a small nod of her head before turning to lead Hawthorne to the elevator hidden off the entry alcove. His enforcer remained behind as they 52

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rode to the third floor with only the hum of the lift breaking the silence. When the doors opened, Leykin waited until Hawthorne stepped out to lead the way to Misha's study. The heavy oak door was open. Misha called "Please, come in," when he spotted the duo. Once again, Leykin admired how Misha's study was arranged to demonstrate his power. He sat behind a massive desk while across from it, small club chairs awaited visitors. A wing chair was placed to his left, beside the window, and she wondered if the high elder chose to retreat from the demands of his position by sitting there and watching the world outside. As was customary, Leykin left the room as soon as Hawthorne was seated. She closed the door and assumed a watch position a few feet away. Still, thanks to the superior hearing of Ancients, she could have listened in if she wanted to. She didn't. Granmama had taught her it was impolite to eavesdrop. Anyway, there were times when knowledge was a one-way ticket to an execution. As she waited in the hall, her boots sinking into the sumptuous carpet, her thoughts flashed back to her argument with Giorgio. She hated to fight, but sometimes it was inevitable. This had been one of those times. He needed to understand how she felt. He needed to recall his days as a new enforcer, and his dreams and ambitions. "I've got the blood of Ancients from seven centuries on my hands, forced to prove what kind of man I am." 53

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A chill ran through her at the remembered words. How many had he killed? Dozens? Hundreds? Did she really want to know? Quincy tried to ignore the hum of excitement running through him. Here he'd been plotting a way to get into the high elder's good graces, and the man had called for him. Every Ancient knew that being summoned to a private meeting with the high elder held the tantalizing promise of either an honor to come or an important duty to perform. This meeting offered neither. Over the next 10 minutes, Quincy listened with growing impatience as Tsarentza talked about the need to control information about Nekia, suggesting Quincy use his long acquaintanceship with her to steer things in the right direction and asking that he set up media interviews to make sure it happened. "No one enjoyed the limelight as much as Nekia, but you seem comfortable in front of reporters," Misha said. "Since you sat on several boards with her, and were frequently seen together in public, you are what they call a 'credible source'." He leaned back in his chair and sighed. Quincy had no sympathy for the man. He should have handled the bitch before she went crazy and tried for a council seat. When Misha remained silent, Quincy realized he expected a reply. Waited for acquiescence to his will was more like it. He was about to be disappointed. "I am flattered at your trust in me," Quincy said, "but my schedule is quite demanding. I fear I cannot spare the time to do what you ask." He stood, deliberately putting himself in a 54

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higher position than the seated Misha. "I am afraid I must decline." "As you wish." Although the high elder's voice was cordial, Quincy saw a quick flash of gold in the man's eyes that signaled displeasure. Pretending not to notice, he bowed and said, "You will excuse me. I am a busy man." "Most certainly." Misha stood, palms flat on the top of the wide desk. His shoulders were squared, his face tight. If Quincy could be intimidated, he would have been. But he knew in his heart that no Ancient was superior to him, elder or not. The woman enforcer fell into step behind him as he left the room. Once again, they made the elevator ride in silence. She spoke when they reached the front door. "Good day, sir, and sleep well." Stepping out into the breaking light, Quincy realized the night had flown by. His sleep would be short this day. Soon his brothers-in-arms would begin to arrive to draw up battle plans. A rush of excitement filled him. They had never failed before; he couldn't imagine they would now. The seeds of discord would be sown and, within weeks, the council would find itself under siege. When the elders began to falter, Quincy and his cohorts would swoop in, take power and return the Ancients to their proper place. Misha toyed absently with the gold pen from his desk set, his mind on the man who had just left. He didn't trust Hawthorne, never had. The man cared only for himself and his wealth. Misha remembered the red-hot affair between Quincy and Nekia, back in the 1800s. He often wondered if 55

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Nekia had loved the man, since she'd remained faithful to him until the affair had run its course. Quincy had not. A man who used whatever means necessary to further his own agenda, he had taken advantage of short-life women for their money, and Ancient females to gain a higher place in his own society. Other women might have thrown things or engaged in a screaming match. Not Nekia. She'd made her displeasure known by attending a changing ball with the elder of a different clan and allowed Quincy to catch her with the man in a butler's closet. Misha smiled at the memory. Hawthorne had been outraged and humiliated; Nekia's response had been to take the man's hand and lead him to the garden, calling over her shoulder that if Quincy would like to watch, he'd be welcome. His reverie was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He answered to discover Giorgio on the other end. The enforcer had information too important to risk sending mentally to Misha for fear some Ancient with highly developed empathy might tap in. "The executionists didn't leave her there." "What did you say?" Stunned, Misha wondered if he'd heard right. "We finally located one of them. He wasn't happy to be found and not too willing to talk, but once I assured him the council would hold a hearing before ordering his execution, he did. The team took Nekia's body, prepared it as tradition demands and left it on private land as ordered." 56

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"So how did it end up in a park, where short-lifers could find it?" Giorgio shrugged. "That's what we're working on. I'll be in touch as soon as we know more." "Immediately." "Yes, sir, immediately." Questions filled Misha's mind as he sat with the disconnected phone in his hand. Executions were done in secret, although the loss of a life reverberated within the dead Ancient's clan and among the people themselves. At the proper time, the appropriate clan elder was formally notified and told the body would be delivered for the ritual of burning the corpse. Why hadn't he been told when the execution enforcers went to pick up Nekia's remains and found them missing? Or had they been paid not to return? The words from the Book of Ancients echoed in his soul. Sixteen years since the prediction that a child would be born whose birth would signal the end of the Ancients' comfortable, hidden lives. When a child had been born into his clan that fit the prediction, he'd defied the unwritten law and hidden the child with short-lifers rather than killing it. For nearly two decades, Misha and a trusted few had protected the child and fought to maintain the status quo. But perhaps their efforts had been as futile as bees protecting an empty hive. "Do you wish anything, sir?"

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Misha looked up to find Leykin in the doorway. He motioned her in and invited her to sit down. She perched on the edge of a chair, as if ready for a quick getaway. "Are you happy here?" he asked. "Louisville is a fascinating city, and I am fortunate to be allowed to serve you, sir." Misha hid a smile. Perhaps her true calling was as a diplomat. "Do you enjoy your enforcer training?" he continued. Leykin nodded. "Very much." "And Giorgio? You have no trouble working with him?" The slight hesitation before she replied offered more than her words, the expected "he is an excellent instructor." Misha had long sensed the fire that sparked between those two, knew Giorgio treated this one more carefully than others he'd trained since assuming his position serving the high council. Yet she could learn so much more from this man who had suffered and changed than other seasoned enforcers. He'd monitor the situation, keep an eye on her progress. And, if warranted, he'd make a change once this current crisis had passed which, he hoped, would be quickly. "I have sent Giorgio to continue his investigation, and I hope that you might be willing to work alone during his absence," Misha said. "The clan elders are hesitant to loan any of their enforcers, although the council enforcers are spread thin. I am not a fearful man, so I believe my household will survive with one less standing outside the doors. Here is what I'd like for you to do..." 58

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Leykin hurried down the carpeted steps, grateful for a respite from guard duty. Protecting the high elder was an honor, she knew. She also knew that as an enforcer in training, she should participate in active investigations. Granted, the assignment she'd been handed by the high elder wasn't huge, but it meant an escape from the house and into the night. She hated spending the dark hours cooped up. Summer was quickly fading and before long, the air would be far cooler at midnight than at noon. She intended to enjoy the warm nights as long as she could. A driver waited at the back door. Leykin slid into the front passenger seat and introduced herself. "Yeah, I heard they've got you hanging with Giorgio," said the driver. "So how does it feel to lurk around in the big man's shadow?" It sucks. Leykin bit back the words, shrugged and said, "Hey, if you're gonna learn, do it from the best, right?" The driver grinned. "You got that. So hold on—I learned to drive from Tony Stewart." Leykin laughed. She knew NASCAR drivers didn't give driving lessons to Ancients, but before they were halfway across the city, she began to wonder. She held onto the grab bar as they took a fast corner on yellow and was relieved when the car finally stopped at the building that housed the council chambers. She intended to take a taxi home. The only person she saw was the night guard, a short-lifer who paid no attention to her once she showed him her ID badge. She rode the elevator to the top floor, where a young 59

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enforcer met her and showed her into an anteroom adjacent to the council meeting room. A large plastic storage box sat on a low oak table. Except for several chairs and a mini-frig, those composed the room's furnishings. Taking a deep breath, Leykin took the lid off the box and off her own memories. Here was everything held by Giorgio and his handpicked crew of top enforcers since the murder of the former high elder. Leykin had seen some of this material, while other items were new to her. She began to analyze everything, piece by piece, to see if this horde would yield any clues to help Giorgio. "Where are you?" The question popped into her head about an hour later. "Council headquarters. Going over evidence," she replied with the same mental ease. "I'm coming over." Before she could say yea or nay, Giorgio had withdrawn from her mind. Leykin returned to her work and the time flew. Before she knew it, the door opened and her lover walked in. "You look exhausted." She rose to greet him. "I am." He wrapped his arms around her for a kiss before dropping into a chair. "Are you getting anywhere?" He shrugged. "It would help if I knew where to look. Who to look for." He leaned forward. "What's this?"

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"Misha asked me to go back through everything since Lenza's death. He thought I might find some information that didn't seem important at the time but could be now." "I've been through it all." "Well, I'm looking at it again." Giorgio leaned over and opened the door of the mini-frig, pulling out a bag of blood. He tossed it to Leykin. "Here. Make yourself useful and warm this up for me, okay? I'm running on empty." "Yes, your majesty," Leykin said, a sarcastic edge to the words. She muttered to herself as she walked the short distance to a break room where she found a cup and poured the blood into it. Still mumbling, she heated the blood and carried it back to Giorgio. "Man, that's good." He took a long drink. "You're welcome." Giorgio frowned. "Why are you so snippy? It's not like you're out there beating the bushes and half expecting to get your throat slit for your trouble." "No, because I'm your precious little darling, and I might break a fingernail." Leykin grabbed a blood bag for herself and retreated before they could get into another argument. In that tobacco warehouse, she was good enough to fight side by side with Giorgio, when her training had been minimal. She was better, faster now. All she wanted was a chance to prove what she could do. 61

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"I'm sorry." Giorgio's apology came as soon as she walked back into the anteroom. "I'm tired and stressed, but that's no excuse for taking it out on you. How long do you think you'll be here?" Leykin studied the unexamined evidence before she answered. "Close to dawn, I'd say." "Then I'll swing by and pick you up. We'll go to Rosie's for a late dinner. She keeps the short-life law happy by shutting down the front right on time, but she won't lock up her back room until light breaks." "I've never been there," Leykin admitted. "Good," Giorgio responded. "Meeting Rosie for the first time is always interesting, and she makes a mean chicken dipper platter. Chicken strips warmed just enough to take the chill off and a jalapeno sauce that will make your eyes water for a week." Leykin raised an eyebrow. "Sounds interesting." "It is." Giorgio drained his glass and stood. "And private. Nobody there but us Ancients and the best selection of blood, human and animal, in six states." The room felt empty after he'd left. Unable to concentrate, Leykin decided to go outside and clear her head. Reading and re-reading the same report when all she could think about was Giorgio and their future was an exercise in futility. Maybe a walk would clear her head. The guard didn't bother to look up as she crossed the lobby. Still, she held her badge toward him and said, "I'm coming back." He didn't bother with a reply. 62

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The street outside was deserted, as it usually was in the deep of night. Leykin knew that in the apartment buildings barely visible from this block and the houses in the many suburbs dotting the city, short-lifers were beginning to stir. Before long, traffic would begin as they headed to the gym before going to work and trekked to the office early to impress a boss. There were so many of them in the world, and so comparatively few Ancients, yet those humans didn't realize who really held power. Or even that they shared the world with an older species of mankind. She wondered how those rising soccer moms and promotion-driven husbands would react if they knew vampires walked among them. Stupidly, probably. Call in the National Guard with liquid silver or something, hunting down the "monsters" that were their kin. Walking as she thought, Leykin wound up several blocks from the building entrance. She retraced her steps, aware an hour or so remained until Giorgio's return. Her brisk journey brought her to the revolving door at the same time as a tall, distinguished man in a black trench coat that was becoming all too familiar. "We meet again," said Quincy Hawthorne, a smile creasing his face. "Are you stalking me or am I stalking you?" Leykin forced a smile in return. "I've got a few things to do at my office before I can rest," Quincy said. "It's on the fourth floor. And you?"

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"Mr. Tsarentza has asked me to draft another press release in case it's needed," she lied. This man didn't need to know why she was here. Quincy frowned in displeasure. "I deeply hope this will all die down soon and another statement will be unnecessary." "As do we all. However, the media was given a list of celebrities who had been invited to Mr. Tsarentza's famed Derby ball, and her name was included. He anticipates calls because of that." "Then he's chosen the right person," Quincy said. "I'm certain he appreciates your intelligence and quick thinking." Murmuring her thanks, Leykin held back as Hawthorne stepped into the elevator. If she spent much more time with him, he'd be inviting her over for cocktails. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Five **** Quincy was not a superstitious man. He didn't believe rearranging his furniture could change his luck, or that the stars foretold his future. A rationalist and pragmatist, he found security in things he could see, feel and touch. So his offices served as a showcase for his success. The pale gray walls with their white trim served as a backdrop for framed art that would bring millions at an auction. The darker gray carpet offered a cushioned base for statuary that would make a museum director drool, and his furniture itself, bought new a few centuries ago, shouted power and privilege. It was here that he chose to meet with the other Gray Ghosts. They'd met frequently over the years. When Quincy hosted, it was in his home in one of the city's finest neighborhoods, with a meal prepared by chefs who flew in from Europe. But that was pleasure, and this was business. Rather than using the underground garage, he had asked his driver to drop him off in front of the building and park nearby. As soon as the man saw the first guest arrive, he'd alert Quincy. Like the Boy Scouts, Quincy lived by the motto of be prepared. Stefan Margios was that first man. Despite a long flight from Italy, where he maintained a second residence, he greeted his host with enthusiasm and a kiss on each cheek. 65

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Quincy endured the touch of the man's lips on his flesh; he needed each one of the Ghosts if his plan was to succeed. "You still do well, I see." Stefan strolled about the room, fingers clasped around the stem of a blood-filled flute, and examined the art on the walls. "I get by." "As do I," Stefan replied. "And like you, I would hate to see my life changed. I may only have a few centuries left, but I intend to enjoy every moment of them." The others arrived within moments of each other. Like Stefan, Tomas Petrov had homes in both the United States and his native land. Duncan Phipps built his empire in West Texas, dominating the oil industry and picking stocks that made him rich. Or so the short-lifers around him thought. They had no idea that he had amassed a fortune before the stock market was even organized, and that he could withstand losses that would drive ordinary humans to suicide. Quincy had sought out these Ancients for their intelligence, ambition and ruthless determination to get what they wanted and keep what they had. They'd served his purpose once; they could do so again. The conversation that began as general catch-up soon turned from gossip over broken matings and critiques of a recent changing ball to the catalyst for their reunion: Nekia's death and the unrelenting attention to it. "Their investigators are intelligent, but they work within a narrow system," Tomas said as they settled at the table. "One of those profilers they use will come in, tell them who to look 66

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for and nothing will happen. They'll declare it unsolvable and life will continue as it has." "If it were another of our people, that might be so," Quincy replied. "Don't forget we're talking about Nekia. Even in death, she's a troublemaker. That cosmetic company she represented has already offered a reward of $100,000 for information on her killer. To these short-lifers, that is a fortune. They'll tell everything and anything they know." "Their attention span is short," Tomas argued. "Our world is secure. Let them go their way as we go ours." Stefan slapped the table's polished surface with an open hand, the sound echoing in the room. "Have you forgotten how it used to be? Gradually, these others have come to believe we are only myths, that vampires are silly creatures to be trotted out as Halloween caricatures. Do you not remember the hunts, when entire villages would organize to find our people and kill us as we slept? I refuse to live in the shadows again." "Exactly!" Quincy felt a familiar bitterness rise within him. "Our people forget. Unless we heed the lessons of the past, we are doomed to live as we once did." He waved a hand around the room. "I refuse to give this up. I will not let the impotence of those who represent us put me back into a dark cave, living on tiny creatures too small to quench my thirst." A ripple of assent came from the others. Even Tomas looked thoughtful, as if reconsidering his belief that this too would pass. The oldest of the group, he had been young during the Dark Time, but Quincy could not believe the man 67

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had forgotten what it was like to live in hiding as those closest to him were wiped out. And that had been Ancient upon Ancient. He could not imagine the bloodbath if the short-lifers who ruled the world's governments declared war upon his species. "What would you have us do?" asked Stefan. "Yes," Duncan echoed, "what do you propose?" Quincy smiled. "A quiet coup. If the council has not provided an explanation within the next few weeks, we 'convince' the high elder to force the resignation of the clan elders from the council and replace them with men of our own choosing. Men whose primary consideration is not the piddling business of politics but the continuation of our species and our lifestyle." Silence filled the room as his fellow Gray Ghosts absorbed what he had said. Quincy knew that if any one of them went to the high elder, he would be brought before the council on charges of high treason. He also knew that more than a century ago, they had all broken Ancient laws and could still be executed for those crimes. If he was reported, he would present the evidence he'd protected for so many decades, and they'd lose their heads together. Duncan finally spoke. "I assume you have a plan." "Oh, yes," Quincy said, "I have a plan. And if we stand together, there is no way it can fail. We will begin today if all are in agreement." The world had gotten too damn refined, Duncan decided as Quincy offered a toast to seal the devil's bargain they'd made. 68

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In the early days of the Civil War, when the Book of Prophecy was interpreted to foretell financial ruin if the South succeeded, he'd made a blood oath with these same men. Then they hadn't used purified blood in crystal goblets. Instead, Tomas had seduced a camp follower. Each man had sipped of her blood, taking enough that she would remember nothing the next day. Even now, so long since partaking from living beings had been forbidden, he still remembered exactly how much and how fast to withdraw blood to fog the memory without killing the donor. "Brothers until our death," Quincy announced, tapping the gold rim of his goblet against the others' in turn. Murmuring "Brothers until our death" with the others, Duncan brought the cold glass to his own lips and sipped. The bargain had been made. They would only intervene if the council failed. He closed his eyes as the truth burned inside him. If he followed Quincy as he had sworn again to do, not only would the clan elders be banished, but the high elder and the Prophetess would die. If that came to pass, his name would live on—but whether in glory or infamy, he couldn't predict. "You look thoughtful." Tomas spoke from the other side of the table. "This is serious business we undertake," Duncan said. "Before, we only needed to tip the balance in the right direction. All that was at risk was our own lives and our riches."

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"Do you already regret being summoned?" Quincy's voice was cold. "Perhaps the success of our earlier venture has made you soft." "Planning treason shouldn't be a cause for celebration," Stefan said, moving to stand beside Duncan. "I rather enjoy my soft bed and the women who occupy it with me. I appreciate the benefits of power, as I assume we all do. I suspect that Duncan's solemnity springs from the thought of baring his neck for an executioner." Again, silence reigned as each man absorbed the conversation. Duncan was pleased to see that the smile which had hovered on Quincy's face was gone. Damn the man anyway. This was his plan, yet he would take them all down with him if it failed. Tomas drained his glass and set it on the table, waving off the offer of a refill. "If we are to avoid suspicion," he said, "we should go out on the town as if we are simply four friends spending time together. Where is that place you like so, Quincy? Where you go slumming?" "Rosie's." "Is it still there?" "Her friends are welcome until the crack of dawn. You're quite right. This is the time to see and be seen." Quincy lingered as the others headed down to the lobby where his driver waited. He'd made the excuse that putting five in the car was too tight a squeeze. In reality, he needed time alone to smooth the rough edges of his strategy. 70

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He hadn't lied. He did believe an attempt to take over the council would work. What he hadn't told any of the others was that rather than working from the bottom up, using clan connections to overthrow the elders, he intended to use a top-down approach. By the time his appointed deadline expired, Quincy intended to infiltrate the household of the Prophetess, forcing the elders to choose between stepping down and letting the Ancients' wise woman die. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Six **** Giorgio leaned against the front fender of the car, dropped his head against his chest and closed his eyes, fighting exhaustion, frustration and an innate sense that he was on the wrong track. Misha wanted answers, but so far, Giorgio hadn't even found all the puzzle pieces. No enforcer would be stupid enough to go against direct orders from the council. He believed the executionists had carried out their assignment and Nekia's remains had been left in a safe zone. Which led him to believe someone other than an enforcer had moved Nekia's body to an area frequented by short-lifers. But if it wasn't an enforcer, how did the culprit—or culprits— manage to evade the highly trained executionists? "By the fathers," he muttered in irritation as his phone began to vibrate. "Message from Wolf One," announced a female voice programmed into the device. Giorgio pushed the button to read the instant message from Acacia, an enforcer who'd joined his handpicked crew last year. She'd been making a circuit of the city's Ancient haunts, checking to see who was where and what they were doing. "Weird vibe at Rosie's" appeared on the screen. That was enough to send Giorgio back onto the freeway, his promise to pick up Leykin for a late dinner forgotten. The trip was quick as he rolled through nearly empty streets and 72

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parked a discreet distance from the bar in Louisville's downtown. A polite description of it, he supposed, was a rustic diner. He'd heard it called other things from a dive to a watering hole for those looking for a walk on the wild side. He knew Rosie ran an honest operation, giving fair portions of food and drink—and kept order with her rusted-saw voice and a shorthandled baseball bat she kept under the counter. He eased the door closed behind him as he walked in. The last thing he needed was to call attention to himself. Giorgio's size and scarred face made him easy to remember. As an enforcer, he found both advantageous, especially the damage done by an attack with liquid silver. Ancients rarely had scars, and he'd never seen another with the deep marks he carried on his features. Acacia leaned against the counter, an empty shot glass in front of her. She met Giorgio's eyes and gave a nearly imperceptible nod of her head to the left. He slid a glance that way and saw the reason she'd called. In a room full of Ancients dressed mostly in jeans and upscale T-shirts, four men in suits sat at a table. He recognized one of them at once. Quincy Hawthorne kept offices in the Ancient-owned building the council used as its headquarters; he'd seen him there from time to time. He also recognized Stefan Margios, a major player in the European clan. What Acacia called a "vibe" Giorgio recognized as the same hinky feeling he got whenever he ran smack dab into trouble. Margios wasn't a regular in Kentucky; in fact, he didn't move 73

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in American circles at all. Everyone knew he preferred to socialize with the Ancients in Europe, where he shared a common heritage and culture. So why was he here? "What's that one drinking?" Giorgio asked the tall, tattooed woman behind the bar. "Straight whiskey," Rosie replied, making a face. "Can't stand the stuff myself." Giorgio knew why an Ancient drank undiluted liquor. He did it himself on occasion. The hit of the intoxicant straight to the system went a long way toward dulling worry, fear, grief and depression. Considering the size of Margios' estate and his reputation with woman, Giorgio would lay his money on worry and fear. He tapped the counter and ordered Type O on the rocks. When Rosie handed him the goblet, he found a dark place at the end of the long bar and kept his eye on Hawthorne and the others. If they made a move, he intended to follow. Nursing his drink, Giorgio checked out the room. The place was fairly crowded for a Thursday. Most of the patrons were young; he suspected this was their final stop after a night of clubbing. He sighed. He could almost smell the stink of shortlifers rolling off them. Life had changed since he was young. He jumped as his pocket began to vibrate. Yanking out his phone, he glanced at the screen. Damn. He'd forgotten Leykin. "Hey, babe." He tried for nonchalance as he answered. "I'm about finished and wondered how long you'd be," she said. 74

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"Sorry, but it's not going to happen tonight. I'm staking out a party of interest and can't leave now. I'll see you at the high elder's." "Soon?" "An hour or two," he replied. "Go ahead and go to sleep, in case I've got to go into the wee hours of the day." Intent on watching the men, Giorgio didn't realize Leykin said goodbye without adding her usual "I love you" and "Be careful." He didn't think about her at all as one of the men leaned close to Hawthorne, his face tight, as if he was trying not to argue. Closing his eyes, Giorgio concentrated on trying to connect into any open mind he could find among them. Just a hint of what they were talking about would be a victory. Leykin kicked the metal waste can, taking a grim satisfaction as it sailed across the room. Staking out a party of interest, her ass. The noise infiltrating his side of the conversation had sounded like a party: chattering voices, music playing and the clink of glasses and bottles. She suspected he'd gone to Rosie's all right, but not with her. She wanted so bad to reach out and connect with her grandmother in Minnesota, but that was too dangerous. Karina was with Granmama now, learning about her vampire heritage as she also waited to see if she'd go through a changing like every other Ancient. Leykin suspected if she did, either it would kill Karina or her mind would snap. If either of those things happened, something inside Leykin would die, too. She'd felt an emptiness all her life she'd blamed on not knowing who her parents were. She still hadn't 75

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fully wrapped her mind over the revelations of the last few months, especially that she had a blood sister, and that Granmama had a sister, too, the Prophetess. Having Giorgio to talk to had helped her make sense of the revealed secrets and her place in the world. "I miss you," she spoke into the empty room as her anger began to fade. She was being unreasonable. Giorgio probably just needed to unwind before they saw each other again. Leykin sank down on the lush carpet and closed her eyes, creating Giorgio's familiar face in her mind. Using a technique honed by long, boring hours during the northern winters, she sneaked into his consciousness without him knowing. What she pulled were not photographic images of the things that surrounded him but rather an awareness. She sensed his distaste of the smells of the place, his concentration on watching a back table and a sudden jolt of pleasure as a woman leaned against him and smiled. Acacia, she heard as a bare whisper. Thanks for giving me a call. Leykin broke the connection and jumped to her feet. Giorgio was at that place because another woman had summoned him. The fire inside her began to flame once more. He said he loved her. He told her over and over again that he didn't want to live without her. He'd even hinted he wanted to marry her, and everyone knew weddings had gone out of favor since matings became the tradition. Blood-red tears poured from her eyes and down her cheeks. Damn him anyway. Now she knew why he gave her make-work assignments to keep them separated. It wasn't 76

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because he was afraid she'd get hurt. He was afraid she'd find out about his other women. "Bastard," she whispered. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to accept his infidelity as proof that men couldn't be trusted. Look at her father. She'd waited over a hundred years to learn his identify, and then found out she was the spawn of Phillipe Lesage, a cruel, careless high elder who used women for amusement and then abandoned them. Maybe that's how all men were. Her first lover—her only lover before Giorgio—had enticed her with sweet talk and the promise to help her become an enforcer, and that had come to a very bad end. Once he'd had his fun with the naive, trusting girl she was then, he'd high-tailed it back to Europe without a second thought. Her movements mechanical, Leykin swung back into work mode and packed up the evidence boxes. The door locked behind her as she left, securing the room until she returned. She rode the elevator to the lobby and headed into the breaking dawn. The streets were beginning to come alive. She headed left and started walking, her heels pounding against the pavement. She imagined Giorgio laying dead at the first intersection she passed, plastered against the front of a bus. Her mind conjuring up gruesome scenarios involving his demise, she walked until she tired. Hailing a cab, she gave directions not to Misha's mansion but to Giorgio's place. If he brought that woman home for a little daylight delight, he was going to be very, very surprised. 77

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Although the big man stayed in the shadows, head tipped down in an attempt to hide his face, Duncan recognized him. The new high elder's favorite enforcer, a man rumored to have killed his way into the position. The woman beside him was petite and pretty. She laughed up at him, her slender fingers pausing on his arm from time to time, but something didn't seem right. Maybe she was hitting on Montrosa because she had a thing for enforcers. Some women did. Or maybe he was encouraging her because, as Duncan well knew, sex was an excellent way to relieve stress. Or maybe Montrosa was here, at this time, because the Gray Ghosts were as well. He tapped Tomas' foot under the table and nodded toward the partition dividing the Ancients' late night haunt from the rest of the bar and grill. The restrooms were on the public side. "Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen," he said, shoving his chair back. He rose and started toward the other side. He moved steadily, without waiting to see if Tomas followed. Either the man would be curious enough to join him or afraid enough of Quincy to stay behind. He leaned against the men's room wall, waiting. The door opened; Tomas stepped in. "You saw the enforcer," Tomas said in way of greeting. "Who is either looking to get laid or looking for us." "As Quincy said earlier, we're old friends enjoying a drink together in one of the few places in this city where our tastes can be met, that's all." 78

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"True enough," Duncan said, "but it's more than the enforcer's presence that worries me. I fear Stefan isn't committed to this venture." Tomas sighed. "Stefan enjoys a fat wallet, a fat steak and the good life. When we first made the oath, he was wealthy, but not powerful. He was known within our circles, but not among short-lifers. He has the same failing as Nekia—with nothing else to gain, he is hungry for fame." That, Duncan realized, was the truth he'd been seeking. In this new era of global media, with the Internet providing immediate name recognition, Stefan used his personal knowledge of world history to promote himself. Last week or the week before perhaps, Duncan had turned on a television news channel to be confronted with Stefan discussing how the world financial crisis paralleled events in Germany before the Nazis came into power. The question now was whether his loyalty to his people would come before his aspirations for himself. "Perhaps we should talk to Quincy," Tomas suggested. Duncan shook his head. "In his own way, Quincy is equally obsessed. He longs for the days when it was simple to conceal our presence from the other human species. Yes, we were hunted, but only when we allowed ourselves to be seen. Isn't that why so many of us came to this country when it was first formed? Here, they sought only witches; we were able to quietly create new lives." Tomas closed his eyes and began to tap his fingers against the porcelain sink. 79

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As he waited for his friend to speak, Duncan tried to decide if he'd made a huge mistake. What if Tomas aligned with Stefan? What if Hawthorne learned of Duncan's doubts? "You are right." Tomas opened his eyes and stared into those of his former brother-at-arms. "Our imperative is to keep our people strong and safe. If there are losses in that quest, then it must be so." At Duncan's nod of agreement, Tomas left. Duncan waited a few moments more before returning to the table, where a new round of blood was being served and Stefan expounded on the importance of using the short-life world to avoid being seen as different. That, he said, was why he'd agreed to an interview with one of Europe's leading magazines, so that if the Ancients were ever forced to reveal themselves, their acceptance would be guaranteed. Quincy's mouth tightened as Stefan spoke. Finally, he leaned forward and said, "I would suggest we save this topic for a time when we are alone. I suspect there are some here who would not share your opinion." Which, Duncan knew, included Quincy himself. And, he suspected, also the scarred enforcer whose attention seemed to be drawn to their table far too often for Duncan's liking. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Seven **** Giorgio had reached the point of no return. If he didn't leave this place, if he didn't head home, if he didn't get sleep, he might as well resign and let someone else take over the mystery of Nekia's placement in the park. "I'm outa here," he told Acacia, draining his glass and slamming it down on the bar. "Watch where they go." "And if they split up?" "Take Hawthorne. He seems to be buying, which means he's the one throwing the party." With a farewell wave to Rosie, Giorgio headed out the door and into the ascending light. He crawled into his car and started for his place. All he could think about was finding his bed and crashing until nightfall. No one was around when he parked, stumbled down the concrete walk and found the elevator. He pushed the button for his floor and leaned against its paneled wall, pounded by fatigue. How long had it been since he'd had a full day's sleep? Forever, by the way he felt. It took Giorgio three tries to get his key in the lock and turned. The last thing he expected to see when he walked in was Leykin on the living room sofa, curled around one of the fat pillows that decorated it. "You're supposed to be at the high elder's," he said. 81

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"I preferred to come here and wait for you," she answered. Something in her tone made Giorgio instantly wary. Should he thank her or would that get him in more hot water? These days, it seemed as if everything he said was wrong. "I'm shot and headed for bed," he finally said. "Come with me." "You mean you're taking time from your important investigative work to sleep? I didn't know you allowed yourself that luxury." A sudden anger possessed him. A fight might be on her agenda but it sure as hell wasn't on his. "If anything happens, Acacia will let me know," he said, his words slurred as he fought the need for immediate rest. "She's watching some persons of interest, but I hope they don't do anything interesting enough to need my attention until at least mid-afternoon." He was relieved when Leykin didn't answer. He didn't want her to be mad. He wanted her in bed beside him, a reassurance that no matter how crappy his nights went, she'd be there when he got home at daybreak. He wanted to go to sleep with the scent of her strong around him, and her body cool against his own. "Come on, babe," he said, holding out his hand. "Let's go to sleep." "You go. I'll be there in a minute." Giorgio nodded and started down the hall, pulling off his clothes as he went. Two minutes later, he was naked under 82

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the covers and three minutes later, he was sleeping like the dead. Leykin could still smell Giorgio long after he left her. Anger, frustration and exhaustion made his scent stronger, the mix of testosterone and aftershave that was uniquely his. So Acacia was another enforcer. Odd, though, that she hadn't met the woman. Or even heard Giorgio speak of her. Since he'd been her mentor, she'd met everyone under his command. Or so she thought until now. She wiped away the tears that trickled down her cheeks. She never cried. She never jumped to conclusions. Today, that's all she'd done. The problem, she decided, was being stuck in this damn city. Visiting Louisville had been fine. Living here made her realize there were some things about life with Granmama she missed, and probably always would. Like fresh blood. She loved hunting in the morning, stalking a young deer or a rabbit. Granmama didn't believe in wasting anything, so after Leykin drained the blood for their use, her grandmother gave the meat to their short-life neighbors. She missed being able to run off her frustrations. Ancients were fast when they ran, more than twice as fast as recordholding short-lifers, and she hated having to jog along asphalt trails when she longed to race through the woods. Until recently, she'd told herself having Giorgio in her life was worth the trade-off. Now she wasn't so sure.

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Leykin sniffed and wiped her eyes. He was right about one thing. She needed sleep, too. But she wasn't sharing his bed. She'd stay here on the couch. She'd barely closed her eyes when she heard the first strangled sound. Her heart caught; the hair on the back of her neck stood up as the next moan morphed into a cry of anguish and then a hard thump. She ran toward the bedroom, to Giorgio. He was sprawled on the floor, face-down. Sweat beaded his naked body as it shook in hard tremors. "Giorgio!" she shouted, praying for a response. Nothing. Her chest squeezed tight as she rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a large bowl and stuck it under the ice dispenser. "Come on, come on, come on," she urged the slow dispenser, which eventually filled the bowl. Wrapping her arms around it, ignoring the cold against her skin, she hurried back to Giorgio and began to rub him down. "Hang on, baby," she muttered, rolling him over and piling ice on his throat and heart. She massaged handfuls against his face and down his chest before dashing off for more. His shakes had settled into small tremors by the time she got back, but he still didn't respond when she called his name. She began rubbing ice on his body again, this time beginning with his ankles and moving upwards. Her hands reached the top of his thighs before he spoke. "If you're going higher, forget the ice." Although his words were slow and slurred, Leykin understood every one of them. Ignoring the cold shards that 84

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covered him, she lay on top of him, her face only inches from his. "Hold me," she said. "You need to give me a minute to recover." She tapped his cheek. "For body heat. Come on. Wrap your arms around me." Leykin snagged the corner of the comforter and pulled it over them, burrowing against his shoulder so he couldn't see her face. Silver poisoning was one of the worst afflictions an Ancient could suffer, and he'd been sprayed with enough liquid silver to have killed an ordinary man. Giorgio was definitely not an ordinary man. The only external effect of his near-death experience was the scars on his face and neck; he'd managed to hide the residual internal effects from everyone but her. "Remember the last time you iced me down?" Giorgio said. His voice was closer to normal. "A girl never forgets how she met that special someone," Leykin said, keeping her tone light. His laugh rumbled beneath her. She'd been leaving after escorting the Prophetess to council headquarters; Giorgio had been in the elevator trying to find a place to hide until a flareup was over. Leykin had manhandled him to an ice machine, tamed his fever and then tried to forget she'd straddled a stranger who turned out to be the most important enforcer ever. That proved impossible once the Prophetess requested they be teamed together to find the killer of the ruling high elder, Rafael Lenza. The fallout of his death nearly tore apart 85

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the Ancient clans and let Leykin see Giorgio as the man behind the legend. "Um, you smell good." Giorgio nuzzled his nose against her skin. "Makes me want to thank you in a special way." "Not yet, big boy." Leykin wiggled out of his arms and squirmed from beneath the comforter. "You're running on empty, or this wouldn't have happened." "You don't know that," he said, reaching for her. She sidestepped his questing hand. "I know your flare-ups come when you're overworked or stressed," she said. "You told me that yourself." "I lied." "Yeah, right." Leykin went to his closet and found the satiny robe he liked. She tossed it on the bed, ordering him to stay flat until he was sure he wouldn't pass out if he stood up. Ignoring his protests that he was fine, she retraced her steps to the kitchen. He needed food, blood-rich food, if he wasn't going to go through this again tonight. She knew he'd been drinking at Rosie's, but the woman probably diluted the blood. Or served low-grade animal blood. These days, people would do anything to save a dime. Leykin's movements were mechanical as she prepared the food. Her mind was on the man in the other room. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to help him sit up, then stand. She wanted to step into the shower with him and wash the sweat and dirt of the day from his body so she wouldn't have to listen for a thud if he wasn't strong enough yet to do it himself. 86

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Trouble was Giorgio was a proud man. He'd rather walk headfirst into a brick wall than admit any weakness. His attempts at seduction a few moments ago were his way of denying that he had a condition that could kill him at any time. Leykin closed her eyes and squeezed the lids tightly shut. She would not cry again, even if the thought of Giorgio dying made her heart ache and her breath tighten. Time dragged until she heard movement from the bedroom. She longed to rush in, just to make sure he was all right. She held onto the counter with both hands and steeled herself. The next sound she heard was the faint rush of water, and she knew he'd made it to the shower safely. By the time he joined her, Leykin had a meal ready. She wasn't sure what his stomach would tolerate, but she wasn't going to let him get away with nothing more than a glass of blood. He needed fiber. He needed other nutrients. He needed whatever his body required to keep functioning, and she hoped she'd provided it. "Hi." Giorgio's robe rustled as he walked into the kitchen and sat at the wooden table. He wasn't exactly steady on his feet, but he was less wobbly than Leykin feared. "Feel better?" "Like I could run down a buffalo." "I don't think you can find one in Louisville." "Then I guess I'll sit here with you and eat." He examined the several dishes. "This is a pretty heavy bedtime snack." Leykin shrugged. "Since you missed both lunch and dinner, I figured you might be hungrier than usual." 87

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She began filling his plate, starting with a few pieces of lightly seared veal, and scooped a spoonful of salad greens beside the meat. She topped the greens with crumbled raw hamburger and vinegar dressing before handing the plate to Giorgio. To her relief, he had no trouble with the food. She made him a second plate, this one with chicken bites warmed just to take the chill off and a thick slice of grilled French bread. "That was great." Giorgio leaned back in his chair as he offered the praise. Leykin was relieved to see the color fading from his face, which was nearly back to the translucent white she was accustomed to. His hands, which had trembled slightly when he began to eat, were steady as he took a goblet of warmed blood from her. She wanted so badly to ask about his day. She wanted to know how the investigation was going, and why that female enforcer had called him to Rosie's. Those questions would have to wait. She suspected if Giorgio didn't get some solid rest, his system would be too weak if the silver poisoning flared again. The next time, she might not be able to save him. "Ready for bed?" she asked as she rinsed the dishes. "Do I have to go alone?" She turned and smiled. "No, but you do have to make the bed, since you're the one who tore it up." His laugh warmed and reassured her. Things were going to be okay between them once this case was over. Things had to be okay, because she couldn't imagine not seeing Giorgio 88

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every night, not curling up against his broad back to sleep each day. She couldn't imagine not loving this man. Giorgio awoke shortly before midday with his pulse racing and his breath coming fast. He'd had that damn dream again, built of part memory and part imagination. They were in that tobacco warehouse again, but this time it wasn't the girl Karina in the silver-ceilinged cage but her half-sister. Leykin coiled in terror at the far side of the cage as Giorgio drove a forklift to push the cage up to allow for an escape. But in his dream, the silver had been too strong for Leykin. The precious metal trapped her. Her body convulsed, her beautiful face began to pucker from silver burns and there was nothing, not one damn thing, Giorgio could do to help her. He eased away from Leykin and lay flat on his back, willing his body to calm. Placing a finger at his throat, he counted his pulse rate, gratified when it slowed to a normal twenty-five beats per minute His mind didn't slow as quickly as his body. His thoughts created newer, scarier scenarios in which Leykin was lost to him. Overwhelmed with imagined grief, he pulled her against him, tucking her into him so nothing could ever happen. Sleep eventually came and he woke to fingers of fading light poking at the edges of the heavy curtains. He was alone in the bed; his mind instantly conjured the fears of the day. Then he heard her humming from the bathroom and realized she was only a room's length from him. 89

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The ringing of his damned cell phone covered the sound of the shower starting. With a curse, he leaned over to the night table and grabbed the device. "This better be good," he growled without checking the caller ID. "That's how I like my enforcers, grumpy." Giorgio sat up and said, "My apologies, sir." "I hope I didn't waken you," Misha said on the other side of the call. "I was preparing to have breakfast." Which was technically true. The high elder didn't need to know he intended to join Leykin in the shower and maybe the bed again before breakfast. "I am concerned," Misha continued. "I felt something last night, a subtle uneasiness that makes me wonder if there are those who plot against the council." "There are always people plotting against the council." "Ah, but these are more powerful, or I would not sense rebellion. I do not wish to be held prisoner in my own home again, nor do I wish anyone I care about to suffer as you have on the council's behalf. Whatever is happening must be nipped before it has time to take root. I ask that you allow others to continue your present work and search on my behalf." The order was politely worded, but an order nonetheless. Giorgio's mind kicked into high gear as he agreed to meet the high elder in an hour to discuss the situation in person. Acacia could take over the hunt for the missing executionists. He'd 90

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assign an experienced enforcer to partner with her and keep things moving forward. He was grabbing clothes from his closet when Leykin walked in. Her long, damp hair hung down her back, touching the towel wrapped around her torso. The smile on her face faded when she saw Giorgio up and getting ready for the day. "I thought you were sleeping in," she said. "Duty called. In the form of the high elder." Leykin hated this part of their life, the interruptions that changed everything on a second's notice. When she'd been told Giorgio would continue her training, she had assumed it meant they'd be together during their working hours as well as their off time. Instead, they never saw each other. A few hours in bed and the occasional mental contact didn't do it. "Do I accompany you?" Giorgio shook his head and continued dressing. "Misha wants to see me. He has a new assignment for me." "Oh." She wanted to say more. She wanted to ask questions. But fear stopped her—fear that Giorgio would become impatient, that this time when he left, he wouldn't come back. Or, her deepest fear of all, that he wouldn't be able to come back. Last night's episode was exactly why she needed to be with him. His condition was a well-hidden secret, yet if he had a bad attack, no one would know what was happening. No one could help him. She only knew what to do because her grandmother was a healer who had shared her knowledge 91

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with Leykin. The average Ancient would let his fever rage and watch him die. She turned away and began to rummage through a dresser drawer for underwear. If she couldn't make things better, she was not going to open her mouth and make them worse. "Hey, babe." Giorgio's hand was gentle on her shoulder as he turned her to face him. She looked up into his dark, worried eyes. "I know this is tough on you," he said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "It's hard on me, too. I'd planned to spend the next hour or so with you in bed, not driving across town at the crack of dusk for yet another meeting." "I know." Leykin rested her cheek against his broad chest. "Just stay safe, okay?" "You know I will." His arms encircled her, pulled her close. "For the first time in centuries, I've got something to live for." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Eight **** The end was coming. The Prophetess felt her days winding down. Food no longer appealed to her as it once had; she ate only to fuel her failing body. Sleep eluded her, and she spent most of each day wandering the grounds of this French chateau or reading one of the many books Tatiana ordered via computer for her. Sometimes, she slipped into Vivienne's room and watched the girl sleep. She thought perhaps the child was to be her successor. A bond had developed between them, stronger than the Prophetess could have imagined. She loved the girl, protected her and watched for signs that she was to be her replacement. If so, Vivienne would age more quickly than other Ancients, as had every prophetess since the beginning of time. Her life would center on protecting and interpreting the Book of Prophecy and serving as the ultimate authority above the council of elders. It was a heavy burden, yet destiny could not be denied. The Prophetess sighed. Even ten years ago, the quick trip to Kentucky would not have tired her. Flying in to hear Nekia's appeal and returning to France immediately after she confirmed the council's decision had been hard. But the Prophetess had not wanted to linger, despite the hospitality Misha offered. Her place was here, with the girl and another 93

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young woman who needed her guidance far more than the grown men of the council. Tatiana had proved to be an excellent companion and the perfect tutor for Vivienne. Raised in an elder's household, she was as conversant with Ancient history as etiquette and manners. Vivienne had proved to have only a passing acquaintance with both. Best of all, Tatiana relished the companionship of another young person. The Prophetess imagined that, having grown up with the knowledge that her mother had been beheaded for consorting with a short-lifer and being an only child as well, things had not been easy for Tatiana. Her father's expectations for her were high, but so it was with most fathers. His zeal in making sure she couldn't make her mother's mistake, however, had perhaps curtailed the girl's freedom too much. The delight Tatiana took in going to the nearby village without a chaperone and being allowed long walks on her own told the Prophetess much about her father's over protectiveness. Today, however, it was worry that sent the Prophetess to the kitchen in search of a comforting cup of honey-laced blood. Something was wrong within her people. She felt the discord, and she feared the peace of the past several centuries was about to fade away. "I hope I die before the strife begins again," she whispered into the still air as memories of the Dark Time stirred. So many deaths, so much rancor between families and even brothers... she feared the Ancients could not survive if it happened again. 94

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"Are you all right?" The Prophetess turned to see Tatiana in the doorway. "A little trouble sleeping, that's all." "Me, too." Tatiana walked over and took the cup from the Prophetess' hand. "Here, let me do that." Although she was perfectly capable of warming blood in the microwave, the Prophetess let Tatiana take over. The girl's empathetic powers were high, and she suspected Tatiana also felt a ripple in the communal consciousness. The red glow of the dying sun played against the windows as the two women sipped and spoke quietly of the minutiae of their daily life, from the lack of rain that turned the grass crisp to Vivienne's progress in Ancient history. As the conversation slowed, Tatiana tipped her head and said, "You aren't happy here, are you?" Ah, the girl was too perceptive. The Prophetess juggled the consequences of telling the truth against her innate distaste of lying. "I've become attached to my home in New York," she admitted. "This is a lovely house, and Vivienne is comfortable here. Still, I long for my own bed and the night view from my balcony." She patted Tatiana's hand. "You are homesick, too, are you not?" "I love it here, but I miss my family," Tatiana said. "I know. I couldn't wait to get away from my father and out of Misha's house, but yeah, I am."

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Silence fell. The Prophetess considered the pros and cons of staying versus leaving as she sipped from the china cup. By the time it was empty, she had decided. Trouble was coming. When it arrived, she wanted to be near the high elder, to advise him as their people were buffeted by conflict. They'd close the chateau and return to the Kentucky horse farm where she'd sought refuge in the past. She would gather her family there: her sister Arabella and Leykin, the young woman Arabella had raised as a beloved grandchild, and Karina, the teen-aged Ancient living with her now learning the history and ways of their people. The Prophetess didn't fear death. She simply preferred to slip from life surrounded by the people she loved, who would burn her body as if she were the common nobody she often wished she'd remained. "Please check to make sure the drapes in Vivienne's room are tight," she said to Tatiana. "She stayed up far later than normal, well past dawn, and I want to make sure she sleeps all right." "Of course." Tatiana carried the two cups to the sink, rinsed them and then headed toward the staircase that led to the upper sleeping rooms. The Prophetess slowly rose from her chair, hating the way her body moved these days, and sought the privacy of the small sitting room she'd claimed as her own. She closed the door. No one would bother her here. Settling on a satin slipper chair, she shut her eyes and concentrated on finding Misha. Communication was not her goal. She wished to feel his emotions, to verify whether her 96

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own feelings were the foolishness of an old woman or an impetus for action. Head dropping against her chest, she opened the channel, pushing away the thoughts of others until she felt the high elder. Careful not to dip too far, she analyzed what he felt. Worry, not unexpected in a high elder. Fatigue, again not unusual when one wore the mantle of power. But she also caught a trace of fear and a thread of resignation. Those were not emotions she expected from a man like Misha. Slowly withdrawing from his mind so he wouldn't realize she'd been there, the Prophetess absorbed all he felt. Some of his feelings were a reaction to the dismal mess made of Nekia's execution. That she understood. "No use crying over spilt blood," she muttered to herself as she left the study. No one could change the mistakes of the past. All they could do now was move forward. And her first step in doing that was to make arrangements to quietly leave this place. Tatiana stared at the text message on her phone, wondering whether it was real or fake. The last person she expected to hear from ever again was Colin Fluet. Yeah, he was cute, and his dad had money, and he was an enforcer trainee—or had been, until he ruined his life—but really. The guy had linked up with Nekia to plan a kidnapping, after all. She shivered. To plan her kidnapping. Instead, those plans had gone wrong and they'd grabbed poor Karina instead. If Karina had been allergic to silver like she should be, she'd have died in that warehouse. 97

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She was still weirded out by Karina having Ancient parents and yet being like short-lifers. Karina got grossed out watching people drink blood even though she ate her meat in the most disgusting fashion Tatiana had ever seen, cooked so much it was brown all through. She sighed and read the text message again. Miss you. Guess I screwed up, but hope you'll forgive me. Yeah, he'd screwed up all right. Tatiana knew Colin was on the council's most wanted list, which meant Giorgio was on his tail. And when he got hold of him, Colin would find out exactly how much he'd screwed up. She cleared the screen as a knock sounded at her door. She didn't need anybody knowing she'd heard from Colin. "Good morning," Vivienne chirped in her childish voice. "And the same to you." Tatiana patted the bed beside her. The girl climbed up and wrapped her arms around Tatiana's neck in a hello hug. "Your English is getting really good." Vivienne smiled. "I want to sound like you." Tatiana laughed. "Don't tell my father that. He thinks I have a Kentucky accent." For the next few moments, they practiced saying words that still gave Vivienne trouble until she sighed and said, "I'm hungry." "Let's see how Cook's doing with breakfast," Tatiana suggested, sliding off the bed. From her bedroom down the hall, the Prophetess heard their voices as they went down the wide steps to the first floor and wished she could isolate their world for a little 98

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longer. She'd begun working with Vivienne, teaching her the Old Ancient language in which the Book of Prophecy was written and helping the girl hone her empathetic skills. As her last days drew near, Vivienne would begin to acquire knowledge with no effort, exactly as the Prophetess had done. Even after all these centuries, she still remembered her own ascension to the position. She'd held the hand of the old Prophetess as she faded away, knowledge pouring into her mind, overwhelming her as her predecessor took her last breath. Light footsteps scurrying her way brought the Prophetess back to the moment. Vivienne rushed in. "Cook wants to know if you're joining us in the dining room or if you'd like a tray," she said in lilting French. "I'll be down in a moment," the Prophetess answered. She envied the girl's energy as Vivienne ran to give Cook her answer. Had she ever been like that, so full of vitality and excited about life? Surely, she had been once, but that had been so long ago. She rose to join the others, her mind fixing again on the tremor she felt among her people and her own fear that the end of their comfortable life was near. Leykin kissed Giorgio goodbye as he dropped her off at the council building, putting all her love into it. She watched as he pulled away, still worried over last night's flare-up. His color was good, pale as fine linen, and he'd eaten well. Yet she couldn't shake a nagging fear that he was pushing himself too hard. "Good evening. We meet again." 99

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She turned at a man's voice behind her. Quincy Hawthorne, of course. She swore the man was stalking her; all these meetings couldn't be coincidental. Tonight he wasn't alone. A well-dressed man stood slightly behind him, his face stern. Leykin wondered if Hawthorne had hired a bodyguard or if it was a business associate. "Our paths do seem destined to cross," she said, keeping her voice cordial. "As always, it was a pleasure." Quincy bowed slightly and motioned for her to enter the building. She wondered if it was because he was being polite or if it was because she was wearing tight-fitting jeans and a tee today instead of her usual enforcer's suit and he wanted to watch her butt. The boxes still sat where she'd left them. She dug in, the time sliding by as she made notes and sorted papers into piles. Finally, she reached the end and flipped open her laptop to begin the written report Misha had requested. She jumped and gave a little cry when her cell phone rang. She'd been so engrossed in writing down her exact impressions that she'd forgotten where she was. She grabbed the phone, ready to say hello to Giorgio until she caught the ID displayed on the small screen. It was a very familiar Minnesota number. But her grandmother never called. Never. "Hello?" she asked, her voice tentative. "Leykin, darling, how are you?" "Great." She was relieved that Grandmother's voice was as strong and rich as ever. 100

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"I hope I haven't interrupted something," Granmama continued. "I can call back later if you'd like. If you're busy, I mean." "I have nothing more important at this moment than talking to you." Leykin not only wanted but needed to know why her grandmother had called. Why she sounded a wee bit flustered. "I wanted to let you know we're coming to visit," Granmama said. "Karina and I." "Time for another of her doctor visits?" "Among other things." Granmama sighed. "My sister is coming as well and wants us to join her. You know how bossy she is. The world will end if I don't do as she says." Leykin might have been more sympathetic if her foster grandmother's sister had been a nobody. But she was the Prophetess. Only Granmama would dare question a decision by the powerful Ancient. "When will you get here?" Leykin asked. "Shall I book you a hotel?" "Oh, no, dear, Misha has generously invited us to stay at his farm. We'll be there whenever my sister says, I suppose. Soon." Leykin changed the conversation to Karina, the weather and her grandmother's fall garden. She had learned as a child what topics were safe and which ones would set her grandmother fussing until daybreak. "Let me know when you're coming and I'll meet you," Leykin said as they prepared to say goodbye. 101

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"You'll know as soon as I do," her grandmother promised. "Oh, and do bring that nice boyfriend of yours along to the airport. He's the sweetest thing." Leykin grinned. Only Granmama would call Giorgio sweet. She'd heard a whole lot of other descriptive phrases applied to him, very few flattering. Talking to Granmama helped her mood. Knowing they'd be spending time together, even if the older woman was leaving Minnesota under protest, was comforting. And unless she was given a more demanding task than her present one, she'd have plenty of time to catch up with her grandmother and half-sister. Actually, she'd have time to get to know her half-sister. Learning they'd both been sired by Phillipe Lesage had been a huge shock. So had learning that the Prophetess was her great-aunt. That's the kind of stuff someone should grow up with, she'd decided, not have sprung on them at the age of a hundred-plus. Sighing, she stretched and turned back to her report. Whether it would prove valuable or not was up in the air. Her hope was that it might provide some piece of information that would make the puzzle of Nekia's transported body easier to solve. That it would make Giorgio's work easier. Worry nagged her, a concern that her jealousy had somehow triggered last night's attack. She'd read up on silver poisoning since meeting Giorgio. She knew once it was in an Ancient's system, it never left. She had also learned that stress could bring on or deepen an attack. 102

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He deserved her unwavering support. She had to let go of her stupid fear that once again a man she cared for would find someone else and walk away. Every man wasn't like Sinclair. Besides, she wasn't the naive girl she'd been. Sinclair had come from Granmama's clan in Europe to help with Leykin's changing ceremony, stayed around long enough to start her on the enforcer's path and get her into his bed and then taken off while she was sleeping. The rasp of a key in the lock brought her back to the present and onto her feet. Leykin turned toward the door and poised on the balls of her feet, ready to throw herself at the intruder. She barely managed to stop herself when the door swung open and the high elder himself stepped in. She steadied herself, dropped her head in respect and said, "Good night, sir." "I believe I should be grateful you weren't holding a vial of silver," Misha answered with a chuckle. Leykin met his eyes, relieved to see amusement in them and very grateful she hadn't taken him down. "I am honored at your presence," she said. "So formal," he chided, shutting the door behind him. "Relax, Leykin. I am tired of staring at my study walls, so I thought I'd come to you rather than asking you to meet with me. Have I set you on a fool's task, or have you found something?" She shrugged. "The only thing that jumps out is that Colin Fluet is still missing." "Ah, yes. Colin." 103

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Misha fell silent and his face tightened. Leykin felt certain he was remembering the young enforcer-in-training who had toyed with his goddaughter's affections. "He can't hide forever," she said. "Sooner or later he's going to be found, and I hope I'm around when it happens." Misha raised an eyebrow. "You sound fierce," he said. "I can't believe I was fooled by him," she said. "I was responsible for getting Karina and Tatiana to a safe house without incident and I failed." Misha took her hand in his large, cool one. "Do not feel guilty," he said. "For most of us, such a thing as Nekia planned is impossible to imagine. Our alliances between clans, the creation of the council to give each clan an equal voice—they have guaranteed for centuries that we live as one people, with one goal." "To help our species survive and thrive without interference from the others." Misha nodded. "It is not so much that we live in secret as that we live separately. If the other humans who make up the majority of the world's population ever learn that vampires are real and that Ancients hold so much power, I fear what might happen." "You do not believe their society is more accepting in these times?" Misha uttered a harsh laugh. "Those who are different have always been pursued and, unless human nature is dramatically changed, always will be. We fear that which we 104

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do not understand. We dread any change that might interrupt life as we know. It is the same for them as for us." Letting go of Leykin's hand, Misha tapped the files that lay in front of him. "I'd like your impression of our missing young Ancient," he said. He waited as Leykin tipped her head and closed her eyes. He was accustomed to his people taking care before giving him an answer. Finally, she spoke. "Colin is like a chameleon," she said, "changing to suit his circumstances. He seemed so open and sincere, yet he lied to me. His eyes met mine and he was still dishonest." Misha nodded. "You are not alone. I met him several times in passing and suspected nothing. He even fooled Giorgio, which is most difficult." Leykin found his reassurance to be cold comfort. She'd been the one charged with getting Karina and Tatiana safely to the farm. She'd been the one who allowed Karina to step outside alone, where the kidnapper waited. One thing was true, however. The past couldn't be changed. The future lay ahead, with opportunities to redeem herself. "I have a second reason for wishing to speak to you," Misha said. Leykin's heart dropped. It was never good news when the high elder held a one-on-one with a nobody like her. "Yes?" she replied, fighting to keep her voice even. She refused to let her emotions show. 105

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"A decision has been made to gather the clans," he said. "I know your roots lie within the European families, and I assure you no one will hold it against you if you choose to leave Kentucky and join your own people." Leykin's eyes widened. 'Gathering the clans' was a polite way of saying the Ancients were circling the wagons, only against each other instead of Indian attacks. Things were far worse than she'd imagined. "Those I love are coming here," she said. "I wish to stay with them." She hesitated only a few seconds before blurting out, "May I ask what brought this about?" Misha's face tightened. "This." He tossed a tabloid newspaper on the table between them. The cover bore a photo of Nekia at her most beautiful and a grainy picture of crime scene investigators at the spot where her body had been found. What shocked Leykin, however, was the headline that screamed, "Fashion model's secret—vampire?" She slumped back in her chair, sickened and appalled. "How did they know?" she whispered. "Who defiled our code of silence?" Misha shrugged. "I'm not going to ask you to read the article inside. It's full of the dreadful lies short-livers make up. It quotes the usual 'sources close to the victim,' which is all fiction. But I can't take the chance that one of our people has turned on us." Leykin's stomach churned; a clamminess stole across her. A remembered moment from a few months ago flashed into 106

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her head, the memory of picking herbs with Granmama and complaining about living the dullest life of any Ancient on the planet. Oh, what she'd give to have no greater worry than whether there was enough feverfew on the medicine room shelf. Without thinking, she clasped her hands together and brought them to her mouth, thumbs extended to slide along the tips of her fangs over and over. Like a short-lifer sucking his thumb, the habit begun in childhood still came back when she was under stress. "Because of the situation," Misha continued, "we are attempting to make the best use possible of every enforcer. I've been asked to provide an escort for an important European who wishes to return to his family, and I have agreed." "Me?" Leykin guessed. Misha nodded. "If you are agreeable, you will escort this Ancient to London where an enforcer from his clan will meet him. Then you will continue on to escort the Prophetess and my goddaughter back to Kentucky." Leykin's fear eased and excitement began to bubble. The high elder trusted her to bring back not only her people's sage but also someone important to him. This was huge. She took a deep breath and said, "As you wish, sir. If you are certain." Misha smiled. "I am certain. I wish you a pleasant flight and a happy reunion. You will leave tomorrow night. Your companion prefers to travel in full dark." "And that companion will be?" 107

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"A gentleman named Tomas Petrov. He may be accompanied by another gentleman; you'll know as soon as arrangements are confirmed." Leykin bowed her head as Misha stood and prepared to leave. Damn. This was more than huge. It could make her reputation as an enforcer...or shatter it before it began. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Nine **** Colin paced the book-lined room, feeling less like a caged tiger than a mouse in a snap trap. He was supposed to be living the high life on South Beach, with enough cash in the bank to permanently give his old man the bird. Instead he was stuck in frigging Louisiana, in the kind of plantation house tourists gawked at and that made him sick. Who the hell cared about parquet floors and eighteenth century tile? Short-lifers, yeah, because that stuff was old to them. He supposed when a house was going to outlive you rather than the other way around, shit like that might matter. He wanted to lie on warm sand and watch hot bodies in tiny bikinis parade by. He wanted to live ten or twenty floors up, where he could throw open the curtains and have a panoramic view of the city at night. He wanted steel and glass and cutting-edge design. Instead, he had been banished to this armpit of the south while his father and Danforth Harrington decided what to do with him. "You stupid bitch." He stopped and stared at the soundless television tucked discreetly into an armoire. "You're dead and I might as well be since I'm living in hell." Nekia's face disappeared from the screen. Colin grabbed the remote and turned the volume up as the familiar face of an entertainment reporter took its place. 109

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"Among the more bizarre accusations is this," said the reporter, grabbing a tabloid and holding it up. Colin's blood chilled as he read the headline, his anger rising as he read the words "vampire." No wonder Harrington had put him in here and stuck some slob outside the door. His old man probably believed Colin had told those jackasses about Nekia, just because he used to belong to the Ancients Underground. That group was dead, had dried up when its founder disappeared, but Colin wasn't the only one to believe in its principles. Why should he have to hide like a friggin' rat when his inferiors walked around like they ruled the world? An organized global attack on government officials, church leaders and the top business CEOs would thin the ranks of top-level humans and let those who were left know who was really in charge. "Colin, come here." The voice popped into his head, one more annoying summons by the great senator from Louisiana. Colin had never cared much for Harrington, but he was beginning to detest the man. His father and the guy had been big buds for a couple of hundred years. He'd endured interminable decades of late Sunday dinners and moonlight barbecues as they debated Ancient rules and human politics. Sighing, he rose and tapped on the library door. His guard opened it and, without a word, fell in behind as Colin walked to the paneled room where Danforth held court. Colin took the nearest chair, leaning back in it as if he was a bored student in study hall. 110

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"Are you enjoying your stay?" the senator asked. "Very much." Danforth laughed. "That's not what I hear in your head. While you're enjoying your sabbatical, you might want to practice control." Colin slammed the lid on the thoughts erupting inside his mind and tried to make it a blank slate. He stared at the painting behind Danforth's desk, wondering again how anyone could believe Picasso had talent. "I have a task that will take you away for a few days," the older man said. Colin nearly leaped from the chair in delight and kissed the senator. He'd walk over hot coals to the state line if it meant a few minutes of freedom. All he said was, "I might be interested." The senator placed his elbows on the desktop, laced his fingers and said, "That wasn't an offer for you to accept or decline. The only alternative is that your residency here will end and the council will be notified of your location." Sour bile rose in Colin's throat. The bastard meant it. He'd turn him over to Montrosa and the enforcers if he didn't act like a little puppy and do whatever Harrington wanted. "I am at your service," he said, managing a civil tone. Danforth chuckled. "Of course you are, my boy. Of course you are." The sick feeling inside Colin welled over the next few minutes as he heard his instructions. No way could the senator order him to do this. No way would he accept. 111

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When Danforth was done speaking, he tipped his head, as if inviting questions. Colin had only one. "You expect me to go to Minnesota, steal the short-lifer Nekia had in the cage and bring her back to some friggin' place in hillbilly country?" Danforth chuckled. "You do have an interesting way of phrasing things. I'm suggesting you accompany an old friend of mine to Minnesota, pick up Tsarentza's pet human and take her to a more hospitable climate. Certainly that's not too much to ask, is it?" The smile he offered with his last words disclosed descended fangs; the narrowed eyes that studied Colin glittered in the room's subdued lighting. Danforth might be able to keep anger from his voice, but Colin knew rage was building inside the man. He'd heard rumors of how the senator expressed that anger, and had no interest in learning whether they were true. Colin uncrossed his arms and let his hands drop to his side in a gesture of submission. Eyes fixed on the desktop and not the irritated man across from him, he said, "I will be pleased to travel with your friend. May I ask what time we leave?" Danforth stood, shoving his chair back against the wainscoted wall with a thud. "You leave when I say," he growled, the scent of anger wafting toward Colin. "And do be sure to pack a jacket. They say the nights are unusually chilly for the time of year." Danforth willed himself calm as he watched Colin leave. He never would have agreed to give the little snot sanctuary if he hadn't been friends with his father so long. Old friends often 112

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share secrets, and it was his misfortune that Sebastian Fluet knew some of his most damning ones. Granted, three centuries ago no one cared if foolish village girls disappeared with a stranger they'd met in the local drinking hole. Today, pictures of the missing short-lifers would be plastered everywhere. Sebastian knew Danforth still enjoyed the forbidden practice of consorting with short-lifers and, on occasion, went too far and took too much blood. He'd been too discreet to mention that in his request to take Colin in, but it was blackmail nonetheless. Danforth knew if Sebastian's precious little boy disappeared now, council enforcers would be storming this house before dawn. Sighing, he reached for the telephone. The game he played was too important to risk an empathetic link. "Duncan," he said when he heard the accented hello. "It is arranged." Karina had never seen her mentor flustered before. Granmama, as she insisted Karina call her, poured the crushed mint into the catnip tin before she could stop her, and accidentally added salt to their afternoon tea instead of sugar. "Please, let me." Karina took the teapot from Granmama's trembling hands and poured the contents down the sink. As a fresh kettle of water came to a boil, she debated the wisdom of trying to dip into the older woman's mind and find out what was wrong. "Didn't your mother tell you it's rude to eavesdrop on someone else's thoughts?" 113

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Granmama's question brought a guilty flush to Karina's cheeks. "About a million times." "Then you should know to simply ask your questions. If I can answer them, I will." Karina filled the teapot with leaves and hot water before sitting down at the table across from Granmama. She didn't know what to ask because she wasn't sure what she was supposed to know. Only a few weeks ago, she'd learned the big secret that had been kept from her all her life. She'd discovered that instead of being human like her parents, she was an Ancient. One who couldn't stand the sight or smell of blood and would puke if anyone tried to make her drink it. And probably the only one ever that wasn't lactose-intolerant, and didn't even have fangs. "What's going on?" Karina asked, keeping her eyes on the stream of steaming tea as she poured and not on Granmama's face. "Our world is changing." Sadness mixed with regret shaded her voice. "You know little of our people and our ways, yet you sense the disruption as well." Karina longed to deny it. She desperately wanted to close her eyes and open them again on the familiar soil of Buena Terra Island, where she'd lived her whole life. She wanted to be having tea with Mama and Daddums, with nothing more pressing in her life than making the seashell jewelry she sold. But she knew the blood in her veins was different than everyone she'd known before. She knew her birth mother had 114

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never attempted to find her and her father had been some evil guy Misha killed to save her and her parents. She also knew she had a sister, Leykin. Half-sister, rather, since they'd been sired by the same man but had different moms. Knowing that made her feel a little less alone in this new world. "I feel the vibe, but I don't know what it means." Karina fixed her eyes on Granmama's face. "Except I'm not going to be stupid enough to go with a stranger again, even if he is an enforcer." "I'm not leaving you," Granmama promised. "Whatever happens, we'll be together. Wherever we go, I'll be beside you." "Wherever we go?" Karina echoed. "I don't want to leave. I like it here." Granmama wrapped her hands around her cup and sighed. "The high elder has ordered a gathering of the clans," she said. "The best way I can explain it is the theory of strength in numbers. If we are all together, our powers are increased. We become less vulnerable if we stand together as a clan." "Powers? What powers?" "The ones you possess." Karina knew Granmama was teasing. She couldn't fly, climb buildings or lift cars above her head. She was a big wuss who couldn't save herself, or she never would have been trapped in a cage until somebody rescued her. "You'll understand someday." The words came as clearly as if Granmama had spoken them, but she was using her mouth to drink. Karina still got 115

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freaked out by people saying stuff directly to her into her head, even worse than when she'd found out sometimes people could hear what she was thinking, too. "Why can't they all come here?" she asked, her eyes fixed on the woman across from her. "Child, there are a million reasons, beginning with our house being way too small for all the people who will be staying together. I've never been quite like everyone else. I prefer to live here, with all the privacy I want. Most Ancients live in families or even communities, both for company and security. At least we're only going to Louisville, not New York or Rome." The sadness in Granmama's voice kept Karina from asking any more questions. She was pretty sure Granmama didn't want to leave. She bet she wanted to stay here and tend her herbs in the moonlight, and run through the woods right before dawn with the animals. Karina gathered up their empty cups, rinsed them and left them in the sink. The hollowness inside her that had almost disappeared since she'd come to Minnesota returned, reminding Karina she didn't belong either place: not on the island that she'd always think of as home and not among the Ancients. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared out the kitchen window at the moonlight filtering through budding tree limbs. At least she had one consolation. Granmama was miserable, too. "Karina?" 116

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At that one gentle word, she turned and forced a smile. The last thing Daddums had told her was to be brave and remember she was loved, and then he'd whispered exactly what she'd needed to hear. "You'll always be our little princess." She'd clung to those few words so many times since she'd moved into Granmama's house. She'd heard Daddums' deep voice when tears of homesickness threatened, and she'd kept Mama's image in her mind as she went to sleep in the second-floor bedroom where tree branches scraped the window glass. Knowing she was still their daughter helped her face the unknown and all the terrifying possibilities that being of vampire blood brought. "When do we leave?" she asked. "At first dark tomorrow," Granmama said. "I'd suggest you pack for a week or two, and remember it will be warm in Kentucky. You may want to take your bathing suit along." Karina examined her arms and nodded. "My tan's fading fast. I could use some sun." Granmama chuckled. "I never thought I'd live to hear an Ancient say that. You take your bikini and I'll take sunscreen and a big hat. I'm quite content to stay naturally pale, thank you." Karina's spirit lightened at the older woman's grin. She had to quit worrying about everything, especially if she ended up living for a thousand years like most Ancients did, or she'd spend most of them locked up in a psych ward. Or picking up pine cones and making them into little dolls, like that weird short-lifer down the road. 117

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Chapter Ten **** Surrounded by people, Misha felt more alone than ever before. Enforcers guarded each door and walked the perimeter of his property. Two clan elders, both lawyers, were in his parlor right now, preparing a defamation of character suit in case any Ancient was connected with Nekia in a negative way. Which, Misha was certain, would happen. The woman had never been discreet in her affairs. Now that the supermarket rags had latched onto her being a vampire, how long would it be before others faced the same accusation? If only Stenos were here. But his oldest friend served his people hundreds of miles away. Within the next twenty-four hours, all the clans should be secure in their own home territories and those Misha cared most about would be here with him. With unity came safety. An Ancient alone might be attacked and killed; no one would be foolish enough to take on a thousand or more. Or so Misha hoped. He had never imagined a handful of young fools would seek to steal the Prophetess, but 10 years ago, there had been such an attempt. The ringleader of that plot was dead, yet there always seemed someone coming along to challenge the status quo. "I think it's a go." 119

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Belle DuPont, his personal enforcer and lover, walked into his study without knocking. She took one of the chairs adjacent to his mahogany desk and plopped her feet on the desktop, crossing one booted foot over the other at the ankle. "Think or know?" Misha asked. "Okay, as far as I can tell, we're good," she said. "I know you hate the idea of using borrowed enforcers, but we're running kinda thin, what with all the big wig Ancients heading for home. I've been checking 'em out and they're okay." At Misha's raised eyebrow, she modified her last statement to, "I don't expect anyone to end up dead if we use them." "Good, because I'd hate to chop off your pretty little head." Belle laughed. "Remember that rule you guys have about not killing short-lifers? That would be me, so if I get whacked, you do, too." Misha shook his head and hid a smile. After five hundred years, he'd never expected to love a woman enough to ask her to share his life. And he certainly hadn't anticipated it being Belle, whose genetic mutations gave her abilities he'd never seen in any other human. Not only would she live to be three hundred or so, she was extraordinarily strong for a short-lifer, healed much faster and lived a reckless lifestyle. Thanks to the Prophetess, he'd been able to include her in his household as his enforcer, with benefits that included sharing his bed. Only a trusted few knew the nature of their relationship; most believed that Belle's addition to his household was a reward for saving the Prophetess from death at the hands of a splinter group. 120

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"So in a day or two, my family will be here, underneath my roof," he reaffirmed. Belle nodded. "As will the Prophetess." "Everyone. Giorgio will be at the airport here to meet her. The Minnesotans will be driven straight through." "Who will drive them?" Misha asked. "Your boy Steffie—that guy who was on TV the other night." "Stefan Margios." "That's the one. He gave Giorgio a shout and volunteered, so he got the job. I figure he's trying to earn brownie points with you, big guy." A sharp blast of an '80s rock anthem cut off the conversation. Belle jumped to her feet as she yanked her phone from a pocket and said a sharp "Hello." Shrugging her shoulders, she blew Misha a kiss and disappeared into the hallway. He leaned back in his leather chair and closed his eyes. The plan had been carefully drawn up, and all the details studied at length. Yet he'd learned from experience that even the best plans can go terribly wrong. This time, however, they couldn't. Too much was at stake. Any Ancient away from his own clan was vulnerable, and that went double for those attached to an elder. Especially the high elder. "I hate this, babe, but I gotta go." Belle's speech was rapid as she walked back in, strode over to the desk and sat on his lap. "There's a big, bad dude about to rip things wide open in Los Angeles, and they need me there tonight." 121

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She wound her arms around Misha's neck and kissed him. Before he could kiss her again, she was back on her feet and several feet from him. "Be careful," she said, her tone serious. "When you get them all here, lock this place up like a fortress, okay? If things get really hairy, call the agency. My people do good work." Misha knew the cockiness of her stride as she left the room was false bravado. Underneath the tough exterior most people saw was a woman who loved deeply and completely, and who'd give her life for those she cared about. That was one of the reasons Misha had asked the director of Guardian Protective Services, the entity that employed Belle as a free agent, to give her a must-do assignment. His underwriting had enabled the agency to continue its mission of rectifying mistakes in justice and nurturing those with unusual abilities for decades. He rarely asked a favor, but when he did, it was always granted. If Karina was the child of prophecy, if her birth fulfilled the passage from the Book of the Ancients that said their world would fall into chaos when a child was born of their blood, but without the blood thirst, another Dark Time was nearly upon them. Forced into hiding, the clans would lose their property, their wealth and their position. Destitute and despondent, the veneer of civilization would drop away and the people would war among themselves again. This time, with the curse of modern weapons such as liquid silver, it might truly be the end of the Ancients. 122

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"Here is their weak link." Quincy Hawthorne tapped the name underlined on the white board. "She's young and eager to make a name for herself. We'll use that to our advantage." "Reneau is also training under Montrosa." Stefan narrowed his eyes as he studied the board. "If she's as ambitious as you think, she plans to ride his coattails all the way to a council enforcer's position." "Ah, but all is not well in wonderland." Quincy smiled. "Montrosa dashes here and there while the woman spends time working on council paperwork. I believe that if we offer her the chance to prove herself as worthy as him, she'll take it." "Never. She enjoys the high elder's protection. No one in his right mind would give that up." Quincy's smile widened. "Ah, but she's not in her right mind. She's in love." Stefan chuckled. "I remember the first time I fancied myself in love. I would have done anything within my power for that woman." "Which is what I'm counting on." He raised his tumbler of brandy-laced blood toward the board in a salute. The Gray Ghosts had succeeded before by anticipating their enemy's actions, and they would do so again. Tsarentza could be a formidable foe, but the murder of the former high elder had thrown him into the ruling position at a turbulent time, and without the weeks normally spent with the Prophetess preparing to lead. The order for Ancient families to retreat to their own lands and cancel celebrations and ceremonies had worked in the 123

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Gray Ghosts' favor. Quincy planned to use that mobility to his advantage. That and the enforcer's feelings for Montrosa. "We risk everything if you are wrong." Stefan's quiet, worried voice irritated Quincy. "Would I chance losing everything I have, including my head and heart, on a whim?" he demanded. "When have I lied to you, Stefan? Never. Trust me and all will be well." "The world is different now. Before, short-lifers were isolated, and communication uncertain." "But deep down, they are every bit the same," Quincy hissed. "Certainly you remember that rank basement where you were trapped by the blue bellies. How many of them did I kill to save your life, Stefan? Eight? Ten?" Quincy slammed his palms on the desktop and struggled for control. Perhaps he should have left Stefan to die beneath that Virginia farmhouse, trapped among the sacks of turnips. He closed his eyes as the memory flowed back. Stefan had been hungry and foolish. He'd helped himself to the blood of a dying soldier, and was caught by a band of Union soldiers searching the battlefield for their wounded. Quincy heard the far-off cry and raced at full power to help his friend. But Stefan had already been captured, his eyes black and blood dripping from his fangs and lips. More than loyalty to his friend had sent Quincy after the soldiers when they shoved Stefan into that dirt-floored basement and then went down behind him. The vampiric code, the cardinal rule that had protected the Ancients through the centuries, was that no other-specied human could know vampires were more than a myth. 124

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Quincy had summoned up fury that day and killed them one by one, slitting their throats and tossing them aside. The scent of fresh blood had nearly driven him mad. The warmth as it poured from their necks, the texture as it slid across his hands...the longing had been so deep, the need so desperate. Yet his concern then had been for his friend and for the protection of his race. As it still was today. He opened his eyes. "I remember, and I do thank you," Stefan said. He ran a sharp fingernail across his wrist and offered the cut to Quincy. "I am still your blood brother." "And I am yours." Quincy opened his own wrist and placed it, blood side down, upon Stefan's so that their blood could mingle. Blood brothers. As sacred a vow as one Ancient male could make to another. Together, he and Stefan would succeed or they would face the executionists as one. The white board had been wiped clean, as had the two men's wrists, by the time the rest of the Gray Ghosts joined them. "So, man, how goes the plan?" Duncan's voice boomed as he walked into the room, dressed in a kilt rather than the business suit of yesterday. He seemed larger and fiercer dressed in his clan plaid. Even his voice was different, carrying the accent of his native Scotland. Tomas was also dressed casually, in a polo shirt and khakis. In deference to their attire, Quincy took off his own 125

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suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He wasn't surprised when Stefan followed suit. Although the man preened like a peacock, he was a follower, not a leader. That was one of the reasons Quincy had chosen him. The other was that his personality drew attention. Like a sleight-of-hand artist, Quincy relied on the distraction of Stefan to allow him to work right out in the open, hidden in plain sight. "It's been modified slightly, but we're following the same essential plan we decided on yesterday," he said. "The whole thing has to go like clockwork or we risk complete failure." "We won't fail." Duncan's voice held an assurance Quincy envied. "Who will stop us? The council? Not hardly. Their best enforcers are seeking those who moved Nekia's body, and the others are stationed at the homes of the elders for protection. "The clans? This unexpected order to gather has everyone scurrying to home base. No one has the time or inclination to keep track of a handful of Ancients under the high elder's protection. And he has already agreed to accept our services in helping bring those he favors to him." As if those words were a cue, Quincy picked up a marker and wrote each man's name on the white board. Under each name he listed the complex details and then ran through it all again. When he was finally satisfied, he cleared the board and said, "Gentlemen, I do hope you'll stay for dinner. My cook has outdone herself with tonight's menu, and who knows how long it will be until we gather again like this." At murmurs of assent, he rang the bell for Remir and asked for decanted blood to be brought to the parlor for pre126

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dinner drinks. As he led the way down the hall to the comfortably appointed room, his mind wasn't on the men who followed him. Rather, it was on Leykin Reneau and the pleasure he intended to take of her once Montrosa was dead, the council was removed and he ruled the Ancient world. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Eleven **** With a trembling finger, the Prophetess traced the words on the fragile page. Her people saw her as infallible. Yet she was only an interpreter, attempting to convert the writings of the first Ancients into wisdom for modern times. The gathering of the clans was a defense mechanism, and it was good. Keeping those with close ties together not only served as a physical barrier, but gave emotional strength as well. When Misha announced the recall to Kentucky, she had believed it to be a sensible move. His home was a virtual fortress, with a holding cell in the basement to contain his enemies and thick walls to keep out intruders. Yet she had dreamed last night of death and disaster, of Misha's mansion flooded red with blood. If only she knew whether the dream were an omen or simply her mind's way of coping with the current crisis. She had awoken with the certainty Misha must revoke his order, yet the passage she'd been drawn to in the Book of Ancients made her hesitate. As worms seeking sanctuary, your people will betray you, she read in a thin whisper. Doubt will become trust; trust will pave the path for death and revenge. As the Prophetess, she no longer enjoyed the privilege of clan. She stood alone as sage and guardian, relying on the good will of whoever sat as high elder for protection and 128

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companionship. The only familial tie she claimed was to her sister. Bonds of affection connected her to Misha and to the girl Leykin, whom her sister had raised as her own. Yet she knew if destiny demanded, she would turn her back on those she loved to preserve her people. "I'm hungry." Vivienne's small voice interrupted the Prophetess' dark thoughts and brought her back to matters at hand. "You should be sleeping. It is only mid-afternoon." "I would be if my tummy was full." The Prophetess smiled. "Then perhaps we should find a small snack. We must be quiet so we do not wake Tatiana." "Tatiana went away." Alarm coursed through the Prophetess at the girl's simple words. Tatiana was gone? Certainly not. "Perhaps she is hungry, too," she suggested. "We'll look in the kitchen." Vivienne shrugged. "If you wish." When the girl took her hand, the Prophetess knew something was amiss. Vivienne wasn't the type to be clingy. Normally, she skipped ahead and waited with impatience for the Prophetess to catch up. The Prophetess opened her mind and searched for Tatiana. She felt her presence dimly. The girl was excited, yet fearful. The Prophetess shook her head, broke the connection and sighed. No wonder Stenos kept such a tight rein on his daughter.

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"You run ahead and see if there's something you'd like in the refrigerator," she suggested to Vivienne. "I'll be right there." While the child scampered down the steps, the Prophetess made her way to the front door. She stepped out and touched Tatiana's mind again. Ah, yes. She sought privacy in a copse of trees. The Prophetess walked unerringly to the small grove where Tatiana lay on the ground, reading the screen on her phone. She circled behind the young woman and waited until she was right behind her to speak. "Vivienne is hungry." Tatiana gasped and jumped to her feet. "You startled me!" she said. Her cheeks flushed the light pink of guilt. "You worried me, wandering off without notifying anyone," the Prophetess responded. "Such a thing is unwise in these times." Tatiana's pause before answering made the Prophetess certain the excuse she offered was made up. "It was too hot in my room to sleep," Tatiana said, attempting to hide the phone in the folds of her nightdress. "I was about to go in." "I'm sure you were." "I'll check on Vivienne right now." "An excellent idea." The Prophetess held out her hand. "While you're helping her, I'll protect your telephone for you." Tatiana's eyes widened, but she stayed quiet. She slowly raised her arm to drop the phone in the Prophetess' open 130

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hand, making the Prophetess even more certain she'd been doing something sneaky. "Go then." The Prophetess waved Tatiana on. She waited until the younger woman was nearly to the house to begin walking back herself. She studied the smartphone, wondering what information it held and whether Tatiana had inadvertently placed them in some sort of danger. She slipped the phone into the pocket of her dressing robe. Perhaps alone, she could figure out how to use the buttons. Certainly it couldn't be too hard. She'd seen children with these things. She jumped when the phone began to vibrate. Pulling it out, she read the text message displayed on the screen, and the name of the sender. Colin Fluet, the traitor who had served Nekia in her traitorous plot. "How can I make you believe I'm really sorry and that she made me do it? Tell me where you are and I'll beg your forgiveness in person." The Prophetess read the message again, an unaccustomed anger taking the place of her usual calm. How dare that spoiled whelp seek to use Tatiana again? How foolish could the girl be to converse with him after all the trouble he'd caused? She stiffened her back and increased her pace as she walked toward the house. Her duty was to interpret and predict; she didn't seek to interfere with the free will of her people. But she would not allow Tatiana's silly schoolgirl crush 131

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to bring them all down. If she must treat her as a child, as she did Vivienne, then so it would be. Her hand closed around the phone. She longed to throw it to the ground and crush it with the nearest rock. But it could be a tool for Misha's enforcers to find the coward and bring him before the council to face the wrath of the already onedge elders. The Prophetess slid the phone into her pocket and took one deep breath, then another. When her soul was peaceful again, she opened the door and stepped into the kitchen, feeling the weight of every moment of every year she'd been on this earth. There was something wrong with this blood. Leykin grabbed the bag it had come in and checked the date. Nope, not expired yet. She took another sip. Ooh, it definitely was not going to set well. Stress, she supposed. She was hungry as a horse, yet even decanted blood made her stomach quiver. Pouring the warmed blood down the sink, she looked for something else to take away the hunger pangs. She opened a container of last night's leftover veal and promptly put the lid back on. Just the scent made her nauseous. She finally settled for a can of the energy drink Giorgio favored. Drinking slowly, she finished it off and tossed the empty can in the wastebasket. The apartment seemed lonelier than ever now that she was packed and ready to go. Giorgio was still out, which didn't surprise her. She'd discovered time meant nothing to 132

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him while he was still working. Still, if he wasn't home before long, she'd text to remind him she was leaving soon. With time to kill, she pulled out the notebook she'd been using, intending to review her assumptions gleaned from studying all those files. Instead, she opened to a fresh page and began to sketch the timeline for the next twenty-four hours. She'd fly into Europe with this Petrov guy and maybe somebody else. His enforcer, probably. The Prophetess and Tatiana would return with her. Granmama and Karina were coming in from Minnesota, although she didn't know exactly when. Misha would be holed up in his house with enforcers at every door. Giorgio was wherever doing whatever, not like she'd ever know. Which took care of everyone who would gather at the Lexington farm. Except Stenos. Her pen stopped on the paper as she stared down, frowning. Where was Tatiana's father in all this? He was nearly always at Misha's side. Unless... She wrote his name in bold letters and put a question mark beside it. She found it impossible to believe Stenos was a traitor, that he'd told those terrible tabloids about the dead model's heritage. Leykin toyed with the idea of trying to link with Giorgio and ask him what he knew. She even thought of asking Misha point blank. She immediately dismissed that notion; questioning the high elder went miles beyond impudent. 133

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She closed the notebook and leaned back in her chair, trying to remember the last time she'd seen Stenos. Her visits to Misha's mansion had been almost daily lately, and she knew it had been well over a week since she'd seen the man. Then again, she didn't spend time on the family floor. Maybe he was holed up in his suite, watching porn or something. She had no idea what someone like Stenos did for fun. Or maybe he was out of the country on business. Could be he'd dismissed Misha's order to gather the clans as unnecessary and was wheeling and dealing in Europe or Argentina. Sighing, she closed the notebook and tucked it into her bag. She snapped on the television, clicking to a news channel. Knowing what was happening at her destination was probably a good thing. Her crummy luck was holding. A hastily put together biography of Nekia was playing. Leykin watched as long as she could tolerate the pap then turned the set off. Her adoring fans could believe the rags to riches story Nekia had created for herself; Leykin had seen the real, evil woman in that empty tobacco warehouse. The buzz of the doorbell startled her. She hurried to unlock and open the door. A tall gentleman in a well-tailored suit tipped his head toward her and smiled. "Miss Reneau?" he asked in an accented voice. "Mr. Petrov, I presume," she replied. "This is so." He motioned toward the hall. "Shall we go now? Our driver waits below." 134

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"Certainly." Leykin grabbed the duffel bag that held her enforcer's tools and a change of clothing and slung it over her left shoulder. Her passport and money were in her pocket; she liked to travel light. The driver was a stranger, young and polite. Leykin chose to ride beside him in the front passenger seat rather than beside Petrov. That offered a better position to fight in case they were attacked on the way to the airport. Alarm rose in her when the driver swung off the freeway and onto a side street. Her hand automatically went to the small of her back where she carried a small pistol loaded with a coated silver alloy bullet. The coating kept the silver from affecting her; if fired from a weapon, the heat melted the coating so that silver pierced the Ancient's flesh. "Do not worry." The voice came from behind her. "We must make a stop to pick up my companion." Leykin relaxed. Misha had mentioned there might be another passenger. A few moments later, the car pulled through wide iron gates and down a long driveway to one of the most impressive homes Leykin had seen since arriving in Kentucky. When Tomas stepped from the stilled car, she followed him onto the wide portico. A sinking feeling filled her when the door opened and Quincy Hawthorne stepped out, carrying a leather overnight bag. "Our paths seem destined to cross, Miss Reneau." He smiled and handed his bag to the driver. "May I call you Leykin since we will be spending the next hours together?" "Whatever you wish," she said, forcing a smile of her own. 135

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"You must call me Quincy. I do so hate formality." That, Leykin knew, was a bunch of phooey. Every time she'd seen him, he'd been dressed up and had at least one enforcer with him. Or maybe they weren't enforcers. Those men were probably there to make him look important, without the skills to protect him. Otherwise, why wouldn't one of his people be accompanying the duo instead of her? She hid her skepticism beneath a polite face and opened the car's back door. Once he and Tomas were seated, Leykin again took the front passenger seat. The trip to the airport proved to be uneventful. The transition from car to private plane was equally smooth, yet she felt an unexpected relief when the jet began its takeoff. Giving privacy to the men, who appeared to be old friends, she slipped on headphones and looked out the window as music began to flow through them. She held her breath as the landscape slipped by and the tires beneath her left the tarmac. Her flying experience was limited, and she was still uneasy taking to the air and coming back down. When the pilot soon announced they were at cruising height, she took off the headphones and asked the men if they'd care for a drink. As she poured decanted blood into tumblers, she wondered if this qualified her to add "flight attendant" to her resume. Arabella stood at the window, watching Karina coax a squirrel into taking a nut from her hand. Her sister was correct, and it wasn't only because she was the Prophetess, and supposedly knew everything. Karina was a very special person in her own right; Arabella considered it a privilege to 136

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be her tutor and protector. In so many ways this girl who also called her Granmama was like Leykin, beyond their ties of blood. Both seemed to possess an awareness few Ancients had at such a young age. It was as if their souls were older than their bodies, and they were born knowing much would be asked of them. Arabella missed Leykin terribly. After a century of first worrying that she would be found and taken away by her father, and then concern over what the girl's place in the world might be, she knew it was time to let go. Having Giorgio as her mentor and protector was a great comfort. As long as he was near, Leykin would be safe. He'd given his word, and that was good enough for Arabella. "Look!" The command slipped into her mind, and she smiled as Karina picked up the squirrel and slid her fingers along its back in a soft petting motion. That girl could connect to any creature, whether animal, Ancient or short-life human. Arabella didn't want to gather with the high elder and his household. She dreaded being cooped up elbow to elbow with others. She liked living where her nearest neighbors were more than a mile away, and where she was accepted without question. People here minded their own business. If they wondered why she rarely had company, they didn't ask. They went their way and let her go as she pleased. This modest farmhouse was a place of healing. Arabella herself recovered from her own deep emotional wounds here, and Karina's nightmare memories of her kidnapping and 137

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captivity seemed to have slipped from the girl since she'd been here. Sighing, Arabella gave herself a mental shake. The past was gone. The future lay ahead. Right now, she needed to prepare for the trip south to Kentucky. Like it or not, the order had been issued, and she had no choice but to obey. A gentle nudge at the back of her mind reminded her she wasn't the only Ancient in the immediate vicinity. Calling Karina in, she asked her to begin packing while she went out for a bit. "Where are you going?" Karina asked, a trace of anxiety in her voice. "I'm low on some of the wild roots I use for my tonics, and I'm sure they don't grow in the concrete of Louisville," Arabella answered. "I won't be gone long." The smile of reassurance she offered as she went out into the adjacent woods disappeared as soon as she was away from the house. She walked through familiar trees until she reached the small cabin where a man stood on the porch, waiting. He served as the watcher assigned to protect Karina during these troubled times. "Thank you for coming," he said as he invited her in. "What's wrong, Stenos?" Arabella forced herself to relax. Having a watcher was a good thing, especially when he was a close friend of the high elder. "Nothing and everything." The words came on a sigh, which alarmed Arabella more than rage might have. Stenos was a practical man who believed in what he saw and touched; he carried his emotions deep. 138

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"Should we run?" The thought of becoming a wanderer, continually moving to stay ahead of whatever danger followed her, was appalling. "I think you should go somewhere other than Louisville. Do you know Stefan Margios?" Arabella smiled. "I know of him. Men of his stature don't visit the wilds of the north." "Then you know that Stefan is a pretentious man. Ostentation is his middle name. His home is too large for one man, his servants too many, and he insists on having a driver take him everywhere. Yet he has volunteered to take the wheel himself, pick you and the girl up and take you to the safety of Misha's mansion." A cold chill snaked down Arabella's spine. She spun and headed toward the door, possessed by a need to wrap her arms around Karina and keep her safe. Stenos stopped her, his large hand wrapping around her upper arm and turning her toward him. "There is time," he said. "You stay here and I will take her to a haven where she will remain until this crisis is over. I swear to you, she will be safe." Arabella shrugged his arm away. "If Karina leaves, I do also. She is at a delicate stage in her life. We do not know what might happen if she goes through a changing. That is why she is with me, so I might use our healing ways as well as Dr. Wentworth's if she becomes a fledgling. I will not be parted from her." She fixed an unwavering gaze on Stenos' face, catching the flicker of alarm briefly coloring his deep green eyes gold. 139

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He'd forgotten Karina's age. He judged her by her appearance, that of a full short-life human. But Stenos didn't know Karina. He hadn't experienced her incredible empathetic link to her own people, didn't understand the strong core of resolve that drove her. She might have sun-tanned skin and an appetite for cooked meat, but her soul was Ancient. "Very well, we leave within the hour," Stenos said. "But be prepared to live in exile. My blood is chilled at the thought of a new Dark Time, yet I fear we stand on the precipice. One more death, one more attempt to overthrow the council, and we may once again live as animals, hidden in the shadows and driven by the most primal of urges." The house looked exactly as it had when she left. Arabella paused at the edge of the clearing, slowing her heart from her race back to Karina, and studied the scene before her. Daylight was fleeing, yet there was enough to see no one prowled the expanse of clipped grass or hid behind the trees shading the house. She opened her mind and heard the comforting sound of Karina humming. Brushing leaves from her hair and clothes, unwanted souvenirs of her pell-mell run, she walked to the kitchen. A buttery smell filled the room; Karina must have made herself a snack. Arabella went upstairs to Karina's bedroom and tapped lightly on the door. "Come in!" Karina called, her voice light. "Oh, you're ready," Arabella answered, grateful to see a suitcase and the backpack Karina dragged everywhere outside her door. Karina sat cross-legged on the bed, an open paperback book in front of her. 140

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"I didn't take too much. I figure anything else I need I can get in Louisville." Arabella sat beside her and said, "There's a small change in plans. We'll be leaving soon with Stenos instead of waiting for the car Misha's sending." "Fine by me." Karina shrugged. "Whatever you want to do." She blessed the mothers that Karina was so adaptable. The credit belonged to Ahnya and Griff, the short-lifers who had protected and raised her as their own. At Karina's age, Leykin had been stubborn and sassy, alternating between insisting on an independence she wasn't ready for and a dependence that was both trying and overwhelming. She would never have accepted a sudden change in plans without asking why, why, why. Soon Arabella had her own small bag packed along with the case that held her herbs and tonics. She knew many modern Ancients scoffed at healers' skills, yet she felt driven to take what she could with her. The depth of Stenos' concern reverberated within her. If their people were driven into hiding, if they could no longer openly walk the streets in daylight hours, the old ways would be valued. Duty demanded that she be ready. Stenos' quiet voice called to her without words, and she was waiting, Karina by her side, when he pulled up in a midsized SUV. Within moments, they were pulling away. Stenos proved to be an adept driver despite the high speed he hit as they bounced off the gravel drive leading from Arabella's house to the two-lane blacktop road. She resisted 141

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the impulse to turn around and take a final look at her house. She had to believe that all would be well, and she would return to her little house in the woods. When Karina took her hand, Arabella realized she'd let her guard down. The girl knew how she felt. She understood they might never come back here, that the Ancient world was on the cusp of dangerous change. And for a moment, Arabella wondered which one of them was the sage and which was the novice. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twelve **** Leykin tensed when the plane began to descend through the darkness toward a landing strip with twin rows of lights. This wasn't an airport. They weren't landing in London. "Simply a stop to take fuel." Quincy laid his hand on her arm and let it linger. Her skin crawled beneath his fingers. "In the middle of nowhere?" He chuckled. "With times such as they are, I prefer to wait in isolated places far from clan homes. A friend of mine maintains this site; he welcomes all Ancients who wish to use it." Uneasiness filled Leykin as the small plane coasted to a stop by a small, whitewashed building, little more than a hut. The man who stepped out was well dressed, however, and waved a hand in greeting. She forced herself to relax as the steps dropped and they deplaned. She stepped out first, grateful for the gun tucked in the holster beneath her jacket and the silver-alloy bullets that it held. The man walking toward them looked trustworthy, but appearances could be deceiving. One bullet would slow him down; two near to his heart could incapacitate him long enough for her to overcome and secure him. "Tomas, my dear friend." Their host had a Slavic accent. "Do come join me in a light lunch. I have some lovely blood 143

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I've only now decanted, shipped in from the islands this morning." Leykin stepped back to let Quincy and Tomas enter the building first. She watched as their pilot left the plane and walked over to where a man in work clothes was preparing to fuel the small jet. Nothing about the scene seemed odd, yet in a way, everything did. "Miss Reneau, do you care to join us?" Quincy's voice echoed in her head. Damn, she had to remember to up her mental barriers. The guy had some pretty strong mojo, jumping into her thoughts like this. She turned and entered the building. The Ancients she was accompanying were sitting at a small table, sipping from snifters of blood. The rough exterior hid a well-designed, well-decorated interior. The floors were black tile, the walls a deep burgundy and the furnishings both sumptuous and elegant. She ignored the amusement that crossed Quincy's face when she walked in. If it suited him to think of her as a country mouse, fine. She didn't mind if he underestimated her. "Are you hungry?" Their host offered her a bowl of meat slivers dressed with lime, but she waved it away. She was working; she'd find a meal when they reached their destination. Leykin found it odd that neither Quincy nor Tomas offered to introduce her. Something was off, but she didn't know what. She was hired help, which meant she should have been left outside rather than invited in. It was almost as if... Oh, crap! 144

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She turned on her heels and ran outside. They wanted her in here for a reason, and it wasn't for company or protection. The pilot stood a few yards from the plane, using his cell phone or attempting to. The man she'd assumed was the airstrip's only employee wasn't in sight. A tingling at the back of her neck warned her of his presence before she caught his scent. She whirled into a crouch and caught his arm as he reached for her, tossing him across her back and onto the worn tarmac in one fast move. "Hey, what are you doing?" the pilot shouted, running toward her. Before he reached her, her flying companions dashed out the door and surrounded them. The suave stranger who had offered her a snack a moment earlier wore a different demeanor now. His face was contorted in anger, his fangs fully descended and glistening in the shimmer of the pole light above them. He threw his arm out, knocking the pilot into the side of the plane. Then he turned his attention to the downed man, his eyes narrowing as he hunched down and said, in a soft voice incompatible with his anger, "You are a fool, Antoine. You were to kill the pilot, not the woman. I've given you many chances, but this is a fatal error." He kicked out, catching Antoine mid-chest and tumbling him backwards. His next movements were swift. Leykin cringed at Antoine's screams when the man sliced his chest open with a sharp talon of a fingernail before pulling his victim's beating heart from his chest. With a roar of triumph, the stranger pulled a knife from his boot and slashed Antoine's neck, separating his head from his body. 145

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Leykin moved backward and kept moving as blood poured from the severed torso. Her stomach turned as the attacker dropped to his knees and began to lap the blood of his victim, his clothing becoming drenched in red. Their pilot was flattened against the hull of the plane, his face chalky pale in the dim light reflecting against the metal. Before Leykin could yell at him to run, Tomas was hurtling toward the hapless man. Leykin spun away before the first scream, unwilling to watch a second man die in front of her. She fought waves of nausea and disgust, possessed by a certainty that she would be next. Giorgio, she whispered to herself, you are my beloved. Stiffening, she waited for her destiny as Quincy walked toward her, excitement from the kill shimmering in his eyes. She was shocked when he bowed and said, "My apologies, Miss Reneau. Our plan went wildly awry. You were to be spared watching this." When he motioned for her to walk back up the steps into the plane, she mutely obeyed. Walking on legs that felt like lead, her heart in her throat, she found the seat she'd occupied earlier, sat down and fastened her seat belt. Quincy joined her as if the murderous scene outside had never happened. "We are quite fortunate," he said. "Tomas is a pilot, and quite a good one, to hear him tell. I do hope you won't be too disappointed not to see Paris at night. We believe it best to avoid the airport there. Too many clan enforcers waiting on our flight, you see." 146

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Stretching his arms above his head, he yawned and settled back in his seat as the engines began to warm up. With shaking hands, Leykin found a blanket beneath the seat and spread it over herself. She was so cold, so terribly cold. From shock, she suspected. Or perhaps from seeing evil up close and personal. As the engines spun faster and Tomas sent the plane bouncing down the runway toward takeoff, she closed her eyes and thought of Minneapolis, and Granmama, thanking the fathers that the only parent she'd ever known was far from danger, safe from horrors such as this. "You what?" The words burst from Giorgio before he thought. Before he realized he was standing in front of the high elder with his fists clenched, ire racing through him. "I loaned your trainee to accompany some concerned Ancients back to their clan lands." Despite the even tone of Misha's voice, Giorgio knew he was on slippery ground. The high elder's eyes held a gold cast and he sat straight up in his office chair, prepared to pounce if need be. Inhaling deeply and searching for calm, Giorgio stepped back and bowed his head in acquiescence. "As is your right," he murmured, aware their friendship could only offer so much protection. Despite his personal feelings, Misha would always put duty first, and Giorgio knew insubordination—like questioning an executive decision—fell well into that category. "As is my right," Misha agreed. "Do not think I chose Leykin on a whim. Her instincts are excellent, and her loyalty 147

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is unquestionable. Besides, she's being trained by one of the best." The smile he flashed with those last words reassured Giorgio. Misha knew what it was like to worry about someone you loved. How many years had Belle roared away on her much-loved motorcycle to plunge headlong into dangerous situations? "Please sit," Misha invited. "While you're here, I'd like an update on your investigation." "What investigation?" Giorgio said bitterly as he seated himself in the biggest chair in the room, the only one that comfortably accommodated his large frame. "Even if I flew all to all the clan lands and interviewed everyone who ever held a grudge against the council, I'd know no more than I do now. These are treacherous times. Trust is in short supply among our people; I'd do as well to ask that desk my questions as any of the elders." As Misha asked questions and Giorgio answered, he realized neither of them wanted to talk about what was on every Ancient's mind. A traitor lurked among them, someone with connections to the media. Among the lies were nuggets of fact, not only about Nekia but the other outed vampires as well. Anyone who took the publication's stories as truth now knew some of the most influential people in America weren't short-lifers. Luckily, he knew, most people dismissed those tales as lies, fiction created to milk money from the gullible who faithfully bought a copy each week. But what if a legitimate 148

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news outlet went after the Ancients and managed to verify every fact? After the Dark Times, when the new Ancient order had been created, quiet treaties had been formed with the governments of that era. In the deep archives of halls of government in Asia and Europe, documents might still exist. That proof, leaked to the right journalists, could spell the end of the Ancient world as he knew. Could, if the outcry led to a demand for control, lead to Ancients being imprisoned or slaughtered. He fought back his dark thoughts as he rose to leave. "When you speak to her, tell Leykin I miss her," he said. "Both in my home and by my side." Misha smiled. "I'm sure she knows," he said. "And do not worry so. Her task is a simple one. She'll be back here scolding you for working too hard by dusk tomorrow." **** [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Thirteen **** Lyrics from an irritating modern song swam around and around in the Prophetess's mind and refused to be banished. "It's the end of the world as we know it," played again and again in her memory. She couldn't decide if it was a manifestation of her worry or a prediction dredged up by her subconscious. Her latest communique with Misha had been the most discouraging yet. Apparently one of those dreadful rags that passed for gossip magazines had not only announced Nekia as a vampire but also named several others. The Prophetess was acquainted with every Ancient whose name was listed. Danforth Harrington, the senator from Louisiana. Colette DuBois, a Parisian author whose books inevitably topped bestseller lists around the world. Devin Salisbury, a renowned pianist and seducer of women, and a half-dozen others. Their primary connection was that they lived in the upper echelon of Ancient society, attending every ball and ritual anywhere in the world. They also moved comfortably in the world of rich and powerful short-lived humans. "Misha, Misha, be strong," she whispered, an entreaty he couldn't hear. She knew how much he longed to still remain a clan elder, ensuring the financial and physical safety of those tied to him by ancestry. She wished circumstances had allowed him to remain their rock only. But his duty now was 150

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to all the Ancients, to protect and guide them as their world was buffeted by storms both internal and external. She did not know if Misha had done the right thing all those years ago in protecting the girl Karina rather than presenting her to the council to be killed. Was the firestorm sweeping across them now the manifestation of the prophecy that one of their blood but without the thirst would bring on her people's downfall? Or could the girl instead prove to be their salvation? "May I speak with you?" Tatiana stood at the doorway to the morning room, her face a study in uncertainty. The Prophetess nodded and swept her hand toward a slipper chair beside the silk-covered divan on which she sat. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong." Tatiana's voice was tiny and thick, as if she was on the verge of tears. "You should have informed me immediately when that man contacted you." Tatiana's eyes widened. "I was going to tell you," she said, her tone defensive. "When? After he arrived to kidnap you again? Or perhaps Vivienne, as Karina was taken in your place before?" Tatiana's face crumbled, and she began to sob. The Prophetess waited stoically until the crying subsided. She would not, could not, allow herself to feel sympathy. Even if the girl fancied herself in love, surely she realized they lived in dangerous times. Trust was a commodity in rare supply these days. 151

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"You are young and do not understand the Dark Times that nearly wiped out our people," the Prophetess said at last. "Our high elder has ordered the gathering of the clans but makes an exception for this household. We will return to Kentucky, under his protection, until he sees fit to allow open movement again." The Prophetess didn't add the words that plagued her heart—if open movement was ever possible again. Accusations against a pop culture star were one thing. But when an American senator was thrown to the journalistic wolves, only trouble could result. The days when reporters closed ranks to protect public figures were over. Now it seemed as if they wished only to humble the mighty and destroy the powerful. She wondered if the clan elders finally believed again in the book of prophecy that she guarded. On the eve of Karina's birth, she had warned them. The only one who believed was Misha. She gave an inward sigh. What was done was done and could not be undone. As her mother so often said, regret was a bitter dish best left alone. Her attention returned to Tatiana. "I would suggest you retire to your rooms and pack," she said. "Take what you need most with you; the rest will be sent after us." "I don't get to come back?" Tatiana sounded as if she was about to cry again. "I do not believe any of us will return to this place. And if we do, well, things can be shipped both ways, can't they?" 152

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With a heavy heart, she watched the young woman leave the room. She had a terrible feeling that these were the last days they'd be together, she and Tatiana and even Vivienne. She had come to care for them as if they were her daughters and would miss them terribly. Yet the Prophetess knew that what must be would be, and she could do nothing to stop destiny. "Are you mad at me?" Vivienne's small voice interrupted Tatiana's muttering about stupid rules and cranky high elders. She put on a smile and turned toward the girl who ran to jump up on her bed. "I could never be mad at you." Tatiana gave her a hug. "Sometimes I get in a bad mood, that's all." "Oh." Vivienne picked at a loose thread in the woven coverlet. "I don't want to go back to America. I like living here." "I want to go." Vivienne's face brightened. "I want to go to Hollywood to see the actors and I want to go to Disneyland. Will you take me, Tatiana? Please?" "Maybe," Tatiana hedged. "But not right away. We're going to Kentucky to stay with some friends of mine. Maybe we can stay at a farm and ride horses. I bet you'd like that." "Can I have my own horse?" Tatiana smiled. She remembered pestering her father with the same request after watching the Kentucky Derby and her refusal to get on one when she realized how large a horse really was. "Maybe," she answered again. "Or a pony. We'll see." 153

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She resumed sorting and packing her clothes, trying to remember what the weather was like in Kentucky in midsummer. One stack was to take along, the other was to be boxed and shipped. As time slipped by, she forgot her resentment at being made to leave France in a growing anticipation of seeing her father once again. "I'll ask that your room be right next to mine," she said to Vivienne, who was sniffing the various lotions and perfumes on Tatiana's dressing table. "Like you're my big sister." "Exactly. Because I've always wanted to be a big sister." Vivienne set down a crystal atomizer and said, her face serious, "Big sisters make sure bad men don't hurt their little sisters, right?" A shiver stole down Tatiana's spine. The Prophetess believed Vivienne had the gift of prophecy. If she did, that meant something really bad was about to happen. Maybe worse than Karina's kidnapping. Staring into Vivienne's trusting eyes, Tatiana knew there was no way she could protect her if the biggest and baddest of the Ancient world came calling. But she also knew Vivienne was only twelve and had no idea of the horrors that lurked around them. Taking the girl's hands in her own, she said, "You're right. That's what big sisters do. Big sisters also sneak down to the kitchen to get a snack when Cook's not looking. Wanna go with me?"

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"Oui!" Vivienne ran out the door and toward the stairs. As Tatiana chased after her, she wondered if their time of simple joys were ending. In the kitchen, she stopped short at the sight of the Prophetess rigid at the table, hands gripping the edge of the tiled top, her eyes staring glassily into nothingness. Fear and dread danced inside her as she sent Vivienne to the morning room, promising to bring a treat. "Are you okay?" Tatiana kept her voice soft. No response. She looked around her, belatedly realizing she hadn't seen Cook. Oh, this could be so bad. What if Cook had poisoned the Prophetess and run away? What if she and Vivienne were next? She whirled at a startled gasp from behind her, turning in time to see the entire basket of potatoes Cook carried falling to the floor. The noise brought Vivienne running. Before Tatiana could shoo her back out, the girl knelt beside the Prophetess, her small fingers tracing a path along the woman's arm. Vivienne stilled, a second silent figure in the tableau. Behind her, Cook emitted a steady croon of dismay. Tatiana fought the fear threatening to overwhelm her. A desperate need possessed her, the need to wake Vivienne and hurry her to safety, an overwhelming desire to shake the Prophetess until she came back to the world. Instead she stood frozen in place, her hands clasped tightly and her breath ragged. She could play Bach and sing Lady Gaga's greatest hits, she knew the art of hand 155

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embroidery and the skill of painting tattoos on her friends. Yet nothing in her training or experience had prepared her for a moment like this. She gave into the mounting pressure and uttered a silent scream, a wild cry to her people for someone, anyone, to come and help her. She felt the sound stopping before she could channel to the others and knew instinctively the Prophetess sought to keep her quiet. She channeled her fear and uncertainty into small sobs that racked her body until she wrapped her arms around her chest in a childish gesture of self-protection. Cook's babble ended as well, much to Tatiana's relief. She forced the sobs away and swayed on her feet, waiting for whatever was about to happen. The end was an anti-climax. Vivienne gave a deep sigh and stepped away from the Prophetess, who shook her shoulders, opened her eyes and said to the cook, "You are dismissed for the night. I would suggest you take your leave." The command was obeyed without question. She left with potatoes scattered across the floor and the woven basket against the wall where she'd tossed it. Vivienne began gathering the tubers as Tatiana hurried to the older woman and grasped the thin-skinned hands in hers. Speech was unnecessary. Communication flowed between them, an empathetic conversation only they could share. "Be strong," advised the prophetess, bending to touch Tatiana's forehead with hers. "Do not believe what you see or hear. Believe only what is in your heart, and do what you must." 156

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"I do not understand," Tatiana answered. "Our world is changing and you must not be fooled. If I am not here with you, remember that some lies hide the truth and others are merely the words of evil. Follow what feels right, and do not stray from your path." Tatiana gave a small cry of dismay as the Prophetess broke the link, settled back and pulled her hands away. She didn't understand. She needed to know more. She might have begged for more if Vivienne hadn't come to stand quietly beside them. The girl's face was troubled, and Tatiana wondered if she shared the same fears. If the Prophetess sent them away, could she care for herself and this girl? Did she have a choice? She'd promised to be a big sister and sisters sacrificed for each other. She'd witnessed the undeniable bond when Karina was being held captive and Leykin rushed in to help free her. She and Vivienne might not share the same clan lines, but she wouldn't go back on her promise. When, if, the "bad men" came, she'd protect the girl no matter what. "Do not worry so." The Prophetess cradled young Vivienne's cheek and smiled. "We will never leave you. Now go to your room and practice your English. You'll need it when we arrive in Kentucky." Despite the uncertainty that covered her features, Vivienne nodded and slipped away. Tatiana wished she could do the same. She'd love to lie back on her bed, find her favorite music on her MP3 player and drift into the simpler world of her own childhood. But once the door of knowledge is opened, 157

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it becomes impossible to slam it shut. And she was deeply afraid that she'd be forced once again to face evil in human form. She longed for answers. She longed for her father's steady presence, his unwavering belief that good inevitably triumphs. More than anything, she wished Misha were here as high elder, the one Ancient no one dare disobey. The heavy SUV bounced through the Minnesota night, hurling toward a destination only Stenos knew. Karina's hand tightened on the grab bar beside her head as he shouted, "Hold on!" and slammed the brakes. The big vehicle veered off the road, barely missing the tall pile of debris that blocked both lanes. Karina gasped as her seat belt tightened across her chest, jolted by the fast and unexpected detour. The SUV was stopped from bypassing the blockade by a stand of young trees. On the other side of the road was a fallen tree that even this sturdy vehicle couldn't climb over. Stenos cut the engine and turned toward her. "Stay here," he said. "I'm going to see if I can clear enough space for us to get through." "I'll help," Arabella offered, climbing out before he could say no. She stopped long enough to point at Karina and order, "Get down and stay down until we get back." Unease and an unfamiliar sense of helplessness swept through Karina as she curled on the carpeted floorboard, listening to the sounds of the twosome frantically working. Something was wrong. Stenos might try to pretend the barricade was a coincidence, but she knew someone was trying to keep them from leaving. 158

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Karina rose up until she could peek through the tinted window. Stenos had taken the lead, pulling out the larger limbs while Granmama swept away the smaller branches. Even with their combined strength, the task was taking time she suspected they didn't have. She was tempted to jump out and help, but she knew she'd be in trouble if she did. No one had to remind her that the last time she'd done something impulsive she'd ended up caged like an animal. She gasped and ducked down when she saw shadows alongside the SUV, shadows that could only belong to people. Her father had taught her well: If you can't run, hide. Closing her eyes, she intensified her hearing, listening to the snap as feet passed her door. She heard Stenos' surprised intake of breath and Granmama's low whisper, "We have visitors." A cultured, unfamiliar voice said, "Do you need some help?" as if he was simply offering assistance. Tension coiled more tightly inside Karina as a second voice, younger and deeper, added, "It will go faster if we work together." She snagged her backpack and pulled it across her shoulders. It served as both her security blanket and her emergency kit. Daddums had helped her decide what to put in, and she'd kept it in her closet on the island where she'd grown up and under the strange bed in Louisville. Feeling its weight on her back gave her courage. Karina slid up on the seat and peeked out the window. All she saw of the strangers were their backs. One wore a black jacket and slacks; the other wore a corduroy woods-plaid jacket and khakis. Her worry deepened as they worked slowly 159

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while Stenos and Granmama kept up a steady pace of tugging and tossing. She ducked back down as one of the men turned and looked in her direction. She clung to the straps of the backpack, eyes closed, waiting to hear the crackle of small branches as he walked toward her. No noise came. Still, she stayed down, remembering Granmama's order. Everything would be all right. She was still telling herself that when the sounds from outside changed. Instead of the deeper breaths of labor, she heard the labored breathing of someone in fear. Inside her, she felt the tremor of Granmama's body as the strangers pressed closer, reached out and wrestled her to the ground. Karina knew the instant the older man slit Stenos' throat. His mental scream echoed in her mind, deafening her senses. When Granmama was struck and fell to the ground, Karina felt their connection snap. In horror, she realized the moment she'd been prepared for all her life was here. For the briefest of moments, she closed her eyes and summoned up the familiar faces of her parents. She would survive. She had to survive, or all their sacrifices had been in vain. Making her mind as blank as possible, she eased the SUV door open and slid to the ground. The thick scent of blood overwhelmed her, sickened her, and she fought nausea as she crawled to the back of the vehicle and assessed the landscape around her. She was surrounded by blackness and trees. She didn't know where they were or which direction Stenos had been 160

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heading. Running willy-nilly into the night seemed foolish, but she knew that to do nothing was to ensure her death. So she began to run, her pack bouncing against her shoulders, heading into the deep cover of old timber and thatch. Her Ancient blood provided excellent night vision, and her dedication to her parents kept her pounding through the underbrush long after her legs became fatigued. Duncan threw back his head and howled, a cry of pleasure and longing that rivaled the roar of any wild animal. The scent of blood was thick around him, tempting him, bringing out the primitive vampire barely contained by modern civility. He fought to keep from dropping to his knees and lapping the thick liquid now gelling on the body of his slain enemy. In the old days, his clan had believed that taking the blood of a slain opponent added strength, and imbued the victor with the best qualities of the dead enemy. Yet what could Stenos give to him that Duncan did not already possess? He had been loyal, yes, as well as intelligent and cunning. But Duncan was all those things and more. A hard slap to the side of his head drove back the blood lust and reminded him the war they fought was for political gain, not possession of more lands. The old ways were a relic; strategy, not might, would protect his fortune and power. "Get a grip on yourself, man!" Stefan glared at him with green-gold eyes. "We need to get the hell out of here before someone else shows up. That damn yell of yours is enough to wake the dead." "It is the victory call of my clan." Duncan's hands closed into fists and his eyes narrowed. 161

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"Celebrate later," Stefan shot back. "We're not done here." Duncan kicked Stenos' head and shrugged as it separated from his torso. "He's dead." He tipped his head and studied Arabella. "That one looks dead, too, but I'd better make sure." Stefan grabbed his arm as Duncan began to pull a knife from a waist holster. "No time," he said. "The high elder's short-lifer pet is out there somewhere, and I prefer Quincy not find out we let her get away from us, even for a moment. Tsarentza's got a weak spot for that one. Quincy needs her as a bargaining tool if things don't go quite like he expects in Europe." Duncan's hand stayed on the knife handle as he fought to tamp the blood lust still rich within him. "Now!" Stefan grabbed Duncan's arm and pointed to his right. "You head that way and I'll go the other. Let me know if you grab her." Duncan nodded and began to lope through the trees, concentrating on catching the girl's scent. Stefan was testy, and he'd learned from experience that was never a good thing. Quincy was methodical; Tomas was impetuous. Stefan could be downright mean. Duncan had seen him rip the head off a Confederate soldier simply because the man refused to share his shelter, a small and rickety shack. Ignoring the layers of old scent from animals and humans, he searched for a new odor as he traveled the dark between the stands of trees and underbrush. "Visual!" Stefan's shout popped into his head; he realized his companion had spotted the fleeing girl. Within seconds, he 162

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was racing toward Stefan, closing in from the opposite direction on the high elder's precious pet. Karina heard the whisper of voices in her mind. Someone pursued, someone who planned to hold her captive. Not again. She refused to be taken a second time. She slowed, assessing the direction of whoever chased. She sensed his nearing from the east; she cut right, to the north. There was a village a few miles from here. If she reached it, surely she'd be safe. Her senses tuned to the faint rustle behind her, she darted left and kicked up her speed. When the heavy body dropped down on her from above, she screamed. Her breath was cut short as a man sprawled across her, his larger frame trapping her against the dense thatch of dead vegetation. "Going somewhere, little girl?" His breath was hot against her neck, and she gagged at the coppery scent of fresh blood emanating from his clothing. She slammed the door shut in her mind so he couldn't sneak in and catch the roiling terror and helplessness flooding through her. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the whitetopped surf rolling across the beach of her island home and calming herself. Don't panic. That was her father's first rule on surviving any situation, and he'd trained her to deal with nearly everything. You have a good brain; use it. How many times had her mother said that when Karina wanted an easy solution to a difficult problem? A million, or so it had seemed. 163

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Even as the weight of her captor pressed against her, she drew on the wisdom they'd given her over the years. If she didn't panic, if she looked for any and every opportunity and made the most of it, she'd be all right. "What the hell took you so long?" The rough words cut into her thoughts as she opened her eyes to see a pair of men's shoes by her face. Equally rough hands grabbed her as the big man rolled off her. Struggling for footing as she was pulled to her feet, she recognized the sharp crease in the khaki slacks, then the expensive leather belt and finally the now-dirty corduroy jacket of the man who had attacked Stenos and Granmama. "I'm here now and that's all that matters." The voice was the deep one, and carried annoyance. The other man, the one who had jumped her, yanked her arms behind her. A rope slid against her wrists and his fingers fumbled a knot to keep them lashed together. His big hand splayed across her back as he shoved her toward the one in corduroy. "Here. She's yours." "Carry her. I'm not taking a chance on her running again." Karina gasped as the big man slung her across his shoulders as if she was a fox stole, her feet banging against him as he took long strides through the dense growth. He held her with one arm at her elbows, the other at her knees, giving her absolutely no chance to get away. Scared and desperate, she screamed mentally to the one person of her blood with both the courage and the skills to help her. 164

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Leykin stiffened in her seat, her sister's shout filling her head and freezing her soul. Her own body reacted, mirroring the panic, fear and helplessness Karina felt so many miles away. Leykin's fingernails dug into the leather upholstery as she fought for outward calm. She couldn't let Quincy, who sat with eyes closed a few feet away, sense what was going on inside her. She concentrated on breathing in and out, slowing her heart and restoring equilibrium. There was nothing she could do twenty thousand feet in the air over who knew where. Even if she miraculously immobilized Quincy, even if she managed to wrestle control of the plane from Tomas, she didn't know how to fly an airplane, let alone set one down in an emergency landing. As the echo of Karina's shout faded from her mind, she searched for her lodestone. She reached out to Granmama, needing comfort. She found nothing but blankness. Fear seized her. Either Granmama was in a situation where, to preserve her life, she'd cordoned her mind off from everyone. Or the unthinkable happened and she was dead. Leykin shoved away that horrible possibility, as if just the thought could make it happen. She reached out for Giorgio, needing to know that he was okay. She couldn't handle this alone. She found him, but she didn't let him know she was touching his mind. She sensed the tension in him, a deepening depression and knew she couldn't burden him with 165

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her own emotions. It was enough to know that he was alive and safe. Centered now, she opened her eyes and surveyed the plane. Quincy's eyes were still closed and she realized he used earbuds. Listening to music, maybe, or an audio book. Tomas was still in the cockpit; the plane droned on toward its destination. No one observing would have suspected she was in the presence of cold, evil killers. Leykin closed her eyes again. She longed to touch Karina and find out what was happening. But she held back. Quincy was a powerful Ancient, much older than she and ruthless. If he suspected she was doing anything more than kicking back and trying to nap, who knew what might happen? [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Fourteen **** A terrible awareness swept over the Prophetess, freezing her. She sensed Arabella's life source slipping away, felt the pull of her sister's soul as she fought to remain in this world. Wrapping her arms around her thin chest, she began to rock and croon, her mind searching for her sister. If she could reach her, if she could share her own energy... The world around her faded away as she fell into the black vortex that overtook her conscious self. Her entire being was focused on the one thing that mattered most in the world to her: the one being who shared her bloodline. A deep gasp rattled through her as she sensed the faint beating of her sister's heart. Arabella was still alive but dangerously weak. From thousands of miles away, the Prophetess poured the chant of healing directly into her sister's thoughts, hoping Arabella was still able enough to hear them. Her own body grew cold as she lay unheeding, her physical shell faltering as she employed her full mental powers. Arabella, do not leave me... my sister, I still need you. Fear bloomed in Tatiana as the Prophetess swooned against her, pale and unheeding to the world around her. Could she stop whatever was happening?

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She desperately wanted her father. Someone older than she should be doing this, someone with the power and skills she had yet to fully develop. "I'm here," she murmured, awkwardly reaching up to stroke the cheek of the Prophetess. The skin beneath her fingers was colder than the floor on which she knelt. Cold as death, she thought with a shudder. When a gasp escaped from the Prophetess, Tatiana nearly dropped her, afraid it was a death rattle. Surprised when the Prophetess' lips began to move, she leaned close. The words were Old Ancient, a chant repeated over and over again. Tatiana didn't understand; she wasn't even sure she wanted to. The frail body of the Prophetess grew heavy in her arms. Tatiana used great care in pulling the older woman completely off the chair and onto the floor. She slid her arms away with caution, running for a blanket as soon as she was free. Her pounding steps as she raced to the Prophetess' suite and back brought Vivienne from her own room. The girl pushed ahead of Tatiana and lay on the floor next to the Prophetess, wrapping her arms around the woman's neck and snuggling close to her. Shivers racked Tatiana as Vivienne's own eyes closed and she joined the chant, her inflection a perfect imitation of the Prophetess's. Something insane was going on here. How did this girl know the arcane language of Old Ancient? Why did she have a connection to the Prophetess that seemed both acceptable and bizarre? 168

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A terrible foreboding swept over Tatiana. She'd heard the legend about the ascension of the Prophetess. She'd learned during her Ancient history lessons that at the death of the presiding Prophetess, her knowledge was passed to her successor. Tatiana squeezed her eyes closed against the tears threatening to fall. The Prophetess couldn't die. Not here. Not far away from her sister and Misha. Not without her family and clan surrounding her, reminding her she was loved. Tatiana couldn't bear to watch her die. She couldn't live up to the responsibility of serving as governess for Vivienne until she went through her changing. Big sister, yes; guardian of the most important woman in all of Ancient society, no. A dark wave of loss pushed through her fear, frightening her. She searched for her father, desperate to feel his life force out there somewhere. She found only bleakness. Sobs wracked her small body as unwanted awareness shoved in. Her father was dead. He had to be; she'd always been able to connect with him, always. Her sobs became a keening wail. How much could she bear? Her father dead, the Prophetess dying and the entire Ancient world retreating back to the old ways. She had never felt more alone in her life and wondered if this was how her own mother felt when she was condemned by the council to hear her execution ordered. "Tatiana?" The child's soft voice pierced her growing depression. She opened her eyes, wiping the blood red trail of her tears from her face, and saw Vivienne's worried features only inches from her. 169

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"The Prophetess needs you." Vivienne's voice was calm. "I can't help her anymore." Tatiana realized the older woman was no longer in the room. Pushing to her feet, she took Vivienne's hand and said, "Take me to her." "Out here." Vivienne led the way to the dusk-darkened veranda. The Prophetess reclined on a cushioned chaise, staring across the dark woods surrounding the property. Her face was tight, but she looked like herself again. A surge of gratitude filled Tatiana. The Prophetess could tell her everything. "Your Grace?" she said, unconsciously using the formal address. "Come here, my child." Tatiana sat beside the Prophetess and accepted the hand she offered. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, feeling the woman's powerful strength flow through her along with a blessed sense of peace. She knew then that her father truly was gone. When the ache in her soul had begun to ease, she gently pulled her fingers away. She would mourn for her father, but not yet. Grieving was a luxury, as their world changed in ways she could never have anticipated. She beckoned to Vivienne. The child wasn't an orphan, as Tatiana now was, but she was equally alone. No one had come from her clan to insist she join her family during the gathering. Tatiana knew beyond doubt that if a request had been made, the Prophetess would have released her to her clan's care. 170

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"Join us, little sister." She pulled Vivienne close, wrapping her arms around the girl's shaking body. The empathy common to their people meant a rift in the common consciousness when one of their people died. Even without a blood link such as Tatiana and her father shared, Vivienne would have felt the hollow left by his death, just as Tatiana had sensed the moment Nekia was executed. The sensitivity cultivated over the millenniums as a way to alerting all Ancients to high danger had become a doubled-edged sword. In this era of instant communication, it carried an emotional impact no text message or e-mail could contain. "You are alone," Vivienne whispered. Tatiana wasn't sure whether she spoke to her only or included the Prophetess. The child was right. Her mother had been executed shortly after she was born for consorting with a short-lifer, and she'd only ever had her father. She knew the Prophetess and the woman Leykin called Granmama were sisters. Did she have other kin? Uncles, cousins, others who claimed her in their clan? "We must rest." The order came from the Prophetess in a whisper. Tatiana helped the Prophetess up the stairs and to her room. Vivienne waited in the hall. "May I sleep with you?" Tatiana nodded and held out her hand. "I'd like that." Tatiana drew the curtains shut against the daylight as Vivienne slipped beneath the covers. She settled beside her, grateful for the company. Alone, she might have given in to 171

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tears. She might have sobbed herself to sleep, the ache of loss burrowing deep into her soul to fester into a need for revenge. Her duty now was to live up to her promise to Vivienne. She would be the big sister; she would do all within her power to protect her from the bad men. To protect them all. She was still awake when Vivienne finally dozed off. Squeezing her eyes closed, she whispered, "Goodbye, Daddy. I love you," and allowed herself to drop into the black nothingness of sleep. "What took you so long?" Colin's petulant whine grated against Duncan's fraying nerves. With one quick swat, he knocked Colin away from the escape vehicle and into a nearby tree. When the girl on his shoulder cried out, Duncan nearly sent her flying in the same direction. "Drop her and you'll regret it." Stefan's voice was cold. Duncan bit back the words he ached to say and instead spit out, "Open the door. She's getting heavy." "Secure her first.' "He can." Duncan nodded toward Colin, who was back on his feet and headed toward the SUV. "Do it." Stefan opened the back hatch and grabbed a length of steel chain. He tossed it to Colin who replaced the rope at Karina's wrist with the chain, which he dropped down to also shackle her feet. When he was satisfied with his work, he snapped on locks to ensure the chains would hold. 172

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"Toss her in and let's get going," Stefan said. "And make sure the GPS is on." "I don't need a damn gizmo to tell me how to get to Kentucky," Colin complained. "I got us here; I'll get us back." Duncan gave him a shove toward the vehicle. "Shut up, and do what I say," he said. "Unless you'd like to be body number three in these woods. I'd be happy to oblige." Still grumbling, Colin took the driver's seat. Stefan climbed in beside him; he watched as the other man set directions for their location. "That's not right," he said. "Louisville is a straight shot south, all interstate." Stefan glared. "Our destination is two hundred miles east of there. Now start this damn truck and let's get going. The sooner we're gone, the happier I'll be." Relegated to the back seat, Duncan turned to study Karina in the back storage area as the SUV bounced through the woods. Her chest rose and fell in that rapid way of shortlifers, and her eyes were closed. Maybe she was knocked out; maybe she was faking sleep. He didn't care as long as she stayed alive. A dead high elder's pet was useless as a bargaining chip. He closed his own eyes as the two in the front fell silent. He was damn tired. The adrenaline rush of crawling through the woods plus the exhilaration of the kill was fading. Wherever they were going, it was going to take a long time to get there. He might as well make the best of it. 173

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In her dark prison, Karina wiggled toward her backpack, surprised and grateful they'd tossed it in along with her. The chains on her wrists and ankles bit into her flesh as she moved, but she managed to lay her head on the pack like a pillow and adjust her body for as much comfort as possible. Her stomach rolled; she wasn't sure whether the faint nausea was from witnessing the attack on Stenos and poor Granmama or from the fear that encased her like a dark shroud. She longed for Daddums. She needed Mama. She wanted to bury her feet in the island's warm sand and forget all about Ancients and her heritage. She allowed herself the luxury of silent tears. Maybe they'd wash away her dread and horror and cleanse her mind so she could focus on saving herself. What had Granmama said a few days ago? Something about her possessing latent abilities that could make her stronger than any Ancient now alive. If only she was right. "Damn it; don't bust the undercarriage out of this thing!" The loud shout from the front seat passenger ruined any chance of her finding inner peace. The man's voice was harsh as he continued to berate the driver for going too fast on the rutted road. She didn't know that one, but she was pretty certain the driver was that enforcer Tatiana had had a crush on. A snore came from the seat right in front of her. The big man was asleep. She wondered if she could sneak into his mind now, when his guard wasn't up, and learn more about who these men were and why they'd done what they had. 174

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Mama had impressed on her that dipping into other people's thoughts was like trespassing, but she'd still practiced until she got good at it. But was she skilled enough to try it on an Ancient as old and powerful as that one? Her hesitation cost her an opportunity. The SUV slammed across a deep rut, bringing everyone up a few inches and back down. The rough movement woke the big man, who smacked the driver on the back of the head and said, "Watch it, you idiot." Karina remained curled as she was, eyes closed, while the big man leaned across the seat to study her. Her time with Granmama had already helped her develop her Ancient senses. She could smell his frustration, so she was careful not to move anything, not even a finger. When he turned around and adjusted his body on the seat in front of her, she was free to concentrate on other sounds and sights. She opened her eyes to narrow slits, but could see nothing but the carpeted interior of the storage area and the lightening sky through the window. Dawn was coming. Surely they'd decide to sleep. But what good would that do her, weighed down with her chains? Tears threatened again. She fought them off, instead attempting to send images of what she saw to Leykin. Maybe her sister couldn't help her. But Giorgio could. He was powerful, both in his Ancient abilities and physically. If she could reach Leykin, and Leykin told him, maybe she could get out of this alive. Maybe. 175

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Chapter Fifteen **** Karina's presence came to Leykin again, stronger than before, steady as the beating of her own heart. Leykin's hands tightened on the arm rests as she caught flashes of sky and deep blue carpet, and the back of a man's head. Shaggy blond hair that swept the top of a sheepskin collar—not enough to identify the man, but a clue she'd remember. As quickly as the images had come, they were gone. Before she could attempt to reconnect with her half-sister, the drone of the plane changed and she felt it start to drop altitude. They were getting ready to land. But where? Certainly not London. She could only hope it wasn't another fuel stop, another murder. "Seat belt tight?" Quincy's voice was smooth, as pleasant as if he were asking if she wanted a little honey in her blood. "It's fine." "Let me make sure." Leykin held her breath as he stepped over to check, his hands brushing her breasts as he tugged the strap. That had been no accident. He was testing her, she was certain. Trying to decide if she was up for a little fun, Quincy style. She let it slide. Being dead wasn't going to help Karina, or anyone else, and she'd already seen what the man was capable of. His face contorting in pleasure as blood covered the airstrip was something that would haunt her dreams day 177

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after day. She didn't want that image in her mind when death claimed her. "Where are we?" She leaned away from him and looked out the window. She saw nothing but dark, broken sporadically with lights. "Near a village where I have friends." Quincy offered a tight smile that made her shiver. "As do you." "And we're in?" "A place where civilization still reigns." As the plane began a sharp descent, she forgot everything but why she hated to fly. It wasn't being thousands of miles in the air that bothered her. It was the going up and coming down. The tight angle with which the small plane approached the landing strip made her stomach tighten and her chest ache. She fought not to let her uneasiness show. Quincy had to see her as a strong, hard enforcer or she didn't stand a chance. Her head jerked as the tires made contact with the macadam. As they taxied to a stop, she looked out the window again. At least this was some sort of real airport, with a tiny terminal and a few other planes. She'd rather be home in her own bed, with the covers over her head, but at least this place looked safe. "I hope you brought a sweater," Quincy said as the plane stopped and they stood. "The night can be quite chilly sometimes." How could he talk about something so mundane when he'd practically kidnapped her? Surely he had to realize Misha would drag him before the council for what he'd done. Her 178

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instructions had been explicit: Accompany these men to London, make sure they united with their clan and then join the Prophetess. She hadn't heard a single word about murder and mayhem. She realized, as she went down the steps onto the hardtarred surface, that the signs were in French. Her stomach knotted. The Prophetess and her household were outside Paris. She had to make sure Hawthorne didn't know; her duty was to protect all Ancients, but specifically the Prophetess. Misha had kept her in Kentucky for more training, but Leykin's first duty as an enforcer had been as her companion. As far as she was concerned that was still her duty until the Prophetess herself changed her assignment. "Do join me, my dear." Quincy walked over and took her arm, leading her to a small knot of men waiting near a sleek black sedan. "It's a lovely evening for a drive." Leykin put on her best fake smile and tipped her head toward him. "I'm rather wobbly-kneed from sitting still so long. Would you mind if I went into the terminal and walked a bit?" "I'm afraid that's not a good idea." Quincy snapped his fingers and Tomas immediately walked up to stand beside Leykin. She was trapped. She'd been used. And these guys were so slick that Misha had no idea. No one did. She toyed with the idea of attempting to link with Giorgio and discarded it. These men were old and powerful. Their abilities far exceeded hers; she didn't dare make it possible for them to listen in on her conversations, especially the mental ones. 179

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Extra persuasion came in the form of two men in dark suits, both wearing dark glasses despite the night's depth. Their identical stance and lack of conversation gave them away. They were private duty guards. Not enforcers, who spent years or decades learning their occupation. Rather they were brawn, displayed for intimidation but ready to bring down any runner on command. Few Ancients used guards anymore because of their brutality. Although her people healed quickly, being beaten to the point of death was both painful and educational. She'd be useless if they smacked her into a bloody pulp. Boxed in by Quincy, Tomas and the guards, she walked toward the car and stepped into the back seat. One of the burly men slid behind the wheel; the other sat beside her. Tomas took the front passenger seat while Quincy filled the empty space on the other side of Leykin. She stiffened when he laid his hand on her thigh. Large and cool, it reminded her of a slab of meat. Or a leg of lamb. Something she'd happily toss to wild dogs to dispose of, anyway. "I do hope we'll remain friends," Quincy said, as if they'd had a tiff over which side of a dinner plate to place a fork. "Little things so often get blown out of proportion. I realize Tsarentza gave you specific orders, but he's back in Kentucky and I'm here. I hope you don't mind a change in our itinerary." No more than she'd mind inviting a rattlesnake as a sleeping partner. 180

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She cloaked her thoughts; she couldn't let him know how much she'd begun to hate him. "I hope we're going to dinner," she said. "I'm starving." Quincy laughed. "And here I thought you'd want to go shopping. Isn't that why most women come to Paris?" Leykin's worst fears were confirmed. They were indeed on their way to the country home where the Prophetess had taken up temporary residence. She wished she could warn her; she wanted to send a strong mental message to Tatiana to run, to get everyone out before their driver could reach the house. Quincy's half-smile chilled her; she suspected he was waiting for her to do just that. If she tried, he might not kill her now, but he would as soon as he'd accomplished whatever he'd set out to do. She was certain now being tapped for this duty hadn't been Misha's decision alone. Quincy had influenced him somehow. "We're nearly out of fuel," the driver said in Frenchaccented Ancient. "How soon shall I stop?" "Wherever you find a station with lots of people," Quincy replied. "The more witnesses, the fewer problems I anticipate." He patted Leykin's thigh then withdrew his hand. Relieved as she was to have his meaty paw off her, she still felt ice cold. He was making sure she couldn't run or call for help. That meant she was an essential part to whatever he was planning. She wished she knew what.

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Any hope she might have of slipping away dissipated when Quincy remained in the car beside her and Tomas leaned against her passenger door, chatting with the driver. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe your first acquaintance with Kentucky was as a companion to the Prophetess," Quincy said. Leykin nodded. "So the two of you are close, I would assume." She put great care in her answer. "I respect the Prophetess and was pleased to serve her. I was, you understand, an employee and not her friend." "Still, you spent a great deal of time with her. I've only met her formally, and I've often wondered if she is always so severe and aloof." Leykin shrugged. "She may be different with her friends, but as I said, I was hired help." "What a shame," Quincy answered. "That she would see you as nothing more than a faceless nobody, I mean. Women with your intelligence and independence are rare among our people. I would think she would view you as a kindred spirit." The conversation ended as the driver and Tomas got into the car and they started back down the road. Quincy shifted beside her; she glanced over and saw his nostrils flaring slightly, like a dog catching a scent. She wondered if he could smell her fear. That was the last thing she wanted or needed now. Closing her eyes, she made her mind blank. When it was a clear palette, she captured memories of her childhood in Minnesota. Blue lakes and green grass offered tranquility; she 182

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could almost smell the wind as it moved down from Canada, crisp and carrying a hint of changing weather. As her mind relaxed, so did her body. Her taut shoulders slumped and her heart and breathing slowed to a normal pace. Drawing strength from the land and nature that had helped shape her, she prepared to embrace the unknown. The full moon shone through the rippling glass of the old gallery windows of Tatiana's bedroom. She woke slowly, aware of Vivienne's warm body beside her but not fully remembering why the girl shared her bed. When the memory of the previous day returned, so did her pain and sorrow. Her father was dead. Those four words echoed around and around in her head, chasing away everything but a growing desire to leave this life herself. Without him, she had no one of her blood. Clan mates, yes; family, no. Vivienne made a small noise and shifted. Tatiana slid from the bed, trying not to wake her, and grabbed clothes from her armoire. She padded with quiet steps down the hall to the bathroom and started the water running. Tears welled in her eyes as she stripped, but she was able to control them until she was in the shower, where no one could hear. She bowed her head and let them come, watched the red tears mingle with the clear, hot water sluicing down her body. The water was turning cold before she stopped. Sorrow over her father mixed with panic over what might come next and fear for the entire Ancient civilization. On the surface, everything seemed to be as it was at her changing fourteen years ago, when she became a full-fledged vampire. Yet like a 183

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placid stream that hides a swift current, life had become turbulent. Tatiana dried herself and dressed. She tiptoed back to her bedroom, where Vivienne still slept, curled in a ball. Satisfied that the girl was all right, she made her way to the back of the first floor, to the kitchen, which should still be empty so early in the night. The Prophetess sat at the table, in her customary chair. She patted the seat next to her when she saw Tatiana. "I fear for you," she said. Tatiana frowned. "Why?" "Because you feel so intensely. You carry others' burdens as if they were your own. That is a commendable virtue at the best of times, but in the worst of times, it can be handicap." "Are we in the worst of times?" Tatiana waited for the Prophetess to speak. Perhaps she didn't know either. "Good evening." Cook's voice ended the conversation, although Tatiana clearly caught the Prophetess' unspoken, "We'll talk of this later." Restless, Tatiana excused herself as Cook began to discuss the menu for the midnight meal. She wasn't hungry. She might never be hungry again. She lingered at the door leading to the patio. She wanted to go into the acres that surrounded the house, to run and become one with the night. But her foolishness that had led to Karina's kidnapping had taught her a lesson. She would not 184

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put herself at risk or, even worse, allow something to happen to Vivienne or the Prophetess because she was not here. What she wanted more than anything was Ahnya, the short lifer who had been first her blood nurse and then her governess. She wondered if Ahnya was still on the island where she'd lived since Tatiana's changing, or if she'd come back to the States to be with Karina, her daughter. Her adopted daughter, Tatiana corrected herself. She still found it hard to believe Karina was an Ancient, born of blooded parents. She refused to eat raw meat, couldn't stand the smell of blood and drank milk at every meal. Everyone knew Ancients were lactose-intolerant, which meant Karina was some sort of mutant. She'd have to ask her dad how that could be...no! Her father was gone, his spirit separated forever from the shell of flesh he'd left behind. She was struck by another terrible thought. She wondered if Misha knew he was dead, if her father's body would be burned in the proper ritual, or if he had been left for wild animals to find. "Child!" She heard the Prophetess' voice calling inside her head, felt the support the older woman was offering. She fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. How could their world have come to this? Small hands tugged her fingers down. Vivienne knelt beside her, worry darkening her eyes. "Are you sick?" "Only my heart." Tatiana touched the left side of her chest. "Because of my father." 185

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"Oh." That one tiny word tore at Tatiana. The Prophetess had said little about Vivienne's family, only that her parents considered her a burden. Shame rose in Tatiana; she had complained so bitterly about her father's rules, yet failed to appreciate his love for her. She'd taken for granted the easy life they lived. Surely her father and Misha had faced times like these before, yet she'd never known anything but peace. "The bad men are coming." "You just had a bad dream," Tatiana replied. "I know it when I'm not sleeping. The bad men are coming. I'm afraid, sister." Although Tatiana longed to reassure her, words wouldn't come. She didn't know who the bad men were that Vivienne was preoccupied with, but she believed something terrible was coming their way. She rose and took Vivienne's hand in hers. She was the goddaughter of the high elder and she'd been raised on stories of her people's bravery. For years, she'd wondered where her place was in this world, and now she knew: beside the Prophetess, beside this girl. Karina's kidnapping and her role in helping rescue her had changed Tatiana. Challenging Nekia had reminded her of her heritage, convinced her she could be more than a pampered princess in an elder's household. Her tutelage under the Prophetess here in France had strengthened her emotionally. Running with Vivienne through the woods had strengthened her physically. If Vivienne's bad men actually arrived, she hoped she had what it took to fight 186

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them off if the Prophetess' incredible mental powers weren't enough. "Are you hungry?" she asked Vivienne. "A little bit." "Let's see if we can steal a bag of blood when Cook's not looking." "Even if she's looking, I can have anything I want. She likes me." Tatiana smiled. She'd never met a child as certain of herself as Vivienne. After she went through her changing, and gained all the powers of a full vampire, she'd be as formidable as any clan elder. It might be a good thing that they were already friends. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Sixteen **** Not for the first time, Giorgio wondered why he hadn't built a business career, or created his own college for the education of Ancients. Anything that would provide an adequate income, give him prestige and didn't involve chasing shadows. He was going crazy trying to fulfill his new assignment from the high elder. He'd gone into some sleazy dives to meet with Ancients who walked on the wild side and met with a trusted informant in a penthouse in Atlanta. His excuse, of course, was that the council was concerned that others had been involved with Nekia's plot to infiltrate their ranks. So far, he'd come up with a big fat zero. No one had stalled when he asked leading questions or tensed when he pushed for information on their relationship with the dead Nekia. The one he needed to talk to was Colin Fluet, the enforcerin-training who had flirted with Tatiana and set up the kidnapping. Fluet had been young and stupid enough to fall under Nekia's spell and believe she'd reward him with money and a fancy house. Giorgio was sure that if Nekia had lived, Fluet would have ended up dead for his mistake in letting the girl Karina be snatched from the high elder's own house instead of the man's goddaughter. 188

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The scene in that warehouse was as bright in his memory as the night it happened. Tatiana had surprised him, challenging Nekia. Leykin had surprised him as well. Although it had been her first confrontation as an enforcer, she'd done as well as any he'd met. Knowing that reassured him. He'd tried to connect with her off and on since they'd parted, yet it was as if a wall separated them. He hadn't even sensed her presence, which bothered him. But he hadn't felt her death, either, which was a good sign. "We are here, sir." The driver's words brought him back to where he was— outside the high elder's mansion, ready to go in and make his daily report. He only wished he had something more to report than the usual, "Everything seems normal." Stepping into Misha's office, he realized the curtains were drawn, a grim reminder of how their world was changing. Misha never closed the drapes at night. He liked to look out at the night sky, no matter where he was. Now, with the clans under order to gather and remain inside, this house was closed up. The doors were kept locked with enforcers stationed at each entrance, and every window was covered. "You look tired," Misha greeted him. "I am. Rest is a luxury I can't afford. I'll sleep once all this is over." Misha picked up a gold pen from his desk and began fiddling with it. 189

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"I fear this is our new normality," he finally said. "I pray I am not the elder to reign over the end time." Stunned, Giorgio stared at his friend, unsure of what to say. Misha was an optimist. Even in the worst of times, he looked for the bright spot and usually found it. If he believed the Ancient world was going to hell in a basket, what hope was there for any of them? "I've surprised you." Misha tossed the pen back down and stood. "We've gone through hell together and found our way back. We both should have died from silver poisoning after the attack directed toward the Prophetess a few years ago and yet here we are. "I like to believe I'm a survivor, and I know that you are. Yet how can either of us make sense from this chaos? The council elders should be here, in my city, helping guide our people. But they are holed up with their clans, on my order, as we lived hundreds of years ago." "The need is only temporary," Giorgio said. "Perhaps. I wish for it to be so. I'd be far more confident if the executionists were found, and if we knew what alliances exist outside the known channels. At a time when we should stand together, we splinter. How many more Nekias are out there, plotting my death and the overthrow of our entire society?" That, Giorgio knew, was the crisis in a nutshell. Oh, there had been plans for insurrection before, but nothing had come of them. Take Danforth Harrington's son Jeffrey. Only Giorgio, Misha and a handful of others knew that Jeffrey and his companions were dead in a played-out West Virginia coal 190

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mine, dead because they fancied themselves able to outwit the council. Misha walked to the window, pulled back the drape slightly and looked out into the night. With his back to Giorgio, he spoke. "We can trust no one except each other. My dearest friend, Stenos, has gone back to the fathers. I felt the ache when his soul left our people, and I expect it will always be with me. Find those who caused his death and avenge it. Kill them before they can decimate our leaders, before they can crush the soul of our people." When he turned, Giorgio saw a red tear slide down his cheek and was shaken to the core. Misha kept his emotions tightly in check. He must be at his breaking point. Without thinking, Giorgio dropped to one knee, the same position an enforcer assumed when being sworn into duty. His head bowed, he said, "I promise you, my elder, that Stenos did not die in vain. I will remove this cancer from our people or lose my head trying." Misha offered a sad smile. "I ask more of you, my friend. If it is necessary, you must kill the girl Karina." Giorgio found himself speechless for the second time in five minutes. Misha had protected Karina, provided for her while she was hidden with her foster parents, Ahnya and Griff, two short-lifers who raised her as their own. No elder allowed a member of his clan to be harmed, yet Misha was ordering her death. 191

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"You ask much of me," he answered, rising to talk to Misha eye to eye. "The Prophetess stood in front of me, in front of the entire council when I was only a clan elder, and predicted the birth of a child who would be of the blood but not appear of the blood. Karina was born only days later; no other child was born to the Ancients for well over a year. "I have watched and I have listened. Every child after Karina was normal. Each had tiny fangs with which to feed from a blood nurse, the long sharp nails of our children, and an aversion to milk. I continually ask myself if I did wrong in keeping the prophesied child from the council. Does the blame for this lay on me, Giorgio? Did my actions condemn our people?" Giorgio knew it was a rhetorical question and was grateful he wasn't expected to answer. What was done could not be undone. Misha could stew on his decision until the day he died or the world ended and never find an answer. Perhaps Karina's mere presence had shifted the delicate balance of their existence. Or maybe things would have happened as they did even if she had never been born. "If our people are condemned, it is simply the world's progression that sealed our fate," Giorgio said slowly. "Have you seen those silly shows on television where men go out with electronic equipment to look for the spirits? You know, I know, that death ends our existence. Nothing of us survives here on earth, yet they profess to believe and drag others into their beliefs. 192

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"So is it with our people. The legends of evil bloodsucking creatures are a fabric in the short-life world. Misguided fools pretend to be vampires, take on a theatric persona and predispose their kind to believe that we are evil." He threw up his hands. "That newspaper that proclaimed Nekia, Harrington and so many others to be vampires—how did that come to be known? A short-lifer? Perhaps, but I know of none who is acquainted with every Ancient named. I suspect the revelation came from within our own ranks. Some among us are eager to reveal our world. They believe we would be respected and left alone. I do not share their confidence. If our existence is proven, we will be hunted and killed like animals, our property and wealth seized. Fathers forbid it; we might be forced into servitude, passed down from one generation to the next like chattel." His voice grew louder and louder as he spoke with passion; his final words rang through the room and echoed back to him. On the other side of the wide desk, Misha nodded in agreement. "That dare not happen," Misha whispered, his hands clenching into fists. "Find the traitors, Giorgio, and rip their hearts from their bodies. Let every Ancient see and remember that we are only as strong as the weakest among us. I will not rule over another Dark Time." Giorgio murmured, "So will it be," bowed his head and left the room. His thoughts were as bleak as the night that greeted him as he left the mansion. He would not let the Ancient world be destroyed. Not now. Not since he'd met 193

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Leykin and rediscovered joy. Not when he finally had something worth living for. "Do you know where the hell you're going?" Duncan barked the question as the SUV bounced down the road. "Not down the interstate," Stefan shot back. "I prefer not to be traveling alongside nosy truckers with cell phones. We don't need anyone calling the police to tell them there's a girl chained in the back of our vehicle." "It's dark. No one would see," Duncan said. "You worry too much." "And you don't worry enough. A little extra caution's not going to hurt anything. Check on the girl and make sure she's still breathing." "How did I become a babysitter?" he retorted. "Just shut up and do it." Grumbling, Duncan leaned over the seat and poked Karina. When she didn't react, he leaned close, putting his ear to her face. "She's breathing." He turned around and faced the front again. In the cargo department, Karina adjusted her body again. Her feet and legs were numb; the chains dug into her arms. Her mind was free, however, and she listened to the sounds both inside and outside the SUV. The oversized tires hummed as they rolled along the pavement beneath her. She'd heard the sound change a short time ago as they turned onto a better road. She knew from their conversation that they weren't going back to Kentucky 194

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but somewhere three or four hours away. Whether that was north, south, east or west, she didn't know. She wasn't sure it mattered. What she had to do was listen for the vehicle to slow and plot out what she'd do when they finally stopped. Act pathetic. That might be the best thing. So far, they didn't seem to realize she was Ancient. That was her ace in the hole, and she intended to play it, but not until the time came. "We're down to a quarter tank." The warning came from the driver. What was his name? Something Irish, she thought. Connor, maybe. No. Colin. That was it. Colin Flute. No, not quite right, but close. Even if she hadn't recognized his face, she'd have known his voice, with its faint whine. She hadn't cared much for him before, but now she really, really didn't like him. "Find some place isolated." That came from the shaggy-haired man right in front of her. "We'll have to stop first and loosen the girl's chains." The other man spoke, the scary one in the front seat. She honed in on him, gave a little mental push to the others to make them want to agree to his suggestion. It worked. "Pull off here, and I'll take care of it." The shaggy-haired guy again. The driver slowed and dropped onto the shoulder. Karina closed her eyes and pretended to be out of it when the man reached over to fumble with her bindings. She gasped when his rough hands yanked her across the seat. 195

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"Sit there." He shoved her next to him. "Don't say a word; don't do a thing when we stop. Try anything and you'll be sorry. Trust me on that." As meekly as she could manage, Karina said, "I need to use the restroom." Her captor rolled his eyes. "Seriously," she said. "Unless you want me to go right here on the seat." The front seat passenger turned toward them and said, "I'll take her while he fills the tank." He jacked a thumb toward the driver. "If there's a window, you guard it. We're not taking any chances." Karina's heart sank. She had no hope of getting away, not with two of them watching her. If they intended to stay that close to her, she couldn't try sending a message to Leykin, either. The last thing she needed was them to overhear her attempts to contact her sister. "There." The guy she assumed as the boss pointed to the left as they rolled down the exit. The SUV rolled past a fast food restaurant and a convenience store with pumps out front to a traditional station. The driver pulled up beside the small block building to a door marked "Ladies." The boss man jumped out and stood beside Karina's door while her companion got out and joined him. Flanking her like guard dogs, the men escorted her to the door. She stepped inside and looked around.

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Nothing but a single stall and a sink. The window beside the sink was large enough to let in light but far too small for someone to go through. When she was done, she turned the knob to go back out. It opened only wide enough for a man's hand to reach in and grab her wrist. "You wait," a voice she recognized as the bossy man's came. His sharp nails dug into her skin as she waited for permission to come out. She was yanked out as the SUV pulled up beside them again, and she was hustled into the back seat. A few miles down the road, the vehicle stopped again, and her chains were put back on. Dark despair rolled through her, adding to the misery of being bound. Her mind retreated once again to that island paradise and its endless blue surf, back to the safe refuge of her cottage home. "Wake up, my dear, we're nearly there." Leykin pretended to awaken, the same way she'd pretended to sleep. She hid the tension vibrating inside her as she offered Quincy a half-smile. Let him think she was attracted to him. If his mind was busy constructing fantasies, he might slip up, and she might find a way to get away. Far, far away. "Stop here and get out." The driver pulled the car over at Quincy's command. Leaving it idling, he stepped out, as did the other hired muscle. Tomas slid behind the steering wheel and they drove away, leaving the two men at the side of the road. 197

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So that, Leykin realized, was how Quincy treated those he considered his inferiors. There was nothing around them but fields and brush, not even a cottage where they might go to call a friend or summon a taxi. A chill ran down her spine. If he decided she was expendable, the same thing could happen. Or worse, since he knew of her connection to both the Prophetess and Misha, she might wind up on the roadside with her head separated from her body. Oh, Giorgio, I need you. She kept herself from broadcasting that thought. She had to make these men believe she wasn't scared of anyone or anything. Any weakness she showed would be something they could, and probably would, exploit. Think, she ordered herself. She'd told Giorgio she was better than a typical new enforcer, that she was ready for the tough situations. They didn't get much worse than this: traveling to who knows where with men she wouldn't trust to tell her the color of the sky—and with no idea why, or what would happen when she got there. Staring out the window, she tried to piece together the little she knew. Quincy Hawthorne was obviously someone who put on a good front, since Misha had agreed to let her accompany him. Or had he? Tomas was the one who picked her up and taken her to get Quincy. What she'd presumed as friendship between the high elder and Quincy might be anything but. They might simply tolerate each other for appearance's sake. And why had Quincy asked about her relationship with the Prophetess? That was hardly the stuff of small talk. 198

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Her heart sank. Quincy intended to use her as either bait or a hostage to get into the house where the Prophetess was residing. She was certain as well that he intended to hold them captive and use them for his own means. What better leverage could he have than the high elder's goddaughter, the Prophetess and the council's chief enforcer's girlfriend? Her mind whirled as she contemplated her choices. No way could she take on both men and survive. Her wisest choice might be to let Quincy think she was an ignorant dolt and bide her time until they were in the house and she could get to Tatiana. She'd seen Tatiana in action and the girl had some serious moves. The two of them just might be able to hold their own with the men. Definitely would be able to hold their own, she corrected herself. If she allowed the slightest doubt, she was doomed. An enforcer was expected to win, and she would. No way was she going to let anyone say she should have been kept on door guard duty, or malign Giorgio for the way he'd trained her. What would Giorgio do? She asked herself that question as the car slowed and Tomas turned onto a narrow country lane. One thing she knew, he wouldn't do anything impulsive. How many times had he told her that reacting on blind impulse was a shortcut to a maiming or even death? She was also well aware of the ban on killing another Ancient. The only way she could do so and not face a council trial for murder was to act in self-defense. So far, both Quincy and Tomas had treated her as a peer. Hell, Quincy had even 199

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apologized for letting her witness that homicide on the airstrip. Granted, if she managed to kill them both, no one would ever know what happened, but she would. And the moral compass instilled by Granmama wouldn't let her live a lie. The small voice inside her whispered, You don't even know if they mean harm, a fact she had to face. The airplane pilot they'd killed had been a short-lifer; men like Quincy regarded them as the same species as an alligator or a toy poodle, a dispensable form of life with amusement value but not an Ancient's equal. "Ah, here we are." Quincy leaned forward to stare out the windshield. He held himself rigid, as if tight with tension, and Leykin's comfort level dipped even further. Tomas stopped the car a few hundred feet from a house nearly hidden by well-trimmed shrubbery and small trees. The early morning light bounced against the windows. There was no sign of life; everyone inside was probably dead asleep. Leykin curled her fingers against her palms, squeezing tight enough to draw blood as they remained in the car and her anxiety grew. Quincy stepped out without saying a word. He walked a few yards away and bowed his head; Leykin suspected he was in communication with someone. She was tempted to listen in, but decided that with Tomas turned in his seat and staring intently at her, it might not be a good idea. She suspected he was trying to see if she was eavesdropping, and 200

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she was pretty sure she didn't want to know what the consequences of such an action might be. When Quincy returned, he opened the door and gestured for her to get out. Leykin obeyed, but kept her distance from him. She wasn't surprised when Tomas also left the vehicle. "I have a very large favor to ask of you," Quincy said in a conversational tone. "I'd like you to walk into that house, greet the Prophetess like a long-lost friend and ensure that we're invited in. "I'm sure you have some reservations, considering that we lied to the high elder in order to get here. I have anticipated that, so I arranged for some insurance." "Insurance?" Leykin echoed. She definitely didn't like the sound of that. "There was a terrible accident in the woods of Minnesota, I'm afraid. Stenos and the woman you once lived with have reached far too early a demise. The short-lifer who took your place as Arabella's protege is in the company of my friends, who are not nearly as patient as me." Leykin couldn't hear the man as he continued to talk. Her mind whirled as the meaning of his words sank in. Granmama was dead. Tatiana's father was dead. Poor Karina was once again a hostage, the victim of a Machiavellian plot she couldn't understand, as new to the world of the Ancients as she was. She should have felt Granmama's loss. She should have been open to any cries for help that Karina might have sent to her. But she'd closed off her thoughts, put up a barricade to protect herself, her selfish, still-living self. 201

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"Leykin." The word, quietly spoken from inches away, broke through the black cloud that engulfed her. Quincy's hands were on her shoulders, his face only a breath away from hers. She tried to look away, to escape his intent black gaze, but he was too close. "We are going up to that door, and you're going to ring the bell. You will tell whoever answers that my clan has gone into hiding and we ask for sanctuary with the Prophetess. Do you understand?" Oh, she understood his instructions just fine. She also understood that if she refused, Karina's life would be snuffed out. Her heart heavy, Leykin walked down the drive to the house, stepped up and pressed the small button inside the brass plate. She could hear a faint ding-dong-ding inside the house and then, a few seconds later, hesitant footsteps. Taking a deep breath, she waited for the door to swing open, swallowed by the reality that she might well be ushering Death inside. "I've been expecting you." The Prophetess herself let them in, her demeanor as calm as if Leykin was a delivery man with a long-awaited package. She turned and walked down the central hall, her back straight, without looking back to see who followed. Leykin was too nervous to appreciate the beauty they passed. Her feet felt heavy despite the plushness of the carpet, and the works of art lining the walls barely registered in her numbed mind. 202

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The room the Prophetess led them to was elegantly done in pastel blue and white, the curtains pulled back to give a view of the nearly full moon dominating the sky outside. Double doors stood half open; a mild breeze blew into the room. A low table beside a long divan held four tall crystal stemmed glasses and a squat pitcher of blood. "I find myself unable to sleep some days," the Prophetess said, seating herself as if she was royalty receiving visitors. "I've discovered a small repast will often make me drowsy. Please, join me." When Leykin headed for the divan to sit beside the Prophetess, she felt a push from Quincy and chose a satincovered chair instead. Quincy seated himself on the divan. It was only then she realized Tomas hadn't come with them. The room was silent as the Prophetess completed the act of filling the glasses and handing them out. She took the last one for herself and settled back with a sigh. "As much as I enjoy company, I'm sure you didn't come to join me in a game of lawn croquet," she said. "I suspect as well that Miss Reneau came under duress. So perhaps we should discuss whatever brings you here so we may all take our rest." Leykin knew the genteel words of the Prophetess hid steel. The older woman's fingers were wrapped tightly around the crystal stem and her shoulders were squared, her face tight. A cautious hope filled Leykin. The Prophetess was as mentally strong and agile as the most skilled enforcer was physically. Quincy acted as if the Prophetess had never spoken. He complimented her on the furnishings and politely inquired as 203

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to her health. He relaxed into the corner of the divan, legs crossed, as if unwinding in the parlor after a hard day betting on horses, or whatever men like Quincy did for recreation. An arm's length away, the Prophetess sipped from her goblet, allowing silence to fill the room. The quiet was broken by a quickly muffled scream from somewhere above them. Leykin acted on reflex, jumping up and heading for the door toward the cry. Quincy was faster; his body blocked the doorway. "You're not going anywhere," he said in a voice short of a snarl. His face had paled, and his fangs were descended. "You would do well to remember your use to us has ended, and you're dispensable now." Leykin recoiled as he grasped her shoulders and shoved her toward the couch. His breath, hot on her neck, came fast; his heart was pounding so hard she could hear it, a slow and steady beat. "Tomas!" he called after he'd pushed her down beside the Prophetess. "Bring the girl!" Panic rose inside Leykin as understanding dawned. That despicable man hadn't come intending to kill anyone. He was taking hostages—and who better to hold for ransom than the two people most important to the high elder, the Prophetess and his own goddaughter? "Get in there!" Tomas' rough voice exploded from the hall outside, followed by the sound of a scuffle. Leykin jumped up, only to be shoved back down by Quincy growling, "I said sit." The Prophetess didn't move. She hadn't moved since she'd placed her goblet on the table, before Leykin tried to cut and 204

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run. And she didn't move when a young girl, tears streaming down her face, was dragged into the room by an angry Tomas. "The little bitch is a fighter." Tomas held his arm out; a circle of bite marks decorated the inside of his arm just above his wrist. "I'm not sure the high elder will want her back." Quincy moved fast, grabbing Tomas and throwing him against the paneled wall. "You fool, you got the wrong girl!" Tomas cringed. "How was I supposed to know? I've never met Tsarentza's goddaughter." Quincy backhanded him, his fangs glistening. "She's full-grown, you idiot. That one hasn't even gone through her changing. Has living well over the past century made you stupid?" Leykin edged forward slightly. If the argument escalated, if Quincy forgot she was in the room, she might be able to get behind him and overpower the man. The Prophetess' hand on her arm stopped her. Leykin settled back and took the shaking girl's hand. If the Prophetess wanted her to stay put, she intended to obey. It had to mean the other woman had a plan. A deep growl brought her attention back to the men. They faced each other, their bodies rigid and their stance menacing. She expected them to begin circling one another, lips pulled back, like angry dogs. She was surprised when Tomas raised his hands chest-high, palms outward, as if in surrender. 205

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A sharp hiss from Quincy sent the other man to the far side of the room. With his second dispatched, Quincy returned to stare at the young girl as if she was an alien species. Leykin felt the girl's trembles and longed to put an arm around her in reassurance. She was afraid to move even a finger, unwilling to give their enemy any excuse to separate them. "Who is this one?" Quincy tossed out the question to the Prophetess, his attention still on the girl. "A child of my clan," the Prophetess said. "Ah, but aren't all Ancients members of your clan?" he spat back. "You belong to us all, yet you protect only your favorites." "The child was abandoned by her parents when the order was given to gather the clans. They are with kin in South America; she was left behind with a short-lifer governess." Quincy tipped his head and considered Vivienne. "So out of the goodness of your heart, you took her in. How kind. And how interesting, considering she looks like training material." "I have no idea what you mean." "Of course not." Quincy delivered the words in a mocking tone, his attention back on the Prophetess. "It never crossed your mind that your days are limited and it's time to find your successor." The Prophetess shrugged. "Wish what you like," she said. "It is of no consequence to me." 206

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Color stained Quincy's cheeks; he curled his hands into tight fists. Leykin tensed, ready to jump him if he went on the offense. To her surprise, he turned and shouted at Tomas, "Why are you still here? Go get the other girl!" Tomas loped out of the room; a moment later, Leykin heard his thundering footsteps on the stairs she assumed led to the sleeping rooms. She wanted to call out silently to Tatiana, to give her a mental warning that trouble was heading straight for her. She might have done so if she hadn't felt the warm, comforting presence of the Prophetess in her own mind. She suspected the older woman was reaching out to the girl as well. The child, calmer now, had scooted over to wedge herself beside Leykin. Without thinking, Leykin wrapped an arm around the girl, pulling her close, as much for comfort as to give it. Her outward calm covered a festering frustration. She wanted to do something—needed to. But more than that, she had to know about Tatiana. Time slowed to a crawl, the seconds lengthening as Quincy began to pace. Leykin timed his strides, wondering if she was fast enough to get through the doorway before he could catch her. Before she could try, Quincy threw back his head and roared. Obviously, Leykin decided, he wasn't having trouble using the mental powers common to their species. The only reason she could see for his anger was that Tomas' search was a bust. 207

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"Where is she?" He whirled and pointed an accusing finger at the Prophetess. "I sent them both to bed at dawn," she answered, her voice steady. "Perhaps, like me, she had trouble drifting off. She often takes walks in the woods." Quincy shouted for Tomas, the single word ringing throughout the quiet room. Vivienne huddled even closer to Leykin, whose duty was crystal clear. If the girl was to succeed the Prophetess as Quincy assumed, she must be protected at all costs, even if it meant Leykin's own life. Her allegiance to the Prophetess was not only personal but professional. The first duty of an enforcer was to protect the council and Prophetess, whoever those Ancients might be. Her heart ached for Tatiana. She'd seen Quincy's cold, methodical actions and knew the high elder's goddaughter might have only minutes to live if Tomas was able to find her. She felt a selfish sorrow as well; she'd become fond of the Prophetess when she'd served as her companion. She wasn't ready to lose her yet, especially if Quincy was telling the truth and Granmama was dead. If. Leykin refused to believe solely on his word. She hadn't felt Granmama's passing. She hadn't sensed Granmama reaching out to her in what would have been her final moments. She wouldn't believe until she saw Granmama's body prepared for burning. The Tomas who answered Quincy's summons wasn't the cocky, self-confident man who had accompanied them on the plane. He was diffident, cowed, as he bent his head before Quincy and waited for instructions. 208

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"Look at me." Quincy punctuated the words by yanking Tomas' hair, forcing him to meet the angry vampire's gaze. "Find the girl or you'll be feeding the wild dogs at dusk. I will not tolerate incompetence." Tomas held his wrists up toward Quincy, his voice imploring as he answered. "We are equals," he said. "Brothers. Or does our oath mean nothing?" Quincy laughed, a deep and vicious sound. "I've yet to meet the man who is my equal. We go far back, and I've been kind to you, but I have my limits. Now find her!" Leykin watched emotion play across Tomas' face, from disbelief to anger and finally acceptance. She longed to know what oath he'd taken with Quincy, and what it had to do with her and the others in this room. She wondered if the Prophetess knew. Despite what most Ancients believed, the woman wasn't all knowing. The wisdom passed down to her from her predecessor allowed her to interpret the Book of the Ancients, and she somehow gained enhanced mental powers in the deal. But Leykin suspected she was equally baffled by her unexpected captivity—and that she, too, was working on a plan. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Seventeen **** Giorgio settled into the back booth at Rosie's, a glass of half-blood, half-whiskey in his hand, and waited for Acacia. He sure as hell hoped she had learned something over the past two days. He was sick and tired of hitting dead ends himself. His body felt slow and awkward. He hoped it was because he wasn't eating or sleeping right, and not because he was about to suffer a relapse from his silver poisoning. He'd thrown himself into his work for two reasons: Hoping that what he did would allow the Ancients freedom again, and because if he stayed busy enough, there were moments when he didn't think about Leykin. What had been a normal small anxiety was growing into a monster fed by his fears and active imagination. He'd reached out to her, but his thoughts had been blocked. He'd tried calling her cell phone, but a damn recorded voice told him her mailbox was full. He'd even contacted an enforcer from the English clan only to be told their members were all accounted for. He was almost worried enough to barge into Misha's home and demand to know where his woman was. Almost. With their world closing in and their existence being shouted to the world by that damn rag of a tabloid, everyone was on edge and he had no intention of being verbally flailed by the high 210

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elder for caring more about a woman than the future of their people. He drained the glass and signaled for another one. A couple of drinks wouldn't make him drunk, and the blood he was consuming would serve in place of a civilized meal. In a half hour or so, he'd be ready to go back out into the night and do his duty. "Hi." Acacia slid into the seat across from Giorgio. He hoped she didn't feel as bad as she looked. Faint purple circles lay under her eyes, and she projected an aura of complete and total weariness. "So what's new?" he asked. She shrugged. "Still haven't located the executionists and nobody's talking. Hell, there's no one around to talk since Tsarentza ordered the clans to gather. They're all shut up wherever their elder ordered them to go. They're too afraid of the future to care about the mystery of how Nekia ended up in a state park for anyone to find." "Yeah, I know how they feel." Giorgio sighed. "I gotta admit, the idea of holing up somewhere with my lady and shutting out the rest of the world doesn't sound too bad right now." Acacia smiled. "You wouldn't be saying that if you were stuck in an ocean-side hotel with a hundred of your clan mates. That's where my mom is, down in Mexico, and she's let me know we'd better get things taken care of so she has her freedom again. Patience may be a virtue, but my mother's never been known as a virtuous woman." 211

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Despite his cocoon of grimness, Giorgio smiled. The enforcers attached to the council were a family of their own, no matter what clan claimed them. They were two dozen of the best and most loyal Ancients he'd ever met, and he was proud to be one of them. "So how are you doing?" she asked as she signaled Rosie to bring her a drink. Giorgio grimaced. "Lousy. I can't help but believe that everything is tied together, yet I can't figure out how. I keep thinking that if we can figure out who talked to the tabloids, I might be able to figure out who murdered the high elder's closest friend. There's no way in hell that all this coming at the same time is mere coincidence." They fell into silence as Rosie delivered Acacia's goblet of honeyed blood. After she was back behind the bar, Acacia said, "Have you called the editors of those papers? Maybe they can help." "Tsarentza's already unleashed the council lawyers, and all they got back was a terse 'All sources are confidential.' If they can't get to that information, I can't either." "So what's next?" Giorgio sighed. "I'm supposed to meet with the high elder just before dawn. I've got nothing. So I figure he'll either kick me out of my job or put me back on trying to figure out who moved Nekia's corpse. With the clans separated and controlled, there's not much else for me to do." He drained his glass, stood and said goodbye. He intended to head home, take a shower and climb into fresh clothing 212

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before he met with Misha. He might feel like a failure, but he didn't have to look like one. Trapped in her submissive position, leery of moving and scraping her now-tender skin raw with the chains, Karina kept her eyes closed and her breathing light, as if she was sleeping. Although her body was perfectly still, her mind focused on everything she'd seen and experienced. She might be killed eventually, but it seemed as if these men wanted to keep her alive for now. That took care of priority number one. Priority number two was to figure out a way to summon help without the men catching on. Simple empathy wouldn't work. The big man who served as her primary captor seemed both powerful and experienced. Someone like him would have mastered the link between Ancients and be able to eavesdrop at will, she suspected. Of course, she had the advantage of appearing only human, not Ancient. Hearing the men talk to each other, Karina realized they had no idea she was also of the vampiric race. She needed to seize that advantage while she could. But who should she attempt to contact? Granmama had been attacked; if she wasn't dead yet, her wounds would probably be mortal unless a healer found her. Leykin, maybe. Except she'd already tried that and gotten nada back. She'd try Giorgio, the top dog in the enforcer world, except he probably had a solid mental wall to keep people out. She figured the chances of getting through to him ranged from slim to none. 213

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Karina's spirits plummeted as she considered the possibilities and discarded them one by one. The Prophetess was out of the question as were her parents, who were simple humans through and through. Her mind called up the images of the people she'd met since she left her island home and discarded all but those she could trust without reservation. Then she realized the perfect person was the high elder's goddaughter. She and Tatiana had become friends when Karina first came to Kentucky, and since she was young, Tatiana's mind was probably lots easier to access than an older Ancient's. She made her own mind blank and listened to the sounds around her. The big man in the seat above her head moved in his seat, his clothes whispering against the leather upholstery as he moved. The men in front spoke quietly, in a form of Ancient she couldn't begin to understand with her rudimentary language lessons. Music played, stuff from a couple hundred years ago, the classical stuff she really didn't like. As far as she could tell, they were all ignoring her. Taking a deep breath, she called on the distillation technique Granmama had taught her. "You've learned to listen in, but you have to learn to separate the paths," Granmama had said as she admonished Karina to practice, practice, practice. "You watch television. You know how each channel moves through the air to a receiver and if perfectly transmitted is perfectly clear. That's how our abilities work." 214

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Karina focused on creating a clear channel, a connection directly to Tatiana that wouldn't be caught by anyone else. Not by the men in the car with her, not by whoever might be with Tatiana. Her heart rate slowed and her breathing became almost nonexistent as she pictured the connection as a brilliant white light, a metaphysical cable that would carry her plea for rescue. Tatiana cowered beneath a giant pine, her back propped against the rough-barked trunk. She sat with her arms circled around her bent knees, fear coursing through her as she listened for heavy feet breaking through the underbrush. The heavy limbs with their thick needles provided a curtain that made it hard for her to see through but also made it impossible for anyone to see her. She hoped. She squeezed her eyelids tight against the tears threatening to fall. She'd promised to protect Vivienne and instead had slept as the girl was grabbed from her bed. Awakened by a loud curse and Vivienne's squeal of outrage, she had frozen under the covers instead of jumping up and running to help her charge. Some protective big sister she'd turned out to be. Shoving the memory of her cowardice to the back of her mind, Tatiana concentrated on the sounds around her. She caught the hoot of a night owl several trees away, the scream of a rabbit as a hawk's talons closed around it, the faint noise of an engine on the highway a mile away. All ordinary. 215

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Until a faint transmission broke through, slipping into her mind through the night noises around her. The emotions hit before the message, a ponderous mixture of fear, sorrow, regret and hope. The world around her slid away as she concentrated on the faint and broken words forming in her head, a plaintive plea for help. Her own body began to hum with horror as she realized it was Karina reaching out to her, desperate for someone to know she was alive but not well. To let her know she was once again a captive, unable to help herself. Tatiana longed to reverse the connection and let Karina know she understood. She weighed her choices. She could take the chance and get caught if her own pursuers had their minds in reception mode, or she could ignore Karina and give herself a better chance at escape. Maybe, she decided, she could sneak back to the house, find a way in and get to Leykin. After all, Leykin was an enforcer. She'd know what to do. As her awareness of Karina faded, Tatiana opened her eyes, took a deep breath and prepared to pick her way through the brush and trees. The house was a half-mile or so away; surely she could get there without being seen. Before she could have second thoughts, she leaned against a large tree and peeked around. She saw nothing. She listened and heard no one. Her heart pounding in her throat, she took a first careful step and headed for the very last place she wanted to go. Tomas stubbed his foot on a fallen tree and cursed below his breath. What the hell had he been thinking to join Quincy 216

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in one of his schemes again? During the Civil War, they'd been younger, still adventurous. As America had matured, so had he. He should be warming the sheets with his mistress instead of dodging bugs and limbs in this damn thicket. He paused at a clear spot and opened his mind. Maybe the brat wouldn't be able to resist calling for help. Pinpointing her location would be a whole lot better than wandering through the trees like a lost cow. He found only blankness. No young woman's voice beseeching the Prophetess to send in the figurative cavalry. Cursing, he began walking again, planning the things he'd like to do to punish her for running from him even as he knew Quincy wouldn't let him do anything. Preoccupied with that mental exercise, he almost didn't hear the low cry coming from his left. He froze and listened. Silence. Still, he carefully moved that way, one small step after another. The low-hanging branches made it harder to see, but he was sure he'd spot something as large as the elder's goddaughter. He bit back a curse as his shoulder caught on a broken branch, tearing his custom-made jacket. He forgot about the rip and his frustration when he saw the small figure a few yards away. It was definitely human, and moving with as much concentration as he was. He froze in place, watching the dark form to see which way it moved. Toward the chateau, he decided. He tried to remember the way he'd come; backtracking, he might be able to hide and grab her before she reached the house. Turning, he moved 217

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with stealth, his steps as quick as he could make them on the rough terrain. When he saw the first dim shimmer of lights, he zigzagged toward them. There had been a small storage building where the lawn met the forest, he recalled. Staying within the trees, he made his way to it, flattening himself against the back wall to lay in wait. Tatiana picked her way through the brush, using her walks through these woods as an internal compass. She paused from time to time, closed her eyes and tried to feel the presence of anyone near her. When she was sure no one followed, she continued on her way. She'd never been more scared in her life, not even when she fought with Nekia in the warehouse. One wrong move, one miscalculation and she'd be done for. Her shoe slipped on a patch of damp leaves and she fell heavily onto her knees, a small cry of surprise escaping before she could stop it. She pushed herself up, wiped the wet foliage from her knees and started moving again. Tears welled in her eyes from the pain of her skinned knees, but she refused to give up. Vivienne's small voice echoed in her memory. Somehow the girl had known someone was after them; it was time now for Tatiana to outwit the bad men and save them all. The Prophetess had great powers, but she was not physically strong. "Hang on, I'm coming," she muttered to herself as she neared the end of the woods. She could see the lights shining 218

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through the first floor windows, and prepared herself for a hard, fast run as soon as she left the protection of the trees. His senses heightened, Tomas sensed the girl before he saw her. He crouched into a take-off position and tensed for pursuit as soon as she came into his line of sight. He waited for a signal to go. It came in the tiny tremor of the saplings at the tree line; by the time she burst onto the trimmed grass, he was running after her, his leather-soled dress shoes slipping on the dewy lawn. Her face was a white shimmer as she turned and saw him. Her feet kicked up and she ran like the furies were behind her, her nightdress swishing as she ran. Tomas chased the blur, his breath coming hard from the exertion and his anger. He was within feet of her when she abruptly changed her path, veering sharply to the left. Tomas changed with her, but once again his shoes were slow to find purchase. She was still several arm lengths from him by the time she reached the house and grabbed the ornate brass handle on the front door. Her scream of anger when the door stayed closed served as fuel, and he was beside her, subduing her before she could shout for someone to let her in. He pulled her against him, her back against his chest, and slapped his hand across her mouth. "Nice try, but you still lose," he growled. "When I get the order to slaughter, it will be my great pleasure to kill you first." He kicked the door with his foot, the sound echoing in the still night. It shook but didn't give. He tried again, this effort accompanied by rich swearing in Ancient. He was rewarded 219

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with a loud crack and splinters falling from the frame beside the latch. One more hard kick and the lock gave way. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and walked inside, shoving Tatiana before him, her wrists captive in his hands. "I got her!" he called, triumph filling his voice as he walked into the salon where the others were being held. "Well, congratulations," Quincy said, clapping his hands in mock applause. "And after only a half hour's tromping through the woods when you could have yanked her from her bed. Remind me to give you an employee of the week award for that." He grabbed Tatiana by her wrists. Wiggling his fingers at Tomas, he waited for the other man to toss him a pair of steel handcuffs. He snapped the handcuffs in place and bent down to look into her face. "You, little missy, have been more than enough trouble for one night. We're going on a little trip. You might actually stay alive until we get there if you keep your mouth shut and behave." He turned toward the sofa where Leykin and the Prophetess sat, with Vivienne between them. "My apologies again," he said, looking at Leykin. "This was to have been such a simple task, picking up the occupants here and taking them with us. I do hope you understand that I usually don't pick such inept help." Tomas closed his hands into fists, tightening them until his fingernails pierced his palm. He hadn't realized how big Quincy's ego was until now. The man had planned this whole 220

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thing, down to the tiniest detail, yet he was quick to shove the blame on someone else. "If you're done with your tea party, maybe we should get going," he said, stinging from the insult. "An excellent idea," Quincy said, pulling two small gold vials from his pocket and tossing one to Tomas. Turning to Leykin and the Prophetess, he said, "I do hate to threaten a lady, but a lack of cooperation will unfortunately cause us to use the liquid silver we're holding. Tomas is going to escort the young ladies to the car, and then come back for you. "Me, I'll be keeping the Prophetess company." He wiggled the silver vial. "I hope no harm comes to her through anyone's foolish actions." Tomas yanked Tatiana to her knees and motioned for Vivienne to join them. He ordered her to hold out her hands; when she did, he bound them with another set of handcuffs from the small case. His final act was to snap a chain between the two sets of handcuffs, so Tatiana and Vivienne were tethered together. Moments later, he was back for Leykin. He uncapped the vial before taking her arm to lead her down the hall and to the waiting vehicle. Once she was in the back with cuffed girls, he slid behind the wheel and honked the horn. Quincy opened the front passenger door for the Prophetess. When she was settled in, he slammed the door and slid into the back seat with the others. "Ah," he said, "we're a little cramped, but the ride is short. And really, isn't it nice for friends to be close?" 221

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Chapter Eighteen **** The place didn't feel right without her. Giorgio drained his cup, wiped a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth and pulled on his suit jacket. He'd lived in this apartment for a decade; it was his retreat from the world and all the things he was called on to do. Today, though, the usual aura of comfort was gone, replaced by a sense that time was suspended. He wanted to close his eyes, reach out and touch her mind. He wouldn't, because the council had banned all unnecessary empathy until the current trouble was over. He'd keep trying her cell phone, even though he knew her voice mailbox was full. Giorgio headed out the door, down the hallway and to the parking lot. As his thoughts slid from his personal life to his professional one, he ran through the most likely questions Misha would have for him. The big one, of course, would be whether he'd found which Ancient was leaking information. He'd been beating his head against a wall for two days now. Like he'd told Acacia, the gathering of the clans worked against a successful probe. One dissident skilled at using the media could bring their whole world down if the mainstream news outlets decided to seriously examine the "they're vampires" claims. 223

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As he figured it, though, the chance of that ranged from slim to none. Centuries ago, the other human race, the shortlifers who had taken over by sheer numbers, believed in so many things now debunked as fantasies. For all he knew, werewolves might exist. Or fairies. Those creatures could have their own hidden world, like his own Ancients. When Giorgio pulled into the circular drive at Misha's mansion, he was greeted with a casual wave by the guy trimming the bushes that lined the front sidewalk and again by the woman cleaning the windows of the porch. To anyone else, they looked like maintenance workers. Giorgio knew they were enforcers, there to ensure no one got to the high elder that wasn't supposed to. Another enforcer guarded the back door, the entrance commonly used by visitors. Giorgio knew if he were anyone other than the council's chief enforcer, he would have been patted down before going inside. Security was the tightest it had been in a century, because Giorgio had ordered it to be. He nodded to the kitchen staff as he walked through to the front hall and up the stairs to Misha's study. He'd made that same trek so many times that he knew there were twelve steps to the landing turn, then another fifteen, and he could point out every place the carpet had been seamed when it was laid. Misha was at his desk, as usual, studying the computer screen. He clicked off whatever he was working on when Giorgio walked in and stood to offer his hand. "By the looks of you, you're not sleeping either," he said as he sat back down. 224

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"I can sleep when I'm dead," Giorgio replied. Misha laughed. "If you wait another four hundred years, you're really going to look like hell." He waved toward a chair and Giorgio sat. "I take it the going is slow," Misha said. "More like non-existent. Right now, I'm leaning toward Big Foot as the culprit. Unless a miracle happens, I think we're going to have to call this investigation a bust." "For now, perhaps." Misha leaned back in his chair. "Once the order to gather is lifted and people start picking up their normal lives, it may be easier. Now tell me what your assistants have learned about the Nekia situation." Oh, there was a tricky question. Giorgio had a gut feeling that whoever moved the dead supermodel's body also fed the information to the tabloids, but he had no hard proof to link the two. "The executionists swear they left her where they were supposed to," Giorgio said. "Tradition is that the body lies alone until dawn, so they didn't stick around. Anybody could have gone to that piece of land and moved her." "Anybody with an agenda against the council," Misha replied. "Or who would like to see another in my place as high elder." Giorgio had a short list of those people; Harrington and Fluet were right at the top. Trouble was Harrington had an alibi; in his role as senator, he'd been on live TV talking about the recovery of New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. Fluet hadn't been seen or heard of since before Nekia was arrested. 225

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Giorgio squared his shoulders and delivered the words he'd never expected to say. "Perhaps I should stand down and let you appoint someone else," he offered. Startled, Misha sat straight up and shook his head. "If you can't get to the bottom of this, no one can," he said. "Time and patience—that's what is going to get us the answers." He studied Giorgio for a long moment, then added, "Before you protest, understand what I'm about to say is an order, not a suggestion. Go home, watch TV, play video games, whatever you do to relax. Once Leykin arrives with the Prophetess and Tatiana, I'll need you to stand guard." "But you already have a dozen enforcers in place," Giorgio protested. "I can serve you better by taking the investigation back from Acacia." Misha raised one eyebrow. "Have you forgotten we trusted a lesser enforcer once before?" he asked. "You do remember how that turned out, I'm sure." Giorgio didn't need a reminder. He lived every day with the guilt of having assigned Fluet to this house. Misha was right: Trust no one was the order of the day. He nodded his acquiescence and listened intently as Misha laid out the timetable for his guests' arrival. By next dawn, this house would be occupied by those nearest and dearest to the high elder. Before he headed back to his apartment, Giorgio tried Leykin's phone and once more heard the same message. He 226

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toyed with the idea of using empathetic communication, but knew if Misha caught him, he could easily be hauled before the council. An important element of gathering the clans was to keep the vampires from using their silent system. Giorgio knew that, as in any society, dark times brought conspiracy and spies. He refused to be the conduit allowing good information to fall into bad hands. "You know what hell is?" Colin asked, wiggling in his seat. "An unending trip through eastern Kentucky." "Can you find one more thing to bitch about?" Duncan muttered from the seat behind him. "Your butt hurts from sitting, you're hungry and want blood, you hate interstate highways and stupid short-life drivers. I'm not exactly thrilled myself, but I have the good grace to keep my mouth shut." "Enough!" Stefan's voice cut in. "You've suffered worse, dear Duncan; remember fighting at Shiloh? The easy life you live is making you soft." A tiny hope sparked inside Karina as she listened to the bickering. Until now, the men had shown solidarity. If they became angry at each other, and concentrated on their own wants instead of her, she might find a way to escape. Or at least send another message. She had felt the connection with Tatiana, and she refused to believe her plea had been lost. Tatiana would tell Leykin, and Leykin would come charging to the rescue with Giorgio at her side. She bet they were already together at Misha's house, waiting for her to let them know where she was.

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A gray gloom swept over her. How could they find her when all she knew was that she was trapped inside a car heading east? "How far yet?" That was what she wanted to know, so she listened as the man in the front passenger seat answered the driver. "Until I say we're there." Karina's gloom deepened. One tiny hint was all she needed. She'd take a chance on connecting with Tatiana again if she had something solid to offer. Until then, she couldn't risk letting these men know she was more than the high elder's pet human. She wiggled and her body screamed in protest. Her legs ached from being in the same cramped position, and it felt like her arms were pulling out of the socket when she pulled her shoulders up. She swallowed hard and pictured an endless expanse of blue sea and foamy waves breaking across the white sand of her island home. She could almost taste the fruit fresh picked by her mother for their afternoon tea, could almost feel the soft breeze blow across her. She lost herself in the fantasy as the miles rolled by. The husk she occupied might be trapped in this rolling prison, but her mind was free to dwell in a brighter, better place, a refuge from reality. "Wake up!" A rough hand shook her. Karina opened her eyes, unable to recognize her surroundings for a moment. When cognizance came to her, when she realized the SUV had stopped and they were at their final destination, a sick 228

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awareness returned. She'd fallen asleep; she had no idea where they were. Even if she could risk sending a mental message again, it would be useless. "Oh, just carry her." The order came from the guy who seemed to boss everyone. With an impatient sigh, the big man grabbed Karina and slung her over his shoulder. She bumped against his body with every long stride, her nerves screaming as the numbness fled. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. No way was she going to let these men know she was suffering. The bumping continued as the group entered a two-story building with faded paint and a creaking door. She tried to memorize details as they went down an interior corridor to a set of steps covered with gray carpet. When they reached the top, the bossy man opened the first door he came to and said, "In here." Seconds later, she was unceremoniously dumped on a narrow bed. The big man took the bindings off her wrists and ankles; she could have cried as the circulation came back and they began to hurt. But she didn't. She wasn't going to let these guys see her pain. "My name is Stefan," said the one in charge. "The other gentleman is Duncan, and I believe you've met Colin. He was at the high elder's house for a time." Oh, she remembered Colin. Tatiana had confided her crush on him, and for a short time, Leykin thought he was cute, too. That was before her encounter with Nekia, before she realized what vicious people populated the world. 229

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Stefan waved a hand and the other two men left the room. Karina scooted as far back on the bed as she could go, until the metal spokes of the iron headboard jabbed her. When he sat on the end of the bed, she folded into herself, bending her knees and wrapping her arms around them. "I'd like to say you'll enjoy your stay here, but you probably won't." Stefan spoke in a conversational tone, as if he was reciting the dinner menu. "If Tsarentza sees things our way, and agrees to step down and take the high council with him, you'll be released to join the short-lifer family you probably have somewhere. "If he resists, you'll die. So will the others who will be joining you. It's nothing personal, of course. We're talking about creating a new world for my people, and naturally there will be some casualties." He stood and adjusted the legs of his tailored pants. "I must apologize. I took the precaution of laying in a good supply of food, but I simply forgot the way you eat. My friends are hungry, but once we've dined, I'll send one of them out to buy some of the trash your kind eats." Karina fought back angry tears. She'd never been treated like this, like an animal. He was the beast, not her. He'd be sorry when Leykin and Giorgio came rushing in. And she knew they would, as soon as she could find a way to contact them. "Here." The man he'd introduced as Duncan stepped in and thrust her backpack toward her. Turning to Stefan, he said, "I've been all through it. Some toys, hairbrush, kid stuff. That's all there is." 230

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"See?" Stefan said. "We're not so bad, are we? You have something to play with, so you shouldn't get too bored before I come visit you again." The part about visiting her again made Karina's blood run cold. She hoped he meant when he brought her food, but she had a feeling he was talking about something else entirely. Something she didn't even want to think about. "Fasten your seat belts, ladies. I'd hate to have you tossed around if we hit turbulence." Quincy's chiding advice make Leykin want to puke. She hadn't cared much for him the first time they met, but she hadn't realized he was such a cold-hearted bastard. Poor Vivienne had shrunk back in her seat, becoming as small as she could, and Tatiana's eyes were puffy from the crying she couldn't seem to stop. The ride from the villa to the airstrip had been made in silence. The transfer from car to plane had been abrupt and quick. Tomas had practically shoved Tatiana up the steps, and was only slightly less rough with Vivienne. The Prophetess, as always, appeared calm and unruffled by this devious turn of events. Seated beside Leykin, she took her hand as the plane began coasting down the runway for takeoff. Leykin was sure she heard her whisper "I always hate this part" as the plane began to pick up speed. The wheels bumped as the plane left the runway, and then they were gaining altitude heading for a destination Quincy hadn't felt compelled to reveal. An overwhelming desire to contact Giorgio swept across Leykin; she wanted his steady reassurance, she needed his experience and expertise. Much 231

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as she hated to admit, he was right. She was good for an enforcer in training, but she wasn't good enough for a situation like this. She leaned the seat back and closed her eyes. Maybe this wasn't real. Maybe she was trapped in a bad dream brought on by overwork and tainted blood. Could be that when she opened her eyes, she'd be in bed with Giorgio, who'd reassure her with that rich voice of his when she told him about her terrible nightmare. Those thoughts fled when she felt someone settle into the seat beside her. She didn't have to open her eyes to see who it was. The scent of men's cologne told the story. Quincy had decided to favor her with his presence. She turned her face away, but it didn't lessen the sensation of being studied. Why that man focused on her, she didn't know. There were other women enforcers he could have chosen, like Acacia. "Don't be afraid." Leykin was so grateful he'd spoken those three words and not dumped them into her mind. She suspected he'd vocalized not because of the ban on empathetic communication that accompanied the gathering of the clans but because he wanted the others to think he had a claim to her. She managed not to shiver at the thought of him touching her. She had to remain impassive. An enforcer didn't show emotion. How many times had Giorgio reminded her of that? "I'd like to apologize in advance for the accommodations," Quincy said, his voice still low enough only she could hear. 232

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"The location I've selected is excellent for our purpose, but it is quite rustic. Once everything is settled, I'll treat you to a suite in whatever hotel you'd like. Or perhaps a spa stay might be more to your liking. Think about it and let me know later." Her skin crawled when she imagined what he'd expect from her in return for a long stay at a lush resort. Some women might find his combination of money and ego appealing, but not her. She continued to feign sleep and was relieved when Quincy returned to the cockpit with Tomas. Despite her companions, she felt alone and isolated. She was afraid to speak aloud for fear of being heard, and she certainly didn't want to connect with the Prophetess when the two men were so close. Ancient men like Quincy, who wanted any edge they could get, honed their mental abilities until they could close out all but those they chose to allow an empathetic link without giving up their own ability to eavesdrop on other's mental conversations. After what seemed an eternity, Leykin felt the plane begin to lower. Either they were making another blasted fuel stop or they'd reached their destination. She hoped it was the latter. Once again, the plane touched down at a small airport, basically nothing more than a runway with a few hangars. Judging by the signs, they were back in the states. Nothing could make her feel better than being on American soil and closer to Giorgio. "Please stay seated until you're asked to stand." The order came from Quincy, who again held the small vial of liquid silver in his hand. He guarded them as the plane 233

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bumped against the tarmac and then coasted to a stop where a Hummer waited. Leykin watched through the window as Tomas went down the plane steps and to the car. After he opened the back door closest to the plane, he ordered the two youngest passengers to get in. Anger built inside her as he grabbed Vivienne with a rough hand and shoved her toward the open door. As soon as she was in the car, he came back for Tatiana. "Your Grace, I believe it is your turn," Quincy said to the Prophetess when he returned, although he kept his eyes on Leykin. She watched as the Prophetess carefully made her way down, holding onto the rail as she took the steps. When Leykin left the plane, Quincy's hand wrapped around her arm in a firm grip. She winced as his fingers tightened, something she was sure was meant as a warning. Quincy didn't release his grip until she was in the backseat beside the others. He buckled her seat belt, managing to brush across her chest as he did so, and with a smile. "Don't look so glum," he whispered so only she could hear. "We're on the cusp of a new world, and you'll have a place in it. You will understand once everything is taken care of." Leykin held back her shudder until he'd withdrawn and slammed the door. The last thing she wanted was to share any part of the slimy bastard's world, and she certainly didn't want to be his consort or whatever the hell he had in mind. Everyone knew the legend of the vampire kings, those earliest Ancients who had first populated the earth and 234

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created their race. But that was a myth, told to shore up her people's sense of worth and identity. Or so she'd been told. She studied Quincy's profile as he gave orders to Tomas, who was behind the wheel. He fancied himself an aristocrat, she knew, better than the average Ancient. She'd seen his arrogance for herself, and he did have the kind of charisma that drew men and women alike to him. Yeah, there were women who'd be flattered at his attention and didn't mind being kept in the dark about his intentions. Some of them were even enforcers, the kind who wore tight black leather and carried knives, putting themselves on show as they provided security for elders who liked to make a splash. Did Quincy think she was like that? Did he believe her allegiance could be easily transferred from one man to another? A welcome indignation rose to replace the fear and doubt she'd allowed to creep in. Sooner or later, they'd get wherever he was taking them. Once she had a clear view of the playing field, she could draw up a game plan. Dark tinted windows kept the world outside a secret. The only sound inside the vehicle was an eerie recording of Celtic chants playing through the top-of-the-line sound system. After about ten minutes of that, Leykin would have dug her way out through the fine leather upholstery and car's solid chassis if it had been humanly possible. She suspected Tatiana would have been a willing partner in the enterprise, since she'd never heard the elder's goddaughter play anything but contemporary Top 40. 235

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After what seemed an eternity, the car slowed and made a wide turn. Leykin braced herself, but still tipped against the Prophetess who took Leykin's hand and kept it, lacing her fingers through Leykin's until they finally stopped and Tomas cut the engine. "We're here, ladies," Quincy said as if announcing they'd reached a ball. His voice had surprising buoyancy. When the door was opened for her to get out, Leykin was met by a greeting party. The big man in the kilt was a stranger; the man next to him looked vaguely familiar, like she'd seen him somewhere but was never introduced. The third man she recognized instantly as Colin Fluet. He stood slightly behind the others, his arms by his sides and his hands curled into fists. Leykin couldn't decide whether he was nervous, belligerent or a combination of both. The big man helped her before offering his aid to the Prophetess. Leykin had learned the older woman's body language, saw the subtle things she didn't hide, probably because she didn't know she was doing them. Leykin read those signs now: the way the Prophetess instantly withdrew her hand from the big man's, the tightness of her shoulders and how she wrapped her arms around herself. Vivienne jumped out on her own and flung herself against the Prophetess, her face buried against the woman's waist. That left only Tatiana in the car. Quincy leaned in before she could get out and said, "I have a surprise for you. One of your friends is with us. Stay right there, and he'll help you." 236

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With a quick jerk of his head, he motioned for Colin to run to the other side of the car. His body still blocked the view, so Leykin couldn't see Tatiana's reaction to the man who had wooed and used her. She did, however, hear the smack of flesh on flesh and figured Tatiana had slapped him hard. "You little bitch!" Colin reacted with a loud and angry shout. "Enough!" Quincy roared the word before Colin could retaliate with more violence. "Fluet, get her and get over here." Tatiana's eyes were gold with fury as she was dragged to the small group. Colin held her in a tight grip, her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her to keep Tatiana from getting away. She kicked fruitlessly against the ground, shrieking at him in Ancient. "She's all yours," Colin said, shoving her toward Quincy. Leykin reached for her, pulling her toward the Prophetess. She had nothing against a good fight, but not when the odds were this poor. With her skills, she could hold her own against one or two of them. The size of the big man, however, and Tatiana's inexperience meant any attempt to take them on could only make things worse. Quincy twirled his hand in a sign that she took for "round them up," because they were herded toward a building that had seen better days. The exterior wore a patina of silver from white paint that had long ago faded to expose wood siding, and portions of the long porch rails were missing. Cracks decorated the concrete sidewalk which had some broken sections filled in with gravel. 237

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A faded sign above the front door read "Haven House," Leykin noted with ironic amusement considering they were being kept prisoners. The door opened with a loud creak that made her wince. "Your accommodations await," Quincy announced. He led the way with the other men flanking them as they mounted the wide steps. At the top, he narrowed his eyes and studied them. "You, little runaway." He pointed at Vivienne. "You get a roommate." He took a key from his pocket, unlocked a door and pushed it open. "Get in there." Leykin's eyes widened as she glanced into the room. Huddled on a narrow bed was her disheveled sister. Karina's face was tearstained, and her clothes were wrinkled and soiled. Leykin didn't have time to make sure her sister saw her before Quincy slammed the door and locked it again. He turned and tipped his head, studying Tatiana. "I suspect you've never had to share a room, and I'd hate for you to start now." He walked across the hall and opened the door. "I'm sure you'll be quite happy in here." Tatiana hesitated, but finally obeyed. Leykin winced at the scrape of the key in the door. The ominous sound reminded her of all those stupid horror movies she used to watch on late night TV. With a slight bow, Quincy spoke to the Prophetess. "I do wish I had something better to offer, your Grace, but I have yet to begin the remodeling. This place was on the 238

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market for a song, and I do love a bargain. My intent is to create a getaway for those who wish to get far from the madding crowd. The plans are being drawn up now." In the meekest tone Leykin ever heard her use, the Prophetess said, "Please, don't apologize. This is a lovely site, here in the hills." Her eyes meeting Quincy's in a near-plea. "As you may have noticed, my years are nearly to an end. Many things I once did for myself now require help. Miss Reneau was my companion until the high elder requested her to serve in a different capacity. I would appreciate having her with me now." To Leykin's amazement, Quincy agreed without hesitation. Either he believed the Prophetess was too frail to be a threat or he thought Leykin was enamored enough of him not to be a threat. She felt almost giddy when he led them to the room at the end of the hall, which held two double beds. The flowered wallpaper was old but intact, and unlike the smaller rooms, this one had a desk, two dressers and lamps on small tables by each bed. She wasn't surprised that Quincy locked the door as he left. Nor was she surprised when she heard him order Duncan to stand guard in the hallway and watch every room. Away from the smothering presence of Quincy, she closed her eyes, took several deep breaths and took command of the churning uncertainty that filled her. For the first time in hours, she could relax. She was hungry, she was tired, but she was back on American soil. Wherever they were, it had to 239

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be closer to Giorgio than twenty thousand feet in the air or in the salon of that French chateau. The tension drained from her body; she reined in the circular thinking she'd fallen into. Yes, it would be fantastic if the high council's best enforcers rolled in, guns blazing. Or silver flowing, which was more apt. The truth, though, was they hadn't been missed yet. Or if they had been, there were no clues to bring them here. Wherever here was. Haven House had a nice ring to it, but judging by the look of the place, it had been abandoned years ago. She doubted if even the locals thought about this place anymore. "Do not fret." The Prophetess's soft words reassured her. Leykin opened her eyes and looked over at their best hope for escape, who was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at Leykin. "I'm finding it hard not to," Leykin responded. "I would be discouraged if we had been separated," the Prophetess said. "I know that when they look at me, they see what my destiny has made me—old, frail and with a body that doesn't always do exactly what I want it to. I believe there is a reason Prophetesses age in the way of short-lifers, rather than remaining young looking until death as our people do. Trading a strong body for a mind far superior to any other vampire's is really a very good bargain." "Does that mean you can, like, brainwash those guys and they'll let us walk out of here?" A tinkling laugh escaped the Prophetess. 240

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"No, my dear, although that's a lovely idea. I do believe, however, that I can provide a shield for your thoughts for a limited time. Long enough, perhaps, for you to give the council's high enforcer an inkling of where we are." Leykin dropped her head into her hands and studied the floor, thinking. If the Prophetess said it could be done, she believed it. The one thing she couldn't do, however, was waste the opportunity. Whatever information she got to Giorgio had to be succinct and easy to understand. And it had to be soon. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Nineteen **** "It's been too damn long." Giorgio slammed his hands down on Misha's desk. He'd charged in without permission, but he wasn't in his official capacity. He'd barged in because all those people who were supposed to be right here, right now hadn't been heard from. "I know. Something is wrong." Giorgio pulled back, surprised. He'd expected Misha to soothe things over, to tell him he'd heard from Leykin. He slipped back into investigative mode, silently piecing together everything he knew and coming up with a conclusion too terrible to voice. Misha said it for him. "If we'd heard from one and not the other, we could figure it was some unexpected travel problem," he said. "With the ban on mental communication, information is slower in coming. "Yes, Stenos is gone. I fear as well for Arabella." Giorgio took a deep breath and with reluctance asked, "Do you think they all are dead? Not just those in Minnesota, but the others?" Misha shook his head. "You know that the death of even one person causes an empathetic blip. I felt that sensation yesterday, when Stenos 242

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went to the fathers. If they were all lost, my grief would be so deep I would not be able to stand." Giorgio shoved a hand through his hair and debated the wisdom of asking the next question. With a mental shrug, he finally asked, "Could they be in the hands of short-lifers? After—" "Oh, no." Misha's denial was swift, accompanied by a shake of his head. "In the centuries since the Dark Times, those other humans lost the knowledge their ancestors had. They'd run the other way if they identified one of our people, not seek to capture them." Giorgio knew he should feel some relief. Instead, the familiar dark worry rolled through him, feeding images of Leykin dead in some dark place with her heart ripped out and her throat slashed. Over the past few hours, the need to find her had become almost unbearable; right or wrong, he had to do something. "You're the high elder," he pleaded to Misha, "second in power only to the Prophetess. Surely you can locate them." "Raw power isn't enough. It must be channeled, like a funnel." "Then do it," Giorgio growled. "I can't," Misha replied, "but you can." "How? I can intimidate a man until he wishes he could crawl back into his mother's womb, I can throw someone a hundred feet without even trying, but I'm not a magician. I can't make them suddenly appear." "You and Leykin have a special bond. If she is with the Prophetess as I hope, I believe she'll reach out to you. 243

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Considering the circumstances, I am giving you special dispensation to do whatever you must to find my family. And, yes, I do consider those women my family, as I do you, although blood does not tie us to one another." For the first time in decades, Giorgio was too overcome with emotion to speak. His throat closed as he fought for control. An orphan raised by his clan from duty and not affection, he had learned to live as an outsider. Leykin had softened his heart and allowed love to sneak in; now Misha was claiming him as a brother. He tried to force out a reply in choking voice. Misha held up his hand to silence him. "A black wave bears down on us, but I refuse to be drowned by it. Do what you must, go where you need to, but find them, Giorgio. Bring them home." Nodding, Giorgio left the study with his mind whirling. He mentally ran through the list of Ancients who might be involved. Tomas, who made him uneasy. Who had been with the man at Rosie's? Stefan? The man loved the limelight, and had given frequent interviews on business management. Quincy Hawthorne, of course, who loved both power and money. The Scot. What was his name? Phipps, that was it. Dolan...no, Duncan. Why was he in Kentucky when his clan was far away and his business interests primarily in Europe? And of course, there was Danforth Harrington. He was definitely a person of interest as far as Giorgio was concerned, but only for the leaks to the newspaper. Being 244

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hauled before the council upon Nekia's accusation would probably keep him from doing anything overt. He mulled Misha's suggestion to open his mind and wait to see if Leykin reached out to him. Good advice, he supposed, although he didn't know how that was supposed to work. If she was being kept against her will—if she was alive, whispered his fear—he doubted if she would risk opening her mind when her captors might easily step in and capture her thoughts. His mind still working on the how and ifs, he found himself driving out of the city. He took a familiar exit off the interstate and drove to a small grassy area along the Ohio River where he and Leykin sometimes picnicked when the moon was full. He put down the windows and turned off the engine, letting the night breeze roll off the water and through the car. He'd stay here all night if he had to, through every night and day he needed to, waiting to hear from Leykin. Waiting to know his beloved still lived. "What's your name?" Karina answered the girl who'd been locked into her room, "Karina. What's yours?" "Vivienne." "That's a pretty name." Vivienne shrugged and climbed onto the end of the bed. Karina wasn't sure whether the shrug was because the girl thought her name was so-so, or if the shrug was one of general acceptance. Karina moved toward the middle of the bed, sitting cross-legged without speaking. 245

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Vivienne stayed silent as well, although she seemed to be taking a visual inventory of the room. The quiet wasn't uncomfortable. Karina found it comforting, rather, to know she wasn't alone any more with the Ancients who had brought her here. At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, she'd retreated to the very top of the bed, curling into herself to appear as small as possible. Her dad used to make a game of teaching her survival tips, and one thing she'd practiced was how to look as non-threatening as possible. Daddums had explained that was so if she ever found herself in, well, circumstances like these, she'd have the element of surprise when she finally found a chance to make her move. Karina grabbed her backpack from under the bed, still not sure why the men had let her keep it, but grateful anyway. She pulled out a well-used video game and held it up for Vivienne to see. "We may be stuck in here, but we don't have to be bored." On the rare occasions when a tropical storm threatened their island, all its inhabitants gathered at the school, which sat squarely inland. Her job had been to keep the smaller children entertained so they'd forget about the danger outside. This wasn't much different. Karina turned on the game and waited for it to load. It was a really old game called Enchantment that Daddums had brought home one time when he'd gone away and stayed away for a whole week. He didn't leave them often, but he brought great stuff back when he did. She handed the small stylus to Vivienne. 246

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"All you have to do," she said, "is pick apples and put them in the basket." "That's easy," Vivienne scoffed, taking the game. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she touched the dropping apples that then moved into a bushel basket. "Hey, what happened?" she squealed as the basket tipped and her virtual apples disappeared. "You grabbed one with a worm in it. When you do that, it spoils all the apples and you have to start over again." Vivienne frowned. "That's not fair." "Sometimes things aren't what they seem to be. Look. When it's a good apple, it has a green stem. If it's bad, it has a black one." Karina supervised as the girl moved through the levels, putting diamonds in a jewelry box and gold coins into a treasure chest until she won the game. Vivienne clapped in excitement as the screen lit up with sparkles and a scrolling "You win!" As she reset the game, Karina wished she had something to take her own mind off what might be happening in the other parts of this big house. When the door had been opened, she'd caught a glimpse of other people out in the hall. She was sure one of them was Tatiana, whom she'd become close to during her brief time in Kentucky. And although she hadn't been able to see anyone else, she'd felt Leykin's presence. The idea of her half-sister being here, even if she was also locked up, gave her the first glimmer of hope since she'd been yanked out of the SUV and stuck in this room. 247

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Vivienne would know. "You didn't come all the way here alone, did you?" she asked, trying to sound casual. Vivienne shook her head, concentrating on the game. "I came in the car. Did you?" "After the airplane." "Wow. I didn't get to come on an airplane." Vivienne paused the game and looked up. "They made us come." "Us?" Karina echoed. "The Prophetess and Tatiana and that other lady the men brought with them." Karina's heart caught. Was Leykin a prisoner, too, or was she working with their captors? "I hope nobody was mean to you." "I told Tatiana the bad men were coming, but she didn't believe me." Vivienne made a face. "Nobody ever believes me." An impulse made Karina pull Vivienne next to her. Tucking the girl against her side, she smoothed her hair. This child could fake nonchalance, but she seemed eager for someone to comfort her. Karina understood her feelings. She'd left everything and everyone she knew behind, too, although it was by her parents' choice and not because she'd been kidnapped. As Vivienne relaxed, Karina did so as well. The world was at its darkest when she was alone. Remembering there were others who cared about her helped ease her fear, and she fell in a dreamless sleep, her arms still around Vivienne. 248

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In the wreck of a communal room downstairs, the Gray Ghosts spoke quietly. Quincy had ordered Colin to monitor the entrance to Haven House. It was a make-work assignment; Colin's mere presence annoyed him and he intended to spend as little time with the fool as possible. "Why did you include him then?" Stefan asked after Quincy expressed his opinion for the dozenth time. "We need a scapegoat on the tiniest chance that something will go wrong," he said. "Everyone who matters knows Fluet was involved with Nekia's scheme. They'll assume this was also part of her plan, and he carried it out without her." Duncan laughed. "I find it hard to believe the high elder would be stupid enough to believe that. Fluet's not a stranger to him, either. He'll look for whoever is pulling the man's strings." "They'll blame Danforth Harrington," Quincy answered with a smug grin. "The council would be very happy to find some reason to judge and execute him." Tomas refilled his goblet, his face solemn. "That all sounds well and good, and I'd like to believe our elders could be so easily duped. But with the clans gathered, there will be no shortage of witnesses to testify that Colin never came back to his own ancestral land, and that Harrington never left his clan." Before he could say more, Quincy leapt across the room to knock the goblet from Tomas's hand and shove him against the wall, his hand at the hapless man's throat. The other Gray Ghosts watched in silence as Tomas gasped for air and 249

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Quincy's hand tightened. When he finally let go, Tomas collapsed on the floor, body heaving as he sought to breathe. Quincy looked from man to man, jabbing the air with a finger as he said, "If any of you have opinions on why our plan won't work, feel free to express them now." Silence continued unbroken. Tomas struggled to a chair, leaning against its upholstered back as the color fled from his face once more and he returned to normal. The others had the wisdom to remain quiet as they finished their drinks. When Quincy spoke again, he was once more the cool leader. Calling Colin in, he handed him a written shopping list and a hundred-dollar bill. "What is this?" Colin asked. "In case you've forgotten, we have a guest who eats vile short-lifer crap," he said. "It would be most helpful if she could manage a day or two without food like we do, but her body burns it up alarmingly fast. Take the SUV, go to town and find a grocery store." The mood among the men was different after he'd gone. Not only were the others careful not to say something that would provoke Quincy, but the confidence they'd shared had disappeared. While they were discussing their plan, while they were bringing together the people they'd decided made the bargaining chips, each man had assumed he had an even share in the project and would benefit equally if it succeeded. Quincy's arrogance and attack on Tomas made it obvious he never saw things that way. While the others offered suggestions on when and how to present their demands to the high elder and the council, 250

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Duncan leaned against the scarred and dirty mantel and watched. He was, as the old adage went, between a rock and a hard place. If he'd refused Quincy's request to help overthrow the council, it would have been like painting a target on his back. Quincy was a man who held grudges; if he gained power, his first priority would be to take out all who were disloyal or threatened his position. Duncan wondered if he hadn't painted on that target anyway. Back in Quincy's office, the plan had seemed so simple. Here, moments from putting the last pieces into action, he was all too aware they were planning treason. Every Ancient knew those charged with treason weren't given a trial. They were summarily executed without being given a chance to plead innocent or guilty. "Are you a basketball fan?" he asked when everyone else had finished speaking. "Who, me?" Quincy asked. "I watch college ball occasionally." "Then you understand the importance of defense. If we succeed..." "When," Quincy interrupted. "When and if we succeed," Duncan continued, "we need our people to believe we are the better choice to lead the Ancients in modern times. Keeping those the high elder holds dear in locked rooms away from each other shows a definite lack of compassion. "I suggest it's time for a little one on one. There are five of us and five of them. We can each serve as guard individually 251

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and allow them freedom. Unless, of course, you intend to kill them all and invite a death vendetta." Silence followed his last words. He glanced around at his partners in crime. Stefan looked irritated, as if he wished he had made the suggestion. Tomas appeared ready to tuck tail and run. Quincy glared, gold streaks in his dark eyes. Duncan met his gaze and held it. "So you are planning to kill them," Duncan said. "I would have appreciated having that bit of information before I signed on to this." The others erupted into angry words, accusing Quincy of backstabbing them. "When were you planning to run out?" Stefan said. "As we wielded the hatchets and chopped off their heads? Or perhaps you intended to run if things went south and turn us all into the council enforcers." The sound of their voices rose and was carried upstairs. In the room she shared with the Prophetess, Leykin caught the babble and concentrated on separating out the individual voices. What she heard made her blood run cold. She turned to the Prophetess and saw a single tear coursing down the woman's cheek. Leykin rushed to her and knelt at her feet. "They can't win," she said in a fierce whisper. "I won't let them...we won't let them." The Prophetess gave a wan smile. "I have lived too long and seen too much to let fear get the best of me," she replied. "My heart aches to know such 252

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evil festers in my people. We have forgotten fortunes can be lost and material possessions destroyed, yet we will survive and become stronger than ever if we live as one." She tipped Leykin's face toward her and studied her features for a moment before speaking again. "You are the future," she said. "You and others like you too young to remember our past. Those men are the asp in our bosom. They are bitter like early apples, dedicated to nothing but themselves. My days are short; soon another will take my place. Your years stretch ahead of you in a golden stream, and I beg you to fight to keep devils like those from seizing power." Leykin blinked back tears of her own. "You're not dead yet," she retorted. "But by the fathers, those traitors will be. Tell me more about this brain block thing of yours. It's time to call in reinforcements." "Not yet. We may only have one opportunity, so we dare not waste it. Patience is a virtue, after all." Leykin raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe anyone's accused me of being virtuous," she said. The Prophetess smiled and shook her head in mock dismay. For a moment, Leykin felt like a kid again, with Granmama suffering through her antics and rebellious spells. The rush of affection she felt for the Prophetess made her want to grab the woman in a big hug, but she had a feeling that unlike Granmama, this woman wasn't much for mushy moments. The conversation below them tapered off and ended with the sound of a car arriving outside. A light tap on their door 253

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and the sound of a key rasping in the lock sounded a few moments later. Quincy pushed open the door and stepped inside. Leykin barely managed to suppress a shiver as he smiled at her. "Dinner is ready, ladies," he said in a pleasant voice. "You'll have to excuse the simplicity of it. None of us are gourmet cooks, I'm afraid." He offered his arm to the Prophetess. She took it without a moment's hesitation. Following her lead, Leykin also pretended as if she didn't mind dining with him. As they left the room, Tomas fell in behind them. Leykin noticed that the door to Karina and Vivienne's room stood open. They were already seated at a table in the long dining room, as was Tatiana. Their other captors sat between them, all but Colin. Quincy helped the Prophetess be seated before doing the same for Leykin. Before he took his own place at the head of the table, he said so that only Leykin could hear, "Please forgive me for forcing you to eat with a short-lifer. I do hope you're not offended, but under the circumstances we have little choice than to keep her with us." Leykin itched to slap him for the insult against her sister. She forced a small smile instead and murmured, "I understand." At a sharp clap of Quincy's hands, Colin came through a doorway, that Leykin suspected led to the kitchen, carrying a round tray with covered dishes on it. He set these in the center of the table and removed the lids. 254

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"Please, help yourselves," Quincy said as he reached for a bowl of raw hamburger mixed with chopped peppers and onion. Duncan began passing a plate of thin-sliced uncooked veal from the other end of the table. Leykin noticed that Karina looked at the opposite wall and not at the food, even when she passed them. When she'd eaten with Ancients at Misha's house, care had been taken to serve the meat lightly seared and wine was served rather than blood. Quincy had less concern; the goblets Colin was placing in front of each vampire were filled with rich, red Type B, he announced. "Fresh, not frozen," he said. "Even in less than ideal conditions, one must maintain some sort of civility." Leykin felt as if she was trapped in some sort of macabre drama, the dinner party of the condemned. Quincy's consideration as their host might have seemed considerate if she hadn't overheard him casually discussing killing them all, as if they were flies at a picnic. He even inquired of Karina whether her meal suited her. Usually, Leykin was repelled by short-lifer meals like the one Karina was eating. The scent of the well-done hamburger, garnished with bacon as well as lettuce and pickle, was oddly appealing tonight. She breathed in the aroma, almost overcome with a need to taste the burger. Without asking, Karina tore off a piece of the sandwich and offered it to her. The sister thing, Leykin decided. She felt the others staring at her as she took a first tentative bite. Eating this was an interesting experience. The bacon tasted like outdoor fires smelled, a little woodsy. The 255

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meat required far more chewing than the raw ground meat she was used to, even with a creamy sauce separating it from the vegetable layers. "Not bad," Leykin said after she swallowed the last bite. "Nothing I'd want every day, but not bad." She focused on her drink, hoping this blood would go down okay. She could still taste the bad stuff she'd gotten at Giorgio's. She sipped. It wasn't great, but at least it was tolerable. She forced herself to finish, mindful of how long it had been since she'd renewed herself with blood and how much energy she might have to expend before they got out of this place. "Dear ladies, I do wish we could enjoy some after-dinner conversation, but duty calls." Quincy pushed his chair back. "Your Grace, I must ask you to retire to your room as the others will be doing. Of course, if you are in need, simply call out and I personally will make sure you're comfortable." Once again, Leykin felt like part of a circus parade as they trooped through the house and up the stairs, flanked by the men she was beginning to think of as her own personal goon squad. Whatever they had in mind, she hoped they held off long enough for the Prophetess to decide to give contacting Giorgio a go. Leykin was all for a good fight, but even with Tatiana's help, the odds were definitely not in their favor. The Prophetess wasn't in physical shape for hand-to-hand combat, and the girl was too young to be involved at all. Once again locked in their room, she waited until the sound of footsteps faded to ask, "Time to call in the reinforcements?" 256

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"Not yet." The Prophetess closed her eyes. "I'm going to try a little eavesdropping first." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twenty **** "I detest these small screens." Quincy held the smartphone up and squinted as he read the text message. He nodded with satisfaction when he finished and handed the device back to Stefan. "You are certain our location can't be discerned through your phone?" Stefan nodded. "This one was engineered for me by a friend. If they attempt to trace the call, it will appear to have originated off a cell tower in the Bahamas. The high elder will have no clue where we are." "You'd best hope that works. I have no desire to die tonight or any other night in the next few centuries." At his nod, Stefan pushed the send button. "Now," said Quincy, "we wait." As with everything else in the house, the chairs the Gray Ghosts occupied were old but serviceable. Colin had been sent outside to walk guard duty, and the other men had helped themselves to blood and brandy after-dinner drinks from the supplies Quincy had brought along. "What is this place anyway?" Duncan asked, adjusting his large frame in the too-small chair. "In a few years, it will be a posh hideaway for celebrities and others in the public eye who cherish a private vacation," Quincy said. "I picked this entire property up for a song. The 258

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structures will be demolished and in their place, a luxury hotel and private cottages will be built, along with an indoor pool and other amenities that will make short-lifers decide to pay several thousand dollars a night for the privilege of enjoying them." "And before now?" "One of those places where people with guilty consciences came to have their souls cleansed. Priests who broke their vows of chastity, men of God addicted to Internet porn, preachers who embezzled—sinners of the first order." Tomas looked around him and shook his head. "Staying in this place would drive me to evil habits," he said. "I imagine it was more attractive before," Quincy said. "I understand it was a popular place for churches of all denominations to send their misguided ministers, but when one committed suicide, it rather put a damper on things. An acquaintance who scouts investment opportunities for me found the place. I decided to use it for our own means until the architects have finished drawing up the construction plans." Lulled by the liquor, the men drifted into more casual conversation of corporate coups and their sexual adventures, killing time until they got a response from their text and they began the business of overthrowing the council and cementing their place as the new leaders of the world's Ancients. "I believe," the Prophetess said, "you might want to contact your young man." 259

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A buzz of anticipation ran through Leykin as she sat up straighter and said, "Now?" The Prophetess nodded and patted the space beside her on the bed. She reached for Leykin's hand and linked her fingers through the younger woman's. "We may not have much time," she cautioned, "so it is best if you only share images with him. He's a very bright man who doesn't need a lot of explanation." Leykin took a deep breath. "How do we do this?" she asked. The Prophetess smiled. "When the time is right, you will know it. For the moment, make your mind as blank as you can. Empty it of all thought so what he sees is clear and recognizable." "Okay," Leykin answered, doubt drawing out the syllable. She heard the Prophetess' chuckle as she closed her eyes and set about creating a blank slate. The world around began to fade; the small noises of the men's faint conversation below and the wind outside became static and then were gone entirely. Her breathing slowed and deepened. When she felt the slight pressure of the Prophetess' hand tightening on hers, she began to form pictures in her mind, one after another, like a fast slide show. She was unaware that through it all, she murmured, "Help, help, help us" in an unending refrain, the sound track for her SOS. She shot the images toward Giorgio: the landing strip where they'd touched down last, the faded sign that read "Haven House," the men at the dinner table and the faint 260

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view she'd had of Karina huddled against the bed board. She repeated two over and over, Quincy and the front of this building. Maybe that would be enough for Giorgio to figure out where they were. "Time." Leykin stopped the stream of images abruptly, like an old strip of movie film breaking on a projector. Her eyes flew open and she met the gaze of the Prophetess, who whispered, "They're coming. Act natural." Sliding to the end of the bed, Leykin curled up with her feet beneath her. When the door opened, she was picking polish off her thumbnail in a portrait of boredom. Duncan stood in the doorway, staring at them both. Leykin's nerves grew tight as time stretched; finally, he said, "Just making sure you were okay," and left, locking the door behind him. Leykin let out her breath and slumped down on the bed. "Oh, that was close." The Prophetess patted her shoulder. "Those men may have sensed something, but it was faint," she said in reassurance. "Stay calm and believe. The link you and Giorgio share goes deeper than you know. He will come." Leykin envied the assurance with which her companion viewed the world. Maybe it was because she'd been the Prophetess for so many years, or perhaps it was having the Book of the Ancients to consult. Leykin ached with pent-up energy, her natural drive to do something, anything, barely held in check. Alone she might have done something rash. But she knew that down the hall were three innocents. There 261

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was no question in her mind but that Quincy Hawthorne would take his anger out on them if she attempted an action that failed. Burying her hands in her hair, she closed her eyes. This waiting was killing her, as was the simple not knowing if she'd managed to get through to Giorgio. Oh, how she missed him. She longed for his arms around her, his familiar voice whispering that everything was all right, nothing bad could happen to her when he was around. Bitter regret welled within her. She was ashamed of her attitude only, what, three days ago? She'd been so cocky, so self-righteous as she accused him of leaving her behind because she was a woman. He'd been right; here she was, in way over her head, because she'd been in "I'll show him" mode instead of questioning why any Ancient needed an enforcer as an escort on a private flight. "Giorgio," she whispered, "where are you?" The text message was stark and to the point: "We have what you value most. Ready to trade?" Misha had done two things immediately when the text arrived. He forwarded it to an Ancient who was highly regarded by both his own people and short-lifers as one of the world's top computer geeks. And he sent a text of his own to Giorgio. The man wasted no time getting to Misha's Old Louisville home. His boots slammed against the parquet floors as he ran through the house and up the stairs to Misha's study. His face was tight, his eyes turning gold as he stopped and demanded, "Where is she?" 262

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"In trouble." Misha brought the text up on his laptop for his friend to read. "Along with everyone else." "Damn." Giorgio slammed a fist against the desk. "How the hell could this happen?" The question, Misha knew, was rhetorical. They both knew there were always men—and in Nekia's case, women—who believed a place on the council should be rightfully theirs. Grabbing a marker, he flipped open a cabinet to expose a large white board. He began listing who was missing, and where they'd been last. On one side he wrote the names of those who should have arrived from Minnesota and didn't: Karina and Arabella, the woman Leykin called Granmama. Those coming from Paris were the Prophetess and his own goddaughter. Beneath Tatiana's name, he added "the girl" with a question mark. The child might have returned to her own clan. "Where are the others?" he asked, turning to Giorgio. "Have you been able to confirm that Hawthorne joined his clan?" "What we need to confirm," Giorgio replied, "is who traveled with Tomas. Check with the clan enforcers and see if any person of importance is missing. If Hawthorne is behind this, he would only involve those he considers to be his equal in power or money, and that could be just a handful of men." Giorgio nodded. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he began to punch in numbers. Before he'd completed even one call, he stiffened. The phone dropped from his hand onto the plush carpet as he sank against the desk and closed his eyes. 263

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"Help, help, help us," he murmured as his eyelids flickered. His big hands clenched into fists and released; his scars pinkened against his pale skin. Misha's chest tightened as he watched. He grasped the arms of his chair so tightly that his fingernails marred the smooth leather while he waited for Giorgio to return from wherever his mind had gone. With a shudder that ran through his large frame, Giorgio opened his eyes and, in a voice filled with despair, said, "He has them. That bastard has them all." "Who?" "Hawthorne. And the men who were with him at Rosie's." "Where?" Giorgio shook his head. "I'm not sure. But that friggin' Fluet is there, too. The little toad is still working against us, even after what happened with Nekia." Misha leaned forward, driven by dread. "Are they caged like Karina was?' "No. I don't think so anyway. I wasn't connected with Leykin long, only enough for her to send some images that may help. Get onto that computer and see if what I received ties into anything real." Slumped in a chair, Giorgio closed his eyes and began describing what he'd seen in his mind's eye. A small airstrip surrounded by wooded hills. A sign on the terminal advertising airplane fuel. Misha punched in the company name.

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"Arondel," he said as the search engine brought up the results almost instantly, "provides airplane fuel primarily in Midwest. What else did you see that might narrow it down?" "A crappy building with a sign above the door that said Haven House. Could be an old hotel in some town named Haven. Check that out." His fingers flying, Misha typed in Haven House, then added the names of the Midwestern states. "Bingo," he said, clicking to open a story. Giorgio jumped up to read over his shoulder. "Former retreat for people in the ministry with problems...closed ten years ago for financial reasons...sold to an anonymous buyer six month ago..." Misha finished reading and clicked onto a website for directions. Two minutes later, the printer behind his desk warmed up and spit out two pages. "Let's go," he said, grabbing them and shoving out of his chair. Giorgio shook his head. "Not us, me." When Misha began to protest, he said, "I know they've got your goddaughter and the Prophetess, two people you care about more than anyone else in this world except Belle. But you're the high elder. I don't even want to think about the kind of chaos if you'd get killed." "I can't stay here and do nothing." "You have to stay here and pretend we know nothing. Hawthorne's going to expect a reply to his text. My duty is to 265

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bring my woman and everyone else home safely. Your duty is to make sure those bastards don't suspect a thing." When Giorgio saw resignation in Misha's eyes, he knew he'd won this particular battle. "Be sure that if anything happens to any of those women or to you, the wrath of the council will be unleashed not only on Hawthorne and his cohorts, but every member of their bloodline, down to the last member of their clan, if need be," Misha said. "And that is not a threat, my brother, but a promise." Misha's words rang in Giorgio's ears as he grabbed the printouts and ran through the house to where his car was parked. If Leykin was harmed, if any of them were harmed, the council wouldn't have to worry about executing them. Giorgio would save them the trouble. He'd behead every one of those miserable bastards himself and send what was left of them back to their clans as a warning. Or die trying. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twenty-One **** "Help me to that chair, please." The effort of creating a clear channel sounded in the Prophetess' voice. Leykin wrapped an arm around her waist to help her off the bed and into a worn rocking chair in the corner. Grabbing the coverlet off the bed, she tucked it around the Prophetess. Although Leykin tried to hide her fear, the Prophetess said with a small smile, "Do not worry, child. Once I rest, I will be fine." Fatigue weighed Leykin's limbs down as well. Like the Prophetess, she had spent a considerable amount of psychic energy in a very short time. Rest and blood would help her recovery, but she didn't dare sleep and no way was she begging for blood from those men downstairs. She realized she must have dozed off when she heard a knock on their door. She jumped up and was standing beside the Prophetess, protecting her, when the door swung open and Colin stepped in. She suspected her dislike showed on her face when he glared and said, "You're supposed to come downstairs." Tatiana, Karina and Vivienne were already in the dining room. Someone had arranged the chairs in two rows; Duncan stood waiting. The scene appeared for all the world like the moments in Leykin's childhood when a traveling photographer 267

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came to her part of Minnesota and took portraits in family homes, except Duncan held a cell phone and not a bulky camera with a hood. This photo wouldn't be a tintype preserved with care to be handed down through the generations. Instead it would serve as proof that they were all still alive and all under control by the captors. All that was needed was a newspaper with the day's date for her to feel like she was in the middle of some cheesy movie. Of course, movies were make-believe, and this was all too real. Karina looked flat-out scared, and Vivienne clung to Tatiana as if she was a magic talisman. The arrogance of Quincy and his cronies fueled the hatred already burning in Leykin. She longed for the right moment to come along, when she could use that fire to kill the men who had become her enemies. "Why don't the rest of you get in here with us?" she suggested as Quincy orchestrated their seating arrangement. His response was a quirked eyebrow and instructions to help the Prophetess to the center seat. When he pulled out that damned vial of silver and directed the others, she felt even more like she was in a movie where the villain uses a gun to keep everyone in line. But his day was coming. Giorgio would figure out where they were, and like the cavalry to the rescue, he'd bring along a troop of enforcers. "Smile, ladies." Stefan's words slurred slightly as he issued the instruction. Leykin wondered how much liquor was in that goblet of blood he held. Maybe they'd drink themselves into 268

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oblivion so she could sneak in and knock them all on the head. A small click and then Duncan's, "Looks okay to me." Leykin rose, prepared to be locked up again. She was wrong. "There's still an hour or two before daybreak," Quincy said. "If you'd like a bedtime snack, our young friend will prepare something for you." Colin's sullen face made it obvious he was hoping they'd refuse the offer. Tatiana was the first to disappoint him, confessing a yen for something more substantial than a glass of blood. Vivienne was quick to second the request. While Colin ran down the list of foods he'd purchased for Karina, Leykin studied Quincy. He was the image of selfconfidence, and the intense planning he must have done to get them all here at the same time meant the others either respected him or feared him. They had to know their only reward would be death if Misha got his hands on them. Everyone has a weakness, Leykin knew that. If she could figure out Quincy's, she might be able to use it to her advantage. One thing for sure, there was no love lost between him and Colin. She almost expected to see sparks fill the air when they spoke to one another. She also had a feeling Colin was an outsider here, that the menial tasks assigned to him reflected the way the others felt about him. Tatiana had a history with him. Granted, his flirting with her at Misha's home had had an ulterior motive. He'd played this game before, kidnapping someone close to the high elder 269

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in order to force the outcome they wanted. Surely that failure was like a thorn under his flesh, irritating until he needed to prove the fault didn't lie with him. When Tatiana looked her way, Leykin tipped her head slightly toward Colin. Tatiana got the message immediately. Her eyes widened and she gave a tiny shake of her head. Leykin wished she could sit down and explain what she wanted, but privacy was impossible. "And you, my dear, what would you like?" Quincy made the request with a smile she might have responded to in other circumstances. Maybe, she mused, she was over thinking things. Quincy hadn't hidden his attraction to her; he'd certainly implied he saw a future for them together. Could she use that to her own advantage? "I'd love a warm glass of rabbit's blood." She tipped her head and gave him what she hoped was a teasing smile. "If it's not too much trouble." "No trouble at all. We brought a wide variety of blood with us, but the woods here are filled with wildlife. I'm certain Colin can find a rabbit if necessary." Oh, she loved the glare Colin shot at him. The old saying about if looks could kill popped into her head. If Colin's look could indeed kill, Quincy would lie in teeny-tiny pieces beneath his feet. Hating what she had to do, Leykin rose, moved closer to Quincy and said in her best flirting voice, "You are so good to me. Thanks so very much." In his smiling, "Nothing more than you deserve, my dear," she'd discovered his weakness. He needed approval from 270

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women, a validation that he was indeed the hot shot he thought himself to be. If she could manage to pretend she was interested in him, he might drop his guard enough for her to do some damage. And if the big man fell, the little ones would crumble into dust as well. "New picture message" announced the phone on the car seat next to Giorgio, who was hurtling his luxury sedan as fast as he could down I-64 east toward Ohio. He slowed, grabbed the phone and looked at the image on the screen. Rich curses in Ancient spewed from him when he saw the women on their chairs and the expressions on their faces. The young girl looked like a skittish colt; Tatiana's face was fixed in a grim expression. Next to her, Karina stared straight ahead, her eyes half-closed as if she was trying not to cry. The Prophetess projected the quiet authority he always connected to the highest Ancient. He studied Leykin the most, knowing her well enough by now to realize the set of her mouth and the way her hands were folded in her lap meant she was well and truly pissed. He kicked his speed back up and looked down at the odometer. Even at the rate he was going, he wouldn't reach that place for at least two hours. And if the roads leading to Haven House were in poor shape, it would take even longer. "Hold on, babe, I'm coming." He muttered the words, wishing she could hear them. He wished a whole lot of other things, too. Like wishing he'd kept her with him instead of insisting that she stay out of the action, where he thought she'd be safer. 271

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Wishing Misha had never assigned Leykin to make that damned escort trip. If she'd never left Kentucky, she wouldn't be going through who knew what now. He sighed. Once done, nothing could be undone, and no matter of regret could change the past. Maybe, he hoped, he could change the future, at least the one Quincy Hawthorne was planning. Giorgio punched a button on his phone and said "Guardian Security secret number." He listened as the call went through and his friend Natasha said, "Must be trouble, big boy. You never call to ask me to lunch." "Huge trouble. I need a favor, and I need it fast." "Fast favors are my specialty," Natasha answered. "Hit me with it." "I need anything you can find on a place called Haven House. Dig deep in those buried records and find me floor plans, a geographical layout of the place and everything around it." "Will do. Are you near a fax?" "Scan and e-mail," Giorgio said, giving her an e-address he'd delete as soon as he memorized what she sent him. "And Natasha, this really is a matter of life or death." He was off the interstate and onto a two-lane highway when the first e-mail arrived. He heard the ding signaling a new message twice more and pulled off into the first lighted parking lot he found. "You did good, girl," he muttered, studying the information Natasha had sent. An aerial view showed the long, two-story building amid wooded hills. The next was an architect's 272

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drawing of the interior filed during the permitting process when the place was built, and the final one consisted of several newspaper articles and a video attachment. He played the video, eager for a visual that might help him figure out how to sneak in. A local news piece, the short clip had been filmed a few years earlier, when the organizers of Haven House appealed to the public for funds to keep it open. The TV camera had captured the front of the house, which let Giorgio see the doors and windows. Better yet, the reporter had been given a tour of the building, both upstairs and down. Giorgio slammed the car into gear and hit the highway, squealing off the parking lot and onto the road. He goosed the accelerator, driving fast to make up for the few moments he'd lost reading the e-mails. He knew he should give Misha an update, but he wasn't ready to deal with the high elder. He'd just as soon not have Misha know he hadn't rounded up extra enforcers like he was expected to do. This was one of those times when it might be better to ask forgiveness rather than permission. Leykin sipped from her goblet, drawing out the time until they'd all be herded upstairs and locked back into their rooms. Her mind ought to be on exploiting Quincy's weakness, but instead her thoughts returned to Giorgio. He had been so right. She'd never dealt with men like these before, who valued their own lives so greatly they'd take as many others as they needed to in order to get what they wanted. She did know he wouldn't act like just another sheep in the flock and blindly take orders. 273

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"You look tired, my dear." Quincy pulled a chair up next to her and sat down intimately close. "I don't sleep well when I'm stressed." "Poor thing, I'm sorry about all this. It will be over soon. We'll take that vacation I promised you. The Caribbean is nice this time of year, and I have a friend with a private island we can use." Leykin almost gagged at the very thought of sharing private time with this man. One of Granmama's favorite sayings was "The devil wears a pretty face," but she hadn't known exactly what that meant until now. Forcing a smile, she said, "I'd love a few days under a tropical moon, the beach all to myself after the tourists retreat to tend their sunburns." Quincy laughed, bringing a curious look from Duncan, who was guarding the French doors that led from the dining room to what must once have been a flower garden. Leykin liked his reaction. Maybe she could drive a wedge between the men and make them turn against each other. "The blood suits you?" Quincy asked. "Quite nice," Leykin replied. "Thank you. It's one of my favorites." In reality, her drink was just so-so. It was processed blood, not fresh, but the fact that he'd given her what she asked for was encouraging. The others had finished their snack, she saw. Even Karina, who had been handed a small bag of potato chips and some cookies, was done. She'd been eating slowly, too, Leykin 274

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noticed. She suspected her sister was stalling, and for the same reason. Still, she was surprised when Karina spoke, her voice soft and diffident. "Can I go get my backpack?" she asked. "I feel better when I have it." Quincy rolled his eyes; Leykin suspected he was thinking bad things about the girl he assumed was a short-lifer. Finally he sent Colin for it. Apparently, he meant to keep them all together when they weren't locked up. When Karina had her pack, she reached in and pulled out an electronic game, which she handed to Vivienne, who was still huddling against Tatiana. The girl soon became engrossed with the game. Leykin wished she had a way to escape from reality as well. Of course, reality for her was proving herself as an enforcer. She was done playing the victim now that she suspected what was going on. Except for Colin, the Ancients holding them had enough money to last for however many centuries they continued to live. Monetary ransom didn't seem like much of a motive. Power...that was something some men could never get enough of. She suspected these men fell in that category. Whether by design or accident, they were walking the same path as Nekia. Yes, their plan was better, and the odds were in their favor. The Prophetess and Vivienne weren't physically able to overpower anyone; Karina and Tatiana weren't trained to fight grown men. 275

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Which was why she hoped Giorgio had been able to make sense of the message she'd sent. He was an enforcer crew all by himself, not afraid of anything or anyone. "It's almost dawn." Tomas yawned. "I need to get some sleep." Quincy shot him a hard look. "We can sleep when we're dead. You have a more important task." "Lock them up, and we'll take turns as guard," Stefan cut in. "Tomas is right. We all need sleep. I'll stand the first couple of hours." "We'll not discuss this here," Quincy snapped, shoving back his chair and heading out of the dining room. When the others followed, including Colin, Leykin felt a small frisson of hope. She waited until she heard raised voices to move to Karina's side, figuring the men's argument would cover a soft conversation. Tatiana joined them and they came up with a plan of their own. When their keepers came back to take them upstairs, Karina would throw a little hissy fit, complaining about being forced to share a room with Vivienne. The distraction might be enough for Leykin to overpower at least one of the men and improve the odds. "Take Stefan," Tatiana said. "He's the weakest. Have you seen his hands? They're manicured and soft. I want Colin." The flash of gold in her eyes was enough to convince Leykin. Until they'd freed Karina from the warehouse where Nekia held her, Leykin had seen the elder's goddaughter as a pampered little princess. Her opinion changed when Tatiana 276

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challenged Nekia and took her down in a fight. She was angry enough to do the same with Colin. "I will help." The offer came from the Prophetess. "I may not have the strength of you young ones, but I'm not completely helpless." She called Vivienne to her. Without even looking up from her game, the girl moved to sit cross-legged on the floor next to the Prophetess' chair. The others returned to the seats they'd been assigned and waited for the right moment to strike. The first blow turned out to be much easier than any of them expected. They heard footsteps on the hall above them, and they also heard the front door slam. Two down, Leykin thought as she prepared for whatever came next. Duncan, Quincy and Colin were missing when the men returned. Her spirits lifted. As they'd planned, Tatiana rose from her chair complaining about how stiff she was. She arched her back and rolled her shoulders, adding a sexiness to her stretching, and captured the attention of both Stefan and Tomas. In the fast, silent style of enforcers, Leykin dashed behind Stefan and, as Tatiana squared her body, put her arm tightly around his neck and pulled him backwards. In the same instant, Tatiana threw herself at Tomas, landing a well-placed knee in his most vulnerable spot. He collapsed onto the floor, both hands on his groin, moaning in pain. That was the moment when the others should have come running down the steps, caps off their vials of silver, the weak moment in the hasty plan Leykin had contrived. 277

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No one came. Leykin cast a quick glance at the Prophetess, whose arms were wrapped tightly around her body, her eyes closed. Her mental powers kept the noise from leaving the room. Karina grabbed a long jump rope from her backpack and ran toward Leykin. "Help me." She offered the rope to Leykin, who tore it in half. Karina used part to tie Stefan's feet with a knot a Boy Scout would envy and then bound his hands with the second half. Ripping off the tail of her shirt, she gagged him as well. Leykin pulled the expensive leather belt from the bound man's pants and headed toward Tatiana, who was sitting on Tomas. She looped the stolen belt through the one on Tomas' pants, and then bound his wrists behind his back before imitating Karina and gagging him. "Let's go!" Karina hissed. Tatiana and Karina took off at a dead run for the double doors in the other room. When Leykin heard a muffled cry of dismay from their direction, she realized the doors must be locked. Probably, she suspected, extra locks had been installed everywhere. When Tatiana came back into view, she made a chopping motion toward the back of the house, signaling Leykin that she was going to look for another exit. Instead of running after her, Karina returned to the others and made a beeline for Vivienne, who was still immersed in the video game. She whispered in the girl's ear, shut off the game and waited for Leykin. With the pack on her back and holding Vivienne by the hand, she looked like a schoolgirl waiting for the bus. 278

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"Go that way," Leykin directed in a whisper. "If there's not a door at the end of the hall, find somewhere to hide. I'll find you. Now go." Clasping the hand of the Prophetess, Leykin started for known territory, the main corridor leading to the front door. She recalled doors lining that hallway, which meant rooms that might serve as sanctuary. Divide and conquer was a well-known battle strategy, one she hoped would keep some or all of them alive until Giorgio and the other reinforcements arrived. They were nearly to the door when a shadow passed the wide front window. One of the men assigned as guard, she presumed. Most likely, it was Colin, who seemed to be pushed into all the grunt work here. She grabbed the knob of the nearest door, relieved when it turned. "In here," she whispered, leading the Prophetess into a room that might have been a lecture hall once. A long whiteboard took up most of the front wall, and a few dustcovered tables still stood classroom-style in the center of the room. Leykin ran to a small door near the front and opened it to find a shelf-lined closet, empty now. Turning, she motioned to the Prophetess to join her; her arm dropped to her side and her eyes widened when she realized they were no longer alone. "Class is over," rumbled the deep voice of Duncan, whose arm was wrapped around the neck of the Prophetess. "Time for you to come to the principal's office and take your punishment." 279

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Panic rolled through Leykin as she realized there was no way out. The broad window opened onto the porch where either Quincy or Colin waited. Duncan's size alone would make it difficult for her to fight the man, let alone overcome him, and she couldn't try anything as long as he had his hands on the Prophetess. Dropping her head, hating herself for being stupid enough to have walked into a blind alley, she took slow steps toward Duncan. When she reached him, she took a deep breath and raised her head. As she expected, he held a damned vial of liquid silver in his free hand, his thumb against the cap, ready to push it off and cover her with the poisonous substance. "Wrists," he ordered, dropping his hold on the Prophetess. Leykin held her arms in front, wincing as he pulled a thin cord from his pocket with gloved hands. She knew the cord had spun silver hidden in its depths; it was the same sort of restraint enforcers used to subdue offenders. She wasn't surprised when Duncan led them back to the dining room, which seemed to be Quincy's center of operations. She was amazed, though, that Duncan ignored the men still tied up on the floor. Despite the noise Tomas made kicking the heels of his expensive Italian shoes against the hardwood floor, Duncan acted as if he hadn't heard. Apparently failure wasn't an option; she imagined the defeated men would be executed just as she expected to be. Giorgio pulled the steering wheel to the left, grazing the side of the dark hillside where the road shoulder had eroded. Unnerved by how close he'd come to careening off the highway at seventy miles an hour, he dropped his speed and 280

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cursed whatever state official had decided this particular road didn't need either center or outside lines. Thanks to his night vision and a full moon, he'd been able to distinguish the blackness of the road from the darkness bordering it until his concentration had slipped. He had to stop worrying about Leykin's welfare and focus on getting to her in one piece. He had to be close to Haven House. The mapping he'd done had taken him from the four-lane to a two-lane and now this piece of asphalt hell, so narrow that both cars would have to drop on the shoulder if two motorists met. So far, he'd been the only one on what seemed to be a little-used road, guessing by the lack of road signs and poor maintenance of the road itself. If he'd taken the right turn, and if his calculations were correct, he was a mile or two from Haven House, no more than five minutes from his destination. Giorgio felt the familiar adrenaline rush that filled him whenever a fight was looming. His respiration slowed; his breaths became deeper. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he turned onto the rutted driveway that he expected to end at Haven House, and a nervous tension ran down his spine and into his muscles. When the ruts gave way to a wide circle of old gravel and flattened grass, he killed the lights and dropped his speed to barely above a creep. He brought the vehicle to a complete stop by a grove of trees and picked up his tool bag from the seat beside him. Easing the car door shut behind him, he took a deep breath and blew it out. A night breeze blew across the hilltop, 281

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tickling his neck. Giorgio closed his eyes and concentrated, hoping to sense the presence of his beloved. Instead, he felt a prickling of danger, the inner warning a well-honed enforcer learned to respect and act upon. Crouching, he looked around him, wondering if what he felt came from an animal predator or a human one. When he saw the elongated shadow of a man near the house, he decided the time for action had come. Grabbing his favorite tools from his bag, he stuffed them in his pockets and his belt and made his stealthy way toward the porch. He kept to the shadows of the overgrown foliage, hoping for the element of surprise. A shaggy bush at the corner of the porch hid his arrival. The shadow was gone; he waited for the Ancient who had cast it to reappear. When his prey returned, his hand tightened on the knife he pulled from his belt. Colin Fluet. The bastard had managed by sheer luck not to die with Nekia; he wasn't going to fare as well tonight. Giorgio saw his chance when Fluet stopped to peer inside a window. Moving silently on the balls of his feet, Giorgio rushed across the porch with the speed and grace of a leopard, pulling Colin back against him and plunging his blade into the bastard's heart in one fluid move. Ignoring the gelling blood pouring from his victim's chest onto his shirt, Giorgio yanked Colin off the porch and, with the strength that came with his anger, tossed the cooling body into a copse of small oak trees. The stink on his shirt offended him. He yanked the offending garment off and wiped the knife blade on it before 282

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wadding up the cloth and heaving it into the trees where Colin's body lay. He kept the knife in his hand as he crept around the building. Senses wide open, he listened for voices and waited to catch Leykin's scent. He was certain she still lived. He would have felt the loss if she'd died. Or so he told himself. A few feet from the back corner, he froze as he heard an accent he recognized, the brogue of the Scotsman, Duncan. He inhaled deeply. Leykin was with him, or she'd been in that place so recently her scent remained. He fought back the urge to rush in and find her. His reconnaissance wasn't finished. "Look what I found." Quincy stalked into the room, dragging Vivienne beside him. A coldness swept over Leykin. Her stomach churning, she managed to prevent her fear from showing on her face. He only had the girl. Where was her sister? What had he done to Karina? Like Duncan, he ignored the bound men laying ten feet from him. The depth of his callousness didn't surprise her, not after watching him mastermind the forbidden sin of murder. His hold on Vivienne tight, he narrowed his eyes and studied Leykin. She managed to smile at him, hoping she was still his weakness. If he decided he didn't want her anymore, she was as good as dead. "Loosen her," he snapped finally. Duncan obeyed without protest, although his eyes flashed gold. He was rough as he cut the wire, scratching Leykin as he pulled it across her wrists and forearms. 283

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"My apologies," Quincy said. "My associates forget themselves. Come here, my dear, and let me make sure you've not been hurt." She'd taken her first reticent steps when a sound came from behind her—not quite a gasp, but stronger than a sigh. Leykin whirled to see the Prophetess collapsed on the floor. Vivienne broke away and ran to the fallen sage. Color had crept into the older woman's face; her breathing was uneven and erratic. Her gaze flickered from Leykin to Vivienne and back again. She spoke with great effort. "Leave me," she forced out, a long pause between the two words. Leykin shook her head. She knelt beside Vivienne, whose eyes closed as she touched her forehead to the Prophetess's. The rest of the world faded away as Leykin concentrated on the Prophetess, drawing on the limited healer's skills she possessed to seek what was wrong and discover whether she might be able to help. In her oblivion she didn't hear the enraged roar that accompanied the shatter of glass as Giorgio crashed through the windowed door linking the garden to the dining room. She didn't see him throw himself across the room onto Duncan's wide back, or smell the freshly drawn blood as Giorgio's knife slid across the Scot's throat before plunging into his heart. The stink of sweat and fear rolled off Quincy in an appalling stench as Giorgio turned his sights toward him. Like a coward, Quincy choose to run rather than stand and fight, the speed of his escape creating a rush of air that ruffled Leykin's hair as he passed. 284

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Giorgio hesitated in his pursuit, torn between assuring himself that the Prophetess still lived and chasing the traitor who had brought her to this place. His blood chilled at the identical blank faces of Vivienne and Leykin; he wondered if they were lost in their ministrations to the Prophetess or if Quincy had done something to make them submissive to his will. "Leykin!" No response. He laid a hand on her shoulder, expecting her to at least look up. Again, she didn't respond. "I'll be back," he promised. "Hold on, babe. Just hold on." Only duty kept him running after the fleeing Quincy. His heart longed to wrap his arms around the woman he loved and take her far, far away. With great effort, he forced her image away and made his mind a blank slate. Concentrating on the psychic path left by Quincy, he made the correct turns in the unfamiliar mansion, coming at last to a door slammed shut and locked. He pulled hard on the iron handle, but the thick door didn't budge. Flattening himself against it, he attempted to hear what was going on inside by once again shoving away all thoughts and emotions. Like a developing photograph, he began to see a dim outline of the room beyond. A modest room compared to the large common areas of the building, it held a dozen pews, a platform with a pulpit and an oversized cross on one wall. A font with intricate carvings set on the floor beside the 285

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platform; Giorgio assumed it had once held holy water for baptisms. He felt the presence of his prey inside that room. He also sensed that Karina was in there as well, the girl his high elder believed might control the future of the Ancients. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twenty-Two **** Karina crouched behind the paltry safety of the wooden pulpit, her hands trembling as she undid the clasp of her pack and pulled out a pair of plastic water guns. On the island, training with Daddums, she never expected to come face to face with evil. Their practice had been more of a game to her, a real-life version of the video games she amused herself with when storms swept across the island or she found it hard to sleep at night. Her throat tight, her heartbeat rising, she wished this was only a video game, that she could push the reset button and make her terror go away. But the man walking down the aisle toward her was real. "You're an annoying little short-lifer," he said, pausing halfway to her. "Why Misha wants you for a pet, I'll never know. But he does seem to dote on you, which I intend to use to my advantage." Karina stepped from behind the pulpit, hiding the guns behind her back. "You talk big for someone who can't pull off a simple ransom plan," she said, her voice steady. "And you act big for a little girl whose blood would make a tasty snack," Quincy jeered. "I suppose you're going to tell me now that you have some super power that will make me shrivel up and die." 287

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Karina moved as he spoke, nearing the baptismal font. Quincy cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really," he sighed. "Don't tell me you believe those ridiculous myths about vampires." He walked over and placed his hand on the wall cross. "See? Nothing. No flesh turning into flames, no melting into goo." "So a cross doesn't hurt you. I know what does." Karina stood beside the carved font, her water guns now in plain view. Quincy laughed, the sound echoing. "Please, spare me the holy water routine. I don't relish killing you in wet clothes." Karina moved her fingers to the triggers of the plastic guns and said, "Don't worry. These came pre-filled." Jumping down for a clear shot, she squeezed both triggers and aimed. Twin shimmering streams of liquid silver arced across the few feet between them, finding her mark on the left side of Quincy's silk shirt. His initial shout of pain became screams of agony as she emptied her weapons, his blood gelling green as the silver ate away his flesh. Gagging, Karina shoved the guns back in her pack and ran along a sidewall to the locked door, hands over her ears to diminish the sound of his shrieks. She fumbled with the iron latch, sobs wracking her body, screaming when she pulled it open, and fell against a hard man's body. "No, no, no!" She shoved against the broad chest, flailed against the arms wrapped around her. Consumed by dread, her breaths came in short, desperate pants as she fought to get away. 288

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"Karina, you're safe." She heard the words through her fog of terror, but didn't comprehend them until she heard them for the second and third times. She stilled and looked into Giorgio's familiar face, gradually calming as he soothed her. "It's all right," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he stroked her hair. "You're safe now. Nothing can happen while I'm here. You believe me, don't you?" Karina nodded. "We can't stay here. The others need my help, too. Can you walk, Karina?" "Yes." She stepped back, away from the arc of his protective arms, and took a deep breath. Accepting the hand he offered, she walked beside Giorgio down the corridor and away from the dead man in the chapel. A shudder ran down her spine. She'd killed a human being. Yeah, he'd have killed her if she hadn't acted first, but she was a murderer. Tears welled in her eyes. "Don't." Giorgio stopped, turned toward her and wiped her tears away. "That guy is dead because of me." Her voice broke midsentence. "Because of you, everyone the high elder cares for still lives," Giorgio reminded her, his voice kind but firm. "You've been protected from the bad things in both worlds, ours and that of your adoptive parents. There is no shame or guilt in what you've done." Karina nodded. What he said made sense, but it didn't wash away the emotions twisting inside her. 289

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"Karina." Giorgio wrapped his large hands around her small shoulders. "If you had not killed him, he would have killed you, and possibly all the others he brought to this place. We are in a war, child, not of your making or mine. The threads that have held us in peace for centuries have begun to unravel. I pray we can survive as a people until the fabric of our society is strong once again." Karina mulled his words as she followed him back through the maze of corridors to the dining room and the other women. Granmama had been teaching her Ancient history, explaining the clan fights that had nearly wiped out their race and the accord that created the ruling council. It didn't sound all that much different than the wars of the short-life world, killing motivated by greed and a lust for power. Tomas wiggled against the soft leather of his makeshift bindings, taking care to make no noise. The women seemed oblivious to him and Stefan, whose face was a study in fury. Ignoring his partner in crime, he worked until the leather loosened enough to slip from his wrist down onto his hand. Drawing his hand in as tightly as possible, he eased the slim belt down his skin and off his fingers. When both hands were free, he pulled the gag from his mouth and slowly rose. Ignoring the stench of blood from Duncan's still body, stepping around Stefan without sparing a glance, he ran past the Prophetess and the women who tended her. Eyes gold and fierce with anger, he had only one goal in mind: Killing Quincy before someone else had the pleasure. Following the bastard's scent, he headed down the same hallways, his body bouncing against the wall as he made the 290

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turns at top speed. He was nearly to the chapel door when he felt Quincy's death, so attuned to the man that he felt the agonizing burn of liquid silver on his face and torso, screamed in anguish as his former friend's body split open from the savage liquid and his own body suffered the same phantom pain. He dropped to his knees, lungs burning and heart pounding. He tore at his clothes and scratched his chest trying to assuage the torment. He dimly heard Giorgio's hard steps and Karina's gasp as they came around a corner and found him scraping his skin raw with his razor-sharp fingernails and begging the fathers for relief. Pity flashed in Giorgio's eyes before the big man grabbed Tomas and threw him against the wall. He gasped as the enforcer hauled him back to his feet, twisted his arms behind him and ordered him to start walking. He sobbed, his eyes clouding from unshed tears of pain, as Karina trained one of her deadly water guns on him. A few feet into the dining room, Tomas collapsed, facedown, on the once-elegant parquet floor. Karina jumped as his final cry of anguish filled the air, her grip on the gun slacking. "Is he..." "Dead? Yes." Giorgio finished the sentence. "But we didn't do anything." She wavered on her feet. "I swear I never touched the trigger." "I know." Once again, Giorgio was beside her, comforting her. "He wasn't able to break the sympathetic connection. Locked onto Quincy's mind, his own commanded his body to 291

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react as if he had been attacked himself. Consider it a rare form of suicide." "I would call it a blessing." The weak voice of the Prophetess broke in. Karina started, as if she'd forgotten she and Giorgio weren't alone in this bizarre world of others' making. Giorgio rushed to kneel beside the older woman, his hands gentle as he helped her rise. His gaze flickered from the Prophetess to Leykin, whose cheeks held a pink flush. Her eyes had darkened from their usual brown to black, and her body trembled as she got to her feet. The girl took Leykin's hand, leading her to sit beside the Prophetess. Giorgio longed to cradle Leykin to him, to pour his own strength into her. The only time he'd seen her like this before was after one of his spells, when she used her healing skills to help him through it. The Prophetess is dying. Once that thought lodged in his brain, it was all he could think of. The end had come for her, and the child was far from ready to replace her. He knew his Ancient history. He knew the successor to the Prophetess spent years, sometimes decades, preparing for the moment when knowledge would flow from the old to the new. Vivienne had been with her only a few weeks. How could their society function with a Prophetess who had yet to go through her changing? "This place stinks." He turned to Karina, who was holding her nose. 292

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"I agree," he said. "But before we leave, we have a decision to make." He turned to study Stefan, still gagged and bound, only feet from the dead Duncan. A longing burned inside him to take the man to a torture field, to make him feel every bit of the despair, hopelessness and pain that had been afflicted on the women surrounding him. In the old days, he wouldn't have hesitated. He would have acted first and confessed later. That was before he'd become the council's chief enforcer with the responsibilities for justice that the position carried. Before he'd met Leykin and come to understand peace and compassion. Giorgio knew he could take the coward's way out and request the Prophetess choose Stefan's fate. Or he could call Misha and ask the high elder for instructions. He went with Plan C. "Let's get out of here," he said. "What about him?" Karina asked, motioning toward Stefan. Giorgio shrugged his shoulders. "He managed to get here on his own. If he's determined enough, he'll get out of here under his own power." He handed Karina her backpack with instructions to put it on and gave in to his need for Leykin. Kneeling beside her, he stroked her hair with a gentle touch, assessing her. Worry balled in his stomach. Something was wrong with her. The fact that she was quiet and not jumping up to take charge was scary enough. The color in her cheeks and the dull sheen of her eyes, so unlike her usual self, made him wonder if she'd been drugged. 293

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Or poisoned, whispered his mind. A tiny bit of silver slipped into food wouldn't kill an Ancient, but it could create a change of personality that was usually temporary but could be permanent. Seeing the light that sparkled inside her dulled gave fuel to the anger he'd temporarily banked, pushing him toward the fierce rage that had once defined him. Jumping up, he strode over to Stefan, his eyes glowing gold as he glared at the prone man. "What did you people do to her, you bastard?' He pulled back his leg and kicked toward Stefan's body with his booted foot. He gasped in surprise when Stefan's hand shot out and grabbed his ankle. His struggle to stay upright ended when his nemesis rolled back and brought Giorgio crashing to the floor. Stefan's hand moved from the bigger man's leg to his throat. He wrapped his other hand around Giorgio's neck as well, his fingers digging in as he sought to cut off Giorgio's breath. "No!" Leykin's voice, weak but fiery, came as she struggled to her feet and rushed toward the men. Helpless to stop her, his vision dimming as Stefan's hands tightened, Giorgio tried to give her a mental command to stop. But she kept coming, breaking into a run as her body steadied. He felt the breeze as her foot swung inches from him, coming down hard on Stefan's contorted face. Suddenly the pressure on his windpipe was gone. Clasping his throat, rough half-coughs coming from his lungs as he 294

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drew in breath once more, he grabbed for Leykin to push her away. He was too late. Stefan drew back his tied feet and rammed them into her hip, propelling her into an ornate carved sideboard against the wall. Her cry of pain as she collided with a sharp corner pierced him. Red rage consumed him as he thrust up onto his knees, his hands balling into hard fists. He swung and slammed Stefan's temple, watching with grim satisfaction as the other man's head fell back against the hardwood floor with a hard thud. He hit him again, this time breaking his nose. Ignoring Stefan's screams, he yanked him up by his arms, holding him a foot above the floor. "I should have killed you first," he growled, giving Stefan's head a hard twist until he heard his neck snap. He lifted the lifeless man's body above his head and tossed it toward the glass-paned doors to join the dead Duncan. A shower of glass rained as the old panes broke with a loud crash. Grabbing a spear of glass, Giorgio slid it across Stefan's throat before plunging it deep into his chest and penetrating the heart. Throwing back his head, he roared, the blood rage still boiling within him. The sound echoed back to him as he fought for control. Dragging one deep breath after another, he willed his body to calm. Once he was in control of his primitive emotions, he hurried to Leykin, who curled in a ball on the floor. He slipped his arms under her shaking body and drew her to him. "I'm here, my love." 295

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"Giorgio." Pain filled her soft whisper; he saw the shimmer of blood where she held one small hand against her side. "Be still and rest." He turned his head so she couldn't see the sheen of tears in his eyes. "I'm taking you home. We'll find a healer." "I love you." Her words were even softer, slowly spoken. "I have to tell you that before I..." "You're going to be okay." Giorgio cut her off before she could utter the word "die." He found his feet, taking care not to jostle her. He turned toward the others, and saw the Prophetess collapsed on the floor with Karina and Vivienne bending over her, a distraught Tatiana running to join them. A wave of despair filled him. Was this his punishment for the lives he'd just taken, that he be forced to witness the death of his beloved and the Prophetess? [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twenty-Three **** Karina rocked back and forth, hands over her eyes, overwhelmed. She felt the spirit of the Prophetess ebbing, just as she felt the life force wavering in her half-sister. Duty and love warred within her. Granmama had made her understand that the protection of the Prophetess and the council elders was the responsibility of every Ancient, even if it meant losing one's own life. Yet her soul drove her toward Leykin, whose blood she shared. She felt a warmth radiating from Vivienne. The girl's hands were on the shoulders of the Prophetess, her lips were moving, uttering words Karina didn't understand. Beads of sweat dampened the girl's forehead; her body shook as if she was pouring her life's essence into the Prophetess. Or perhaps drawing it out. Karina knew nothing about Vivienne. For one so young, the child possessed an outstanding self-assurance. Was that from having been with the Prophetess, she wondered, or was she the last of the traitors still alive? Drawing on the lessons from Granmama and the healing skills taught by her mother, the human who had raised her like her own, Karina placed her own hand atop that of Vivienne. Ignoring the high elder's ban on the use of empathy, she opened her mind and dipped into Vivienne's. The fear and sorrow she felt shocked her like an electric 297

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charge. She pulled her hand back and stared, stunned, at Vivienne. The girl was literally giving all that was in her to save her people's sage. If she didn't pull away, she too would die. "Karina!" The word intruded into her thoughts, softly, from the Prophetess. "Yes, your Grace?" she answered in the same mental fashion. "Stop Vivienne. She must not use her energy on me." Her stomach churning, Karina looked from the Prophetess, whose eyes met hers with a silent plea, to the slight form clinging to her. Drawing in a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around Vivienne's waist and pulled her away. "No!" Agony filled the girl's scream. The Prophetess touched Vivienne's hand. "My time has come and it cannot be delayed," she whispered. "Go to Leykin. You must save her." Tears streaked down Vivienne's face as she tightened her fingers on those of the Prophetess. She shook her head, as if unable to speak. "You must." The Prophetess forced out the words before turning her face from Vivienne and pulling her hand away. Karina stretched out beside the Prophetess, wrapping her arms around her in a protective gesture. When Vivienne reached out again, she pushed her away. Sobbing, the girl crawled to where Leykin lay, cradled against Giorgio. The flow of blood from her wound had slowed to a trickle, yet she stayed unresponsive when Giorgio tried to make her speak. 298

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He kept his arms around Leykin when Vivienne placed her hands against the deep gash in her hip. He felt a warmth seep through Leykin's body and sensed the moment the healing began inside her. Amazed, he watched Vivienne as she stroked the wound, whispering softly. She was a natural healer, one who used her mind's energy instead of herbs and medicinal compounds. He had heard of such Ancients and dismissed the idea as a myth bred over the ages. The fear possessing him was replaced with hope when Leykin's eyelids fluttered and a soft sigh came from her lips. Joy filled him when she opened her eyes and smiled at him. "Welcome back, my love." His scarred face creased as he smiled in return. "You kept me from dying," she answered. He shook his head. "It was the girl. She saved your life." Vivienne sat on her heels, her gaze intense on Leykin. One hand still covered the wound, which Giorgio could see had already begun to close. "Thank you." Emotion made his voice crack. "If you had not been here..." "But I was. As I was meant to be." Giorgio reached out to place his large hand on the crown of her head, hoping his touch would suffice. He had no words to tell her what a great debt he owed. Overwhelmed by what had happened, he didn't hear Karina calling for him until she screamed his name. 299

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"What?" He asked the brusque question without looking away from Leykin. "The Prophetess. She asks for you." With great reluctance, Giorgio walked over to where the Prophetess sat slumped in a chair, Karina beside her. "Your Grace." Giorgio crouched down. "No formalities," she said, her words slow. "We are friends." Giorgio swallowed hard. The affection in her eyes, the kindness of her words were a soothing balm to his roiling emotions. "A battle rages," she continued, "and it falls to you to lead the way of good. Our people forget the hardships and deprivations we once suffered. Ambition, power, pride—all these and more add to the flames." "I have done my share of fueling the fire," he offered in a bitter admission. "Which is in the past. Come tomorrow, what happened here is also the past. Those who died are weak men influenced by the evil of their own schemes and the miasma of misery here. Let their clans claim and burn them." Her voice trailed off, her eyes closed and Giorgio feared she had taken her last breath. As he lifted his hand to touch her throat and feel for the pulse of her life's blood, she stirred. "I ask you to follow the old ways and take Leykin as your wife," she murmured. "She is young and does not recognize the symptoms. I do. She carries your child, Giorgio. Do not 300

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let your young grow up without a father, as you were forced to do. Treasure your wife and nurture your child." She sighed and shut her eyes again. They remained closed as she offered Giorgio a final instruction. "I wish no ceremony upon my passing," she said, pausing between each word. "Let me leave this world as I entered it, the simple person I have always longed to be." Grief filled Giorgio as her body went limp; he knew she had gone to be with the fathers. A keen wail rose behind him. He turned to see Vivienne crumbled on the floor, succumbing to her own sorrow. Before he could move, Karina was beside her, helping her to her feet and speaking soft reminders that all which lives must eventually die. Rising slowly, Giorgio felt staggered by his responsibilities. In his Louisville mansion, Misha waited to hear that his goddaughter was safe. Vivienne's clan must be notified of her situation, and Leykin, her face now pale and her movements strong, needed to know the fate of her beloved Granmama. It was Karina, sliding her backpack on, who took charge. "My brain tells me they're all going to stay dead, but the sooner we get out of here, the happier I'll be," she said. "Come with me, Leykin. I believe the Prophetess has a cloak upstairs." Giorgio was glad she hadn't finished the sentence with "that we can use as a shroud." Vivienne still sobbed, and Leykin looked on the verge of tears as well. He suspected that despite her tough exterior, Karina was equally shaken by everything that had taken place. 301

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They returned in minutes. Karina carried the deep purple cloak, while Leykin cradled a cloth-wrapped bundle in her arms. At Giorgio's suggestion, they followed Tatiana as she led Vivienne to the SUV while he stayed behind to prepare the Prophetess for her final journey. Giorgio wasn't a superstitious man. He knew of the old ways but preferred modern life. Still, he wanted to make sure the Prophetess left this place with a blessing on her soul. He smoothed the cloak across the dining room table before reverently laying the body of the Prophetess upon it. Reaching in the deepest recesses of his memory, he brought up the chant his clan had used when his own parents were killed. His Old Ancient was rusty, but he did his best to recite the lines properly. When he was done, he folded the hands of the Prophetess together and closed the cloak around her. He knew that he should have placed a gold coin against her heart and marked her throat with oil as a symbol of her goodness. Perhaps her clan would understand if it was done later, he decided, considering the circumstances. Her body was light in his arms as he walked through the empty rooms and out into the night. The back of his vehicle stood open. He laid her down with gentle care, shut the back door and slid into the driver's seat. Before he started the engine, he pulled his phone from his pocket and texted a terse message to Misha: "Task accomplished. Coming home." Details, he decided, were best told in person. His memory would be just as good five hours from now, sitting in the high 302

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elder's house, as in this moment. Some things a man couldn't forget, no matter how many centuries he survived. The midday sun shone through the trees that bordered the drive at the high elder's mansion, dappling a lace pattern on the bricks. Giorgio noticed the design, just as he noted the blooming bushes near the back door and the warble of birds from somewhere close by. He relished the minutiae of ordinary life as a reminder that unlike the charnel house he'd left, some things were fresh and pure. The drive had been hard, fast and silent. Karina and the girl Vivienne had fallen asleep shortly after they'd left Haven House. Leykin had ridden in the front seat beside him, but spoken only when he asked if she was feeling all right. She looked better he decided as he threw the vehicle into park and prepared to face Misha. Vivienne's healing skills had helped, although the wound on Leykin's side had barely knit together. It should be little more than a thin pink line by now, given Leykin's excellent physical condition and her youth. Because of her pregnancy, he suspected. "Let me carry you," he said after opening her door. Leykin's eyes narrowed. "I am injured, not helpless. Besides, I'm an enforcer. When we feel pain, we shake it off and keep going, remember?" Not when you're expecting my child. He kept that thought to himself and stepped out of her way. The others were already walking onto the porch; Tatiana held one of Vivienne's hands and Karina clasped the other. Their clothes were dirty and blood-spotted. Tatiana's always303

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perfect hair was messy and Karina was barefoot. Probably lost her shoes during her battles, he imagined. Leykin walked beside Giorgio as he mounted the steps. Pausing before opening the door, he said, "I know you want baths and clean clothes, but what you need now is nourishment. Misha's kitchen is always well-stocked, so I'm sure you can find something you like." "You need to eat, too," Tatiana said. "I will, as soon as I speak with the high elder." "As soon as we speak to the high elder," Leykin said in a no-nonsense tone of voice. "If you are done before we get back to you, Tatiana, please take care of Vivienne. I'm sure Karina would appreciate it if she could borrow an outfit from you." "Of course," Tatiana said, indignant. "She can wear anything she wants from my closet. I think some of my outgrown clothes are stored in the attic. I'll check myself to see if I can find something in Vivienne's size." She turned the knob and walked into the kitchen. The cook turned from dicing meat at the counter to stare, wide-eyed, as the small group entered. Before Giorgio could ask that she prepare food, the woman was pulling blood bags from the refrigerator and asking Vivienne if she had any favorite foods. Misha met them in the downstairs foyer, dressed in black slacks and a white silk shirt. The dark circles lining his eyes made Giorgio wonder how long it had been since the high elder had slept. "Have all survived?" were Misha's first, tense words. 304

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Giorgio hesitated, wanting to be anywhere but here, forced to announce the death of the Prophetess. "Well?" Impatience colored the single word. "We lost the Prophetess," Giorgio said. Misha dropped his head and let out a deep breath. "Last night. I was at my desk when a terrible sorrow came over, a sense of loss stronger than I've felt before. I tried to reach out to her, but failed. My hope was that she respected the ban and closed her mind, but I feared the worst." "She died peacefully," Giorgio said. "I was with her; she was ready to leave this world." "And the others?" Misha asked. "Have they all come back?" "Yes." "Any injuries?" Leykin answered that question before Giorgio could speak. "A slight wound to my hip, gonna be gone by tomorrow." Misha nodded. Turning to Giorgio, he said, "Where is the Prophetess now?" "I brought her home to you. The outside enforcer stands on guard." "Very good." Misha gestured toward the front parlor. "Please wait for me there. I wish to say a private farewell before calling someone I trust to prepare her for cremation." Giorgio was surprised at the choice of locations. Normally, reports were given in Misha's study, where a built-in recording system captured the information digitally. In addition, enforcers were asked to submit a written report as well as the reasons why something worked well or 305

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suggestions on how to improve their methods. Today, however, was more like a gathering of equals. Or friends. A tray with a decanter of blood and goblets sat on a low table. Giorgio filled two and handed one to Leykin, who had found a seat on the divan. He sat beside her, content just being in her presence. Giorgio was in the act of refilling his glass when Misha joined them. He took a chair across from the divan and asked to hear what had happened since Leykin left his house. She related everything from the time she boarded the plane with Quincy to the final confrontation. Giorgio added to the report, giving details on what he did and who he killed. "I regret the loss of life," he concluded, "but I saw no way else to proceed." "Don't be sorry." Misha spoke with cold fury. "They were traitors, every one of them. Their pledges to support their clan elder and the council were nothing but black lies, meant to lull us into a false security while they prepared to overthrow everyone in power. Ruthless lives come to ruthless ends. I will dispatch a team to burn that place, with their bodies in it, as a warning to anyone who dares think they might succeed where those bastards failed." He stood. "I will respect the wishes of the Prophetess. As she requested, the ceremony shall be simple and private. I suggest you find your beds for dark will come all too soon, and we have much to do." The room Misha gave them was large and luxuriously decorated. The bed was the softest Leykin had ever 306

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experienced, and the curtains at the windows kept out all natural light. But what she appreciated the most was the large shower stall and the stream of hot water that cleansed her body and helped her let loose of the debris that filled her mind as well. "Room for two?" Giorgio's voice came from the other side of the steamy stall. "Always." She pushed the stall door open enough for him to step in. The damage to his body from his fighting was nearly gone; she saw only one faint bruise on his shoulder. She rubbed the healing scar on her hip. How odd that he was back to normal and she still felt a slight ache. "I think you missed a spot." Giorgio reached around her for the bottle of scented body wash and poured some onto his palm. Pulling her closer, her back to his chest, he split the fragrant liquid between his two hands and rubbed it across her shoulders and down her damp arms. When she shivered, he ran his fingers down her sides and along her hips before wrapping his arms around her and turning her toward him. "I was afraid you'd die." His admission came as a whisper against her ear. "I couldn't live without you. You're in my soul now, a part of me. My existence is meaningless without you. I love you, Leykin, and it scares the hell out of me." "I knew you'd come," Leykin said, her eyes locked on his. "I thought I might be dead before you got to us, but I knew you'd never abandon me, no matter how awful I am sometimes." "That's because you're ..." 307

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"I'm what?" she demanded as his voice trailed off. "Hard to live with? Obstinate? Determined to be taken seriously as an enforcer?" Giorgio smiled down at her. "You are all of those at times, but that's not what I was about to say." "What then?" "Because you're carrying our child. The Prophetess told me." Leykin's eyes widened and she slumped; if Giorgio's arms hadn't supported her, she would have fallen against the tile wall. All the little odd things of the past few weeks began to add up. The moodiness she couldn't seem to control. The way blood tasted funny and short-lifer food smelled heavenly. Her need to have Giorgio near. Granted, she still had six weeks until her quarterly period, but ... If anyone other than the Prophetess had declared her pregnant, she'd demand a test immediately. But the Prophetess was never wrong. Her hand touched her flat abdomen as she realized how her life was about to change. "Oh, man, do they make enforcer suits in maternity sizes?" she asked, smacking Giorgio when he burst out laughing. "If they aren't on the market, we'll have some made," he said. "In the meantime, I can think of things more pressing than your wardrobe." "Oh, really?" 308

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"Curling up together for a good night's sleep is high on my list." "I can think of something even better," Leykin said, rising to her toes to kiss him. "Definitely that," Giorgio said when the kiss ended, "but first we sleep as Misha suggested." He laughed when she stuck out her lower lip in a childlike pout, swatting her on the rear as he opened the stall door and stepped out. "You'll be sorry you did that!" she shouted over the water, wondering if he could hear. "So you're going to punish me?" he called back. "Maybe Misha has some whips and chains hidden away." She heard his chuckle before the bathroom door opened and closed again. Sighing, she shut off the water and reached for the thick bath towel. Oh, how she wanted to be at their place, just the two of them. She knew Giorgio was right; intimacy came second to their enforcer duties until this crisis was over. That didn't mean she had to be happy about it. She sensed Giorgio watching her as she walked back into the bedroom, the towel wrapped around her as she brushed her damp hair. He must think she was the stupidest woman in the entire Ancient civilization not to realize she was pregnant. Oh, God, she was going to have a child. A little bullheaded boy like Giorgio, maybe. Or a daughter like her sister Karina, beautiful, intelligent and strong. She touched her abdomen again, filled with wonder and excitement. Some women tried for a hundred years to have a baby, and it had happened for her in only a few months with Giorgio. 309

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She gave her hair one final stoke, dropped the brush and hurried to climb in bed beside Giorgio. "I love you," she said. "And I love that I'm carrying your child. You're happy, right? I mean about the baby. I know we didn't plan it, and you don't have to promise to stay with me forever. Until we die anyway. I mean that's a long time and..." "Whoa, slow down." Giorgio touched a finger to her lips. "I love you, Leykin Reneau, and I most definitely do intend to marry you, if you're willing to put up with me for a few hundred more years. And yes, I'm thrilled about the idea of being a father, although the thought of it scares me half to death." Leykin curled against him, a wide smile on her face as he told her sternly it was time to go to sleep. Tomorrow, they'd plunge back into the morass of lies and deceit that was tearing their people apart. But today, for these few hours, they were two people in love with a golden future ahead of them. And what more could she ask for? [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twenty-Four **** "Wake up, sleeping beauty, we've got to go." Leykin opened her eyes to see Giorgio, fully dressed, standing over her. She flung off the covers and headed for her clothes. She'd left them outside the door last night and now they were hanging off a dresser pull, newly laundered. "So what's up?" she asked as she hurriedly dressed. "The mystery seems to be solved," Giorgio said. "Acacia found the rest of our missing executionists." An adrenaline rush filled Leykin, chasing away the last of her tiredness. This was where they'd started, with the mystery of how Nekia's body ended up in an area frequented by short-lifers. Had it been less than a week ago? "I feel like I've aged a decade since all this started," she said to Giorgio as they walked side-by-side down the hall toward Misha's study. "Maybe two." He gave her a sympathetic smile. "I know. My most fervent wish is that we never have to go through a week like this again." She hadn't considered the events of the last few days from his perspective. She'd been in the middle of everything. While she'd worried about escaping from Quincy and his buddies in one piece and still breathing, Giorgio had no idea where she was. 311

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Acacia was waiting with Misha when they entered the study. Like Misha, she looked grim. "I am sorry to wake you," Misha said. "Acacia has information that must come before the council, but I wanted you to be aware before I summon the elders to leave their clans." Leykin knew the discovery must be huge. After her forced close contact with Quincy, she had suspected he was behind the mystery of how Nekia's body wound up in a public place. Obviously, she'd been wrong. She took a chair; Giorgio sat on the arm. Acacia handed him a written report. Silence filled the room as he placed the pages where they both could read them. "Any questions?" Misha asked when they were done. "So Nekia plotted that herself," Giorgio said slowly. "I knew she was conniving, but I didn't know she was clever enough for something like this." "Putting what Acacia got from the executionists and what I know about Nekia together, it makes sense," Misha said. "She loved being the center of attention, and I can see how she'd want the limelight after she was dead. I'd say her primary motive, however, was revenge. Revenge against the council by forcing the very situation we're in, staying in the shadows until all talk of vampires dies down. "And revenge against her former ally, Danforth Harrington. She hated him. When their plan to force my resignation failed, there was proof only against her. Nekia wanted his execution as well." 312

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"We did consider him the first suspect when her body was found," Giorgio said. "She almost pulled it off." Leykin had seen Nekia as devious and evil; she hadn't realized how determined the woman was to bring down everyone else. That was why she'd taken the bold step of requesting a hearing by the Prophetess. It gave her time to exploit the weakness of her jailers and plan a way to keep her name remembered in vampire history. Misha leaned back in his chair, folded his hands together and looked squarely at Giorgio. "So," he said, "shall I order the execution of the executionists or give them another chance?" Giorgio rubbed the back of his neck and let out a long breath. He played with an answer in his mind, needing to choose the right words. Finally he spoke. "I know that as chief council enforcer, supervision of the execution teams falls under my jurisdiction. However, I believe the council may wish to decide the punishment under these circumstances." Misha laughed. "Spoken like a politician. Offer solutions but don't make a decision." "It might help if I knew how those men profited from doing what Nekia asked." "She changed her will the day before her execution. Each of the executionists was given a share of her business interests, and the two guards who were supposed to watch her body received a quarter million dollars each. Nekia was a wealthy woman who knew she couldn't take it with her." 313

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"Wow." Giorgio was stunned. He could understand why they'd entered into her devil's bargain. He glanced at Leykin, who wore a look of shock. "Any suggestions?" he asked her. "Strip them of their duties, take away their assets and banish them," she said. "Word will get around. Humiliation might be a greater punishment than death." "Giorgio," Misha said, "do you agree?" "Knowing those men and their pride," he said, "that might be the perfect solution." "Then so it shall be." Giorgio felt a slim sorrow for the men whose lives were about to be ruined. They weren't the first to allow greed to do them in, and they wouldn't be the last. There would always be Nekias in the Ancient world, self-centered even unto death. He stood, expecting to be dismissed. Instead Misha thanked Acacia for her work, and asked Giorgio and Leykin to remain. That, Giorgio decided, didn't sound good at all. Did Misha already know Leykin was expecting a child? Was he about to remove her as an enforcer—and Giorgio, too? Misha left his place behind the desk to take the chair Acacia had occupied. So this was to be a conversation between friends, which both relieved and concerned Giorgio, for Misha's face was somber as he began to speak. "We have lost another in our fight to keep our world intact," he said. "My dearest friend Stenos had his life taken and Arabella, the Prophetess' sister, was gravely injured. She 314

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is hidden away, being tended by our best doctors as she recovers." Giorgio reached for Leykin's hand as her eyes filled with tears. "Thank the fathers," she said, drawing in a big sigh of relief. "I believed her dead after Karina told us what happened." "She was nearly so," Misha confirmed. "When my soul felt the death of my dear friend Stenos, I sent the nearest enforcers. Had they been even an hour later, she would not have survived. As soon as she is well enough for visitors, you will be taken to her. "As for Stenos, because of the circumstances we now face, the ceremony of telling him farewell was conducted quickly and in secret. Please know that I grieve as well. I've lain awake every day since the attack trying to decide what I could have done differently to save them." "There's nothing you could have done," Leykin said. "Once those damned men put their plan into action, we were all marked." Giorgio fought back a new wave of guilt. Maybe she was right. Perhaps things played out as they were destined to. Yet he wondered if he'd allowed Leykin to work beside him instead of trying to protect her whether things might have turned out differently. "I pray that this is the end of the killing," Misha said. "The rumors of vampires walking the streets will die, and I intend to remove the order to gather as soon as I can meet with the council. Yet there is one need I cannot address as high elder." 315

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"The new Prophetess," Giorgio said. "Exactly." "The girl wasn't with her when she died," Leykin said. "I thought they had to be touching for the power of the old Prophetess to flow into the new." "So do we all," Misha said. Giorgio wondered if the high elder's mind was on the prophecy that the birth of a child of their blood but not of the blood would signal the end of the Ancient civilization. He knew Misha believed the child was Karina. The chaos of the last decade had made Giorgio wonder if the prophecy was coming true. And now, the death of the Prophetess with no successor... "We will say farewell to the Prophetess tonight," Misha said, stopping Giorgio's train of thought. "The ceremony will begin at midnight on my farm near Lexington. I would ask that you join me." Giorgio nodded his assent as Leykin offered a murmured "Of course." "Thank you. I intend to seek my bed before dusk arrives; your time until then is your own to do with as you wish." Leykin's hand was still in Giorgio's as they left the study and headed down the hall. Leykin slowed as they neared the bedroom they'd been given, but Giorgio pulled her along with him toward the wide stairs. Although he knew they both needed sleep, his body needed nutrition first. So, he imagined, did Leykin's, especially now. The kitchen was empty when they walked in, which he appreciated. They needed time alone as enforcers to talk 316

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about the past few days and figure out what they could have done to stop the horror and the bloodshed. They also needed time as a couple to talk about their future. And their child. Giorgio's mind kept circling back to the startling announcement from the Prophetess. He'd never seen himself as father material. Growing up without one, relying on the men of the clan to instruct him, he'd missed a lot. Maybe he wouldn't be good at fathering. What was that slogan he'd seen on a T-shirt somewhere, that any man can be a father but it takes someone special to be a daddy? "Hey." Leykin waved a hand in front of his face. "In case you hadn't noticed by the cold air in front of you, I have the refrigerator door open. And I've asked you three times what you'd like to eat." "Sorry." He reached in and grabbed a bottle of blood and some raw steak strips. "I was lost in thought, I guess." He was glad Leykin didn't ask what he was thinking about. He was pretty sure she wouldn't find it reassuring to know that he might be in the running for worst father of the year in a decade or two. They ate quietly and quickly. Giorgio hadn't realized how hungry he was until his first sip of blood. He refilled his goblet twice before he felt satisfied. Leykin stopped at two glasses, which was still more than she usually drank. "We have a couple of hours until we need to be back here," he said when the meal was finished. "Let's go shopping." Leykin reached out and placed her palm against his forehead. 317

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"You don't feel sick," she said, "but you must be. I thought you hated going to the mall." He pulled her hand down and rubbed his thumb across the ring finger of her left hand. "I have a very special purchase in mind." "Oh." To his delight, Leykin blushed, the pink tinge bright on her ivory cheeks. "You're lucky we're getting married now," he added as he pulled her to her feet. "Back in my way younger days, the practice of branding the bride was still popular. I'm pretty sure you'd rather have a diamond than my family crest burned into your butt." Leykin adjusted the jacket of her black suit and smoothed down the lapels of her shirt, catching a twinkle of diamonds in the mirror. She studied the ring Giorgio had insisted on buying. It was absolutely beautiful, a perfect ruby surrounded by equally perfect diamonds. She'd been lucky; it was as if the ring were made for her finger, with no resizing required. Sighing, she slipped it off and into the drawer of the bedside table. She didn't want questions yet. After tonight's ceremony was over and life was calm again, she and Giorgio would announce their intentions. This was a time for sorrow, not celebration. Her cell phone chimed to let her know she'd gotten a text message. From Giorgio, it informed her that it was time to leave for the farm. She was so sick of this kind of communication already. She could hardly wait until the ban on mental contact was lifted and things went back to normal. 318

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Giorgio waited at the front door with Misha and two young enforcers who had been standing duty at the mansion during her absence. The small group walked solemnly across the porch and down the steps to a waiting limo. Tatiana, Karina and Vivienne were already inside. Leykin knew by looking at their faces that they'd been crying. She'd shed her own share of tears as well. The ride to the farm was smooth and quick. The limo stopped by the house to let them out. Flanked again by enforcers, Misha led the way down a path along a fence line to a wooded area. Inside its dark interior, Leykin saw an open area lined by torches and the funeral pyre where the body of the Prophetess lay. She was so small in death, Leykin realized, when she seemed so much larger than life. She blinked back tears as she recalled her lighter moments with the Prophetess, from her own feeble attempts to prepare a meal and the older woman's unexpected sense of humor. The world would be a different place without the Prophetess in it. A handful of others waited for them; they were all strangers to Leykin. Yet she knew they must have been important in the life of the Prophetess to be included in this secret ceremony. Rather than the structured formation of the usual ritual, those attending stood in a horseshoe around Misha as he began to speak. Leykin's eyes filled as he drew a verbal picture, and she knew by the sobs she heard that others were equally shaken. When Giorgio touched a torch to the pyre, 319

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she was filled with the deep pang of loss, not only for herself but for her people. What would happen now, without the Prophetess to guide them and keep the council in check? She recalled the history she'd learned, how battles among the clans had nearly exterminated the Ancients. She shuddered at the idea of being forced back into a hidden existence and the deprivations that entailed. "Leykin." Giorgio touched her arm. "We must go now.' She nodded, wiping away the tears with a rough hand. Enforcers didn't cry. Again boxing in the high elder, the corps of enforcers led the way back to where the vehicles were parked. Instead of leaving, Misha invited those in attendance to come into the house to share a meal and their memories of the Prophetess. Leykin found herself smiling and laughing before the small gathering broke up. Like her, each of them had shared parts of their life with the Prophetess that were personal and memorable. She found comfort in hearing their stories and contributed her own. When they left shortly before dawn, her spirits were lifted. Exhausted, she leaned her head on Giorgio's shoulder on the ride home and let the conversation flow around her. The stress of the last few days was catching up with her; she found it hard to shove back the memory of the horror she'd seen. How Giorgio lived with centuries of memories of blood and death, she couldn't fathom. But if she was going to stay an enforcer, she'd have to learn how to do it, too. 320

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If she stayed an enforcer. She knew that following tradition, she and Giorgio would contract with a willing shortlifer female to serve first as blood nurse to their child and then as nanny. Being free to pursue her career wouldn't be a problem. The typical pregnancy was fourteen months, so they had time to decide how life would be as parents. She intended to include Giorgio in every decision. Neither of them had been raised by family, so they'd be creating their own with no experience. "We're here," Giorgio murmured, bringing her away from her thoughts. She raised her head to look out the window. Her heart lifted. "Your place," she said, delighted at the thought of being alone with him again. "Our place," he corrected. "Okay, our place." Leykin was glad the elevator was empty when they walked into the building. She didn't want to see people, didn't want to have to interact with neighbors. She leaned against Giorgio as they rode up, holding his hand as they walked down the quiet hall, letting go only so he could unlock the door. She was so glad to be home, back in familiar surroundings. Tonight she'd sleep in her own bed. Giorgio would be beside her keeping her safe. Maybe her mind would shut off and block the memory of the last few days so she could allow herself the luxury of the deep, restoring slumber she needed. "Hungry?" Giorgio asked as he pulled off his jacket and tie. "No, I'm fine." 321

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"I'm going to warm myself some blood. You're sure you don't want any?" She shook her head. "I'm going to take the longest hot bath in history, then sleep like the dead. You don't have to wait up for me." "Ah, but I want to." Giorgio winked and headed for the kitchen, humming as he went. Leykin smiled as she started down the hall toward that marvelous tub, wondering once again how she'd gotten so lucky. Misha poured himself another goblet of blood and added a healthy dollop of brandy. He'd like nothing more than to get stinking drunk and stay that way for a week or two. Unfortunately, that was not an option. High elders had to be ready for anything at anytime. Life had been easier when he'd been only a clan elder. You can't go back, he reminded himself. He wore the tattoo of office and his people depended on him to rule fairly and wisely especially as he became the first high elder in known history to guide without a Prophetess to advise him. The Book of the Ancients was locked in his office safe. He'd call a council meeting for two nights from now where he intended to present both the book and the girl. If Vivienne opened the book and saw writing inside, she would be the new Prophetess, prepared or not. If, like ordinary Ancients, she only saw blank pages inside the book, then they'd sent the final Prophetess to the fathers tonight. He took a long drink and sighed. He missed Belle. He had grown accustomed to her absences; her work as a free agent 322

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for Guardian Security took her away with short notice and often for weeks at a time. Today, though, he hated to go to bed alone. He wanted her with him, curling around him like a cat, her warmth a reminder that he didn't have to face life alone. "Damn it all to hell." He lifted his glass in a mock salute to the darkness outside as he uttered the words, a mock toast to the ashes of his once-perfect life before downing the brandy in one long swig. He grimaced as it burned its way down his throat. Lowering the glass, he set it on the low table by the sofa and made his way upstairs. Dawn was coming fast, and he was exhausted. He'd allow himself a few hours of sleep before he began making the calls to summon the clan elders. Maybe his dreams would reveal the solution to the problems that plagued him. Perhaps in sleep the veil would be lifted and he could see the face of the next Prophetess, the proverbial handwriting on the wall that would show him how to bring peace among the vampires again. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twenty-Five **** Leykin stood on the wide front porch of the farmhouse, watching as headlights split the darkness. One car after another came down the long drive, stopping at the steps as the elders got out. Misha had decided to convene the council here, where no one would expect them to meet, rather than their headquarters in Louisville. He'd also arranged for the elders to arrive at several airports for safety's sake. "Good evening." She bowed as the first clan elder approached the door, repeating the process until all twelve were inside. A young enforcer who had served as a driver took her place while she went inside as she'd been instructed. The long front room of the house had been converted into a temporary conference room. Cushioned chairs sat behind long tables set in a U and topped with deep red cloths. Rich curtains covered the windows to keep outsiders from looking in. Earlier in the night, Giorgio had brought Vivienne to the farm as well as Tatiana and Karina. They'd been told it was to keep the girl company, but Leykin knew the real reason. All three had been in the villa with the Prophetess the night she died; if the Book of the Ancients would not reveal its contents for Vivienne, there was a possibility one of the others was to be the next sage. 324

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The mood tonight was somber. The usual chitchat that preceded the call to order was missing. Misha had provided decanters of blood and bottles of bourbon, which the elders availed themselves of quickly. As usual, Misha appeared calm and confident. Leykin envied him. Her stomach fluttered and her nerves were taut as she waited for the meeting to begin. The entire future of her people depended on what happened tonight. If Vivienne were the successor, their civilization would continue as it always had. Misha had confided that he believed the book itself would convey all the knowledge that was needed to a new Prophetess. But if it was Karina... "Good evening, my brothers." With those few words, what might be the most important council meeting in the history of vampire society began. Leykin only half listened as the Keeper of the Records called the roll and dispensed with the preliminaries. Her thoughts were on her sister. If she touched the book and words appeared, Misha would have no choice but to declare her the Prophetess. That act might tear her people apart. Yes, Karina was of the blood, but to all intents and purposes, she was a long-living short-lifer. Could the council accept as their superior a young woman who couldn't stand the sight of blood, slept nights and had been raised by the other species of humans? "Miss Reneau, please present the candidates."

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She nodded at Misha's command, the butterflies in her stomach launching into full flight. She took a deep breath and left the room to tell Giorgio it was time. They'd rehearsed this part earlier. Each young woman would be brought in alone. Giorgio would stay with the others in another room. Vivienne would be the first to face the council, then Tatiana. If they failed and Karina came to the council, Giorgio would station himself at end of the tables and Leykin would take the other end. If she was indeed the successor, some elders on the council might be furious enough to attack either Karina or Misha. Leykin walked into the room where Giorgio waited. "It's time," she said. "Vivienne, please come with me." The girl looked so young and vulnerable that Leykin took her hand as they walked down the corridor to where the council waited. She gave Vivienne a tight hug before opening the door and stepping into the room. "I present Vivienne Lasalle," she said. "She was present at the passing of our beloved Prophetess." Misha stepped into the middle of the room, the Book of the Ancients in his hand. Taking care to stand where all could see, he smiled at Vivienne and said, "This is very simple. All we'd like you to do is open this book." Leykin's heart went out to Vivienne whose small shoulders trembled as she reached out with her right hand, took hold of the book's front cover and turned it. Her little fingers slid beneath the thin pages and flipped to the middle. The pages were blank. 326

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"Thank you," Misha said, his voice gentle. "You can go back to Giorgio now." Vivienne ran over to Leykin, who took her hand again and escorted her back to the waiting room. She shook her head as she walked in; Tatiana stood, knowing she was next. Tatiana stepped up to Misha with poise, bowed in respect and opened the book. Once again, the pages appeared empty. Leykin began to lead Tatiana from the room when Misha stopped her. "We have one final candidate," Misha announced. "I ask that she be brought before us.' Leykin wasn't surprised that Karina's appearance before the council brought murmurs and one loud objection. "Who is this one?" demanded the elder from the Brazilian clan as he jumped to his feet. "The bloodlines of the other candidates are known, vouched for by their clan." He glanced up and down the row of seated elders. "Who speaks for her?" "I do." Misha's voice was firm as he turned and faced the clan elders. "She is of my blood, born in secrecy and raised as I saw fit. Do you challenge her right to stand among you?" Leykin tensed, ready to jump in and protect Misha. The Brazilian elder's cheeks were pink with anger, his hands knotted into fists. His body was squared, as if he wanted nothing more than to make his objections physical. "I ask again, does anyone challenge her right to stand among you?" His voice was calm, but Leykin knew by the gold gleam in his eyes that he was holding back his own anger. The 327

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Brazilian elder must have also seen it, she decided, because he dropped into his seat and crossed his arms. Once again, the ritual was repeated. Misha offered Karina the book; she found its center and turned the pages. They again stayed blank. For a long moment, the elders sat stunned. Then a hubbub broke out as they realized the import of what had happened. There was no Prophetess. There might never be again. As the voices rose, demanding Misha to tell them what would happen to their people now, he handed the book to Karina and, raising both arms, shouted, "We will not have chaos!" His voice dominated the room and shocked the others into silence. "We are men of honor and intelligence," he said. "I rely on you, my brothers, to keep your silence about this meeting and what has occurred within these walls. There has always been a Prophetess, and I believe there always will be. "In due time, she will be revealed to us. In the meantime, go back to your clans. Reassure them that all is well. Trust me, my brothers, as I trust you." Turning to Leykin, he said, "Take our precious book and guard it until a safe repository is found." She nodded, still stunned. She had been certain the successor was in this house. Perhaps she hadn't been born yet. Maybe they'd go decades with no one to advise the council. Leykin stepped forward, nodded in reverence to the Book of the Ancients, and put her hands out to receive it from 328

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Karina. When her fingers touched it, the book fell open, the stylized writing bold on its pages. Shocked, she dropped her hands and stepped back. The pages were pale again. "I can't be," she whispered, her heart pounding in her throat. The Prophetess didn't marry. She didn't have children. She lived only for the good of her people. With a shaking hand, she touched one finger to a page. Again words appeared in view. "Accept the book," Misha said. Leykin did as he ordered, knowing her fate was sealed whether she took it or not. All these witnesses had seen what happened. She was the new Prophetess. She opened her hands and scooped the open book from Karina. In that instant, the words disappeared and the book was blank again. Wide-eyed, she handed the book back to Karina. Once again, when both touched the leather casing, they saw the writing in the Book of the Ancients. "This is impossible." She turned to Misha, her voice shaky. "There is only one Prophetess. It must be Karina. I'm..." She stopped before she blurted out "pregnant." This was not the time or place for a bombshell like that. "Summon the others," Misha said to the Keeper of the Records, who stared at the two women in disbelief. When the others had joined them, Misha conducted the test a second time. First he asked Vivienne and Tatiana to hold the book at the same time. He repeated it with every 329

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combination, but only when Karina and Leykin touched it did the words appear. Leykin watched Giorgio's visage grow grimmer and grimmer. Like her, he knew what the future held if she was indeed the Prophetess or, more correctly, half the Prophetess. There would be no marriage. They would no longer share a bed and a life. She suspected that he feared, as she did, that gaining this power would mean the loss of their child, a miscarriage no one could stop. "What does this mean?" demanded the Brazilian elder, who'd been fortifying himself with straight bourbon throughout the tests. "How can this be?" That, Leykin thought to herself, is the million-dollar question. Misha, however, had an answer. "Nearly all of you were in the council chambers when our late beloved Prophetess offered the prophecy that a child would be born whose very existence would change our civilization," he said. "Most scoffed, their faith in the Book of the Ancients faint." He put an arm around Karina's shoulders. "This is that child, born to my clan. I entrusted her to a woman of the other humans who has loved and cared for her as her own. Since her birth, I have watched our people change, and I have feared an end to us all. "I believe now that her birth was a symbol of hope. Perhaps the old ways are gone, but that may be as it should be. We live in a different world, a new world." He waved a hand toward Leykin. 330

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"These two women share the same blood. Raised apart, taught differently, yet they have a natural bond that makes them strong for one another. I believe that the day of the Prophetess is gone. We must depend not on the person, but on the words preserved since the beginning of time." He fell silent, waiting for objections. "I ask you, brothers, to confirm these sisters not as Prophetesses, destined to live separate from their people, but as the wise women of the Ancients, living among us to give us guidance." He polled each elder individually; each answered with the standard "I confirm." "I thank you for your confidence," he said. "Please advise your clan mates that the order to gather has been lifted, and they may resume their daily lives. I also withdraw the ban on empathy." Then he gave Leykin the greatest shock of her life. "As a final piece of business," he said, "I wish to announce a marriage. Giorgio Montrosa has sought permission to marry Leykin Reneau, which I have granted with pleasure. The ceremony will take place at my house, on the first night of the full moon in December." Leykin whirled to stare at Giorgio, who was grinning. Forgetting decorum, unconcerned that the most important Ancients in the world were watching, she ran to Giorgio and threw herself into his arms. "Oh, I love you," she sighed, her soul full of happiness. "I don't care what happens as long as we're together." 331

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"As long as we're a family," Giorgio added. "A new family in a new world...whatever your new powers are, there can't be a better prediction than that." [Back to Table of Contents]

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About the Author **** Cammie Eicher is a native Buckeye, transplanted from northwestern Ohio to northeastern Kentucky theoretically because of a job change but actually because she couldn't take one more Lake Erie winter. A graduate of Ohio's Bowling Green State University, she edits a weekly newspaper and is a columnist for its sister daily. Raised in a household with a teacher grandmother, poet father and teacher/historian mother, Cammie grew up on tales of local and family lore, including learning her ancestors had once been serfs in Transylvania, and that a tombstone in the town cemetery was a drop-off point for local booze during prohibition. Cammie now lives with a large Sheltie who herds everything and a tabby/Siamese cat who doesn't take orders from anyone (especially not a dog). She also frequently visits her two grown children in order to leave the lights on and the refrigerator door open, all the time sighing, "Ah, revenge." She can be contacted at [email protected] or by writing her at P.O. Box 63, Greenup, KY 41144. [Back to Table of Contents]

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What to read more Shadow Ancients? Also Available from Resplendence Publishing **** Out of the Shadows by Cammie Eicher There's a new Ancient in town ... and he's out for blood. Thirteen years ago, Ahnya Fahre fought for her own life on the mean streets of Chicago. Tonight, she's on the run again, this time with a newborn vampire who may be the child of prophecy, destined to destroy the entire Ancient civilization. Desperate to save the child from vengeful enforcers sent by the Ancient's high elder, Ahnya forms an uneasy alliance with the vampires' deadly enemy, a bounty hunter intent on killing every elder of every clan. When her only Ancient ally is imprisoned by the high elder, when the council's enforcer discovers she has the child, when the psychic link between child and father brings evil to their door, Ahnya is forced to choose between the man she's come to love and the child she's promised to protect. The choices she makes can save the Ancients' civilization and her own, or serve as the catalyst for the destruction of both worlds. **** Hell's Belle by Cammie Eicher Belle DuPont has one hard and fast rule—take the money and run. It's worked perfectly for the first century of her life, and she sees no reason to change anything. 334

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Until she meets the vampire Misha Tsarentza, a clan elder of the Ancients. When he hires her for a simple protection job and winds up both under the spell of silver and of Belle herself. His duty by blood and her obligation by salary put them on the road, protecting the Ancients' highest authority from a band of rogue Ancients intent on destruction of the old ways and the old leaders. Belle soon discovers that swearing off love is hard to do when faced with the intensity of Misha's company and her increasing attraction to him. Uniting to fight a bunch of big, bad Ancients is one thing...uniting her heart with his is quite another. Especially when falling in love may lead to both her execution, and his. **** Devil's Ball by Cammie Eicher When the Ancients' high elder is murdered in his bed, Giorgio Montrosa is assigned to find the killer—fast. So he's not opposed to being given a partner, especially when that partner is hand-picked by the Prophetess, the Ancient's highest authority. He didn't expect that help to come in the form of Leykin Reneau. After all, they weren't formally introduced until after she'd shoved him to the floor and covered him with ice. And once they are, he wonders if her youth and inexperience will make her more hindrance than help. 335

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The last thing Leykin expected when she left Minnesota was to work with the famed Giorgio Montrosa, whose reputation as a big, bad enforcer is all she knows about him. But as they work together to find the killer, solve a kidnapping and unravel a plot to dethrone the entire ruling council, she discovers the sexy man beneath the tough exterior. The attraction, she soon learns, is mutual. But can they live long enough to find their happy ending? [Back to Table of Contents]

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Also Available from Resplendence Publishing **** We Kill Dead Things by Sommer Marsden Book One in the Zombie Exterminators Series Poppy thinks her life is weird working the food court at Parktowne mall, until in one brief moment of creeper killing, things change forever. Now she's a freelance zombie exterminator along with her long lusted after co-worker Garrity (her not-so-secret crush), a somewhat lusted after bad boy Cahill and pretty gay boy Noah. When the four are hired to do a ballsy zombie clean up at St. Peter's Hospital, Poppy finds out just what's more scary than creepers. The Evoluminaries, a zealot cult who think zombies are part of God's chosen, who happen to end up thinking Poppy might make a mighty good zombie incubator. She finds herself finally sleeping with Garrity, being hunted by a crazy preacher man and stumbling over the fact that Cahill and Noah have become lovers somewhere in the chaos. And that's all on the job. Just another day in the life when you kill dead things... **** Reawakening by Charlotte Stein Forever Dead Series, Book One June has spent the last two years of her life trying to avoid death at the hands of murderous psychopaths and ravening zombies. So when Jamie turns up on the scene, careless, still 337

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whole and promising her safety on a little paradise island, she isn't quite sure she can trust him. Especially when he tells her that it's just him, and his equally big, burly, handsome friend Blake. But Jamie and Blake are even better than her wildest dreams—sweet and funny and charming. And worst of all: sexy as hell. Though they're trying to be gentlemanly with her, all she can think about is how much she wants to get tangled up in them, and forget the nightmare the world has become. She's waiting for her reawakening—back to life and happiness and love. And they seem like just the right sort of men to wake her—body and soul. **** Dark Paradise by Temple Hogan Molly Prescott, small town librarian, was leading a normal, if boring, life until one stormy night, sexy forensic psychologist and vampire hunter extraordinaire, Matthew Stanislaus, walked into her library. When Vasilek, one of the ancient ones, bites Molly, Matthew is able to save her life for the moment, but he knows Molly may turn and he may have to kill her despite his sizzling attraction for her. Molly has never known such a hunger for a man, but the gorgeous Hungarian with the sexy accent turns her temperature gauge sky-high, even while she's trying to outrun vampires who want to kill her and Matthew's brother, Lucas and his Holy Order of the Brotherhood, set on destroying her. She refuses to accept the fact that she's 338

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become one of the undead by seducing Matthew and showing him what an imaginative, half-turned vampiress is capable of. **** Overlord's Chosen by Bronwyn Green Dark Destinies Book One Elizabeth Louden has been chosen to provide Micah Bleddyn, the Overlord of Maelgwn, with an heir. However, she's not interested in the honor. In a land where only men are allowed to use magic, women found to possess supernatural abilities are punished—often by death. She knows it's only a matter of time before her secret is revealed. Micah has no desire to rule his father's empire, but after his older brother vanishes, he has no choice. Faced with invading forces, treachery among his own people, and now, a mate hell-bent on escape, he's had enough. Realizing they have no allies but each other, Micah and Elizabeth reach a reluctant truce in their bid to stay alive and keep Maelgwn safe. **** Three Ways to Wicked by Melinda Barron Bestselling Author Krisily Carmichael needs a break from her life. Her horrid ex-boyfriend sold naked photos of her, and now she's plastered all over the nation's largest skin magazine. So when an advertisement for a rental cottage near Bath appears in her mailbox, she snatches up the offer.

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When she arrives at the remote English cottage, she finds a charming country home with a huge botanical garden...complete with four magical beings trapped inside. Victim of a wayward spell, the Sorcerer Uriel and his alchemist cousins, Bythos and Acolius, have spent centuries trapped inside their garden with an evil witch who wants their secrets. Krisily's arrival sets off a string of events foretold to bring about the witch's end. Unfortunately, they have to contend with the witch's curse, which took one sense from each of the men. But the four of them find a way to communicate, and they come together in a blaze of passion that helps them to destroy the witch and meet their destiny. **** Coyote Savage by Kris Norris Phases: Book Two February's full moon is rising, only this year, it's bringing a new brand of hunger... For coyote shifters Caden and Talon Brady, the upcoming hunger moon has ignited a different kind of appetite. They've been waiting several years for a chance to court their intended mate, and now that she's finally in their sights, they'll stop at nothing to win her over. But when local livestock start disappearing, their coyote refuge is put in the hot seat, and more than just their way of life is suddenly in jeopardy. Sheriff Rebecca Savage never planned on returning to Beckit Falls, or for falling for two handsome men. But fate 340

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seems to have different plans for her. Unfortunately not all of them are sexy and look fantastic in jeans. The local mayor is trying to run the Brady boys and their coyote refuge out of town. Nothing seems to make sense, but when she starts digging deeper, a new danger rises with the full moon—one that just might get them all killed. **** Alpheli Solution by Anny Cook Bootcamp class seems to be the answer to her prayers. In her wildest dreams, she doesn't consider meeting not just one, but two hunky vampires who take her—in the car, in the shower, in the living room, in the hot tub, in hand—as they teach her everything she'll need to know about her new vampire life. For centuries, Pierre has loved and pursued Julian with no success. After a hostile takeover of Julian's financial assets, Pierre is positive Julian will have nowhere else to turn. Julian, though, chooses to teach the Vampire Bootcamp class rather than surrender to Pierre on unequal terms. When one of Julian's students approaches him for help identifying her sire, Julian is stunned that she is his alpheli—an extremely rare mate whose blood will allow him to subsist on real food. What will that mean to his love-hate relationship with Pierre? There are just one or two problems. Danamara is descended from Pierre's bloodline. And she's on someone's hit list. Julian and Pierre find unexpected erotic rewards and eternal love when they join together in a brutal war to protect their alpheli's life. 341

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**** Oriana and the Three Werebears by Tia Fanning Oriana Ricci has taken over the family business—flying cargo and rich tourists around Alaska's barely inhabited Kodiak Archipelago. When her plane malfunctions and she's forced to make an emergency landing, she finds herself stranded in the middle of a National Wildlife Refuge. With no civilization for miles and no hope of rescue, she thinks all is lost... Until she stumbles upon the entrance to an underground bunker. Jack, Jordan, and Jonathan McMathan own and operate a secret intelligence firm contracted by the US Government. Hidden away in an old Cold War spy station located the middle of the Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge, the brothers are not only able to do their top secret jobs safely without fear of discovery, but are better to protect their other, more personal secret: They have the ability to shift into Kodiak bears. Like a fairy tale gone bad, the brothers return home to find their lunch tasted—or eaten, their computer chairs adjusted— or broken, and a beautiful blonde sleeping in one of their beds. This situation poses a big problem for the brothers... Their location is now compromised. But more importantly, what are they to do with the lady? Bewitching Bite by Destiny Blaine A descendant of The Blood Countess, Matilda is transformed during the blending of bloodlines and becomes a supernatural creature empowered by a damning legacy. 342

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Intrigued by the future she reluctantly embraces, the spunky young witch completes the bonding and blending of bloodlines with a vampire who isn't quite ready to reveal his precise place in her future. Armand is a Russian vampire in search of a blender, a mate destined for him because of peculiar mutual ties to the past. The knowledge Armand has about Erzsebet Bathory, a distant relative of the one chosen for him, is frightening. Armand discovers the only way the dead will stay buried is if he can bond with a witch and empower her with the blood of the one vampire Erzsebet Bathory wanted, but couldn't have. **** Dragon's Blood by Brynn Paulin For centuries, there have been legends of Vampires—the fault of one careless dragon. But humans only know part of the story. Walking amongst us are Dragons—shape-shifters who feed on blood. Reluctant Dragon Elder Janos Aventech's vacation in New York is about to come to an abrupt end. Riding on the subway, he stumbles across a Dragon mate—one of the few human women with whom his people can unite and be truly happy. And his people's enemies are out to get her. As his attraction to this woman grows, he knows he must find her mate and see her safely into that man's arms. It's destined. But as every minute passes in her company, Janos begins to see he'll never willingly let her go, mate or not. If only she were his mate... 343

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On the subway, Scarlett couldn't stop staring at him—then he turned crazy. When he essentially kidnaps her off the train, she knows she should be irate and terrified. Instead, she finds her initial attraction growing. But what's all this stuff he's spouting about mates and enemies? She only wants to return to her life, not get caught in the middle of a war. But it's too late for that. She's destined for a Dragon's bed, and in Janos' arms, she can only hope it's his. **** [Back to Table of Contents]

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