by Sarah Piper
“Take all the time you need, Dori,” Aiden said. “I was just thinking… You know what this day is missing? The chance to make things really fucking awkward for everyone. And here we are, prayers answered! Well, you two carry on then.” He turned Isabelle back onto the path and led her toward the manor. “I’ll just escort our guest inside and see if we might find some bleach for our eyes.”
With the intruders out of sight, Dorian and Charlotte dressed in record time, Charlotte doing her best with the now-buttonless flannel.
“Why are we always getting so rudely interrupted?” Dorian teased, sweeping her into his arms for one last embrace.
Charlotte shrugged. “At least Aiden didn’t lecture you about taking your woman on a cruise or to a fancy hotel.”
“True, but he also failed to mention the gold-plated dick. I’m not sure if I should take that as a slight.”
“Let’s just keep the dick between us, shall we?”
Dorian laughed and tugged a rogue maple leaf from her hopelessly tangled hair. “Another command I’m more than happy to oblige.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I’m afraid we’ll need something stronger than tea for this conversation,” Isabelle said as Aiden put on the kettle. Then, with a hopeful smile, “I don’t suppose you have gin?”
“A woman after my own heart,” Charlotte said.
Dorian, who’d been surreptitiously pulling leaves from his woman’s hair while attempting not to develop a raging hard-on at the kitchen table, was happy for the distraction of a new task.
Slipping the last leaf into his pocket, he rose from his chair. “Drinks it is, then.”
With Gabriel on a mission to trace the location of Sasha’s call, and Cole back at his cabin to regroup with the wolves, that left Dorian, Aiden, and Charlotte to deal with whatever news Isabelle was about to drop into their laps.
Based on her comment about the drinks, he had a feeling they’d be discussing a lot more than the ongoing delays with the Armitage acquisition.
He escorted everyone to the study, and while Aiden lit a fire, Dorian fixed two gin and tonics for the women, along with glasses of scotch for himself and Aiden.
Isabelle took a deep drink, then said, “After hours of brutal negotiations, my brothers have decided to sell Armitage Holdings to Renault Duchanes. I’m pushing for a legal challenge on account of my father’s health, but that’s where we stand right now.”
“Well, we knew it was a strong possibility,” Aiden said. “Duchanes has been courting the company for quite some time.”
“This goes well beyond Duchanes,” she said. “Remember the financial anomalies I mentioned earlier? On paper, Armitage Holdings has been bleeding cash for years, yet there always seemed to be funding for new projects. Until my father’s health started failing, I wasn’t involved in the day-to-day operations, so I wasn’t aware just how deep the issue ran. That changed today.”
“Were you able to get it sorted?” Dorian asked.
“Not really. The books are a mess—mysterious investments never traced back to a legitimate source, wire transfers from shell companies and offshore bank accounts, anonymous contributions. It’s a wonder we weren’t investigated for fraud years ago.” She fumed over her glass, anger flashing in her eyes. “But I did make one important discovery. Renault Duchanes? He’s not the real buyer. He’s simply the slightly more palatable face of a powerful backer.”
“Let me guess,” Dorian said, pacing before the fireplace. “The backer is the source of the secret cash flow.”
Isabelle held up her glass in cheers, then took another deep drink. “Ladies and gentleman, may I present the backer, the source, the future owner of Armitage Holdings, and the leader of the most powerful demonic faction on the eastern seaboard—Nikolai Chernikov.”
Dorian stopped pacing, nearly dropping his drink. “How did you determine this?”
“My brothers may have their heads up their useless asses, but fortunately, the majority of my father’s executives do not. When the CFO and I found the anomalies, he brought the others in, and we pored over the records until we finally found the connecting point.”
“Chernikov,” Aiden said.
Isabelle nodded. “It took some time to trace, but the shell companies and foreign accounts eventually led back to him. Apparently, he’s been investing cash for years, bribing a few unscrupulous employees to work on his pet projects on company time, leveraging company assets and intellectual property. Security is looking into it, but so far they’ve only identified one of the culprits.”
“But if the sale goes through,” Charlotte said, “will it even matter? Chernikov will own all the assets anyway.”
“That’s exactly right.” Isabelle’s eyes darkened. “And we really, really can’t let that happen.”
“Have you told your brothers about this?” Aiden asked.
“Not yet. The executives and I agreed it was best to hold off until we have more information about the situation. In their rush for a quick sale, my brothers will only confuse matters. And we absolutely don’t want them to burden my father with this.”
“What does a demon like Nikolai Chernikov want with your father’s company?” Dorian asked. “As far as I know, none of Chernikov’s business interests—legitimate or otherwise—have anything to do with illusion technology.”
“He isn’t interested in the business applications.” Isabelle retrieved a tablet from her attache case and pulled something up on the screen, then passed it over to Dorian.
They were schematics for what looked like some sort of virtual reality program, but overlaid with something Dorian instantly recognized.
“This is Manhattan,” he said. “The transit system maps, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I wish you were,” Isabelle said, “but that’s precisely what you’re looking at. And those blinking triangles? Cameras.”
He tapped on one positioned at the corner of Broadway and Forty-Fifth Street, right in the heart of Times Square. It brought up the camera’s live feed, giving him a view of the tourist throngs, their faces bathed in the harsh light of the animated billboards. He clicked through a few more cameras, getting a glimpse of a dozen street corners scattered throughout his city—the Upper West Side near the park, where he’d first met Charlotte. Canal Street in Chinatown, home to his favorite place for steamed dumplings. Battery Park City, with its views of Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty.
And the people. So many people—every race, every age, every walk of life. He could almost hear the cacophony—the constant rush of traffic, the car horns, a man hawking his one-dollar umbrellas, a jackhammer, laughter and arguments, snippets of conversations in a dozen different languages. It was the music of New York City, a soundtrack as comforting and familiar to him as his own heartbeat.
“I’m not sure I’m following,” Dorian said, though a cold dread had settled into his stomach. “What does all this have to do with Chernikov?”
“Security brought in a vampire to compel the employee involved,” Isabelle continued. “She hasn’t yet revealed the names of the others, but she did give us some insight about the project. I followed up with a trustworthy dark witch I’m still in contact with, and together we were able to fill in the gaps.” She downed the rest of her drink, then glanced up at Dorian and shook her head, her eyes filling with a fear he’d never before seen in the witch.
In any witch.
The dread inside him turned to alarm. “Isabelle?”
“You should probably sit down for this,” she said.
Dorian did as she asked, taking the chair next to Charlotte, who reached over and squeezed his hand, her touch steadying him.
Isabelle drew in a deep breath, then said, “Chernikov and his allies—including his own demons, the Duchanes vampires, a ragtag assortment of other vampire and shifter defectors, and a large coven of witches who’ve delved so deeply into dark magick they’re practically demons themselves—are plotting to take total control of the city. At f
irst, they were working to bring in more demons through the portals, but they haven’t been able to secure enough vessels to house them all. Same story with the grays—Renault’s witch hasn’t perfected the resurrection spells yet, and there simply aren’t enough existing grays to use in a wide-scale operation.”
“But we found evidence of Jacinda’s work at Estas’ place,” Charlotte said. “Along with two grays they’d been experimenting on. Estas works for Rogozin, not Chernikov.”
“It’s likely the witchcraft items you found were stolen,” Isabelle said. “Estas was probably trying to recreate her spells. With news of the grays spreading, I’m sure they’re all looking for a way to profit.”
“And we’ve already determined Estas isn’t loyal to Rogozin,” Aiden said. “For all we know, he’s working with Chernikov now.”
“I knew that bloody demon was full of shit,” Dorian ground out. “Chernikov tried to convince me Rogozin was playing the same game.”
Isabelle shook her head. “I don’t believe Rogozin’s involved in this particular plot. It sounds like House Duchanes was courting Rogozin demons only as a way to spy for Chernikov. Renault Duchanes’ relationship with Chernikov goes back many decades, according to my witch friend.”
Dorian sighed, his mind churning with the new revelations. He wished he could say he was surprised, but he’d seen the writing on that particular wall as soon as Chernikov had started feeding him the so-called intel against Rogozin. “All of this aligns with what Gabriel and I learned from the Rogozin demons we… conversed with… the other day. Chernikov is building his armies.”
“He doesn’t need armies,” Isabelle said. “Just the illusion of them.”
“That’s why he wants Armitage Holdings?” Charlotte gasped. “To create that illusion?”
“His witches are attempting to fuse demon magic with Armitage illusion tech,” Isabelle said. “They’re not quite there yet, but they’re getting close. Using our technology and their magic, along with a distribution system built over the existing transit infrastructure, they’re planning to create a virtual reality overlay. From there, using the transit maps, the security cameras, and rider data from the transit authority, Chernikov can pinpoint the flow of people around Manhattan and the boroughs at any time, day or night. With that information, he can determine the most effective target zones and times.”
“Most effective for what?” Aiden asked, his face pale.
“Using the virtual overlay,” she said, “Chernikov can cast all manner of illusions—explosions, sidewalk executions, car wrecks, terrorist attacks, murderous rampages by family members as well as the monsters of their nightmares—anything you can imagine. It won’t even matter that they aren’t real—the illusion tech is so advanced, and the demon magic so invasive and manipulative, no human exposed to the combination will ever be convinced it wasn’t real. They’ll feel pain from illusory wounds, suffer post-traumatic stress, even die from injuries that never actually happened.”
“And for those who survive,” Dorian said, following the grim trail to its logical conclusion, “we’re left with a weakened, terrified population that’s easy to control and further manipulate. Especially if a charismatic psychopath steps in to lead them.”
Horror descended on the room like a pall, and for several long moments, no one spoke, each of them sinking into their own gruesome visions of Chernikov’s new reality.
Dorian’s mind flashed back to the people he’d seen in the camera views. Tourists, bagel vendors, carriage drivers, immigrants from every country in the world, museum-goers, celebrities, drunken revelers, students, billionaires, musicians, hopeless wanderers.
Vampires, shifters, witches.
Children. Grandparents.
All of them doomed.
Dorian rose from his chair and fixed another round of drinks.
“Chernikov isn’t ready to give up on bringing in new demons, either,” Isabelle said when he passed her a fresh gin and tonic. “Apparently he’s been ranting about some sort of ultimate weapon that can create vessels out of humans without contracts. My friend didn’t know specifics—just that he believes he’ll have access to it soon. Which only makes the rest of his plans that much more terrifying.”
Dorian exchanged a glance with Aiden, and from the look in his friend’s eyes, he knew they both shared the same thought.
The Blade of Azerius.
Terrifying didn’t even begin to cover it.
“What of the other supernaturals?” Charlotte asked. “Won’t you guys be immune? Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“Some of us might be able to resist the demon magic,” Dorian said, “but at that scale, and paired with the technology, it’s hard to say. We’ve never been exposed to anything like it. Demonic energy has always been kept in balance by the dark witches.”
“So they’ve all gone rogue?” Charlotte asked.
“Not all,” Isabelle said. “There are plenty of dark witches who know how to toe the line—witches who appreciate the balance of light and dark, and can delve into either without losing themselves.”
There was a hint of pride in her tone that spoke to Dorian of a much deeper knowledge—and a much greater power—than he’d suspected, despite her earlier expressions of interest in the darker arts.
Dorian caught her gaze, and a new understanding passed between them.
A new trust.
Isabelle Armitage was a formidable witch. One he was grateful to have on their side.
“Chernikov has been involved with the Redthorne line for centuries,” he told her now, deciding it was time to let her in—fully. “Based on what he’s told me—reading behind the lies, of course—and additional information we’ve recently discovered in my father’s personal effects, I believe Chernikov has always wanted to be king. Not just of the demons, but of all supernaturals and humans alike.”
“What information?” she asked.
“Nikolai Chernikov helped my father slaughter House Kendrick in England—the first play in what I now realize is a very long game.” He sipped his scotch, resuming his position next to Charlotte. “As long as vampires remained the most powerful of the supernaturals, Chernikov knew a demon would never be recognized as a king—not without an army backing him. So he needed my father to ascend and come to America, where he could establish the Redthornes as the ruling supernatural family, and install Chernikov in a position of power. Together, they forged the Shadow Accords, carving out territory for demons, establishing just enough ground rules to keep supernaturals from killing each other or revealing us to the humans. And then, he bided his time.”
“Sounds like his time is coming,” Aiden said grimly.
“He still needs the weapon,” Dorian said. “All the tech in the world is still just that—tech. And tech has multiple points of failure.”
“But we have no idea what the weapon is, or when he’ll acquire it,” Isabelle said. “At this point, it’s just a rumor passed on from dark witch to dark witch. Frankly, we don’t even know if the weapon exists, or if it’s just another trick Chernikov conjured to keep his own people in line.”
“It exists.” Dorian drained his glass, then rose from the chair, extending a hand to the witch. “Isabelle? How would you like a tour of the crypts of Ravenswood?”
Chapter Twenty
The eerie magic of the Book of Lost Souls illuminated the dim cavern as Isabelle inspected its pages, her eyes shining with the same endless curiosity as Colin’s.
“I thought it might be a demonic grimoire,” Colin told her. “But I’ve only a passing familiarity with demonic symbology.” He looked even more wild and disheveled than when they’d seen him earlier, and the blood bags Dorian had brought him remained untouched.
Dorian fought back his worry, reminding himself that Colin was a medical doctor—one who’d been practicing in one form or another since they were children spying on their father. He certainly knew how to take care of himself.
“You’re not far off th
e mark,” Isabelle said. “It is a sort of grimoire, as well as a personal accounting.”
“Whose person?” Dorian asked. “Azerius?”
She glanced up at him, her gaze reflecting the book’s silvery-blue light. “The Book of Lost Souls tells of his descent into madness and corresponding ascent to power.”
“Always a good combination,” Aiden said.
“The demon Azerius,” Isabelle whispered, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe it. “All this time, I thought the book and the blade were myths. At the very least, long-forgotten relics never to resurface again.”
“You’re familiar with him?” Dorian asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “He’s venerated as a god by many demonic factions, including Rogozin’s organization.”
“Rogozin’s… Bloody hell. The tattoos,” Dorian said, recalling the demons he and Gabriel had tortured. “Some of the Rogozin demons had white birds tattooed on their inner forearms. They must’ve been ravens.”
“The Great White Raven is allegedly one of the forms Azerius takes in dreams,” she said. “Your father mentioned it in his notes.”
“So he’s a Russian demon, then?” Colin asked.
“Not exclusively. Stories of Azerius cross hundreds of magical and cultural traditions, though the Russians likely feel a close kinship—their soldiers were the last humans known to wield the blade.”
“The blade of the Bessmertnym Soldat,” Charlotte said.
Isabelle looked impressed. “You’re familiar with the history, then.”
“The human history, at least,” Charlotte said. “All this demon stuff is new territory for me.”
“Perhaps we can trade stories over tea one night.” Isabelle smiled warmly, then turned her attention back to the book. “Azerius is known by many names—King of Blood and Ravens, He Who Slaughters the Blood of his Blood, He Who Drinks the Blood of the Fallen, He Whom Before All Mortals Weep.”