Not knowing what a shower was, but growing increasingly comfortable with just following along when he mentioned strange phrases, I nodded, walking behind him through the penthouse. Scanning the furniture, art, and bric-a-brac decorating the tables and shelves, one thing I knew for certain; Nosh’s parents were beyond wealthy. They were richer than any royalty I had ever met. Was that a factor in all of this? If so, how much of one? “I hope your bath tub fills up quickly,” I said, feeling the pressing of time on my shoulders.
Nosh just laughed.
13
I stared at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked New York City from one hundred floors up. I’d grown brave enough to walk up to it and place both hands on the glass as I stared down an impossible distance at all the cars far, far below. I felt like I was flying—like Zeus staring down at mankind from Mount Olympus.
Thinking of the Greek pantheon, my mood rapidly soured and I let out a growl.
The glass of wine shattered in my palm and I cursed. Luckily, I had finished the drink already and the glass hadn’t cut my palm. I bent down, sweeping the glass into a neat pile on the marble floor and then carefully brushed off my hands. I walked over to the kitchen and washed my hands in the sink, not wanting to later discover a sliver of glass stuck to my finger the next time I rubbed at my eye. I dried off my hands, grabbed a fresh glass, and filled it with wine, appreciating the vintage. It was comical to think that the vintage was hundreds of years younger than me, considering that wine took time to mature and ripen.
I had made the decision that I was going to install a shower in my home at Grand Central Terminal. Rather than the bathtub I had anticipated, Nosh had ushered me into a glass-walled room with hot water spraying from metal spouts on the walls. Like a private waterfall. I’d even had six different scents to choose from when it came to picking my soap!
I’d showered quickly, not wanting to waste any time with Nosh’s parents in danger. The hardest part about hurrying was not letting myself pay too much attention to all of the other amenities in the bathroom. Nosh had shown me a device that blew hot air out of one end, designed specifically to dry long hair. After mastering the device and brushing out my hair, I’d quickly made my way out of the bathroom before I could find something else to fascinate me.
Studying myself in the glass again, I noticed that I still looked worn down, but the blood I’d consumed had filled out my cheeks, the skin below my eyes no longer as sunken and dark. My Greek heritage was now beginning to overpower the sickly gray pallor to my skin, and my blue eyes shone brightly. My hair had filled out, no longer matted and patchy—thankfully. I’d brushed it back into a tail, using one of his mother’s hair ties—a band of some strange, stretchable fabric, and I wore a simple but well-fitted, navy suit coat and trousers. I was larger than Nosh, but close enough in size for his clothes to fit me. I was unable to button up the white dress shirt all the way, so I had chosen not to wear a tie. Nosh’s father had black dress shoes that matched my outfit and fit me well enough, completing my ensemble.
I sighed, shaking my head as I recalled the closet—how many suits, clothes, and shoes that had been available—enough to fill a tailor’s shop.
If this family wasn’t royal, I couldn’t imagine seeing how actual royalty fared.
Thinking of money, I wondered how Dracula now lived—how much money he’d accumulated in his unnaturally long life—the life I had given him. The money and castle I had given him. Five hundred years of accumulating interest, not even considering new investments he may have made over time.
It would make Nosh’s family look like paupers. Money also bought influence. How would I manage to stand up against a man of such means? Not even considering his physical and magical powers—of which I knew I was his better—his money was a very real weapon. Money bought guards, and mountains of money bought mountains of guards, which would make it impossible for me to get near him.
I needed to find a way to make him come to me. To cripple his business interests. Even though I was stronger one-on-one—or at least I had been—how could I get close to him? He would have an army of powerful vampires shielding him. Vampires who had lived hundreds of years—as long as I had lived before I had been put to sleep. Hell, many of them would technically be older than me, if I considered their time spent actually wandering the earth. They would have more experience than me in the real world. It was humbling to consider that a fledgling vampire—turned on the day I had been put to rest—would technically have lived longer than I had.
I shook off the thought, feeling the shoulders of my coat stretch at the motion. The cut of the suit was much different than anything I had been familiar with, but at least it fit well. Tight but not uncomfortable, silhouetting me in a flattering V shape from shoulder to waist. I wondered if it was easier to wash blood from clothes these days.
I would certainly be putting that to the test.
I turned back to the penthouse, taking a few steps from the glass wall for peace of mind. I studied the rich furnishings, listening as Nosh finished getting dressed in one of their other bathrooms, because the penthouse had four of them.
Rich vases lined the mantle above a white stone fireplace, and I froze upon seeing the painting hanging above. I stared incredulously at a tribal chief who looked eerily similar to Deganawida in his prime. He looked older than the man I had known—the painting created sometime after I had known him.
I strode closer, barely allowing myself to breathe. Text below the image drew my attention. Iroquois Confederacy. Deganawida knelt before a giant tree. He held five arrows clutched in a fist, bundled together with a single cord, and a dozen other American Indians—or Native Americans, as Nosh had called them—were seated around him. I smiled sadly, sensing the significance of the event, even though I didn’t know what it entailed. For that many chieftains to gather together without killing one another was…astonishing.
“Some kind of peace agreement,” I mused out loud, studying the arrows bound together. One for each nation, perhaps. Which implied that he had accomplished something worthwhile with his extended life. That neglecting to allow me to avenge my family had at least allowed him to broker peace between other tribes.
I’d never personally come across any other tribes in my time with Deganawida, but I’d heard about many—some friendly, most not. At least not to each other. And definitely not to the white settlers from across the sea.
Hanging on the wall on either side of the painting were ornate, matching tomahawks. The haft was carved from a strange black wood, and the blades gleamed of polished steel—too polished, as a matter of fact. Despite their beauty, I knew they were functional rather than decorative, because they looked old, featuring gouges and dents on the haft from where they had deflected enemy weapons in battle. I walked closer, frowning at the blades. The edge of the blades shone brighter than the rest of the steel, and I noticed faint etchings in the metal. A feather decorated the side of each.
Nosh cleared his throat behind me, and I turned to look at him. He stared up at the painting and weapons. “Passed down from generation to generation. My parents said it belonged to Deganawida. Too bad none of us knew Deganawida was eating dinner with us every week or we could have verified it,” he said bitterly. “Dr. Degan would often stare up at them for long periods of time, but I always took it as reverence for our ancestors. Apparently, he was reminiscing.”
I nodded thoughtfully, glancing at them. “They have magic of some kind.”
Nosh turned to study me, looking surprised at my awareness—but not at my claim. “How did you know?”
I shrugged. “I think they were made with silver, but I don’t understand how they were ever used as weapons if that were the case. Silver is too soft of a metal for a weapon of war.”
Nosh nodded, glancing up at them. “I always wondered about that as well. You’re right, though. I thought that maybe the hafts had belonged to some great chieftain and that they had been remade into these ceremon
ial pieces,” he said, waiting for my thoughts.
I shook my head. “They have tasted blood. I can sense it. As if they are sentient in some way.” I paused, curling my lips. “Vampire blood.”
Nosh blinked, striding closer. “You’re sure you aren’t sensing blood on the haft?”
I shook my head and pointed at the pommels of the tomahawks. A silver point had been hammered into the base, concealed by a leather cord with two black feathers dangling from the base. “A stake,” I explained. But the blades have tasted blood as well. So long ago that I’m surprised I can even sense it. Almost like it was never cleaned after the battle.”
Nosh studied me thoughtfully. “Silver is deadly to werewolves.”
I nodded. “And vampires. At least me, anyway,” I muttered, thinking back on the Greek gods.
Nosh frowned. “Really?” I nodded tersely. “We will come back and inspect them more thoroughly after the auction. If we take weapons with us, the guards will confiscate them. Best to leave them here.”
“This penthouse is not safe,” I reminded him. “They took your parents with minimal fuss. What if those weapons are important? What if that is what they wanted from your parents?” I asked, itching to get my hands on them.
Nosh thought about it and finally nodded. He climbed up atop a chair and lifted them from their holders on the wall. Then he turned to assess the room. I was too busy staring at the weapons, though. The moment he’d grabbed them, I’d felt a thrum of power from them, almost like a purr of anticipation. Nosh spun them absently, glancing about for a place to hide them.
“If they come back before us, they might notice the empty spots on the wall,” I said, pointing.
Nosh grunted, pointing one of the tomahawks at bookshelf with a wooden case on display. “Grab that.” I walked over and opened it to find two basic tomahawks with stone blades inside—the kind given to children for training. I grabbed them and the box, walking back over to Nosh. I handed him the box since it was large enough to hold the ornate weapons. “Put those inside to hide them.” He nodded, tucking the ornate tomahawks within and clasping it shut. I spun the cruder weapons in my wrists like Nosh had done. I hadn’t used them often, but Deganawida had taught me enough to be formidable. They still felt familiar in my palms. I switched places with Nosh atop the chair to hang them on either side of the painting. Finished, I nodded satisfactorily.
“Let’s go,” Nosh said, clutching the box under one arm. “Redford will watch them for us. No one would think to ask him for them, and I trust him with my life.” He noticed my doubtful frown and rolled his eyes. “In the event my trust is misplaced, he can be easily bought. I’ll tell him that I will double the price of anyone asking about them, so he doesn’t betray us.”
I nodded grimly. “And I’ll remind him how dangerous greed can be.”
Nosh glanced at me with a tight frown. “He is a friend.”
I shook my head firmly. “There are no friends when it comes to those who abducted your parents or anyone choosing to profit from deceit. Unless you prefer to reward them for their hard work.”
Nosh clenched his jaws and shook his head. “No. I don’t think I would prefer that. If we leave now, we will still be early. As long as traffic isn’t ridiculous.”
I nodded eagerly, wondering if Dracula would attend this auction. Or perhaps some other old friends from back home. I could imagine the surprised looks on their faces when they came face-to-face with a malevolent ghost.
We walked into the elevator and began to descend. I glanced over at Nosh. “We will need gold.”
Her frowned over at me. “No one uses gold anymore. I brought our checkbook.”
I frowned thoughtfully, wondering if that would be acceptable. “In my day, these sorts of transactions were always done with gold—so as not to have to bother with exchanging different currencies.”
Nosh frowned. “I’ve never gone to a black-market auction, but in typical auctions, a checkbook has always sufficed,” he said, not sounding entirely confident. “Is this a rule of vampire auctions, or just an outdated element of your time period?”
I shrugged, letting out a sigh. “In my long, lucrative life, I had never pissed in an ivory toilet until today, Nosh. How the hell would I know what currency is used in an auction, let alone a vampire auction?” I admitted.
Nosh burst out laughing. “We call it ivory, but it’s actually just porcelain.”
“Well, it was infinitely better than a chamber pot, and my old one was solid gold,” I said, folding my arms.
As the elevator descended, I caught Nosh glancing at the invitations in his hand, his mood growing darker by the moment. “We have to get that journal, Sorin,” he finally growled.
I frowned over at him. “And your parents, of course,” I said carefully, watching his reaction.
He shot me a grim, bitter look, staring into my eyes without blinking. “I know you don’t know me very well, Sorin, but I’m an incredibly rational person when I need to be. Rational enough to admit that I believe my parents are already dead.” I nodded ever so slowly, waiting for him to continue. “They were taken from their own home, and the abductors didn’t bother trying to hide their faces. They left these invitations for me and Deganawida as a challenge. They want the journal and are willing to kill to get it. I believe they are already dead—hence the roses.”
I had already considered as much, but I was surprised to hear Nosh so calmly admit it. I definitely hadn’t anticipated his cool headedness. I asked him one question in response. “What do you propose we do about that?”
He shot me a cruel, chilling look, tapping the chest with his fingers. “I propose to end each of their lives by burying a hatchet in their foreheads. After we get the journal back.”
The rest of the elevator ride was silent. Nosh grew colder and calmer as the elevator descended—just like I’d seen him do when I killed Ralph, the werewolf—his instincts taking over.
The elevator opened and I followed Nosh into the lobby, surprised to see no employees walking around. We caught Redford on the street just as he was about to climb into the back of a yellow car with a driver up front.
“Mr. Griffin,” he said, straightening. “Your car should be waiting for you near the valet station,” he said. “Is everything alright?”
Nosh nodded. “I have a favor to ask you, but I need your utmost discretion, Redford.”
He nodded firmly, closing the car door so as not to be overheard. “You have it, Mr. Griffin. No question.”
Nosh handed him the chest with the tomahawks, and I paid very close attention to Redford’s pulse, searching for any hint of his involvement or knowledge of the abduction—any sign that he might be untrustworthy. But Redford seemed about as honest and loyal of a man as I had ever met. In fact, he was exactly the kind of man I would have personally hired to manage my day-to-day affairs.
He accepted the chest with a protective nod, tucking it under his jacket and out of sight. “I will guard it with my life and tell no one. I swear.”
Nosh locked eyes with him. “This might be the most important thing I have ever asked you to do, Redford. Don’t give that chest to anyone but me.” I cleared my throat pointedly and Nosh nodded. “Or Sorin. No one else ever needs to know about it. Ever. Not even my parents.”
Redford licked his lips at Nosh’s tone. Then he gave us a final nod. “You have my word, Mr. Griffin. You or Sorin only.”
Nosh gripped his shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you, Redford. I will see you soon.”
Redford climbed into his car, and we made our way over to the valet station in silence.
Despite Nosh’s poor attitude, I had an absolutely lovely time during my first experience in a car.
As we made our way to the auction, I pushed every button within my reach, opening and closing the window dozens of times, and I annoyed the driver to no end as I fiddled with the radio stations, gasping every time I turned the dial and heard a new song on the radio. When we finally pulled up to the
auction, Nosh had practically leapt out of the car, and the driver had wasted no time abandoning us the moment we climbed out.
As if the Devil himself was on his heels.
I stared up at the large mansion and the guards out front. They looked decidedly menacing, even though they were dressed much like the men working at the Aristocrat.
Nosh was already walking up the steps, leaving me behind. “Here we go,” I muttered, hoping his mood improved soon.
But I knew it wouldn’t. Because I was pretty sure he was absolutely right about his parents.
Vengeance and tomahawks buried between the eyes had always been a mood enhancer for me, so I vowed to show him how cathartic a little violence and torture could be to a wounded heart.
14
One of the guards held a wand in his hand, waving it up and down my body. Nosh waited beside an open door on the other side of the guards, deeper inside the mansion since he’d gone through first to reassure me that they were merely checking for hidden weapons. The guard nodded, handing me my jacket back. “Enjoy your evening, sir,” he said politely.
“Thank you.” As I was slipping back into my suit coat, I heard a commotion behind me and turned to see a guest snarling at the guard.
“I don’t need weapons, fool. I’ve always preferred to eat with my hands!” he snapped, openly brandishing his furry claws. The guard grunted—not looking even remotely concerned or impressed—and a trio of beefy looking men with guns on their hips firmly escorted the werewolf from the building.
I arched an eyebrow at the guard, and he shrugged. “Manners matter, sir.” He gestured further into the mansion. “If you need refreshment, the bar has a diverse drink menu,” he said, smirking suggestively.
I nodded, not knowing what he meant but appreciating his courtesy. “I’ll have a look.”
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