by Lynsay Sands
“God dammit! It wasn’t Jean Claude!” Lucian roared, and when everyone turned his way, he scowled and admitted more calmly, “I cannot say for sure it was not him in 1491, but he certainly isn’t behind what is happening now. He is dead.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Vincent said quietly. “None of us can be sure. The funeral was closed casket.”
“Uncle Lucian is the one Morgan called when he woke up to find the house in flames and Father dead,” Bastien said quietly. “He went and handled the firemen and police and retrieved Father’s body. He would have seen it.”
“Yes, but Jean Claude’s body was destroyed in the fire. He was nothing but ashes. That is why it was closed casket. There was nothing to see,” Vincent pointed out. “Even Lucian can’t be sure it really was him.”
“Yes, I can,” the head of the Argeneau clan insisted.
“How?” Julius asked suspiciously. “If he was only ashes—”
“He wasn’t ashes,” Lucian admitted, his mouth twisting.
Vincent’s eyes widened. “Then he could have survived. You might have buried an empty casket.”
“No we didn’t.”
“You can’t be sure,” Julius insisted.
“Yes, I can.”
“How?” Julius demanded again.
Lucian hesitated, and then propped his elbows on his knees, dropped his head into his hands and began to rub his forehead as if it were paining him.
“If you have some proof that Jean Claude is dead, you best share it,” Nicodemus said quietly. “Because if he is dead, then we are looking to the wrong person and wasting time.”
Lucian nodded in resignation and said, “I know he is dead, because…I beheaded him myself.”
No one moved. No one spoke. Julius wouldn’t have been surprised to be told that no one breathed. They all simply sat staring at Lucian with wide, stunned eyes.
“As Bastien said, Morgan called me that night,” Lucian said wearily. “Jean Claude was badly burned but he wasn’t dead. He was a blackened and charred mess and wasn’t healing quickly. His system was full of a drunk’s useless blood and he refused the blood I brought with me. Instead he asked me to kill him and end his suffering. He said he loathed himself for hurting Marguerite and everyone else around him, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He said he had nothing left inside him and he begged me to give him peace.”
“So you killed him?” Julius asked with disbelief.
Lucian shook his head. “I couldn’t…until he admitted that he had been feeding on mortals and had actually set fire to the house. He’d intended to die in the fire, but Morgan had dragged him out.”
Sighing, Lucian lifted a haggard face to look at Julius. “Feeding off mortals is against our council laws in North America. It is a killing offense that has to be taken before the council for pronouncement. Feeding on them unto death, however, gains instant death and the hunter doesn’t have to take them before the council for pronouncement.” He shook his head. “But Jean Claude was my brother. I would have taken him before the council and had someone else commit the deed, but he begged me to kill him and then pointed out that if this mess was put before the council, everyone would know. He said he’d done enough to hurt Marguerite and the children and asked me again to kill him and then to arrange a closed casket funeral so no one would ever know.” Lucian shrugged helplessly. “And so I honored his wishes.”
Julius sank back with horror, not at what Lucian had done, but because he believed him. The expression on his face as he confessed to taking his twin brother’s life had been too stark with pain and guilt for him not to believe him. Jean Claude was dead…and now Julius had no idea who could be behind the attacks and taking of Marguerite and Christian.
Bastien cleared his throat. “Then it has to be one of the other two who has Mother and Christian now.”
They all looked to Lucian and then Vincent asked what they were all wondering. “Uncle, do you have any idea who the other two could have been?”
Lucian straightened abruptly, his expression turning cold as he forced himself to consider the problem at hand. The change was almost shocking, though it shouldn’t have been, Julius supposed. The man was a warrior, a hunter and did what had to be done.
“Morgan would have been one,” he announced abruptly. “While I had no idea Jean Claude was still alive when he went missing for those twenty years, Morgan did. He was the one who carried back the tale that Jean Claude had been beheaded in battle.”
When Julius sat up, hope on his face, Bastien frowned and told him, “Morgan is dead. He went rogue and Uncle Lucian had to hunt him down. He was captured and put to death by the council.”
“Who else then?” Vincent asked, settling on the arm of the sofa beside his uncle and awkwardly patting his back.
Lucian didn’t seem to notice the attempt to comfort him, his face was taut with concentration. Finally he shook his head. “There is no one else I can think of that he would trust with this type of thing.”
The words made everyone in the room sag with disappointment.
“All right,” Tiny said firmly. “Then we have to think of people who would want Marguerite dead and could have been around back then.”
“No one would want Mother dead,” Lucern said firmly. “She never had the opportunity to make enemies. She was always forced to remain at home.”
Tiny shook his head with disgust and then suddenly paused.
“What are you thinking?” Julius asked, desperate for any suggestion.
Tiny hesitated and then admitted, “It just occurred to me that perhaps we are thinking about this wrong.”
“How do you mean?” Vincent asked the detective.
Tiny pursed his lips and then said tentatively, “Maybe Marguerite hasn’t been the target here.”
“What?” Julius asked with bewilderment. “But she is the one who has been attacked each time.”
“Not each time. She was made to order your son’s death back at the beginning,” he pointed out and then asked, “Why?”
Julius stared at him blankly.
“Think,” he said grimly. “There was no reason for Jean Claude to want Christian’s death. He had wiped Marguerite’s memory of the baby. Why not just give Christian to you along with the message that she wanted nothing more to do with you both? Or even dump him with a band of Gypsies?”
“Perhaps he was jealous of Julius,” Vincent suggested, but didn’t sound as if he believed.
Tiny shook his head. “It couldn’t have been jealousy. He wandered off and let everyone, including Marguerite think he was dead. He would hardly be jealous if she then started a new life with Julius.”
“Then why did he come back?” Vincent asked. “He was gone for twenty years. Why suddenly come back?”
Tiny shook his head again. “I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t to reclaim Marguerite. They weren’t lifemates. They were miserable together, and he didn’t even love her if you judge by the way he treated her. Something else must have caused his return.”
When no one commented, he added, “And now Christian has been involved again. The kidnappers could have just left him there on the sidewalk and taken Marguerite if they’d wanted, but they took him as well.”
Julius was frowning at the truth of this when Tiny glanced at him solemnly and said, “And if Marguerite wasn’t the true target, that leaves you.”
“Me?” he asked with surprise. “They haven’t done anything to me.”
“Yes, they have,” the detective said solemnly. “Marguerite’s being wiped and taken away by Jean Claude hurt you, not her. She didn’t remember you…just as she didn’t remember Christian. His death would only have hurt you. And now Marguerite and Christian’s being taken is hurting you again.”
“You’re saying all of this has been done to hurt Julius?” Nicodemus asked slowly. “That Marguerite and Christian are just the vehicles to do so?”
Tiny shrugged helplessly. “I know it’s hard to imagine
, but if Marguerite has no enemies and Jean Claude is dead, she can’t be the real target. Julius is the only other person being hurt in all this.”
“And us,” Bastien said staunchly.
“But you weren’t alive back then,” he pointed out.
“Lucern was,” Vincent pointed out.
“But Christian’s kidnapping wouldn’t affect him at all,” Lucian said slowly and then glanced to Julius. “Who are your enemies? Ones who would have been around back then as well as now.”
“Wait a minute,” Julius said. “If someone wanted to hurt me, why wait five hundred years? Why not attack or try to kill Christian before this? And why not attack me outright? Why go the circuitous route and attack Marguerite and Christian?”
“Perhaps it’s someone who couldn’t attack you outright without revealing themselves,” Marcus suggested, jumping on the band wagon. “And perhaps your misery and unhappiness was enough for them all these centuries.”
Julius was shaking his head in disbelief when he heard his father sigh. He glanced toward the man with a frown. Nicodemus Notte was standing at the window, separate from the group, a troubled expression on his face as he peered out into the night.
“What is it, Father?” he asked with trepidation. “Have you thought of someone who would want to hurt me and was around back then?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I have,” he said wearily.
Eighteen
“Aunt Vita?”
Marguerite saw the betrayal on her son’s face as he stared at the woman leaning on a sword in the doorway, and reached out tentatively to take his hand in hers. She squeezed in sympathy, but when she tried to release him right away as he had done earlier, Christian clutched her hand and tugged her slowly closer and a little behind him.
It was a protective gesture and while it touched her, Marguerite was the parent here. If there was any protecting to be done, she would do it. She’d done little enough for him prior to this. Pulling her hand free, she stepped around him, placing herself squarely in front of Christian as she demanded, “What’s going on, Vita?”
“Yes. What’s going on?” he echoed, dragging Marguerite abruptly behind his shielding body.
“Christian,” Marguerite said with exasperation, hurrying around to stand in front of him again. “I am your mother. Let me handle this.”
“Mother?” he muttered with not a little exasperation of his own. Pulling her back around, he placed himself between the two women and turned to take her by the arms. “I know Vita, you don’t, and I am the man.”
The last word ended on a gasp as he suddenly stiffened, his eyes going wide. Marguerite grabbed his arms, her own eyes wide with horror as she saw the end of a sword sticking out of his chest.
Christian cried out as the blade suddenly disappeared, and then he began to fall. Marguerite tried to catch him, but he was heavy and all she managed to do was twist him around so that she was between him and Vita. Marguerite lost her balance at the end, landing on her bottom, but did manage to cushion his head.
“That settles the argument nicely, doesn’t it?” Vita commented, and Marguerite glanced over her shoulder to see that she was holding up the sword, peering with interest at the blood staining the blade. She glanced at Marguerite now and said, “I do hate the ‘I’m the man’ argument. So sexist.”
Marguerite glanced down to Christian and saw his eyes briefly flicker open. He peered at her silently, gave his head a very tiny shake, and closed them again. Aware that her upper body hid his face from Vita’s view and that she had no idea he was conscious, Marguerite eased her hand out from under his head and stood up.
“Will you tell me what this is all about now?” she asked, the chain on her ankle jangling as she moved slowly away from Christian. “I presume you’re the one behind the failed attacks in London and York?”
She was hoping that the “failed” part would prick the woman’s pride and get her attention. Much to her relief, it worked. Vita ignored Christian and glanced at her sharply, fury flickering in her eyes.
“I planned them, and if I’d carried them out myself, they wouldn’t have failed,” Vita snapped, her mouth twisting with displeasure. “The saying really is true that if you want something done right you should do it yourself.”
“The man in England worked for you,” she said.
“Did work for me,” Vita corrected. “I put him in charge of keeping your family distracted and away from you, but he failed that too.”
“My family?” Marguerite asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Your nephew Thomas arrived in London several days ago looking for you. Fortunately, he went haring off to Amsterdam. I had another one of my men follow him around and try to keep him from returning, however, he too failed.” She grimaced and said, “Men can be so useless at times.”
When Marguerite didn’t comment, she shrugged and continued, “Your dear nephew returned to England and caught a train to York. I was afraid he might pick up your trail and follow you here to Italy, and I definitely didn’t want the Argeneau clan interfering so I put my man in York onto Thomas and told him to keep him chasing his tail, or kill him if he had to, but not to let him find you.”
“What did he do to Thomas?” Marguerite demanded, fear clutching at her chest. She’d raised the boy. He was like a fourth son to her, or fifth, she corrected herself with a glance toward Christian.
“Nothing,” Vita said with disgust. “Once again he failed, only this time he got himself caught as well. Your sons and nephew handed him over to a council escort. I had to send men over to kill him before they managed to get information out of him.”
Marguerite felt her muscles unclench as she realized Thomas was safe, and then frowned. Julius and Marcus had nearly convinced her that she was not easily read and controlled as she feared, that only whoever had been in on the three-on-one could do it, but if the man in York had done so…
“Was it your man in York who controlled me?” she asked reluctantly.
“Oh, God no!” Vita laughed at the suggestion. “That was me. After he failed to kill you in the restaurant, I hopped on one of the company planes and flew to England to handle you myself. And I would have too if that mortal hadn’t interfered.” Her lips quirked with amusement as she added, “I was sitting in a townhouse across the street when Julius called me on my cell and asked me to arrange for the pilot to take you all back to Italy. I did, of course. I also flew home at once.”
So you were one of the three who took my memory when Christian was born?”
“Yes, I and Jean Claude and Morgan.”
“Morgan?” Marguerite’s eyebrows shot up at the name of Jean Claude’s best friend. “I should have known.”
“We wiped those years, your child, and your true lifemate from your memory like so much dust brushed off a table top,” she said with a smile and then shrugged. “But you weren’t the one I wanted to hurt. Julius was. I took away everything you loved to hurt him…and now…” She smiled widely. “I get to take you away from him all over again.”
“Why do you hate him so?” Marguerite asked with bewilderment. She just couldn’t imagine Julius doing anything to deserve this much malice. She had seen him with his sister and he always treated her with respect, but Vita Notte hated her brother with a passion.
“Do you know what it’s like to be the eldest Notte daughter?” Vita asked, mouth compressing with displeasure as she moved forward and began to circle her.
Marguerite turned warily, afraid Vita was approaching Christian and would hurt him again, but Vita just kept walking, circling her like a shark. “I’m one thousand years older than Julius. I’m as old as Lucian, but while he holds power and position and the respect of his family and others of our kind, I do not. I’m just a woman.” She veered off to pace the room now as she went on, “Oh, it was all fine at first. Those first thousand years, I was feted and trained to accept responsibility and position. I am the one my sisters looked up to, I am the one they turned to in times of crisis, I was
the one expected to take over the reins of the family…but then Julius was born.”
Her mouth was twisted bitterly as she turned to pace back.
“Julius,” she growled. “The great male heir my father had really always wanted. “He would carry on the family name. I was smart, but he must be smarter, after all he was the feted male. Suddenly, I was nothing.
“You’ll never know how much I hated him. I tried to kill him as a baby. I sent his nursemaid off to fetch something and set his room on fire,” she admitted. “Cutting off his head would have been obvious murder and I couldn’t risk that.”
“Unfortunately, his nursemaid returned sooner than I expected and ran in to save him. It was all very heroic. She died the next day from her burns. Of course, he was terribly burned too, but he was immortal and lived. If the woman had been delayed by just a couple more minutes, that wouldn’t have been the case, but…”
She drew in a slow deep breath, and then released it, her expression grim. “My father visited her before she died. I think she must have told him I’m the one who sent her away and promised to watch the boy. I can’t be sure, of course, but she told him something that made him suspicious of me. He grilled me endlessly about what had happened and I admitted that I had sent her on the task, but insisted I hadn’t bothered to stay to watch Julius because he was sleeping. That I thought he would be fine for the few minutes.” She grimaced, and then sighed and said, “He let me off the hook, but I soon came to realize he hadn’t believed a word I’d said. After that, I wasn’t allowed anywhere near Julius. I was suddenly persona non grata in the family home, forever being sent here or there, always far away to tend to this or that.”
“And he was constantly guarded by at least two immortals after that. They guarded him openly as a boy. Once he reached adulthood, Julius chafed at having guards and they were removed. At least he thinks so, but the truth is he still has them. They simply watch from more of a distance now.”