The Supernaturals of Las Vegas Books 1-4

by Carrie Harris

  “What is the news?” asked Gregor.

  Tait was usually quite good at getting people to talk to him. Dagmar intimidated people too much to inspire confidences, and Konstantine would have been honestly surprised if someone had pointed out that he should have an actual conversation about something that wasn’t the casino. But Tait was all smarm and smooth talk, and he’d quickly developed a habit of bringing interesting tidbits to Gregor during court. Not that Gregor could take direct action in Viktor’s realm, but he could subtly influence or extricate himself from a potential problem before it exploded and caught him in the crossfire.

  “Antonia has been bending everyone’s ears over her thrall,” began Tait. Gregor knew that already, but he waited patiently. Tait must have some additional information if he was bringing up the situation. “The word is that all four of her thralls are ill. Hepatitis, if the rumors are true, but I can’t substantiate that.”

  “If that’s the case, her position is precarious,” Gregor mused. “Her income comes from the conservatory. If all of her thralls become too sick to teach, she’ll go under.”

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Tait.

  It was a delicate situation, but perhaps this was one of the times when Gregor could take subtle action to continue building his power base. If Viktor ever tried to take him down, he would find that Gregor had more support than expected. Of course, he wasn’t sure that the good will he’d built would overcome the fear Viktor generated, but it was worth a try.

  “The thralls are doomed. Confirm their diagnosis and, if it’s accurate, see that medical arrangements are made for them. Antonia will need a new set of thralls to teach at her school. We have a few musicians who have played at the casino. Compile a suitable list of potential replacements and have it for me tomorrow night.”

  Tait nodded, his hands clasped behind his back. He never took notes, but he never forgot anything either, so Gregor didn’t mind.

  “And if Viktor gets wind of what I’m doing?” asked Tait.

  It wasn’t a poor question. Viktor had a tendency of finding out the most unfortunate things, and Gregor couldn’t exactly say that he wanted Antonia to be in his debt just in case Viktor ever turned on him. But this one was easy.

  “Tell him that I’ve acted swiftly to preserve the incomes of the court. If Antonia’s business goes under, she won’t be able to pay her tithes, and they’re coming up.”

  “Done.” Tait paused and then said, “Chandra approached me.”

  Gregor felt a sinking sensation, the same one he felt every time Chandra came up. She had some secret motivation, something he couldn’t quite pin down. It bothered him.

  “What did she want?” he asked, closing weary eyes.

  “She asked for copies of all of the casino’s financial records, but I’m not entirely sure that was what she was after. If she wanted that, she could have my father’s office assistant make them for her. Why did she come to me?”

  Gregor nodded. The logic made sense, but he didn’t have any answers. “Do you have any hypotheses?” he asked.

  Tait considered for a long moment, picking his words carefully. “I’m not sure she cares about the numbers themselves. She made a big show of surprise when I explained that I don’t keep them, and that Liss will be taking them over from my father’s office as soon as she completes her orientation.”

  Gregor’s eyes snapped open. “Do you think she has set her sights on Liss?”

  Tait was watching him carefully. “No, I don’t. I think she’s after you. She went through this entire charade of asking for material she knew I didn’t have. Then, right at the end of the conversation, she slipped in this casual remark about how your thralls are so competent that you don’t even have to do anything.”

  “Ah. That’s not entirely unexpected.”

  “I thought not. If I had to guess, she wants your job. She’s been sucking up to Viktor for years now, and right now, her position is a dead end. She holds a certain amount of power over Viktor’s schedule as the steward, but I don’t think that’s enough for her. She wants more.”

  “And I’m in the way.”

  “Precisely.”

  “I think I’d appreciate it if you were extremely helpful to Chandra. She asked for financial records, so dig up everything you can. Overwhelm her with information she might need. Impress her with her eagerness to give her whatever she’s looking for, and let’s see what other requests she comes up with. They may give us some idea of her intended angle of attack.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Very good, Tait.”

  Gregor nodded at his thrall and began to step away when another question burst from Tait, as if against his better judgement.

  “Sir, where is my sister?” he asked.

  Gregor stopped. He felt ashamed for some reason he couldn’t explain. Liss had been doing her job, and she’d wanted even more than he had given. Many vampires would have taken what she was offering without a second thought, regardless of the ridiculous shapewear. But if it was going to happen, he wanted her to come to him of her own accord, because she wanted him. Not his position, nor some image she’d built up of him in her mind. Not because of the intoxicating effects of his saliva. But because of him.

  It was a strange thing to want after all this time, but he couldn’t help it. Just like he couldn’t help the intense urge he felt to hide what he’d done to Liss, at least until he could talk to her. If she came back to him happy, he would be fine. But what if she wasn’t? What if she resented him for taking advantage of her, not realizing that he could have done much worse? That he’d had to fight very hard to keep from doing so? But he couldn’t say any of these things to Tait. The relationships were too complicated for Tait to serve as that kind of confidante, even if Gregor had been the kind of man to confide in people like that.

  So he swallowed his feelings and limited himself to saying, “She’s with your mother. They should be back soon. If you see either of them, please let them know to be wary of Chandra and report any interactions with her to you or to me.”

  “Shall I tell my father that too?” asked Tait with a look of amusement.

  “If you think it’ll do any good,” replied Gregor. The two of them shared a knowing look of fond amusement over Konstantine’s complete inability to play the game of politics.

  “Probably not, then,” said Tait. Then his eyes lit up. “There she is. Do you mind if I go and congratulate my sister on her presentation? I’ve barely spoken to her since she arrived back home, she’s been so busy.”

  Gregor took a moment to look at her before responding. Whatever Dagmar had done, it bordered on magic. Liss looked bright-eyed and alert once more, her cheeks flushed with the palest pink. Not a hair sat out of place, and the delicate silk of her gown didn’t show the slightest rumple.

  When she saw him, she blushed a little, her eyes falling in a gesture of unaccustomed shyness. But they lifted to his soon enough. Then she smiled. He returned the expression without even meaning to. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d smiled simply because he felt like it, rather than because it was the most politically expedient thing he could think of to do.

  “Of course,” he said. “We have much to celebrate tonight.”

  Chapter 5

  When Liss came to, she found herself sprawled on a comfortable sofa in the spacious ladies’ room. A soft blanket was tucked under her chin and gauze wrapped her neck. She put a hand to it, dizzy and disoriented, trying to make sense of what had happened. Then the door opened, and her mother entered with a wine glass, humming the same wordless song she used to hum when Liss had been home sick from school.

  “Good,” said Dagmar. “You’re awake. Have some juice. It’ll make the shakes go away.”

  Liss hadn’t even realized she was shaking until her mother mentioned it, but now she became aware of how weak she felt. Her hands tremored as she took the glass and gulped down the juice with less than her usual impeccable manners. Under the circumsta
nces, her mother wouldn’t blame her.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “What do you remember?” asked Dagmar, sitting down gracefully next to her.

  Liss scooted her legs over to make more room. Her head still felt stuffed with cotton, but she could remember going out to the balcony, and… oh dear. Once she thought about it, she found that she remembered what had happened quite well. She couldn’t tell her mother about that, could she? But then again, who could she tell? Oliver, maybe? He was a friend, and involved with Isabeau, so he had to have some kind of experience with things like this. Maybe Dagmar did too, but no matter how close they were, Liss couldn’t discuss it with her.

  Her cheeks flamed again, and that seemed like answer enough for Dagmar. She nodded once, briefly, and said, “I won’t pry, then. So long as you’re okay.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Liss still felt obligated to answer. Although Dagmar didn’t show it, she could tell her mother was worried.

  “I’m okay,” she said. “Just really embarrassed.”

  “Oh?” asked Dagmar, holding out her hand for the empty glass. “I’ll refill that for you in a minute.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dagmar contemplated the crystal for a moment, weighing her words carefully.

  “I wouldn’t be embarrassed,” she said finally. “Whatever happened, Gregor treated you with respect afterwards. He called for me to bring you here quietly so you could recover in privacy. No one saw you; I made sure of that. It means he cares about your reputation. And about you.”

  Liss considered this. “Not everyone does that, I take it?”

  Dagmar made a noise that would have been a snort if she hadn’t been so refined. “Not in the least. Vladislav once dragged an unconscious thrall across the ballroom floor by her hair after he was done with her. It was quite a spectacle. It was difficult for her to be seen as anything but lunch after that the poor thing.”

  “I don’t think I’ve met him, and I’m not sure I want to.”

  “You won’t.” Dagmar stood up and adjusted her skirt. “I put a stake through his chest during the Christmas Revolt. Some of those deaths were regrettable, but not his.”

  Liss didn’t know what to say to that. She could barely remember anything from that night, just a lot of noise and confusion, and all the underage thralls stuck in the pantry with the door locked. She hadn’t known what was going on then, and although she’d learned about it in bits and pieces since then, it all still felt so surreal.

  After a moment of silence, Dagmar said briskly, “Well, why don’t you freshen up while I get you some more juice. You should be able to remove the gauze now.”

  “Thank you, Mom,” said Liss, trying to put some weight behind the words. There were things she couldn’t bring herself to say, but maybe she could communicate them anyway.

  Dagmar’s eyes met hers and softened. “I love you, Anneliese,” she said.

  “Love you too.”

  With that, Dagmar pushed open the door and left the room. Liss folded the blanket and set it aside just in case someone else might need it. When she pushed herself gingerly to her feet, the room wavered but held. It would have to keep on holding. The night wasn’t over yet, not by far.

  Liss exited the bathroom to find the entire court assembled in silent rows according to status before the dais. Viktor stood on the dais looking down at his subjects, his hands clasped behind his back. He had a cat-with-canary-feathers-in-its-mouth expression on his face that really rubbed her the wrong way. She’d spent a lot of time learning about effective government in college, and he struck her as too self-absorbed to make it happen.

  But maybe she was making judgements based on her personal dislike. She thought about it as she worked her way through the crowd toward her family. They stood near the dais, as befit their station. The king didn’t have his own thralls—he had vampire servants who procured his meals and did his bidding. He’d kept the peace for years despite efforts to depose him. Without him, there would be nothing to stop a vampire with a superiority complex and voracious appetite from draining every human in the room.

  Although Gregor could do it. He stood at Viktor’s elbow, quiet and composed, handsome and aloof. Her eyes flicked up to him and a lingering wave of embarrassment took her over, but she quashed it quickly. He would be a better ruler than Viktor, she thought, and not just because she was attracted to him. He’d get the respect of his people because he earned it, not because they feared him.

  She stopped next to Tait’s slim form, and he shot her a questioning look. She tried to look casual, but he still seemed worried, dropping his eyes to her hands. Her gloves. She’d forgotten them in the bathroom, and thrall females didn’t appear at court without them. But before she could panic, her brother took something out of his suit pocket and pressed it into her hands. A spare pair. He was always prepared. She tugged them on with a look of gratitude, and he winked at her before turning back to the dais.

  Oliver’s baby sister was to be accepted as a thrall today; Liss had almost forgotten in her nervousness over her own presentation. Normally, most thrall siblings were close in age like Liss and Tait. Thrall couples were encouraged to procreate shortly after marriage rather than waiting. Someday, Liss would have babies, and she’d do it gladly if it meant her parents could retire earlier rather than later. She didn’t like the idea of them having to work for—and feed—Gregor when they should be enjoying their retirement years.

  But Oliver’s parents had struggled to bring a second baby to term. He’d confided in her about it at school, and she knew how excited he was now that his new sister Claire was born. He would spoil her for sure.

  She’d only seen pictures of the baby, but it wasn’t difficult to pick out her wispy haired head. The infant was drowsing in Isabeau’s arms, but that wouldn’t last long.

  Viktor made a neat little speech about the proud tradition of thrall families and the newest addition to the Archambault line. It felt canned to Liss, not heartfelt at all, but at least it was short. Then Chandra produced a small lancet and Oliver unearthed Claire’s little foot from its nest of blankets. His parents clustered at Isabeau’s side, looking proud and exhausted.

  The baby jerked and let out a wail when Chandra poked her. But the steward’s hands remained steady as she squeezed a drop of blood onto a silver spoon, which she quickly offered to the king.

  He tasted the blood like you’d taste fine wine, his hands still clasped behind his back, his hawk-like profile silhouetted by the wall sconce hanging behind him. Mrs. Archambault looked like she was ready to faint from the pressure. Liss imagined that it had to be hard to try all those times and constantly fail. She looked so frail…

  The king licked his lips and blotted them with a white linen napkin. Chandra then swept all of the materials off on her little tray, as if responding to some wordless sign of dismissal that Liss had missed. Or maybe the whole process was simply rote by now. They’d done it so many times that they knew their parts by heart, even if it seemed exotic and strange to Liss. She’d known to expect this—all court babies went through the tasting before they were accepted as thralls. Only the most exceptional humans were allowed at court. Somehow, in some way Liss didn’t understand, their blood was different. Superior to everyone else’s.

  Viktor cleared his throat.

  “You are to be commended for your persistence, madam,” he said to Mrs. Archambault. “I am given to understand that it has taken you some time to conceive a female, yes?”

  She nodded, speechless.

  The king took a step down the dais to stand next to her, lacing an arm around her waist. Liss could barely restrain her shock. She was fairly sure that he wasn’t supposed to come off the dais, and from the shocked murmur of the crowd, she was right. Protocol said that the king was supposed to take his sip and then say something along the lines of, “Yes, that tastes great, and what do you intend to name her?” Then the king formally welcomed the baby to court by name. But somehow, this tim
e was different. Liss looked at her mother, who wore a mournful expression, like someone had just died.

  “What is going on?” Liss whispered to her mother.

  Dagmar shook her head. “I’ve only seen this once. Maybe I’m wrong…”

  But she didn’t sound too certain.

  All eyes were on them as Viktor bent to whisper in Mrs. Archambault’s ear. As hard as Liss strained, she couldn’t make out many of the words. But then she caught the last word and decided she didn’t want to know. The last word was “defective.”

  Mrs. Archambault cried out in horror and struggled against the king, and now Liss realized why he’d been so kind. It hadn’t been kindness at all. He’d been restraining her in advance.

  “Countess Isabeau, I am afraid that this child will make an unsuccessful thrall.” The king’s voice wasn’t particularly loud, but it somehow felt heavy. “You know what to do.”

  Liss knew how much Oliver loved his sister already and had since the moment he’d heard about the pregnancy. She half expected him to beg for Claire’s life or refuse to hand the baby over, but he didn’t. He tucked the blankets more tightly around the baby in Isabeau’s arms with calm, perfect trust. His father clearly didn’t feel the same; he lunged forward as if to do…something. Oliver grabbed him by the arm in restraint. His father strained against him, but Oliver was stronger.

  Isabeau looked down at the wailing figure swaddled in her arms, and her eyes welled with crimson tears. Her lips trembled. For a second, Liss thought she was actually going to drain the baby, right there in front of everyone. The thought horrified her, but what could she do to stop it? She would have done anything to save the baby at that moment, but there was nothing to be done, not by her. She glanced at her mother, hoping that Dagmar Lorensson would save the day once again, but Dagmar still had that look on her face, like someone had just died. Or like someone would soon.