“How much do I owe you for this information?” Marek could feel his heartbeat increasing as he let himself accept what the man was saying.
“Nothing. I only want that bastard punished for the things he’s done.”
“Why haven’t you or the other servants gone to the police about this?”
“We can’t.” He reached for the cloth around his neck, pulling it downward. On his neck were four small wounds, inflamed and infected. “He’s done to us all. We don’t dare.”
There were tears in his eyes as he adjusted the neckcloth.
“Besides, would they believe us? You can’t know how much effort it took for me to come here tonight, sir.”
“You fool.” Marek felt his heart lurch. “If you’re enthralled, he knows you’re here.”
“No. He’s at the Schwarzengarten now. I’ve found he can’t follow my movements while he’s engaged in his...amusements.”
The man looked frantic.
“I didn’t know what to do. I feel so sorry for his wife and the little girl, and afraid for the others. Sometimes I have to accompany him on his forays. One night, one of the other customers’ servants mentioned a rumor of a one-eyed man asking about strangers with unusually vicious tastes. I thought you’d help all of us.”
“You say he’s at the Black Garden now?”
“He told me I wasn’t needed tonight, thank God.”
“Get out of here. Go home. Pretend you haven’t been away.”
The man needed no urging, simply opened the door and disappeared through it. Marek gave him time to leave, and followed him out. As he reached the outer door, the doorman spoke up.
“That was quick, sir. Were things satisfactory?”
“I got what I came for,” Marek told him stiffly.
It was all he could do to keep from running through the door into the clean, clear air outside.
Chapter 35
At the Black Garden, he’d taken only two steps into the foyer when he found himself face to face with a man who was obviously the club’s hired security.
“Hey, what are you doing in here?” The man peered at him. He held a heavy piece of wood shaped like a club, raising it as he spoke. “I don’t recognize you.”
“I’m new.”
“Do you have a pass?”
Pass? Of course, they’d have some way to keep out nonmembers.
“I was to meet someone.”
“Where is he? We require an old member to vouch for a guest on his first visit.” He slapped the club against his palm. “You’ll have to leave.”
“There's no way I can stay?” The desperation in Marek’s voice was real. To be this close. He put a hand into an inner pocket. “I’ve money.”
“If you’re not a member, it’s not enough. I assure you.”
“But my friend’s already here.”
“Then he should’ve waited for you. No sir, I’m sorry. You’ll have to leave.”
“May I wait outside for him?” He’d stay in the shadows until dawn if that’s how long it took to see if Stjpan Trecator came out.
“I’m afraid not. If you don’t leave both the premises and the grounds, I’ll call someone to escort you out. They won’t be as patient as I’ve been.”
He raised the club slightly before bringing it down again with a loud smack against his open hand. Reluctantly, Marek returned to the exit.
There must be some way I can get in unnoticed.
“Don’t think of trying to sneak back in,” the man called, as if he’d heard Marek’s thought. “We’ve guards on every entrance and at each of our play-rooms.” There was a definite threat in his voice. “We assure our guests complete privacy and anonymity.”
That meant even if Marek got past the bouncer, he could be stopped before he found the right room
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied.
* * *
“Gods! Can it be true? Are we finally going to be free of this creature?” Dan looked disbelieving.
“Too bad you couldn’t hang around and get a good look at him,” Vlad commented.
“Believe me, I tried,” Marek assured him. He’d immediately called a family meeting as soon as he returned home. “Walked blocks from the entrance, lurked in the shadows. They must have a fantastic security network. This giant appeared behind me, tapped me on the shoulder, and suggested I get myself home and not bother the Garden’s patrons. Since I’d already been warned away once, I felt it prudent at that point to leave.”
“We can always go to Trecator’s residence.” Andrei suggested. “Confront him.”
“…and if he’s not Ravagiu, apologize for acting like fools and back out red-faced? Besides, if he is, he’ll have thralls helping him. They’ll have to protect him whether they want to or not. We have only ourselves.”
“That valet was brave to risk coming to you like that,” Vlad said.
“I hope he doesn’t suffer for it.” Marek gave a heavy sigh. The excitement of the evening had wrought a toll on him. “It must be nearing dawn. I guess there’s nothing to do now, but get some sleep. Tomorrow night...”
He broke off to stifle a yawn.
“Since I’m the only one who’s actually seen Ravagiu face-to-face, I need to find a way to watch the Schwarzengarten long-distance until I can actually confirm his identity. And then…”
“We’ll kill him,” Vlad finished for him.
“We won’t be able to do it as we wished. I suppose it’ll have to be as quietly and quickly as possible, but dead’s dead no matter the method.” Marek held out his wrist. “Then we’ll heal these wounds and make new lives for ourselves.”
“I won’t miss this one bit.” Dan looked at his own wrist.
“Before I sleep, however, Ruxanda and I need to talk. Xandi?” He looked at the chair in which the girl sat.
She’d been silent for some time and now Marek saw why. The lateness of the hour had overcome everything else. Ruxanda was sound asleep.
“I’ll take her up to bed.” Dan started toward her.
“No.” Marek stopped him. “I’ll do it. I’ve neglected her lately, and as the elder brother, I should be the one.”
He lifted his little sister. Cradling her sleeping head against his shoulder, he carried Ruxanda up the stairs.
Soon, little one, your family and ours will be avenged.
Chapter 36
“Marek, my boy, I’ve neglected you, and I apologize.”
“How’s that, sir?”
They were lingering over brandy and cigaritos in Karl-Josef’s drawing room. Marek and the Graf faced each other from each side of the fire while the twins lounged on a nearby settee, slouching inelegantly, warming snifters of brandy between pale hands.
“It’s just occurred to me that I never followed through on my intention to introduce you to Vienese Society. I should’ve done it while you were staying with me. Given a reception and presented you to the infuential among the humans and our own kind.”
“You got me into some good clubs, sir. All of us.” He waved a hand to include the twins and Dan. “That was enough.”
Marek raised the snifter to take a sip of brandy. Unsuccessful nights of watching the Schwarzengarten had now stretched into a year, and he was nearly exhausted. When Karl-Josef extended his dinner invitation, the twins insisted he accept.
“Damn it, Brother. You need some diversion. Hans-Claud’s starting to worry about you. Says you aren’t sleeping.”
“Hans-Claud has a big mouth. Which should learn some discretion.”
It was true enough. He was so tired and tense when he returned home, he couldn’t relax, and spent most of his daylight hours pacing the floor. He’d even been tempted to ask Sabine for a sleeping draught but didn’t want to start that habit again after so long without it.
“It’ll do no good to find Ravagiu if you’re too wasted to finish him,” Dan spoke up. “Or do you want to sit and watch while one of us does it?”
Reluctantly, Marek penned a reply to
the Graf’s invitation. By mutual agreement, they decided not to tell Karl-Josef of their suspicions until they were actually confirmed.
“Uncle Karl?” Vlad spoke up. “I’ve a suggestion how you can make it up to Marek, if you wish to hear.”
Karl-Josef smiled. In that slightly humoring tone he always used when speaking to either of the twins, as if they were still in weanlings’ aprons, he asked, “What would that be, Vlad?”
“Ruxanda’s natal time’s in two weeks. Give her a party. Instead of our brother, present our little sister to Society.”
“Yes,” Andrei joined in. “She’s a much prettier sight, anyway.”
Perhaps that isn’t such a bad idea. Marek agreed Ruxanda’s last two birthdays had been nothing worth remembering. Though aventurieri didn't celebrate the annual date of one’s entrance into the world, there had to be some documentation of each birth. They simply let the real Ruxanda’s birthdate become that of the changeling child’s.
“A birthdate party?” The Graf look thoughtful. “Hm. I know humans have such. A capital idea, Vlad.” He smiled at the boy. “Of course. Games, Dancing, a dinner, gifts. I could invite the daughters of some prominent humans, and our most eligible young men.”
“Young men?” It came out sharper than Marek intended.
“Oh, don’t worry, lad.” Karl-Josef glanced at him. “I’ll be there to chaperone them.”
“Pardon me for saying so, sir, but that doesn’t exactly reassure me.”
“In that case, how about this?” He didn’t look insulted. “Their parents’ll be there also, as well as Margarette.”
“The Gräfin? When did she come back from the country?”
“She hasn’t arrived yet,” Karl-Josef went on. “I received a letter from her last night in which she states she’s been seized with a sudden desire to see me.” He leaned close to Marek, lowering his voice. “You may read that as she’s about to enter a fertile cycle and wants to breed.”
Marek looked startled at that announcement, both because the Graf would speak such an intimate event so plainly as well as looking so pleased about it.
“So, she’s coming to town.” Karl-Josef struck his knee and laughed. “Just think, Marek, to be a father again, at my age.”
“You’ve my good wishes for that, sir, if it’s truly what you want.” Marek wasn’t certain if it was considered proper manners to wish a man good luck when he was considering plowing his wife in expectation of the act bearing fruit.
“I believe I do. Perhaps this time I’ll sire a beautiful little daughter. Like your Ruxanda.”
The Graf lifted his brandy and took a healthy swallow. When he spoke again, he returned to their previous conversation.
“I’ll tell Margarette. I know she’ll be delighted to plan the menu and whatever else is required. Especially the guest list. She considers herself a matchmaker, does my little Gretta. Best watch she doesn’t start trying to find mates for all of you.”
For a moment, Marek wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly. That note of absolute love in the Graf’s voice seemed wholly out of character.
“I’ll invite Stjpan Trecator, too, and his wife. It’s time you two met. I’ve tried to arrange it before but he always seems to have some excuse. He travels quite a bit, you know, and his daughter’s delicate. While I admire his fatherly concern, surely he could leave the child long enough to greet a fellow countryman.”
“Yes, be sure to invite Stjpan Trecator,” Marek agreed, looking around at the others.
He was glad the Graf didn’t see the eagerly feral expressions on the twins’ faces. He could almost sense what they were thinking.
Can it be this easy?
* * *
The Gräfin flung herself wholeheartedly into planning the festivity. She also took Ruxanda in hand, selecting a gown for the occasion, informing Marek it was in the latest Parisian fashion, and ordered her personal maid to dress the girl’s hair.
Marek had tried to find some time to be alone with his sister, to finish what he’d started to say that night in the library but now there was none available. Ruxanda was caught up in a whirl of sessions with the seamstress, huddled together with the Gräfin about the entertainment, the refreshments, the dinner. She’d been staying at Karl-Josef’s for the past two weeks, helping with preparations and Marek was unable to get near her.
After the party, after she’s back home, then I’ll tell her, he promised himself.
* * *
A goblet of wine in his hand, Mircea Ravagiu stood in one of the Hofstedter’s drawing rooms. It was time for his monthly appearance in the more genteel clubs where he was a member, something he did with punctuality in order to keep his visible reputation intact.
The drawing rooms and studies were one gigantic space, situated so each could be closed off from the others by sliding doors whenever the members desired privacy or a meeting was being conducted.
Raising the glass to his lips, he looked down the long expanse, and paused. Two rooms away, a black-haired man leaned over a chessboard. He made his move, spoke to his opponent and laughed.
Gods, no.
For just a moment the wine threatened to block his throat.
It can’t be. Strigoi here?
The man turned slightly as he picked up his own goblet and he saw the eye patch.
Since when is he one-eyed? Did that happened during the attack when Vasili was killed?
Through the aventurieri network, he’d learned the Strigoisti had been exiled, their exact whereabouts unknown for almost three years. Now, to walk into the Hofstedter and see János Strigoi’s freakish son sitting several yards away…
“Holtz.” He caught the arm of a passing waiter. “That gentleman with the eyepatch. I don’t recall seeing him before.”
The waiter looked back. “That’s the godson of the Markgraf von Blitzensturm. He’s only been in the city a short time. From somewhere in Central Europe, I believe.”
“Thank you, Holtz.” Mircea placed his glass on the tray and the man went on his way. Briefly, all he could think was how ironic Fate could be.
Strigoi here. Claiming kinship to the Sectiuna himself? Well, well. Leave it to the Striogoisti to have friends in high places.
Now he had a choice. He could find a way to finish this once and for all or leave and make further plans.
Has he brought those abominable twins with him? He wished he’d ripped out the brats’ throats while he had the chance. Are they staying with the Sectiuna, also?
Attacking a personage that powerful was inadvisable, as was killing someone aligned with him.
As if I don’t have enough problems at present. Elsabeta’s giving me more trouble, and my valet… I may have to so something about that pest. I thought I had him under control but he seems to have reservoirs of will-power I didn’t suspect.
Moving as casually as possible, he went to the door, asking that his carriage be brought ’round.
“Leaving so soon, Herr Baron?” The doorman appeared concerned. “You’ve only gotten here.”
“Something’s come up and I have to attend to it. Nothing to worry about.”
I’ll find I must make a sudden trip to Paris. Too bad I had to house my soldati at that provincial château. One of the problems of following local customs…it would attract too much attention if I keep them with me. I’ll dispatch them to attack Strigoi… and the Sectiuna if he gets in the way. Then rid myself of Elsabeta and that damned valet. Free myself of all my problems at one time. Pity I can’t be here to see it. I’d hoped to drink Strigoi’s blood myself.
Chapter 37
When Ruxanda came down the staircase with Margarette, Marek could scarcely believe the lovely creature standing before him was the little girl he’d raised.
“Damn. You’re beautiful, Xandi,” Andrei murmured, with Vlad echoing the sentiment.
Giving them a gracefully deep curtsey, also offering a splendid view of her bosom—something Marek found disturbing—she spoiled the entire effect
by laughing. Then, she slid her arm through his, and walked with him to the reception room as the first guests began arriving.
Standing next to the Graf and his wife, she smiled graciously as she was introduced to each couple, exchanging curtseys with their daughters and stifling giggles as their sons took her hand and bowed over it.
As expected, Marek and the others were tense, not knowing what would happen when Ravagiu appeared. Taking Werner into their confidence and making him swear not to inform the Graf, the butler was instructed that when he was presented with Stjpan Trecator’s invitation, he was to delay the couple’s entering the town house and summon Marek and the others. They would overpower the renegade and with the help of the Graf’s guards, spirit him away to a deserted section of the cellars where he would be dispatched as quickly as possible.
There was bound to be some unpleasantness as well as a disruption of the festivities, for Ravagiu’s wife would undoubtedly cause a scene. Other arriving guests would be witnesses, but they were certain a concocted story of Stjpan Trecator being discovered to be a notorious imposter making a living preying on the gullibility of the rich would make everyone acquainted with him quickly disavow knowing him.
When the Graf took Marek aside to say he’d received a letter from Stjpan Trecator stating he’d be unable to attend because they had to visit his property in another country, it was all he could do to hide his frustration.
“He said he was leaving his manservant behind to close up the house.”
He should’ve known it wouldn’t be so easy, that when he and the renegade did finally face each other, it wouldn’t be in the Markgraf’s residence in a reception line. The Fates, Marek had a feeling, were going to make their confrontation much more dramatic.
“He has holdings in several cities, and sometimes gives in to sudden desires to visit them,” Karl-Josef explained. “Still, it’s most rude of him to do so the night of your sister’s reception. He might’vve waited one more night.”
Strigoi Page 28