“It wasn’t like that at all.”
Jeremy scowled. “Did you let him touch you?”
Nick’s face colored. “What are you accusing me of, Jeremy?”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Jeremy slumped back into the couch. “I hope you didn’t lead him on for the sake of his strategic knowledge. I never got along with Lorcan, but he deserves better than that.”
“I didn’t lead him on, and I didn’t make him any promises.” Nick’s tone was carefully controlled. “He knows what he is to me and what he isn’t. He’s still my friend, and he knows the limitations of that. I didn’t do anything he could misunderstand.”
Jeremy tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “People see what they want to see, Nicholas. It doesn’t matter what race they are.”
Nick stood and glared down at Jeremy. “Where is this coming from, Jer?”
Jeremy was silent for a time before dropping his gaze to meet Nick’s eyes again. “You didn’t want me in Paris. You didn’t want me in Alexandria. How many battles are you going to fight while you force me to stand on the sidelines and do nothing but watch?”
“I didn’t want to risk you, Leshir.” Nick’s shoulders drooped in defeat. “They see you as human, not Sentinel, and that makes you a prime target to get to me.” He looked sadly at his lover. “It’s the same way Luscian saw me when he wanted a way to hurt Rory.”
“Is that why you went to Rafael for comfort after Paris, rather than coming home to me?” Jeremy bit off the last word with a snap.
“How did you—”
Jeremy laughed curtly. “I thought so.” His expression grew sour. “I used to be on your diplomatic staff before I joined Armistice Security, remember? I know the codes to trace Rapier’s locator beacon when he accesses the teleport relay network. When you jumped directly from Paris to Icehaven, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.” Jeremy leaned forward impatiently. “So tell me, Nick, why could you go to him and not to me?”
Nick paused but maintained eye contact. “You’re the Seer. Nothing stays hidden from you. I had so much blood on my hands, and I didn’t want to stain you with it. I didn’t want you to see it in my mind. This is something I have to learn to live with on my own. And I will learn to live with it, Jer. I just need time.”
Jeremy stood and took Nick’s hand in his own. “I know you did a terrible thing in Paris, but I understand your reasons, and the necessity of it. You don’t have to shield me from what you are. Please, just stop trying. I swear, if you promise to be honest with me about what you’re feeling, I will give you as much privacy as you want. I won’t intrude on your mind unless you ask me to.”
“I promise.” Nick squeezed Jeremy’s hand. “I love you, Jeremy.”
“I love you, too.” He draped his arm over Nick’s shoulders and yawned suddenly. “Now come on. It’s late. Let’s get some sleep and not talk anymore about any of your trackers.”
Nick stopped. “Trackers?”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Jeremy gave him a sheepish smile. “It’s from the Nightwalker ballads I’ve been reading, sort of their literary shorthand for a love triangle. Hunter, prey, and tracker. The hunter catches the prey, and the tracker follows them, waiting for an opportunity to cut the prey loose so he can take it for himself. Shows up a lot—two characters fighting over a third. They even have names for each role. The hunter is called the Dacril, the prey is the Torusk, and the tracker is—”
“The Selaya,” Nick whispered.
“I thought you didn’t know what it meant?”
“I heard someone say it once. I was told it was a term of endearment.”
Jeremy shrugged. “I guess it is nowadays, outside of books. I think it’s used to acknowledge unrequited love—someone who’s just biding his time, waiting for the chance to steal the prey.”
Nick swallowed. “What usually happens to the hunter in those stories?”
“Well, normally, the tracker finds a way to kill the hunter, so that he can live happily ever after with the prey. Gets kind of formulaic after a while, though. It’s the Nightwalker version of a fairy-tale ending.” He looked at Nick curiously. “Why?”
“No reason,” Nick said. He grinned, shaking off his concerns. “It’s not that late, Jer. Are you sure you want to go to sleep right away?”
“I suppose I could be persuaded otherwise.” Jeremy gave a half smile, but it quickly faded. “Nick…I forgot to ask. Was Toby okay with what you did? He looked pretty upset when we left you guys alone.”
Nick’s face froze, and he quickly sat back down. “He was more concerned about the personal repercussions.”
Frowning, Jeremy sat on couch next to him. “What repercussions? You mean, politically?”
Nick shook his head. He held his hands slightly apart and a green glow appeared between them. It coalesced into a soft leather case about the size of a shaving kit, which he pushed wordlessly toward Jeremy.
Jeremy stared first at Nick and then at case. Then he reached out, undid the zipper that ran around the edge, and unfolded the case, laying it open on the coffee table between them. He ran his gaze over the sterilely-wrapped syringes and the small butane torch, before finally coming to rest on the plastic bag filled with brownish-white powder. He closed his eyes. “Please tell me this isn’t heroin.”
Nick was silent.
Jeremy opened his eyes and regarded his lover sadly. “I’m listening, Nicholas.”
“What is there to say?”
Jeremy propped his chin on his left hand. “Before Paris?”
“During,” admitted Nick. “I smelled it on a guy who was coming into the city, and I took it from him.”
Jeremy tapped the bag of brown powder. “Is this all you have?”
Nick nodded.
“You want it back?”
Nick’s eyes flicked down to the drug and then back to Jeremy. He said nothing.
Jeremy’s expression hardened. “Thank you for not lying, at least.”
“I promised,” Nick said in resignation.
“You made a lot of promises, Nicholas.” Jeremy’s eyes flashed with sudden anger.
“Not to you.”
Sighing, Jeremy leaned forward and tiredly ran his fingers through his hair. “No, you didn’t. You have never been anything but honest with me.” He looked up at Nick. “Are you going to stop?”
“Yes,” Nick whispered. He looked down at the injection kit dispassionately. Drawing a sigil in the air, his fingertips trailing orange fire, Nick waved his hand over the case. The entire leather case and its contents, as well as the glass tabletop beneath it, crumbled immediately into fine gray dust. As he locked eyes with Jeremy, he was gripped by sudden panic. Breathing shallowly, he forced himself to speak. “The next couple of months will be unbelievably bad.”
Jeremy covered Nick’s trembling ones with his own. “We’ll get through this. I’ll be right here next to you the entire time, and so will the others.”
“I’m scared, Jeremy.”
“You’re safe, Nick. No one will ever hurt you while I’m here.”
DAYWALKER
CHAPTER 33
August 2041; Anchorpoint City, Grand Mesa, Colorado; Nineteen months after public exposure
Nick slipped the beige suit jacket off the hanger and pulled it on.
“Leaving so soon?”
Turning, he smiled at the sight of Jeremy watching him from the bed. “We can’t spend every minute of our lives together, Jeremy.” He walked to the bed and leaned in for a kiss. “I have to go to work.”
“Scott can handle the press briefing without you. He’s done it before.” Jeremy slid his hands under the suit coat and playfully caressed Nick’s chest. “Come on, take a day off.”
“Can’t. I’ve only been back at work for a week, and it’s the last briefing before Armistice Day. I’m going to be the host; I have to be there.” Despite his refusal, Nick almost purred at Jeremy’s touch, and his eyes began to change color. Gathering his wits
, he leaned back, grinning. “Damn, Jeremy. How am I supposed to keep up with you?”
“Can’t help it. I want you all the time.”
“Tell you what.” Nick traced his index finger slowly down Jeremy’s naked chest. “I just have to do this one thing, and I’ll be yours for the rest of the day. In the meantime, you can think about what you want to do for your birthday.”
Jeremy shrugged. “As long as I get to spend it with you, I’ll be happy. Any ideas?”
“Kind of. I thought maybe I could take you out for lunch.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “I think we’ve already tried every restaurant we can get to without a jumpship, Nick.”
“Not inside the Armistice,” Nick whispered with a grin.
“What do you mean?” Jeremy fluffed a pillow and put it behind his back.
“There are more than seventy countries in the world that don’t have extradition treaties with the United States. I’m sure at least some of them have decent restaurants.”
Jeremy swallowed, taken aback. “It might be nice to go somewhere else for a change.”
“I’ll send you the files on the countries we can go to, Leshir. Pick one. I’ll set it up for this afternoon.”
Jeremy kissed him again. “You’re too good to me.”
“That’s my job now, Jer.” He stroked his boyfriend’s cheek.
“You’d better get going then, or you’re going to be late for your other job—the one that pays the bills.” Jeremy smirked.
“See you when I get home. Rapier, set up a transit for me to the Washington Embassy.”
“Teleport ready.”
“Execute.”
The world faded away, replaced by the gateway level of the embassy. Nick strode over the eight-pointed star pattern that adorned the floor of the platform. Passing the cubicles that extended in four directions, with wide aisles between them, Nick walked down the white hallway to the short-range, fixed-point teleport and jumped down to ground level. Recently renovated when they started inviting members of the human media to visit for the monthly briefings, the usual gray carpet had been upgraded to black marble floors and crystal chandeliers. Nothing like making a good first impression, he had argued at the time.
As he made his way to the briefing room, he wished the Armistice decorators wouldn’t always work with the white, gray, and black tones the Triumvirate had chosen to represent the three races at the beginning. It was deeply symbolic, he understood, but it got a little monotonous. Maybe he’d suggest they add some color if they ever got around to letting humans into Armistice Security. Perhaps a nice cobalt blue. That should set the cat among the pigeons. He smiled, thinking of how scandalized everyone would be, and then finally reached the antechamber door and stepped inside the green room.
Scott looked up from his newspaper and smiled. “I wondered if you were going to make it.”
“Jeremy didn’t want to let me go.”
Folding up the paper, Scott stretched his arms above his head. “I figured. Don’t worry, some of the reporters are running late, so we’ve still got some time.”
“Don’t let Jeremy hear that.” Nick dropped into another chair. “He’s turned into a crazed sex maniac.”
Scott smirked. “Yeah, I’ll bet. I remember what it was like to be a newlywed.”
“Um, we’re not married, Scotty.”
Scott looked at him knowingly. “How long do you plan to be together?”
“For as long as he’s alive.”
Scott smiled. “Then maybe you should give that some thought sometime.”
“Vampires don’t usually go for that sort of thing.”
“Yeah, because you’ve always been one to stick with convention?” Scott snorted.
Nick looked away. “I can’t. Not yet. I’m not ready.”
Turning to the security monitors, Scott watched as another group of reporters entered the briefing room. “I guess it would set my mind at ease if I knew you were settled.”
Nick pulled his chair a little closer. “I know you feel responsible for me after what you saw that night in Ottawa,” he said. “I will always love you, no matter what, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m happy—and sober. The future will take care of itself. I’ll be fine.”
“It looks like everyone’s here,” Scott changed the subject as he watched the last reporter take his seat.
“Then let’s get it over with.” Nick placed his hand on the security plate, and the door slid silently aside, allowing them to walk out onto the dais before the assembled members of the press.
* * *
Three floors above, an agent in her mid-twenties stood uncertainly in one of the major intersections of the senior staff offices and tugged on her blonde braid uncertainly. She rechecked the map in her hand. How anyone managed to navigate this place, she had no idea. Finally, she found the large double office she wanted and knocked perfunctorily before stepping through the open door.
At the knock, Ana looked up. “Can I help you, Agent?” She turned her chair to face the visitor.
Natalya handed over the files she carried. “Yes, Ma’am. Here are the paper files you requested—the journalist candidates to join the human delegation at the Armistice Day celebration next month.”
Ana sighed. “Thanks. Most of them have been in the business so long that the bulk of their work is offline. How many have made the cut so far?” Ana flipped through the dossiers.
“Eighteen, Ma’am.”
Ana laughed. “What’s your name, Agent?”
“Natalya, Ma’am. Natalya Chernikova.”
“Natalya, Sentinels don’t need to stand on formality. My name’s Ana, not ‘ma’am.’” She noticed the map in Natalya’s hand. “Are you new? I don’t believe we’ve met, although that wouldn’t be hard in this madhouse.”
“Yes, Ma’am—Ana,” she corrected herself. “I entered the Armistice Zone four months ago, after emigrating from Moscow.”
“I see.” Ana gestured for her to sit. “How do you find life in the Zone?”
“It was something of an adjustment.” Natalya sat on the edge of the office chair, obviously uncomfortable at the gesture of familiarity. “I am a magician.” She tapped the red sword in the Armistice Security logo on her shirt. “There are wonders of magic here I would never have believed possible if I had not seen them myself.”
Ana smiled. “It can take some getting used to. When the temporal manipulation field came down once the construction of Anchorpoint was complete, Take and I drove out from Grand Junction. It was a dirt road, closed to traffic, and even I felt the psychic ward that made humans ignore that entire block of forest. When we hit the perimeter screen, the trees disappeared. All around us was the city, spearing into the sky. All I could think was, ‘What the hell have I gotten myself into?’”
“I felt something similar when I killed my first Nightwalker, in the shadow of St. Basil’s Cathedral,” Natalya said quietly. “But that was not so pleasant an experience.”
Ana’s smile faded. “That’s why we’re all here, Natalya,” she said. “To keep our people from having to kill just to satisfy the needs of the Gift, while the humans live sheltered lives built on our suffering.”
“To be sure,” said Natalya, giving her a hard look. “My Lady, you are the Wind of Fire. A question has been bothering me and I wonder if you can direct me to an answer.”
Ana’s expression was quizzical. “Certainly, I’d be happy to help. But I told you, Natalya, my name is Ana, not Ma’am, and definitely not Lady. What do you want to know?”
“I was born to war, Ana.” Natalya fixed her with an intense gaze. “My Gift gives me great flexibility in finding new ways to fight, just as yours does. I have always been greatly puzzled by the defenses I felt when I first entered the Armistice Zone. How can a perimeter ward be continuously maintained over such a large area, without constant reinforcement of the spell? I don’t understand how it can exist for more than a few seconds without collapsing entirely. Everything
I know of magic tells me it shouldn’t be possible, yet it is.”
Ana looked surprised momentarily, and then shrugged. “The basic principle is simple. The defense shield isn’t continuous. It’s a network of smaller wards, each cast on a specially designed artifact called a shield emitter. These are locked into a permanent standing wave so the network can be maintained indefinitely. The emitters are then aligned in an interlocked and overlapping configuration, creating a solid wall of force along the long axis of the shield grid. The grid is controlled by modulating the flow of power from Anchorpoint to the emitters, so that the shield can be opened at select locations. So, in a way, you’re right—without that continuous flow of power, the shield would exhaust itself and fade almost immediately.”
“My God! That would work,” Natalya said in wonder. “Magnificent.”
Ana smiled. “It took a cooperative research team of vampires and Sentinels to figure out the parameters of the spells required and translate them into technology. It was one of the first successful hybrid projects in the early days of the Armistice, combining Sentinel and vampire magic. I looked up some of the spellforms once, just out of curiosity. They came up with a truly elegant design.”
Natalya looked at her sharply. “You have seen the actual spellforms? I didn’t think those were available in the archives.”
Ana raised one eyebrow. “They’re restricted. You need Protector clearance or above to access them.”
“Oh,” Natalya said. “Pity.” She looked at Ana wistfully. “I don’t suppose—”
Ana shook her head. “Sorry. It’s restricted for a reason. You need to serve for at least three years before you’re allowed access to that level of military technology. You’ll just have to wait.”
“Of course.” Natalya smiled at her again. “Thank you, Ana, for clarifying that. At least I now have an idea how it all fits together. I appreciate you taking the time to explain it to me.”
Ana grinned back at her. “No problem.” She began sorting through the files Natalya had brought. “Though, honestly, if you want to get a better sense of the basic principles, you just have to toss a brick at one of the windows.”
Sunset (Pact Arcanum) Page 32