Bite Back 05 - Angel Stakes

by Mark Henwick

  The building we stopped in front of was set back behind a wide expanse of lawn. It was a cool white, the front punctuated by neat ranks of identical gray-shuttered windows. We walked up a double flight of pale stone steps to the grandiose portico that loomed over the front doors.

  Tom and the guards had put their weapons away in trendy sports bags. One of the guards hefted an impressive pro movie camera over his shoulder; another carried audio equipment and cables. The rest had clipboards, makeup kits and the obscure, miscellaneous clutter that characterized a film crew.

  There was no sign above the entrance to the building, no indication of the business until the doorman approached.

  “Welcome to Bembridge Studios,” he said smoothly. “Unfortunately, the whole facility is—”

  Tom waved a pass. “Taken. Yup, that’s us. Altau Group Media. Sorry, haven’t had time to organize everyone’s passes or call ahead.”

  “Of course, sir.” The man bowed and at the same time, Elizabetta appeared through a set of double doors, beckoning us to hurry on.

  I took a deep breath through my nose. The cinnamon and copper base of the Altau marque was evident now that we were inside. It soothed me. Whatever the name of the ‘film company’ that was hiring these studio facilities, it was an Altau headquarters. I guessed if you wanted an excuse for a lot of fit young people with bulky equipment coming and going at all times, demanding privacy and security, making a movie was as good a cover as any.

  We walked to the left wing of the studios, the security getting discreetly tighter at every doorway.

  Skylur was in a windowless planning room, standing in front of an array of screens displaying the area map from San Fernando in the north all the way down to Mission Viejo in the south.

  I didn’t know the symbols, but assuming the red ones were strikes by Basilikos, it was reassuring to see only a few. All the way across the map were dozens of green symbols and a scatter of blue.

  Skylur turned and saw me looking.

  “Fatal attacks in red. All attackers dead and three fatalities in the delegates and their security teams,” he said somberly and waved at the screens. “Blue attacks repulsed with casualties. Green is good. Every green circle is a House in lockdown behind their own security and realizing what I’ve been saying about our vulnerability is not exaggerated.”

  Tarez stood beside him, half listening to a conversation on a commset, his gray-flecked black hair swept back and reminding me again of ravens’ wings. His marque was a blade-sharp, dry contrast to the rich copper and cinnamon of Altau.

  “The attack seems to have wound down. We may have overreacted,” he said, wagging his hand to show he didn’t think so, “but it’s emphasized to everyone the capabilities of the Houses remaining in Basilikos.”

  Skylur’s eyes hooded.

  He didn’t believe the separation of Hidden Path and Basilikos. He suspected Correia leading the Hidden Path was the acceptable political face and Matlal, or whoever ran Basilikos now, was the armed wing of the same organization.

  What I’d heard of Correia’s lukewarm condemnation of Basilikos, her constant mentioning of her ‘understanding of the very real alienation of those Houses’ and ‘reaching out to them’, all put me firmly in Skylur’s camp.

  But according to Elizabetta, too many of our allies in Panethus seemed inclined to take Correia at face value.

  At that moment, Naryn entered the room. As always, he walked with an effortless economy of movement, his body compact and powerful.

  His upswept brows pulled into a frown at seeing me. Again, as always.

  Skylur gestured for us to follow. Tom, Elizabetta and the guards stayed behind. Only Tarez and Naryn joined Bian and me in the next room, a small office.

  The furniture consisted of a single high-backed chair, a sleek black table and a gray carpet which matched the color of the shutters outside. In the precise middle of the table lay two identical rolls of tan paper, bound with blue ribbon and sealed with old-fashioned blood-red wax.

  Beside me, Bian inhaled sharply.

  What now?

  Skylur picked one of the rolls up.

  “House Farrell, House Tarez, attend,” Skylur said.

  I stiffened. The word, attend, in that voice. Whatever it was, I was required to formally witness what was about to happen.

  “Ykos Bazhir,” Skylur said.

  House Bazhir in Athanate. Naryn’s surname.

  Which meant Naryn was now House Bazhir. Did that mean he was no longer Diakon of House Altau?

  If it got him out of my hair, I didn’t care if they made him Grand Poobah, as long as it was at the other end of the country. Fairbanks in Alaska was nice, I’d heard. Maybe not this time of year, but still.

  “Ykos Altau,” Naryn replied, his voice calm and deep, hiding emotion. His blunt hands squeezed into fists for a second, then relaxed as Skylur passed him the roll.

  What’s the other roll? Bian? It has to be.

  “Ykos Trang,” Skylur said. The words seemed to rumble like stones on a wooden floor.

  “Ykos Altau,” Bian replied, her quiet voice hiding an inner turmoil she was struggling to contain. He placed the roll in her hands.

  “In deference to the witnesses, we should proceed in English,” Skylur went on.

  He nodded at Bian, and she broke the seal on her roll. The scroll whispered as she pulled it flat.

  It was in Athanate, of course. I couldn’t even read all the letters, let alone the words.

  Bian scanned down the document, a conflict of emotions chasing across her face.

  Skylur waited in silence. The room seemed to hold its breath.

  Bian spoke slowly, translating as she went.

  “Under the aegis of the authority invested in you as Master of House Altau, you hereby appoint me Mistress of House Trang, a House fully within the loyalty and domain of Altau. I am required to immediately establish the domain of House Trang in New Mexico, fixing my mantle at such location as I judge best serves this task. I am charged with due dispatch and the full cognizance of the Athanate laws and imperatives, to establish an obedient, loyal and thriving House within the terms and boundaries of my commission. This script shall be my warrant before House and Assembly,” she paused, “or other body of Athanate as may later be lawfully designated to have authority.”

  She rolled it back carefully and met his eyes.

  “I accept,” she said formally. “I swear, on my Blood, to honor this commission, and to return oath for oath, faith for faith, Blood for Blood, life for life.”

  “I grant the position, rights and privileges within my gift and contained in this commission script.”

  “My Blood is yours,” Bian whispered.

  “It is done,” they both said.

  At a nod from Tarez, I joined him in saying: “So witnessed.”

  Bian’s promotion tore me in two.

  Joy for Bian. I had no doubt that Bian would do well as Mistress of House Trang: for herself, her House and all of Altau.

  And sorrow. My friend had just been posted down to New Mexico, effective immediately.

  I could tell Bian wanted to ask about unfinished business here in LA, but she started with practical concerns. “Who can I take?” she asked.

  “A Diakon and your kin.”

  Her mouth compressed into a line. She’d need to start from next to nothing and immediately take control of the fifth largest state in the country. All while the Hidden Path and Panethus were fighting in the new Assembly and Basilikos was trying to kill everyone.

  Maybe there would be some remnants of House Romero she could adopt, if she could find it in herself to trust them.

  Even with that, we all knew it was an impossible task.

  She squared her shoulders. “I will appoint Tom Sherman as my Diakon,” she said.

  Skylur nodded. “But you can’t take Elizabetta, until her duties here are concluded.”

  That was splitting Tom from his kin, which was a serious requirement. All I knew wa
s that Elizabetta was coaching me on Athanate procedures. That wasn’t justification for keeping her in LA; others could do that. What duties did she have that forced her to stay?

  I stirred and opened my mouth to check that she wasn’t being held back on my account, but Skylur wasn’t finished. “Your first task will require the assistance of House Farrell.”

  Again, what now?

  Bian stopped him. “Who will help with the completion of Amber’s treatment?”

  Skylur shook his head slowly. “No one. Have you reached the resolution phase?”

  My heart skipped a beat and a churn of anger and confused emotions passed through me, but Bian simply nodded.

  “Then perhaps you can pursue it while you’re working together, so long as it doesn’t conflict with your primary tasks.”

  He turned to me.

  “Your list as syndesmon grows longer. Today’s attacks underline that we need an association between House Tarez and the LA packs. We need their help in getting Basilikos out. But you also need to negotiate an association between House Trang and the New Mexico Were, both to assist in the security of House Trang, and as an introduction to the emerging coalitions between southern packs.”

  The emerging coalitions? Felix had formed a temporary alliance with the Cimarron pack to defeat the Confederation’s attempt to sneak in through New Mexico, but Felix would be my introduction to that. Something else must have happened. I really needed to be back in the flow.

  “And you need to reconfirm the association between Altau and the Denver pack, which we have neglected.”

  That was one way of putting it. Pissed Felix off at every opportunity, I would say.

  “Consider those tasks as urgent. You will then negotiate terms between the Confederation and Altau. I want this all completed in three months or less.”

  What?

  “That’s flat-out impossible.”

  I managed to avoid saying I wouldn’t do it, but only just.

  This was my nightmare—an instruction from House Altau which I couldn’t refuse, but which I couldn’t accept because I was also part of Felix’s pack, and therefore completely opposed to the Confederation.

  “Then you’ll need to be exceptionally clever and lucky. Amber, I know you want the Were to be represented in the new Assembly. I know Felix wants it, too. So I’ll ask you what I asked him: what do the Were need to be present in the Assembly?”

  “The invitation of the Athanate.”

  The corner of his lip twitched. “More fundamentally.”

  My jaw flapped a bit before I saw what he was getting at. “A political structure?”

  “Exactly. For all Were. The Confederation have a structure, whether you approve or not. These new coalitions are developing it. We have an opportunity, a very short opportunity, to get all Were swept up into one or the other and then get both sides into a debating chamber. That seems the only way to prevent a war. We have to take them all.”

  “It’s a good argument. But the Confederation might not accept me anyway.”

  “If you walked into the territory of the Confederation today, yes, they might kill you out of hand, whether or not they want you to continue to perform the ritual for those of them that are failing to change. But they’re not stupid. Once they hear we’ve signed others into the Assembly, they’ll be demanding your presence and complaining you didn’t go there first.”

  That sounded possible and almost reassuring, if it wasn’t your hide at stake.

  Skylur did have a strategy, and a valid objective. It was a grand scheme, getting the Were into the decision process, and something that needed to be done. It was the speed he wanted it done at that was worrying. And…

  “I’m not even sure I can perform the ritual,” I said. “It seemed to work last time, but I wasn’t in control of anything. And I’m still…” I stumbled on how to describe it: faltering eukori, no Tara, no Hana, unresolved in my therapy, “…damaged.”

  Skylur didn’t reply.

  “And I imagine these southern coalitions won’t want to be part of the same institution as the Confederation,” I argued. “Every pack that isn’t in the Confederation hates and mistrusts them.”

  “Excellent,” Skylur said. “Two or more opposing parties. The minimal basis of the political process. It’s up to you to make Felix and the other coalitions understand.”

  And it would provide an advantage to him, allowing him to manipulate them through their differences. Of course he’d thought it through. All part of his plan.

  Tarez tapped his wristwatch.

  “You’ll have to take more specific instructions from House Tarez and House Bazhir,” Skylur said. “I must hurry to conclude here so I can take the opportunity of the lockdown to contact Houses individually and privately.”

  He sighed. “As the proponent of Emergence, I’m afraid this sort of politicking will be my role for the foreseeable future.” Something passed behind his eyes—regret? guilt?—and then his attention went to Naryn. “Your commission, House Bazhir.”

  He nodded to Naryn, who broke the seal of his roll, pulled it out and read from it.

  “Under the aegis of the authority invested in you as Master of House Altau, you hereby appoint me Master of House Bazhir, a House fully within the loyalty and domain of Altau, and to which House, Altau’s sub-Houses, associates and allies will answer. I am required to immediately establish the domain of House Bazhir in Colorado, fixing my mantle at the existing Altau possession of Haven and covering the city of Denver…”

  Chapter 22

  He got to the end and I managed to mutter: “So witnessed,” along with Tarez.

  I let Bian shepherd me out, against the flow of Skylur’s assistants, all of them carrying comms equipment and notepads.

  Damn. Not only was Naryn confirmed as the resident senior Athanate in my hometown, but Skylur had reinforced his rank. Naryn was effectively in command of Altau while Skylur concentrated on the politics. Not that he hadn’t been as Diakon, but even the thin argument that I outranked him had been swept aside.

  He didn’t waste a second. We were barely clear of the doors when he started.

  “House Farrell, your kin’s efforts to hold off the FBI are on the point of failing. You handed Agent Ingram too much information about us when you involved the FBI in closing down the Ops 4 operations, and he’s not a stupid man. He knows or suspects a great deal more about us. You have to—”

  Bian and Tarez started to protest at Naryn’s portrayal of events, but I cut across both of them. If Naryn thought he was going to walk all over me, he was wrong.

  “Without Jen holding him off while I was being treated, he’d have run out of patience a month ago, when you were so busy setting up this Athanate convention that you couldn’t do anything about it. We’ve bought time. I don’t regard that as failure. And I didn’t have any other option than to get the FBI involved. You certainly weren’t going to help me when I needed it.”

  Naryn and I glared at each other.

  I couldn’t fight him. Apart from the obvious issue that he was my superior in Altau, Naryn was an old Athanate, with all the physical benefits that accumulated. I’d seen him stare down an entire squad of Correia’s security on his own. I wouldn’t stand a chance.

  But we weren’t going to fight. He just wanted to maneuver me into performing to his agenda. And Skylur had given me tasks I intended to deliver on, impossible as they seemed. I’d fix the situation with Agent Ingram, but not with Naryn prodding and directing things.

  “House Bazhir, House Farrell,” Tarez said. “We need to move quickly forward. This antagonism is not productive, my friends.”

  If there was one Athanate here who could stand up to Naryn, it was Tarez. Not only was he older, he’d worked with Skylur longer. If circumstances had been slightly different, I knew Tarez would have been running Altau instead of Naryn, and Naryn knew it too.

  Tarez went on, motioning with his hand to keep me quiet for the moment. “Naryn, what is the heart of th
is conflict? Tell me.”

  “I’ve been given a vital role and Farrell has a part in that, disproportionate with her experience and ability,” he replied formally. “There’s history here, and I have to start anew as we need to continue. I can’t allow her to disobey instructions. I can’t have her damage my authority in front of the rest of Altau, as she did House Trang’s.”

  “I see,” Tarez said. “Amber, from your side, why do you have this ongoing problem with Naryn?”

  I wasn’t going to talk through Tarez, much as I appreciated his offer—I spoke directly to Naryn.

  “Last time we argued, you accused me of making tactical decisions in strategic situations. That’s the same problem I have with you. You’re a great Diakon. I have no issue with your tactical ability, no complaint about you in your role as Diakon, but I don’t believe you’re the right person to make strategic decisions for Altau.” Naryn’s eyes narrowed, but Tarez put a hand on his arm to urge him to hear me out. “Yes, we have history. Your decisions would have left Diana in Amaral’s control. You’d never have tried the associations with the Were that I proposed—associations that are now Altau policy and which are my primary task as syndesmon. No, instead of deals with Were, you frigging ordered me to try and force Larimer into the Confederation. Felix would have gone berserk. If I hadn’t disobeyed, we’d be screwed now. Diana would be dead. Skylur would have lost his position. The Denver Were would be in open conflict with Altau and the Confederation.”

  Maybe I needed to revise that assessment that Naryn and I weren’t going to fight. Bian was at my shoulder, leaning in to give her support.

  Tarez kept a grip like iron on Naryn’s arm. He gave us a minute and when he spoke, his words stung. “Do we all feel better now?”

  I stepped back and looked away, embarrassed. Naryn brought out the worst in me. I couldn’t seem to behave rationally when he was around. It wasn’t any excuse that it was a two-way street.

  If only Tarez were heading up Altau. But then I’d probably have to move to LA. At that thought, my Were, already snarling at the conflict with Naryn, made her displeasure known: I could feel my face flow toward wolf and back. Not a lot. Just enough to warn everyone.