“Yes. Mr. Dell and his daughter.”
Sotiris’s true last name was “Dellakos,” which fit. “What did they do here?”
“The daughter wasn’t well. Mr. Dell rented this house hoping the country air would benefit her.”
“And did it?”
“I can’t say, sir. I rarely saw her.”
“When did you last see her?”
“When I drove them up here from London the first time, and then again when they left.”
“And when did they leave?”
Marlin seemed to think about it for a moment, then said, “Five days ago, I believe. My mum’s been unwell, and the days mix together when I’m staying with her.”
Nico didn’t need anything more precise, since anything more than a single day undoubtedly put Sotiris and Antonia not only out of his reach, but most likely on the other side of yet another transition.
“Do you remember where you took them?” When the man nodded, he asked, “And where was that?”
“London.”
He had a sudden thought. “Can you take me there?”
Marlin scowled. “The carriage is for hire, sir, but it’s a long journey. It will put me behind on my chopping, which has to be ready before the next renters arrive.”
“I understand. Could you hire someone to help you with the wood, so it would go faster?”
“Yes, sir. Though it would cost a fair bit.”
“I would pay you for the helper as well as the carriage. Will you take me to the same place in London where you delivered Mr. Dell?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. When can we leave?”
1824, London, United Kingdom
NICO SAT ON THE driver’s bench with Marlin for the entire ride to London, needing conversation in order to learn the language, which was also called “English.” Marlin was startled at first, but then happy to have someone to talk with, to make the journey seem faster. They spoke of everything that occurred to Nico, from the kind of trees they were passing, to the expected length of the journey, and Marlin’s mother’s illness, as well as the rest of his family, which included a wife and three children—a son and two daughters.
By the time Marlin stopped the carriage in front of a hotel that he explained was the best in the city, Nico was confident that his English would pass, not as a native, but as a well-versed foreign visitor. After paying Marlin in gold francs to make it easier for him to exchange for the local currency, Nico alighted from the carriage and strolled into the hotel as if he owned it. He’d learned as a young teenager with an incredibly powerful magical gift that attitude was everything.
Approaching the front desk, he requested a large room, with a private bath, which he now knew was no more usual in hotels and inns in this world, than it would have been in his own. A sudden idea had him eyeing the middle-aged man flipping through a list of available rooms. Applying just enough magic to make the man cooperative, he asked, “Is Mr. Dellakos staying at this hotel? He sometimes calls himself Mr. Dell.”
The man glanced up and said, “Mr. Dellakos. Yes, he was. He left this morning.”
“Is his room available?”
The look the desk manager gave him this time was shrewd. “He was in a suite. His daughter was with him.”
“Yes, so he told me. Is the suite available?”
He flipped the page, and replied, “It is,” then quoted the fee for one night, which was ten times the cost of anywhere Nico had stayed thus far.
“Excellent. I’ll take the suite then, for two nights. The same suite as Mr. Sotiris,” he said, meeting the man’s gaze and adding an extra punch of persuasion—essentially compulsion—which Nico rarely used. But this was only for a hotel room, and it was, in any event, critical to finding Antonia.
The suite itself was a pleasant surprise. A much-improved version of his suite at the hotel in Paris, it had a private bath that included hot water on tap. Nico couldn’t strip fast enough. The tub was deep and the water so hot that he had to use a touch of magic to cool it somewhat before he could step in. It was marvelous to soak away the days of stress and dirt, but he didn’t, couldn’t truly relax. As he lay there, replaying every step he’d taken, thinking of ways to outthink Sotiris in hopes of catching up to him faster, he also contemplated how much magic it might require, and became aware that he’d been using a great deal of his power since arriving in this country. And after the extraordinary amount of power it had taken to follow Sotiris’s transition away from Reims, he knew it would be necessary to somehow recharge his magic before attempting another transition spell.
Deciding to examine the suite for some indication that Sotiris had worked magic in this room, he donned one of the heavy robes provided for guests and began to explore the suite more carefully. He’d known the minute he stepped through the door that the bastard had been there, because the scent of his magic was immediately obvious. Nico was assuming Sotiris would have performed the transition casting somewhere in these rooms, for privacy’s sake, if nothing else. The magic which remained from that casting, in addition to what Nico already knew about the transition spell, should enable him to duplicate the specific elements Sotiris had used to whisk himself and Antonia away again. But while the scent was unmistakable in the main room, it wasn’t until he entered the larger of the two bedrooms, that he found the leftover taste of Sotiris’s magic. It was so strong that Nico knew, without a doubt, that this was where Sotiris had cast the latest transition spell.
But while evidence of Sotiris was everywhere, Nico had found little to indicate Antonia had ever been there . . . until he walked into the tiny second bedroom, and was swamped by a scent that was uniquely hers. The bed was small, but he’d lain down on it anyway, needing the reassurance that no matter what else Sotiris was putting her through, she was alive, and well enough that her magic was still with her. That, in point of fact, her magic seemed stronger in this room, where she’d slept no more than a single night, than it had in the bedroom of the empty house, even though she’d bled in that room not long before leaving.
Frowning, he considered what that might mean. It could be that Sotiris had kept her unconscious, or close to it, until they left the house. There were many ways that a sorcerer of Sotiris’s, or Nico’s, strength could incapacitate a magic-user with less power. Ways that would keep a prisoner, like Antonia, compliant and cooperative. If her magic was returning, however, the question became whether Sotiris was allowing it, or whether Antonia’s magic was strong enough to rally by itself, despite Sotiris’s best efforts.
Nico wanted to believe the latter. Antonia had served Sotiris as both researcher and designer of spells, and weapons of war. But the truth was that such activities went against the true nature of her magic. She was smart enough to do the work Sotiris required, but it was her intellect more than her magic that went into those projects. Her magic was of the earth, of growing things, and the preservation of life, not of wars and killing.
So maybe, he thought, Antonia’s magic was reasserting itself now that Sotiris wasn’t pushing her to use it to serve his needs. And maybe she retained enough of her true self that she instinctively knew to hide that resurgence. Nico thought his logic was sound, but whether or not his assessment of Antonia’s magic was accurate, the possibility comforted him, and made him believe that when they were finally reunited, she would still be his Antonia.
With any luck, he would find someplace in London where the magic was strong enough to restore his power to its optimal level. He regretted the delay, but if he tried the transition spell with his own power compromised, he could end up stranded in the wrong place or time. If that happened, he’d have no option, but to try Sotiris’s spell multiple times until he happened upon somewhere he knew. If he was lucky, the spell would return him to Paris on the same day he’d originally arrived. That wouldn’t be great, but it would be b
etter than circling back to the house outside London over and over again. A mistake like that could cost his warriors their lives. And even if he eventually found the right place, Antonia might have lived and died, without ever knowing he’d spent his life looking for her.
He sighed and rose from the small bed. He’d have preferred to sleep there, surrounded by the essence of Antonia. But it made more sense to sleep in the bigger room, where Sotiris had not only slept, but used his sorcery. As with the hot water in the tub, soaking himself in his enemy’s magic would help him identify and dissect the spell he would need to follow the trail to Antonia. He fell asleep thinking of only that, hoping it would direct his unconscious mind to the necessary task.
THE NEXT DAY, Nico was wandering London in search of even a modest magical vector that might have survived the rampant industrialization all around him. He was close to giving up, and was contemplating a visit outside the city. Before leaving the hotel, he’d inquired of the hotel concierge as to places of historic significance. He’d thought a cathedral or palace might retain enough ancient objects or shadowy corners, even, to create small pockets of magic. The concierge had very patiently listed several such places in the city, but had also commented that if Nico wanted truly historic ruins, he should venture into the countryside. He’d also offered to acquire a map and mark those places, to make it easier for him to explore, although he would need a carriage and driver for the journey.
Nico had thanked him, then set off to explore the city, hoping it would provide what he needed. He wanted to leave that night, but if he had to travel away from the city to restore his magic to full strength, it would take more time, and every delay meant a longer head start for Sotiris in hiding both himself and Antonia so thoroughly that Nico wouldn’t ever find them.
Finding himself deep in thought, and standing in front of a magnificent cathedral, he climbed the wide stairs and went inside. The elderly priest in Paris had been not only helpful, but knowledgeable about history and his church. Maybe he could find such a priest in this church, too.
Once inside the cathedral, however, he didn’t bother looking for a priest. The building echoed with magic, though it was different than what he was used to. The magic in his world had been a natural part of the environment. This magic was more like . . . . He smiled, despite himself. It reminded him of the magic generated by those who’d worshipped his brother Damian as a god of war, because he was so very good at it. The old places in his world had felt the same. Places of such ancient gods, and so many centuries of prayers, that they’d created a magic of their own.
But though it was different, it was still magic, and Nico was a very powerful sorcerer—powerful enough that he could drink in the magic of this cathedral and his own magic would adapt to it. Relieved to have found this place, and more grateful than he could have expressed to the century’s worth of worshippers who created such powerful magic, Nico sank onto one of the wooden benches, and let the magic flow.
HE WAITED UNTIL after sunset to make use of Sotiris’s spell. The effects on the surrounding area of such a powerful casting were unpredictable, and he didn’t want any loud noises or unexpected lightning in the sky or, even worse, in the hotel, to draw attention to his departure. He’d used the time walking back to the hotel after sitting for hours in the cathedral, to search for a quiet spot to disappear, and decided on a narrow road which ran along and above the river. He didn’t see any lantern poles, as there’d been in Paris, and thought the area might be both unlit and mostly empty after dark. That should be especially true tonight, he thought, since judging from the previous night, there should be no moon to provide even the slightest illumination.
Having left the hotel carrying his backpack and wearing his workman’s clothing, he was about to descend to the river bank, when a pair of men appeared from between two buildings. Nico tensed, prepared to defend himself if necessary, when a third man appeared, dragging a young woman by the arm. Nico slowed. The woman was tiny—not simply short, but with arms so thin that he feared the man would break a bone with his tight hold on her.
“What’s this?” he asked, his voice pitched to a bored curiosity.
“Ah, young sir. She is beautiful, yes? So young and fresh. Do you like her?”
Nico shrugged, already seeing where this was going. He didn’t hire prostitutes, and wasn’t interested in this one, except . . . she didn’t appear to be a willing participant in the sale, and that angered him. If a grown woman decided to offer herself for sex, that was her choice. As long as she was treated well and paid fairly, he had no problem with it. But this girl didn’t appear to be either fully grown or willing.
Drawing closer, he took the girl’s arm and pulled her away from her handler.
The man shouted his objection, but the girl said nothing until she was close enough to speak without being overheard by the men. “Please, sir, take me for an hour. It won’t cost much, and . . .”
She stilled with a gasp when Nico shot a hard glance down at her, noting the bruise on her cheek, and reddened eyes above smeared makeup, as if she’d been crying. “Did they hurt you?” he asked softly.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, turning her face away. “I’ll heal.”
“You wish to buy her?” The largest of the three men had drawn close while Nico had been talking to the girl. “Ten pounds sterling gets you the entire night. And, young sir,” he added sidling even closer, and lowering his voice to a near whisper. “She is vampire. If she bites, it is heaven. And if you strike her, no matter how many times, she will heal. You understand?”
Nico froze. He didn’t let go of the girl, but turned his stare on the three men, looking for signs that they, too, were vampires. The night was too dark to see much, but the one who’d spoken had his lips pulled back in a leer to reveal a definite pair of fangs. And while the others said nothing, he noted for the first time that they carried no torch or lantern, and yet moved easily through the deep shadows between the buildings. Even he, with his sorcerer’s enhanced night vision, couldn’t see more than a foot or two into that darkness.
Switching focus, he drew the girl closer and studied her pixie-like features. She lowered her eyes, as if ashamed at what he would see. “Are you a vampire?” he asked.
Her response was whispered so faintly that he only heard because he saw her lips move. “Yes.”
“How long?”
That startled her into looking up at him for a moment, before immediately lowering her head again. “A few months. Or so I believe. Time is . . . difficult to remember.”
Nico frowned. Time loss wasn’t something he’d learned from his recent vampire studies. He wondered if it was common to all vampires, or unique to this one girl. Or was it the result of having been captured and forcibly made a vampire at such a young age? He lifted his gaze to the talkative male. “How old is she? When was she turned?”
The vampire shrugged. “Our master took her to his bed, and made her a woman first—” He snickered when saying that. “—and then a vampire, perhaps four months ago. As for her age? She is old enough to have breasts. That is enough, no?”
He gave the vampire a dark look, wishing he could kill all three males and set the girl free. But she wouldn’t remain free for long, he knew. None of these vampires were her master—the one who controlled her. If these three were killed, the master would call her back to his side and simply send her out with someone else. Or decide she was too much trouble, and kill her.
“Look at me, girl,” he demanded, and waited until she raised pale blue eyes filled with fear. “Did you ask to be made vampire? Did you go willingly to his bed?”
Her eyes widened, going from fear to something close to terror as her gaze swung to the three men.
“Never mind,” Nico said immediately. He didn’t need her to say the words. Her fear told him the whole story. “I’ll take her,” he told the vampires,
and dug ten pounds from the small purse on his belt. Then, gently holding her slender arm, he tugged her to his other side, so that he stood between her and the three vampires. “For the night,” he reminded them.
“Yes, of course,” the talkative one crooned. “But she must return before dawn, you understand.”
“I understand. Should I bring her here?”
“This will do.”
“Good. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He turned his back on the vampires, and still holding the girl’s arm, got her moving alongside him.
Once they were far enough away that he was assured the vampires couldn’t overhear, he put an arm around the girl’s waist to steady her and asked, “What’s your name?”
She gave him a startled look.
“Your real name,” he clarified. “I won’t hurt you.”
She studied his face, as if those pale eyes could see into his soul. “No,” she said so softly that he had to bend closer to hear. “I don’t believe you will. My name is Lilia.”
“How old are you, Lilia?”
“Seventeen, I think. Though I don’t know for sure, as my mother died when I was small.”
“Fuck,” he whispered. He knew what he had to do. He also knew it might be a huge mistake. But he was reminded of his conversation with the master vampire about souls—who did or didn’t have one. And his comment about Greyson having died a horrible death.
What if Nico had been wrong? What if the vampires in this world were as human as he was? He was a sorcerer, and while that had been normal in his world, it wasn’t here. In this world, he wasn’t any more “normal” than Greyson had been. Or even the master vampire. And what about this young girl, who could only think she was seventeen, because no one alive remembered her birth? Was she a bloodsucking monster? Or a child who’d been caught up in something she’d never asked for, only to find herself sold on the street like meat.
He looked into those clear eyes, and saw no evil, only more questions. He sighed. What the hell? He could take her with him. At least, he thought he could. He was powerful enough to protect her during the transition. And if it worked, and they both landed in the same place and time, then he’d have someone who’d shared at least this part of his unusual history. And moreover, someone who could live as long as he did and share whatever came next. Not as a wife or a lover. He neither wanted, nor needed, that. But as a friend . . . and a witness.
The Stone Warriors: Nicodemus Page 30