With Golden Boy, as Rans insisted on calling him, I had the overwhelming urge to get out of Dodge as fast as humanly possible. With Nigellus, I was almost desperate to know more about him. And that bothered me, because it implied that my reaction wasn’t natural.
Whether it bothered me or not, though, it looked like I was going to have the opportunity to get to know him better, since he was to be our ride and, presumably, our host. That didn’t stop my heart from giving a little nervous lurch as his attention fell on me.
“Ms. Bright,” he said in that arresting voice. “A pleasure to meet you, even though the circumstances are somewhat regrettable.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Mr.—?” I trailed off, fishing.
A pleasant smile crossed his face. I could easily imagine a panther smiling like that at its prey. Or maybe a shark.
“Nigellus will suffice,” he said. “Anything else would only be a pretense. Now, let’s get out of this public setting, shall we?”
Rans stowed the Suitcase of Doom in the Escalade’s spacious cargo area, and ushered me into the second row of leather-upholstered seats. It seemed rather ironic that I was now jetting across the country in first class seating, only to be whisked away from the airport in a vehicle that cost more than I’d made in the past three years combined. Hadn’t I just lost everything yesterday?
I settled into the luxurious comfort of the oversized Cadillac, with Rans in the second-row seat across from me. The engine purred to life, low strains of some kind of soothing classical music playing through the sound system. Nigellus navigated skillfully through the airport congestion, and within minutes we were pulling onto a freeway heading east.
“Shall I stop somewhere for food?” Nigellus asked. “Or have you eaten?”
It took me a beat to realize I was the only one he could reasonably be addressing. I checked in with my stomach, but even though the East Coast was an hour ahead of St. Louis, it wasn’t yet lunchtime. “I’m fine,” I said. “Let’s just get where we’re going without attracting any more attention than necessary.”
“A wise strategy,” Nigellus replied. “You should probably be taking notes, Ransley.”
Rans raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you implying something?”
“Only that a bit of discretion now and again can yield more successful results in the long term than picking the wrong fights at the wrong times.” Nigellus’ dark eyes glanced at us through the rearview mirror.
“You’ve been listening to gossip.” Rans’ voice was flat.
“I always listen to gossip. How else am I to keep a finger on the pulse of current events? Really, though… slicing off the arm of an Unseelie guard in the middle of a populated human city?”
I remembered the wet slap of my captor’s dismembered limb against the pavement, and was glad I’d declined the offer of a meal.
“That was my fault,” I blurted. “Or, rather, it was because of me. He was trying to save me from being kidnapped.”
“I am aware,” Nigellus said. “And while that was clearly a worthy goal, it was also a politically sensitive one that might have been handled with a bit more finesse and a bit less wholesale amputation.”
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time Caspian and his goons get their hands on living, breathing proof of a treaty violation,” Rans said.
“Your point is taken,” Nigellus allowed.
I sat forward in my seat, grasping the backrest in front of me so I could get a better look at Nigellus’ profile, as I asked the first of many questions I wanted answered.
“Tell me about this war. Rans said you know about this stuff, right? Because I’ve been dumped headfirst into the deep end of a world I knew nothing about until a couple of days ago.”
Dark eyes caught and held mine through the reflective medium of the rearview mirror. Again, I felt the odd sensation of kinship, of fascination. I bit the inside of my cheek hard.
“You’re demonkin,” he said, “though the trace is fainter than I’m used to sensing. Your existence poses something of a conundrum for those of us in the nonhuman world, Ms. Bright.”
“Call me Zorah,” I shot back, “and answer the question, please.”
Nigellus cocked an eyebrow and returned his eyes to the road. “As you wish. Before you can understand the war, you must understand that there are different realms occupying the same space as the Earth you know. Each is populated by a different… species, I suppose you’d say.”
“Like… alternate dimensions?” I asked, digging deep into my brief flirtation with being a sci-fi nerd girl as a teenager.
“If you like,” he agreed. “There is overlap between the realms. Weak spots in the fabric, where things can pass through. The human realm had the unfortunate luck to be a fertile, productive land with many things of value to those in the other realms.”
“Go on,” I prompted, trying to keep half an eye on Rans while also focusing on the answers I was finally getting. My vampire companion seemed to have gone very silent all of the sudden.
“As often happens, greed overcame the better natures of those in Hell, and in the Fae realm of Dhuinne,” Nigellus continued. “Both the Demons and the Fae began to infiltrate the human realm in search of wealth and power.”
“Wait,” I said. “You’re saying Hell is a real place?”
Jesus tap-dancing Christ. My fundamentalist grandmother would be having a field day with this if she were still alive.
“Indeed. Not to disappoint you, but it’s relatively free of fire and brimstone—though it is a rather barren place. I fear demonkind was on the losing side of the propaganda war that the Fae waged on Earth, as well as the actual war.”
I took a moment to wrap my brain around that. “What… so faeries started a smear campaign against demons to make humans hate them? That’s…” Crazy? Ridiculous? Unbelievable? “… pretty smart, actually,” I finished.
“Smart, and quite effective, as it turned out,” Nigellus agreed. “The earthly realm was caught between two forces made up of individuals both good and bad—inasmuch as such a moral framework has relevance outside of human society. But over the millennia, humans learned to fear and hate demons. Not that the Fae didn’t command fear as well, but they also commanded a kind of fascination.”
“But no one much believes in faeries anymore,” I pointed out. “While a lot of people still believe in demons.” With a shiver, I remembered the description of the message scrawled on a jail cell wall in blood, the night my mother’s assassin had hung himself.
Kill the demons.
It was Rans who spoke. “Since the end of the war, the Fae have been going to great lengths to erase themselves from human consciousness. It’s easier to infiltrate than to conquer.”
“Certainly, it’s easier to rule from within than without,” Nigellus agreed.
“When did all of this happen?” I asked. “I mean, was the war a recent thing, or…?”
“Oh, yes—quite recent,” Nigellus said. “There was no official declaration of hostilities, but the conflict began around the fall of the Roman Empire, and the treaty ending it was struck in the late eighteenth century.”
I stared at his profile for a moment, in case he was joking. He didn’t seem to be.
“The late eighteenth century,” I echoed. “Okay, so… talk to me about this treaty. I guess it says the faeries can fuck over humans to their hearts’ content? That’s totally awesome.”
Nigellus paused for a moment as though choosing his words. “The end of the war was less of a clean victory and more of a… messy draw, shall we say. In addition to gaining control over Earth’s resources, demonkind had also sought to gain control over the Fae themselves. Obviously, it didn’t work out that way.”
“So I gather.”
“Under the treaty, the Fae retain their independence with a single exception—they must pay a tithe to Hell. In exchange, demonkind agreed not to interfere in the human world anymore… all of which makes your existence a rather interesting conundrum,
as I said before.”
I was still struggling to keep up. “In what way?”
“You’re part succubus,” Rans said, rejoining the conversation even though his shoulders were still tense. “That was considerable interference on someone’s part.”
I blinked. “And all of this is my fault how, exactly? Assuming it’s even true in the first place… and I haven’t conceded that point yet.”
“Fault isn’t precisely the point,” Nigellus said.
“So I’m… what? Some kind of political football?” I pressed.
“An inconvenient political football, yes.” Nigellus might as well have been discussing the weather, for all the emotion in his tone.
Again, I worried why I was so drawn to him when by every objective measure, he came across as one seriously scary mofo. Though I suppose he deserved points for taking us in, not to mention driving sixty miles on short notice to pick us up from the airport.
He glanced in the mirror, but this time his gaze landed on Rans. “How did you discover her in the first place? The signs are hardly obvious.”
I let my gaze fall heavily on Rans, as well, wondering if he’d admit to committing wholesale shed destruction and unprovoked neck molestation.
He looked irritated. “Hardly obvious? We’ll have to agree to disagree on that, I think. As it happens, I fetched up in her garden shed to rest for a few minutes after a Fae agent blew a hole through my chest with a shotgun. I drank from her to replenish myself, thinking she was human. Her blood has… some rather distinctive properties.”
Nigellus snorted. “Oh, dear. That would explain it, I suppose. For an undead erection lasting more than four hours…?”
“Excuse me?” I squeaked, trying not to blush crimson. “Holy shit, was that what you meant by the quip about my blood being ‘stimulating’?”
Apparently, not even vampires could burn someone to ashes with the power of their gaze. Otherwise, Nigellus would presumably have gone up in a puff of smoke under the dark look Rans was leveling at the back of his head.
“Yes. It was,” he said, biting off the words, one by one. “Nigellus, don’t be crass.”
“You’re absolutely right, of course,” Nigellus said diplomatically. “Forgive me, my dear. I forget that all this is new to you.”
“It’s going to continue to be new to me until I get the answers I need,” I snapped. “So, give me some. I assume you’re a vampire as well?” It was a guess, but it seemed a logical one based on Nigellus’ darkly striking looks and the aura of otherworldly danger that seemed to lurk beneath the cultured exterior.
“No,” Nigellus said, as though I’d surprised him. “What would give you that idea?”
He sounded genuinely taken aback.
Beside me, Rans shifted. He was looking out the window, and didn’t move his gaze from the scenery outside as he spoke.
“There are no other vampires,” he said quietly.
SEVENTEEN
“THERE ARE NO other vampires.”
Rans’ voice had been so low as to be nearly inaudible.
“What… none?” I frowned, having difficulty taking that on board. “Why not? What happened?”
He waved a careless hand toward Nigellus in the driver’s seat. “You’ll need to ask someone else that question. I have no memories at all of either the war, or its immediate aftermath.”
“All of the other vampires were killed in the fighting,” Nigellus explained. “They were allied with my people during the last few centuries of the conflict.”
I mulled that over for a few moments. “So… that makes you a demon, Nigellus?”
“For my sins,” he said lightly.
Another short pause. “I thought you weren’t allowed to interfere in the human realm,” I pointed out. “Aren’t you doing exactly that right now?”
“Neither of you are human,” Nigellus replied smoothly.
Rans gave a derisive snort, though he still didn’t look away from the window.
‘Technicalities have value,” Nigellus insisted. “To answer your question more fully, Zorah, there are unwritten rules. Places where the Fae don’t generally care to go, and where Demons still maintain a low-key presence.”
“Places like Atlantic City?” I hazarded.
“Atlantic City… Monte Carlo… Las Vegas… New Orleans. There are a few others,” he agreed. “Some places are more conducive to Fae magic than others, and as a species they’re not fond of either technology or rampant vice.”
“Whereas demons are all about rampant vice?”
“Demons are morally adaptable, within limits,” he allowed. “Morally, and… otherwise. Though, even given that adaptability, I must say I’m surprised that you’ve managed to pass as human for… what? Two decades or more on your own? That’s rather extraordinary.”
I thought of my chronic health problems, my relationship issues with family and lovers alike, my nagging unhappiness, and my inability to quite fit in anywhere. A bitter smile pulled at my lips.
“What can I say?” I quipped. “I guess it’s a gift.”
Conversation trailed off after that. Both Rans and I were surrounded by our own dark clouds of discontent, and Nigellus seemed content to let us stew. What I had just been told was fantastical. Ridiculous. So why did it also feel like the missing jigsaw puzzle piece that, when slotted into place, would help my life make sense?
After all, I’d been so convinced that there was more to the world than what we were told. Now the explanation was being handed to me on a platter, garnished with mystery, uncertainty, and danger. Was knowing the truth better than remaining ignorant, even if it meant my life was in danger?
I wasn’t sure.
* * *
A little over an hour later, we pulled up to what could, without too much of a stretch, be called a mansion. Nigellus turned out to be a consummate host, showing us to our respective guest rooms before giving us an abbreviated tour of the house and grounds. For some reason, it surprised me that the place was done up in cool pastel shades, the rooms light and airy, the decor inviting.
It did not surprise me that Nigellus had a butler. A freaking butler, like Alfred from the Batman movies. Nigellus introduced him as Edward, and it was obvious that he, too, knew Rans from long acquaintance.
“How lovely to see you again, sir,” the elderly gentleman enthused, shaking Rans’ hand in both of his wrinkled ones. “Allow me to get you and your lady friend a drink.” His bright eyes slid to me. “And perhaps a light brunch after your journey?”
I declined the food but accepted a glass of iced lemonade, sipping it in the kitchen while Rans nursed a glass of rosé wine. Nigellus excused himself to deal with some business, whatever that meant. Edward puttered around, prepping food for the evening meal. The old man was impossible not to like, and I wondered how on earth he’d ended up working as household staff for a demon.
Somehow, it seemed impolite to ask.
“You’ll need to acquire some basics,” he told me as he chopped vegetables. “Clothing, toiletries. Would you like me to have those things delivered?”
To say I wasn’t used to having a butler on call was putting it mildly. “I can’t ask you to do that, Edward,” I said. “I’ve got a bit of cash on me. I can pick up the essentials if there’s a Wal-Mart or something nearby.”
Rans made a disgusted noise. “Nonsense. We’re practically on top of the boardwalk here. I’ll take you out shopping. You can use Guthrie’s card—his accountants won’t even notice such a negligible amount.”
For a moment, I was caught between paranoia at the idea of going out in public like a normal person who wasn’t being hunted by pissed-off faeries, and irritation at myself for allowing that paranoia to control my actions. I didn’t think Rans would have suggested it if it wasn’t safe, and it seemed wrong somehow not to take advantage of an opportunity to see someplace I’d never been before. It was a beautiful day, and a beautiful city, and… well… screw the damned faeries.
“I’m gam
e,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
Which is how I found myself browsing adorable vintage clothing stores and old-timey drugstores on the Atlantic City boardwalk with a vampire wearing Ray-Bans; dragging an ever-growing number of bags around while ignoring my increasing fatigue and achiness. We stopped at a little cafe to rest for a bit, sitting at a wrought iron table shaded by trees while I wolfed down an Asian-inspired salad with chicken and orange sections.
“So, tell me more about yourself,” I urged around a mouthful of lettuce drenched in sesame-ginger dressing. “You know way too much about me, and I know next to nothing about you. You’re English, obviously. Where were you born?”
He was watching me tear through the salad with evident fascination, but I refused to let it bother me. Now, he settled back in the chair, determinedly casual. Other voices buzzed around us, combining with the sound of wind rustling through leaves to ensure that our conversation would be private as long as we spoke quietly.
“As it happens, I was born in Yorkshire,” he said. I nodded, still chewing. “… in thirteen twenty-one,” he finished.
I choked on the bite of salad.
“Thirteen… twenty-one?” I rasped once I’d dislodged the lettuce from my trachea. “As in, thirteen twenty-one A.D.?”
“You asked,” he said mildly.
And I had. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been dropping hints pretty much since I’d met him that he was old. In fact, I wasn’t certain why hearing him rattle off an actual year should make such a difference to me. It did, though. If he was to be believed—and almost despite myself, I did believe him—then he’d been born in the freaking Middle Ages.
“What was it like?” I couldn’t help asking.
Both eyebrows lifted behind the reflective black of the sunglasses, as though I’d surprised him.
“It was harder in some ways, and easier in others,” he said after a beat. “I was… the oldest son of Thomas and Lisabeth Thorpe. I had two younger brothers and three sisters. The family ran an iron smelting operation, processing ore from the northern mines. It was sweaty, backbreaking work, but it was honest, and at the end of the day you had something to show for it. We never went hungry.”
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