He pauses, as if turning the idea over in his mind. “I hadn’t heard. You were not hurt?”
“Not because he didn’t try. He used a friend’s body as host—a werewolf. Then tried to coerce her through pain to attack me.”
“But you vanquished him.”
I think back to that terrible scene in the basement of Avery’s house. Avery had possessed the werewolf Sandra, tried to force her to attack me. She had the will and strength to resist and in doing so, drove Avery from her body to perish.
“No. The were vanquished him. I think Steffan used the same tactics. There were five shape-shifters when we arrived here. There are four now.”
Vlad looks to Frey. “Do you know the shifters you were talking to?”
Frey shakes his head. “Met them for the first time tonight. But they seemed to know each other.”
“Then we need to speak with them.” Vlad waves a hand and a vampire steps to his side. “The shifters. Bring them to the library.”
The guard leaves and another memory from that terrible time with Avery surfaces. “There must be a talisman. Something of the shifter’s that Steffan now possesses. For the werewolf, it was the talisman she wore to effect the change. I don’t know what it would be for this shifter. But I’d bet he took something that belonged to one of them. It’s what makes the magic work.”
“Magic.” Vlad sniffs. “More like devilry.”
* * *
VLAD LEADS US ACROSS THE BALLROOM AND THROUGH a door at the far wall. He is obviously familiar with Steffan’s home and we find ourselves in a large square room lined on three walls with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and on a fourth with a fireplace and raised hearth. Next to the hearth is a paneled bar.
Vlad shuts the door behind us and goes to the bar. He pours some dark amber liquid into three heavy, squat glasses. He keeps one for himself and pushes the others toward Frey and me. Frey picks one up, hands me the other. The aroma is heady and smells of oak and vanilla.
Frey takes a sip, rolls it around in his mouth, swallows. “Whiskey. Good stuff.”
“The best,” Vlad agrees. “Fit for a king.”
I lay the glass untouched on the bar. “I’m a beer gal,” I say.
Vlad raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
In another moment, the door opens. Vlad’s guard escorts the four shape-shifters into the room and bows an exit.
Vlad continues to sip, his eyes focusing like lasers on the faces of the four men.
They look to Frey and I wonder what thoughts are transmitting themselves between them. They don’t appear nervous. Only curious and maybe a tiny bit uncertain. They are all dressed, as were the vampires in attendance, in formal wear, tuxes, silk shirts, colorful cummerbunds and handkerchiefs. They are clean-shaven, all dark haired, three look to be in their late twenties. The fourth is older, forty maybe, hair touched with gray at the temples. They are handsome in a tough, old-style-gangster way, more Italian than French.
There is no indication that Vlad frightens them. They are not vampire, after all, and it is improbable that they would have played a part in Steffan’s scheme. Steffan was old school, relegating any species other than vampire to the ranks of the subservient.
So why did Steffan invite them tonight?
Vlad’s thoughts echo my own. Why indeed?
Once again, he is following my thoughts without my being aware that he is doing so. I heave an irritated sigh and turn to Frey.
“Do they speak English?”
Frey nods. To the men, he says, “This is Anna Strong and Vlad Tepes.”
I glance at Frey. He has purposely used the name associated with the historically cruel figure instead of the more benign “Dracul.” And it gets a reaction from the shifters. Worried glances exchanged one to the other. Finally, one speaks.
“Why have we been called to speak with Vlad Tepes?” asks the one who looks to be the older of the four. He speaks English with an accent I can’t place. “We are only invited guests. We have nothing to do with what transpired with Steffan.”
The three behind him stir and nod in quick agreement.
Vlad smiles. “We do not accuse you of being a part of Steffan’s intrigue.”
His voice is as smooth as his oily smile. It makes my blood run cold and I am not on the receiving end of his attention. I see a bit of the legend now and wonder . . .
Vlad continues. “Why were you invited? What connection did you have to Steffan?”
The four look at each other. Once again, the one who appears older than the others speaks. “We are not sure why we were invited. The invitation came by way of messenger only yesterday. It said as leaders of the shifter bands we were to be in attendance at a grand convocation. An announcement was to made that would affect us all—vampire and shifter alike.”
Vlad raises his eyebrows. “What connection is there between vampires and shifters? I know of no such alliance.”
This time, a spark of concern flashes in the eyes of the shifter. “Recently, Steffan reached out to our community. We were not aware he was violating any accord in doing so.”
“What did he ask of you?”
“Nothing.” The shifter glances back and meets the eyes of the others. All nod in quick agreement. “We supposed he wanted to widen the circle of his sphere to include all supernaturals. We were not aware it was only shifters that he approached.”
Vlad takes another slow drink from his glass. The silence hangs heavy, seems interminable.
What are you doing? I finally ask Vlad.
Waiting, is his curt reply.
The numbing quiet stretches on.
Frey shifts at my side. His patience is growing short.
So is mine.
If we wait too much longer, Steffan is going to get away, I remind Vlad.
It won’t be much longer. Watch their eyes. They are communicating among themselves. Can Frey understand what they’re saying?
Frey must have answered in the negative because Vlad is shaking his head.
Unfortunate that there is not communication among shifters as there is among vampires. Frey has no knowledge of the language they’re speaking.
I sigh. Vampires think communication is like Esperanto . . . universal to all.
Vlad continues, But Frey did say the timbre of the conversation is becoming heated. I don’t think it will be long now.
Vlad is right. The spokesmen for the group steps forward once again.
“We do not know what plan Steffan had for us. But one unusual thing transpired tonight that we will share with you as a token of our goodwill. One of our ranks, Louis Archambault, disappeared shortly after you . . .” He clears his throat, starts again. “After the unfortunate scene with Steffan.”
“Disappeared?” Vlad’s tone is sharp.
“We were all transfixed, as you might imagine, by what was taking place in front of us. When it was over, we noticed that Archambault was gone. None of us saw him leave nor did he tell us where he was going.” He looks away, almost as if afraid to continue, but feels he must. “We thought he was overcome by the brutality. It may indeed be the case.”
Vlad ignores the knife-sharp accusation. “Where does Archambault live?”
“Near Paris. Asnières-sur-Seine.” He rattles off a street address.
“If he took a car,” I say to Vlad, “we could beat him cross-country.”
Vlad crosses to the door and, opening it, calls to his guard. He snaps something in French and the guard disappears, to return an eye blink later. His answer brings a smile to Vlad’s lips.
“His car is gone.”
Frey addresses himself to the shifters. “What form does Archambault take?”
“Bear,” the spokesman answers.
Frey’s expression is almost blissful as he looks at me. “A challenge. It’s been a long time.”
“No, Frey,” I snap back at him. “It’s too dangerous. You can’t come.”
But Frey has already retreated to a corner behind the bar. We hear
rustling and I know he’s stripping off his clothes in preparation for making the change.
I sigh. Unless I’m prepared to hog-tie him, arguing with Frey when he’s made up his mind is useless.
Vlad is waving a hand to dismiss the shifters when I stop him. There is still one more piece of the puzzle to snap in place.
“Did something happen tonight between Archambault and Steffan?” I ask. “Did Steffan borrow something of Archambault’s maybe or—?”
One of the younger of the shifters speaks up for the first time. He looks to his friends. “The tie?”
“Tie?” I say encouragingly. “What happened with the tie?”
His face reddens. “It seems Steffan liked Archambault’s tie better than the one he was wearing. He asked if they might trade. At the time we all laughed, it seemed silly. But the two did trade. And Steffan put Archambault’s tie on immediately.”
I nod to Vlad. He waves the shifters off and they waste no time beating a hasty retreat back to the party.
“Well, at least we have more than suspicion. Even if Steffan’s leap to Archambault was unsuccessful, he was planning on trying it if things didn’t go his way.”
I pause as another thought strikes me. “Which means Steffan must have suspected you might show up tonight.”
Vlad shrugs. “Ours is a tight-knit community. There are those whose allegiance to me is strong. Word can and does pass both ways.”
“And was it Chael who told you of Steffan’s plan?” I speak the words without giving them conscious thought. Chael played a major role in getting me here. And his cryptic words in the car about history to be made all make sense now.
“Chael is a friend,” Vlad replies.
He says nothing more.
The rustling in the corner stops. Frey emerges, a sleek black panther, and flashes us a green-eyed greeting—a growl emanating from deep within his chest.
He pushes against my legs until my hand lies on the top of his head.
Vlad watches, a smile touching the corner of his lips. “I may have been wrong about your panther,” he says. “He is not so biddable as I thought.”
Frey snaps in Vlad’s direction and I swear, I see him smile.
Vlad looks down at himself, then over to me. We are not so fortunate as your cat. We cannot shed our human forms, but we can shed these clothes. Steffan has a gymnasium in the house, which means he must have something we can use to make our travels more comfortable. Come.
Once again Frey and I follow Vlad through another door and up a staircase to the second floor. Frey bounds up the stairs with feline grace. Every time I see him in this form I’m amazed at the powerful muscles that ripple under midnight black fur. He is beautiful. My heart races. And mortal. I will protect him at all costs tonight.
The “gymnasium,” as Vlad called it, is in fact an exercise room: recumbent bike, free weights, a treadmill. Attached is a shower room and then another door that leads into what I guess is Steffan’s bedroom.
Not what I would have imagined a “king’s bedchamber” to be. It is spartan. A plain bed of rustic wood, a huge armoire with simple lines, a writing desk. And yet, a search of the closet and armoire yields Steffan’s clothes, finely tailored suits, slacks, silk shirts of the palest hues. In a drawer, we finally find what we are looking for. Sweatpants and shirts, sports shoes.
Vlad hands me a sweatshirt and pants, a pair of socks and a pair of Steffan’s shoes. They may be too big, he says, although I have found American women to have surprisingly large feet.
I would object but for the fact that Steffan’s shoes look to be a pretty good fit. I head back for the shower room to change. As I shut the door, I see Frey take up position in front of the door and it brings a smile.
When I’ve changed, I lay the dress Steffan bought for me on the bed, reflecting that I never thanked him for the gift.
A moot point now.
CHAPTER 24
VLAD, FREY AND I LEAVE THROUGH A BACK ENTRANCE. THE HOUSE BEING PERCHED ON THE TOP of the hill makes the first part of our journey effortless. Downhill all the way, we easily pace each other, panther and vampire. Vlad is our guide. He knows the countryside, and once we reach the main highway to Paris, he keeps us to underbrush when we can find it or out-of-the-way back roads when we can’t. An auto trip of five hundred miles takes about eight hours. We should make it in three.
Vlad and I exchange very little communication during our race. He once comments that I have remarkable stamina for a new vampire. That gets a chortling snort from Frey and no comment at all from me.
The countryside goes by in a blur. I can’t distinguish village from town from city. It’s still dead of night and at our speed, even farmland and gently rising hillock flow under our feet and paws like a smooth river. The star-dazzled clear sky above is a Milky-Way smudge. It’s a most wonderful feeling—as close to flying as an earthbound, flesh-and-blood being is likely to get.
My worry that Frey would be unable to keep up with us is unfounded. He sometimes bounds ahead like a frisky puppy off the leash and I realize we, he and I, need to make sure we set ourselves free like this on a regular basis.
It’s almost as satisfying as sex.
Then you must not be doing it right.
Vlad. Impertinent and insolent as ever.
Keep out of my head.
I can’t help it. You American women think such delicious thoughts. Like children, whatever pops in your mind, you express.
My mind, Vlad. My mind. You don’t find me violating your privacy.
He chuckles. You should. Oh, the things I could teach you. Frey would thank me.
Frey would chew you up.
So provincial. Wait until you’ve been around as long as I have. Morality becomes an archaic concept.
And love? Does that become an archaic concept as well?
No reply. Vlad turns his thoughts off like a curtain coming down. Good.
We’re approaching the outskirts of Paris. Vlad stops and Frey and I gather near him.
“Archambault lives in a northwestern suburb of Paris. Rue de Château is a main street. We have beat him by many hours. We will go directly to the address. We can rest there and wait for him to show up.”
Frey presses against my legs and I scratch the top of his head. An act that sets Vlad to laughing.
“A girl and her pet,” he snorts.
Frey raises a paw and growls a retort.
* * *
ARCHAMBAULT’S HOME TURNS OUT TO BE A BIG VILLA on a street studded with them. It is approaching three in the morning yet there are lights on inside. We can only guess that he must have called ahead to let someone know he was returning—perhaps a servant. Or a wife. I realize we should have asked for more particulars about his household.
Too late now.
The house has a huge walled garden in the rear. Frey bounds over the fence easily. In a moment, he is back, taking my hand in his mouth to pull me toward the yard.
“I think it’s clear,” I tell Vlad.
Frey is gone again, clearing the six-foot-plus wall in one graceful leap. I follow, Vlad close behind. We alight in a garden, newly planted along one wall, centered by a stretch of green lawn, bordered on two other sides by flowers and what look like fruit trees. Nothing much in the way of shelter. But Frey has already found a place between the greenery of some big, flowering vines and a cherry tree. He lays down and looks up at me. I snuggle next to him, my head on his chest. He nuzzles the top of my head before letting his body relax. His breathing becomes deep and regular, his heartbeat slows. In a moment, he is asleep.
Vlad has picked a spot a few yards away to hunker down, his back against the trunk of a willow tree. I feel him watching.
You should get some rest, too, I tell him.
I don’t require that much sleep anymore, he responds. One of the benefits of age. But you should close your eyes. I’ll stand guard.
There is a moment of silence and just as I’m drifting off, Vlad’s voice is in my head once mo
re.
How did you know it was Avery who possessed your friend? he asks.
She was not a friend, is my immediate reply. Far from it. She was another victim of Avery’s. But at first, I didn’t believe it was possible—transmutation. Until Avery started to manifest himself in the were more and more, giving himself away with cruel words and acts. He tried to coerce a friend of his host’s to kill me and when that didn’t work, set the werewolf upon me himself. It was only because the host he chose was strong enough to thwart him that he was vanquished.
Vlad is quiet. I let a moment go by before I ask, How will we know for sure if Steffan is present in Archambault?
Steffan is nothing if not egotistical, Vlad replies. I think he will give himself away the moment he sees us. He will want us to know how clever he has been.
I let another moment pass. How will we kill him? With Avery, with the werewolf, he was defeated because he could not stop Sandra from changing. With a shifter, there is no imperative to change. He could remain in the shifter’s body for as long as he wants. Another thought strikes me. I don’t know if he could impart immortality to a host, do you? If he can, and he’s smart, he will not give himself away to us.
Vlad chuckles softly. At the sound, Frey stirs and opens his eyes. I stroke his head and the panther relaxes again, falling back into a deep sleep.
If only it were so easy for me.
Vlad is watching us again. I think I was mistaken. You two may be well suited after all.
I take that as a compliment.
You should. I haven’t met too many mixed-species couples that have made it work. Your strengths balance each other’s. You are strong, a leader. He is strong in his own way, but a follower.
I bristle. Frey has his own mind. If anything, he gives me strength. He is clear-headed and loyal—
Vlad raises a hand. I was not disparaging your mate. To the contrary, I was complimenting him. You have chosen well and I hope you have many good years together.
Not what I was expecting. I release a breath. Let my mind wander back to the problem at hand. Why did you laugh when I asked if Steffan could impart immortality to a host?
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