The Aurelian raised her brows. ‘You think a vampire wishes to protect you? Are you ill, child?’
‘He’s saved my life more than once. He isn’t like the rest of his kind, I assure you.’ Although he and Creek were surely the biggest meddling idiots she’d ever known. How dare they violate her trust and follow her here? Hadn’t she specifically told them not to touch her or interrupt her during the ritual? She’d never wish them death, but they’d earned some kind of punishment.
‘Hmph.’ The Aurelian pointed her blade at Creek. ‘And this one?’
‘He’s Kubai Mata.’
The Aurelian took a harder look at him. ‘Is he?’
‘Yes, I swear it.’ Chrysabelle prayed for mercy, despite what the two fools behind her had done. ‘Please. They don’t deserve death.’
‘Neither do they deserve leniency.’ The Aurelian rested the flat of her blade on her shoulder. ‘But for your sake, I will allow them to live. They will not, however, be a party to our discussion.’ She strode back to her table, laid her weapon down, and took up an ornate octagonal box. She removed the lid and the perfume of myrrh spilled into the room. ‘Until I release them, they will be bound in complete silence, unable to hear or see us.’
‘As you wish.’ Thank you, holy mother, for sparing them.
The Aurelian stood before Creek. ‘Rise.’ He did as if lifted by an invisible force. Still, he said nothing. She tossed a handful of the powdered substance toward him. It dropped in a perfect circle around his feet. A column of weak light, like sunlight filled with dust motes, rose from the circle until it touched the ceiling.
Creek put his hands up and looked around. He opened his mouth and shouted. Not a sound escaped his conjured prison. He cocked his fist back, muscles bunching in his shoulder, and punched the column to no effect. The rise and fall of his chest increased. He crouched down, splayed his fingertips on the ground, and closed his eyes.
The Aurelian moved to Mal. ‘Get up, vampire.’
He got to his feet, but unlike Creek, his posture stayed defensive. He glared at the Aurelian like he was trying to warn her. Like he was trying to protect Chrysabelle.
The woman snorted softly and looked at Chrysabelle. ‘This one truly believes he is your protector, doesn’t he?’
Chrysabelle wanted to say I told you so but stuck with, ‘Yes.’
The Aurelian tossed the myrrh at his feet and the process repeated itself, enclosing him in the strange magic. Mal scowled and crossed his arms, looking around and up before settling into the odd perfect stillness only a vampire could achieve. He looked like a statue. A beautiful, dangerous, boneheaded statue.
The Aurelian went back to her table, replaced the lid, and set the box aside. ‘Now, comarré, we begin. You may call me Nadira.’ She took her seat, propped her elbows on the table, and laced her fingers beneath her chin. ‘You are Chrysabelle. House of Primoris Domus. You’ve found a way to access me that few comarré have, although all who accept my signum bear it. Someone guided you. Another comarré. One you are very close to. You also hold a piece of powerful magic. One the nobles would very much like to have. Is that why you’ve come? To find out the real power of the thing you’ve hidden away?’
‘No.’ Nadira’s information didn’t surprise Chrysabelle. It was the woman’s job to know the unknown.
‘What, then?’
Chrysabelle hesitated. The Aurelian hadn’t yet limited her questions as she’d done to Maris. Perhaps she would allow more than one. ‘I’ve come because I wish to help the vampire.’ She tipped her hand toward Mal. ‘To find a way to remove the curse he lives under.’
Nadira laughed. ‘Oh, child, you know not what you ask or you would not ask it. I can supply you with this information, but you must understand that removing his curse will not help him.’
‘Why not?’ The Aurelian had the information to remove it, just as Chrysabelle had suspected she would. Victory was at hand.
‘He lives under two curses, yes? One that he earned by draining the monster that sired him, the second given to him by the nobility to restrain him. If you remove the second curse, the one that fills his head with voices from the souls he’s taken, then the first curse returns in full force. He will no longer think twice about killing but will once again become the ravening beast whose only thoughts are death and destruction. What little humanity is in him will vanish.’
The weight of defeat squashed Chrysabelle’s chest, forcing out the joy that had just blossomed there. Faintness overwhelmed her and the air in the room thickened until each breath became a chore. She shook her head, trying to shake the numbness out of her head. ‘No, that … that can’t be. I told him I would help him. There must be another way. What if the first curse is removed as well?’
‘There is no undoing the first curse, only the second. Do you wish to know how to remove this curse, accepting what he will become?’
Chrysabelle inhaled a deep, shuddering breath and looked at Mal. Part of her wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. Instead, she walked to him and put her hands on the invisible wall between them. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t let you go back to that. I can’t lose you that way.’ She cared for him too much. And feared that side of him unlike anything she’d ever known. He would understand, wouldn’t he?
She studied him a moment longer, wishing she could touch him, explain, lessen the burden of this decision. She faced Nadira. ‘Just because I know how to remove his curse doesn’t mean I will allow him to do so.’
‘Very well. To remove the curse placed upon him by the nobility, he must right a number of wrongs equal to the names on his skin. One for every life he has taken. Only then will his curse be removed.’
Chrysabelle’s hope for helping Mal disappeared. How many acts of repentance must he perform? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? And to what end? So he might become a killing machine again? The bleakness of it soured her stomach. ‘You’re sure there is no cure for the curse of killing his sire?’
Anger flashed in Nadira’s eyes. ‘You question me?’
‘Only out of concern for him, not because I doubt you.’
Nadira shrugged. ‘If there is a cure, I do not know it. Is there anything else you would ask? Your time here grows short.’
‘Yes.’ She watched Nadira carefully. ‘I understand I have a brother.’
Nadira’s eyes narrowed to slits. She stared until Chrysabelle felt like a butterfly about to be pinned and placed under glass. ‘Who gave you this information?’
‘So it’s true, then?’
‘I asked you a question.’
‘I don’t wish to say.’
Nadira stood. ‘You would refuse to answer me? Your lack of respect astounds me.’
‘I mean no disrespect. Only to protect the one who gave me the information.’ Maris might be dead, but there was no reason to spoil what was left of her name. Nor would Nadira’s knowing make any difference in the question’s answer as far as Chrysabelle could see.
‘What you mean and what you do are two very different things.’ Nadira came around the front of the table, her long robes swaying with an angry tremble. ‘I am more than just the keeper of records for the comarré. I am your creator. My husband was Balthazar, one of the Magi who followed the star.’ She paused. ‘I alone held the Child in my arms. Such power you will never know.’
Chrysabelle bowed her head. She’d known the Aurelian was old, but her true age was staggering. ‘No, my lady, I will not.’
‘Even then, Samael’s dark forces followed us. Under his orders, his children killed my husband and his fellow Magi. I alone escaped, saved by the holy magic surrounding me.’
At the mention of the Castus Sanguis’s leader, Chrysabelle shivered. The Aurelian’s chambers would be safe from such intrusion, but the name still chilled her core.
‘Without me, you would not exist. Yet you dare not answer me?’
‘Yes, that is what I dare.’ Chrysabelle raised her head. ‘If power cows me, how will I surviv
e the forces against me? I truly mean you no disrespect, but I need answers. The Primoris Domus has done little to help me.’ She pointed toward Mal. ‘This vampire you think so little of? He has done me more good than my own kind. I came here for answers. If you cannot or will not provide them to me, I bear you no ill will. But the covenant is broken. A new age is upon us. The rules of the past must change to reflect that.’
Nadira lifted her chin. ‘You have more courage than I thought. Fewer brains perhaps, but courage sometimes counts for more.’ She crossed her arms and leaned against the table. ‘Yes, you have a brother. He is closer than you think. Always has been.’
‘How will I know him? What’s his name?’
‘You will know him by his signum.’ She paused. ‘Are you not intersted in your father?’
‘By his signum? How? My father?’ Chrysabelle almost staggered backward with the weight of the unknown. ‘Yes, of course, if you are willing to tell—’
Nadira waved her hand dismissively. ‘You have asked too many questions already. I am done answering. Leave me.’
‘Please, my brother’s name.’ Chrysabelle wrung her hands together. A name would make things so much easier.
Nadira pointed over Chrysabelle’s shoulder.
She turned as the columns of light surrounding Mal and Creek disappeared. They stumbled forward, blinking. Behind them was a massive bronze door. Chrysabelle shook her head. ‘Please, we must return through the portal by which we came. Where is it?’
Nadira didn’t bother to look up. ‘That portal was destroyed from the other side not long after you arrived.’
‘Tatiana,’ Mal snarled.
‘Leave now or your companions die,’ Nadira said.
‘Do as she says.’ Chrysabelle shoved them both toward the door. She refused to come this far only to lose them. Together, they burst through and left the Aurelian behind. The room they entered was stunningly bright compared to the dim confines of Nadira’s realm. Slowly, it came into focus.
‘Where are we?’ Creek asked.
‘Bloody hell,’ Mal growled.
Dread almost brought Chrysabelle to her knees. They were in the Primoris Domus.
Tatiana stared past her reflection in the plane’s window and into the comfort of the night sky, her hand closed around her locket. Soon she would be home. And soon after that, on the doorstep of the Primoris Domus. She would get what she’d come for, too, because Madame Rennata had much to atone for. Tatiana’s level of displeasure had reached a new high upon discovering her comar and the comarré recently purchased for Nasir had fled the estate. Tatiana had had no choice but to leave them behind in Paradise City.
Octavian settled into the seat beside her and handed her a goblet of blood. She took the unexpected offering. ‘Where did you get this?’
He smiled. ‘Was I not the most proficient head of staff you ever had?’
She nodded, her mood lightening. ‘You were that in spades.’
‘I’ve always kept your plane stocked with blood.’ He clinked his glass to hers. ‘We must be sure your next head of staff does the same.’
‘Replacing you will be difficult.’ If not impossible.
He smiled and sipped his blood. ‘Not as warm as you like it, but better than nothing.’ He frowned. ‘I recognize that look. You’re thinking about the lost comarré, aren’t you?’
She swallowed. ‘How dare those simpering little cows run away?’ She growled in frustration. ‘Do you know how much money I have invested in them? Mark my words, Madame Rennata is going to hear about this. One more reason to head home as soon as we can.’
‘We’ll be in Corvinestri soon. Is there anything I can do for you until then?’ The silver in his eyes gave his intent away.
‘You can promise me I never have to return to Paradise City again. I loathe that place.’ She shuddered. ‘And I hate living without servants.’
His mouth wrinkled in a poorly suppressed grin. ‘You’ll enjoy knowing that I turned the Nothos loose before we left.’
For the first time in many hours, she laughed. ‘Bravo! I adore you.’ She kissed his bloody mouth. ‘Maybe there is something you can do for me after all.’
He kissed her back, taking her free hand and pulling her to her feet. He walked them backward toward the bedroom. ‘I’ve always wanted to join the mile-high club. I just didn’t think I’d do it when I was dead.’
Chapter Thirty-nine
Madame Rennata walked toward them, the same sour old bag Mal remembered from his last trip here. Except then she’d had a marked limp and a cane. Ignoring the heady, swirling scent of comarré blood, he stepped in front of Chrysabelle. ‘We were just leaving.’
She ignored him. ‘Chrysabelle.’ Her tone held a malice that raised the small hairs on Mal’s neck. Laughter rippled through the voices. ‘You have violated several laws. You were warned about bringing this creature into our home, and yet you’ve done it again.’ She glared at Creek. ‘And now another—’
‘He’s Kubai Mata,’ Chrysabelle interjected.
‘I don’t care if he’s the pope. A violation is a violation.’ She narrowed her gaze. ‘Worse yet, you took them into the Aurelian’s sanctuary.’
Mal glanced behind them. The door they’d come through was gone. Comarré tricks made his skin crawl.
Comars gathered behind Rennata. Big, burly males that looked like they’d be more at home in the Pits than at the beck and call of some vampiress. ‘I hereby renounce you, Chrysabelle Lapointe. You are disavowed. No longer comarré.’
‘What?’ Chrysabelle’s entire being shuddered. ‘You cannot—’
‘I can. And I have.’ Rennata snapped her fingers. ‘Seize her.’
‘Touch her and I’ll kill you.’ Mal grabbed Chrysabelle first, Creek a second after him. Together they put her between them and faced the comars.
Rennata’s nostrils flared. ‘If anyone is to be killed, vampire, it will be you.’
‘You want her?’ Mal snarled. ‘You’ll have to go through me.’ Drain them. Kill them.
‘Make that us,’ Creek said, snapping out his halm.
Chrysabelle squeezed Mal’s shoulder. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, her voice thick with determination. ‘I’ll go with them. Rennata is right. I am in violation. I have not come this far to become a coward now.’
‘No one would ever call you a coward,’ Creek said.
‘Not twice anyway.’ Mal turned to her. ‘I say we fight.’ The voices yowled in agreement.
‘I’m game,’ Creek said.
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘You’re sure you want to do this? Creek and I will get you out of here if that’s what you want.’
Creek nodded. ‘In a heartbeat.’
‘I’m sure. And I know you both would.’ She smiled grimly. ‘What’s the worst they can do? Take the name comarré from me? They cannot change who I am.’ She lifted her chin and stared Rennata down with a fierceness that made Mal proud. ‘I am done being comarré anyway.’
‘If you’re sure,’ Mal said one last time.
‘I am.’ She cupped his face, kissed his cheek, then shifted and did the same to Creek. ‘Thank you both. But I must see this through.’
She slipped from between them and into the grip of the comars. Fear flashed in her eyes, belying her brave smile. Mal’s gut told him he was a fool to let her go. Beside him, Creek radiated anger, no doubt feeling the same way. But Chrysabelle was a stubborn woman, and if he’d learned anything about her, it was that she would choose her own path, regardless of what anyone else said or did.
Rennata glared at them as all but two of the comars disappeared with Chrysabelle down a hall. The remaining comars brandished swords that matched Chrysabelle’s, leveling them at him and Creek. Rennata pointed to the door. ‘Outside. Now. You may wait for her there.’
Creek approached the woman, his arms tensed at his sides. ‘The grand masters will be interested to hear your treatment of Chrysabelle.’
‘Tell them what you
like,’ Rennata said with a shrug. ‘I don’t report to them.’
Mal snarled at her, snapping his fangs. The beast stared out through his eyes.
She twitched, then sniffed. ‘You don’t scare me.’ With a twirl of her robes, she marched after Chrysabelle. The comars closed in on him and Creek. Another went ahead and opened the door, gesturing for them to leave.
Creek pushed past them, muttering under his breath. Mal followed behind to join him on the portico. Thankfully, it was dark out. One of the comars slammed the door behind them.
‘You have some knowledge of their rituals. What are they going to do to her?’ he asked the slayer. Every fiber of his being wanted to rush back in there and find a way to get her out.
Creek clenched his fists. ‘Some comarré rituals I know. This is one I don’t.’ He stared through the windows, but even Mal couldn’t see beyond the sheer curtains. ‘I say we go back in, bust some heads, and get her out of there.’
‘I can’t get farther than the main hall. Wards.’ A million rescue scenarios played out in Mal’s head, none of them making him feel any better, since he couldn’t act on them. He needed something else to think about. ‘We should figure out how we’re going to get back.’
Creek was about to speak when the door opened. Two comars held Chrysabelle under her arms. She was limp, almost lifeless. They dragged her through the door and dropped her at Mal’s feet.
Creek swore as the door shut.
Mal had no words for what he saw. Whining flooded his brain. Red haze clouded his vision. As red as the blood drenching her back. She moaned softly. Mal went to his knees beside her. The runes along her spine, the signum that had gotten her in to see the Aurelian, were gone.
They’d cut them out of her skin.
Doc ran because he could and because he hadn’t run, really flatout run, since the curse had taken away his true form. Now, as a leopard, he flew over the cracked sidewalks and pitted downtown streets. Those who saw him were either othernaturals who didn’t look twice or humans out to see something exciting. Tonight was their lucky night.
Block after block disappeared until he started to run out of the neighborhood most othernaturals considered safe. He neared Little Havana, the smell of vampire spice teasing his sensitive nose. He rounded the next corner to loop back around. A small group of brawling fringe cluttered the street. Weapons clanked and flashed as they fought. He ducked into an alley and climbed the fire escape like it was a metal tree. From the roof, he took another look. The fringe were getting ashed fast. Two down. Now three.
Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) Page 32