Byzantine Heartbreak (Beloved Bloody Time)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “The Lagash tend to be peace-makers and politicians. Thinkers,” Ryan finished.

  Like Ryan, Nayara mentally finished with a sigh.

  “The Assur tend to pick up telekinesis very well,” Ryan said. “They’re also the ones with great fighting ability—superfast reactions and strength, more than the other casts. They’re usually leaders, warriors.” Ryan glanced at Nayara.

  Her cast.

  Ryan grimaced. “Then there’s the Malsinne.” He hesitated again. “We’ve all known of vampires who seemed to be unable to learn psi talents. Vampires who were unable to become travellers because they simply couldn’t grasp the ability to jump.”

  Heads were nodding around the table.

  “Chances are, those vampires were of the Malsinne cast,” Ryan said quietly. “The Malsinne have no special powers. They have the hardest time stopping human drinking—the siren song runs strong in them. But they fight hard and dirty.” He hesitated again, then sat back. “That’s the four casts as we know them,” he concluded.

  “You said the Malsinne were the dark cast,” Justin said. “Do you know why?”

  “Yes,” Ryan said. “But I think that explanation is best left for another day.”

  Justin scowled.

  “You are not Malsinne,” Ryan added. “No one we know on the station is Malsinne. Everyone here can jump, time jump and grasp psi talents. The Malsinne have naturally found no place here, where we need those talents.”

  “So what do we do about Rinaldi?” Justin asked.

  “We hire her,” Ryan replied. “And we turn her, as requested. She will live on to appreciate the long term consequences of what she has started here today.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  When the door to her office announced Cáel, then opened automatically, Nayara barely got her feet off the table and onto the floor before he stepped in.

  “Is this a good time?” he asked, pointing to the dozen or so reading boards spread across the coffee table. He stopped on the opposite side of the table and he didn’t sit down.

  “I’m clearing my schedule. I owe you a story or two. We’re behind.”

  He smiled and it made his eyes glow. “I didn’t have to nag you this time.”

  Nayara pouted. “I can always cancel again.”

  He held up a hand. “I give up.” He pushed the hand into his trouser pocket. “Nayara?”

  “What?”

  “Salathiel was a Malsinne, wasn’t he? From all the hints you and Ryan have given, about how he changed...that’s part of why he changed, isn’t it?”

  Nayara put the board aside. Sadness filled her chest and made it difficult to breath. “We think so,” she replied. “I suppose learning about the casts has given us this one positive thing. It has given us an explanation. A partial explanation, anyway.” She tried to smile at Cáel. “It’s not the whole story though.”

  “I know. There’s never only one explanation for something that complicated.” He smiled back. “I have a couple of people waiting outside to see you and Ryan. May I bring them in?”

  She pushed at her hair. “I...yes.”

  “You are stunning as always,” Cáel assured her. “And Brenden has passed them through his security check.”

  Only slightly mollified, she sent Ryan an alert.

  The door to his office opened. “What’s up?” he asked.

  Cáel headed for the outer office door. “A couple of people you should meet.” He opened the door and beckoned.

  A man—a human—stepped into the office and Nayara’s senses kicked into high alert. She stood up.

  He was perhaps as tall as Ryan and blond. Not pale blond like Christian. A dirty blond. His hair was a practical short length that Nayara knew was a compromise between a military haircut and civilian length. He wore black trousers that looked like simple business trousers but were probably made of polymer and virtually indestructible, black shoes with soles designed to grip any surface, a black stretch shirt and a simple black jacket over the top that had four big utility pockets on the front and probably two in the side seams, as well.

  He had a square, hard jaw, a straight nose and unexpectedly blue eyes that were looking straight at her. But it was his walk and the way he held himself that told her far more about the man that the clothing and the on-point look.

  Highly trained in self-defence and offensive attack, she judged. With or without weapons. A fighting machine that considered himself on duty right now. He was quartering the room. Judging.

  “You’re a Universal Warden,” Nayara said, as Cáel turned to introduce him.

  “You’ve met one of us before, ma’am?” the man said. His voice was deep and he spoke with a confident tone. This one was a commander.

  “No,” Nayara replied. “But you cannot be anything else. And you just confirmed it.”

  “Kieren, ma’am. I’m the head of my unit.” He nodded.

  “No last name? No rank?”

  “The Wardens are like the old French Foreign Legion,” Ryan said. “Once they take in a recruit, his past is wiped clean and all members are equal. The Wardens are big on fraternity.”

  “For a reason, sir. It works,” Kieren replied.

  “The Universal Wardens are the elite para-military fighting force in the world,” Cáel said. “The Worlds Assembly use them for all civilian and military operations, including the personal safety of the Assembly. I just hired three units and assigned them the safety of Agency personnel during public functions. Keiren’s unit has the lead.”

  “Without discussing it with us, Cáel?” Ryan replied. “What the hell—”

  “But it will look so sexy, why wouldn’t you want them there?”

  Nayara turned her attention to the woman standing behind Kieren and Cáel. The woman was the one who had spoken. “Excuse me?” Nayara asked.

  The woman was short so she had to strain to see over the shoulders of the two men. Finally she stepped around them. Cáel moved out of her way with an apologetic wave of his hand.

  “I said, why wouldn’t you want a Warden guarding you at a public event?” the woman said. “Look at the guy! They’re sexy. Hot. Having one of them at the back of your shoulder makes you look like you’re really somebody.”

  Nayara glanced at Kieren. He wore no expression at all, but his jaw line was suspiciously taut.

  Nayara turned her attention back to the woman. “And you are...?”

  The woman gave her a huge smile. “Mariana Jones. But you can call me just ‘Mary’. I don’t go in for all that fancy name calling like you guys do. I know how important names are to you and all.”

  Cáel lowered himself onto the arm of the visitor chair and crossed his own arms. He wasn’t going to help out at all. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “You know that...how?” Nayara asked. She looked Mariana over. The woman was clearly human and in her forties. She was carrying a lot of extra weight, which she did nothing to disguise or hide. The clothing she wore was not in the least flattering. Mariana had nice skin and very nice grey eyes, but her clothes were a chaotic mix of colours that did nothing to enhance either. Her hair was greying and frankly pulled back behind her head with a piece of leather. She wore no make-up or other beauty enhancements like perfume or colourings.

  “I read a lot,” Mariana said. “All the time, when I’m not working. I read everything. The nets, books. I watch clips, too, but I really like to read, more.”

  “Oh, you’re the...um...writer?” Nayara asked.

  Mariana rolled her eyes. “Don’t be silly. I’m not a writer. I just like you folks. Cáel clued me in on what you need. I get to hammer out the story of your life the way I see it and you clean it up properly afterwards.” She smiled again. Her smile was nice, too. She had good teeth and the smile made her eyes sparkle. “It’s a good idea. A real writer wouldn’t get it. They wouldn’t get you.”

  A dozen different questions occurred to Nayara, but Ryan asked one first. “Why on earth do you like us?”


  Yes, why? Nayara thought.

  Mariana put her hands on her ample hips. “Well, it’s because you’re so different from anyone I know, I suppose.”

  “You like that we’re different?”

  Mariana laughed. “Of course, silly! Jeez...My life is so damned boring. You guys lead such interesting lives. You’ve really seen it all. Wars and big events and stuff. I just have this little old tiny life where nothing happens. Lord, my cat sometimes forgets to say hello to me when I get home at night. He’s so lazy he just stays in his basket!”

  “It sounds heavenly,” Nayara breathed.

  The door chimed and Nayara let it open. Brenden would be monitoring her visitors now that there were humans on the station, so this one would have been vetted, as well as escorted, too.

  Dionne Rinaldi strode in, Justin right behind her.

  Dionne had the sort of legs made for striding and she did it very well. Nayara resisted the need to tweak at her own skirt as Dionne planted herself in the centre of the room. The lights played wonderfully in Dionne’s hair and off the shimmery fabric of her business gown.

  “The world music awards are tomorrow night,” Dionne said, without preamble. “I can arrange tickets for you in the stalls. I can’t even begin to explain to you how strategically important these tickets are. Anyone who is anyone will be there and they all sit in the stalls where the cameras will catch them.”

  “I think you managed to adequately explain, after all,” Cáel said dryly. He glanced at Kieren. “It might be best if we picked up a bit later on your assigned duties.”

  “With due respect, Assemblyman,” Kieren replied, “This event tomorrow night is exactly the sort of event my men and I need to be advised of. I’d like to stay so I can brief the teams.”

  Cáel glanced at Ryan and raised his brow in question.

  “You realize we can defend ourselves quite well?” Ryan answered.

  “But when you do, it’s a publicity nightmare,” Dionne replied. “Wardens holding off over-enthusiastic fans won’t even register on-camera. I’d hire them, Ryan.”

  “But everyone liked that he was protecting his mate,” Mariana said, from the further back in the corner, where she had stepped. She sounded like she was speaking to herself, but Cáel turned to look at her.

  Dionne rolled her eyes. “Nayara, we’ll have to find you something suitable to wear. This is a black tie—”

  “Just a moment, Dionne,” Cáel interupted. “Mariana, what did you say?”

  Mariana ducked her head. “Oh, don’t mind me.”

  “The metrics demonstrated that Ryan’s performance with that vegetable was greeted with universal horror,” Dionne said.

  “It was a sucky survey,” Mariana replied.

  Dionne’s mouth dropped open and she turned to face the older woman. “Who are you, exactly?”

  “I’m no one,” Mariana replied, with a wave of her hand and a smile. “But we bought a copy of that research you were talking about just then, because we heard about that result and thought it was a bit too bad to be true. And it was.”

  Dionne gave a laugh that Nayara suspected was supposed to be dry, but came out sounding trill. “It was a professional survey completed by a highly reputable research company. I assure you, only expert analysts would be able to deconstruct the data in any meaningful way. Trying to break it down on a kitchen table using a souped-up home network will simply leave you confused. Demonstrably so.” She turned her back on Mariana.

  “Oh, we used the computers in the laboratory network at CERN City to break the data down,” Mariana replied.

  Nayara clamped her jaw tightly to hide her smile.

  Dionne spun to face Mariana. “How is that possible?” she replied flatly.

  “One of our members works there,” Mariana said. “So we used his graveyard shift to run the data. It only took a minute on the mainframe there. Barely a hiccup, really.” She gave a big smile. “The survey was biased. In all sorts of ways. The sample group was primarily white North Americans in their late eighties or their first regeneration. They’re people who remember the Censure period and are most likely to really hate vampires. And the questions were flat-out biased. The primary question, the one that got nearly a ninety-five percent thumbs down, was when they showed the clip with the tomato. They didn’t show anything leading up to it, or that Ryan was stopping the tomato from hitting Nayara. They just showed the tomato in his hand, the juice running down his hand and his fangs. Then they asked ‘does this give you an unpleasant reaction?’” Mariana threw up her hands. “Well holey-moley, I got an unpleasant reaction from watching you walk into the room and treat me like a dumb hick, Ms. Whoever you are, but I’m not about to lynch you over it. Neither are most of the people who watched Ryan with that tomato.” She smiled warmly at Dionne. “It was a sucky report, like I said.”

  Cáel was smiling openly, but he was standing behind Dionne.

  Dionne considered Mariana for a moment. “Even if the report is biased, it doesn’t mean that just because a few extremists—”

  “We’re not extremists,” Mariana replied with gentle dignity. “We’re a neural network.”

  Dionne laughed. “There’s barely any difference! Just because you and a few of your gossiping friends share a few common thoughts about vampires and were clever enough to spot the weakness in a report, it doesn’t mean you hold a valid opinion in this room about the true public perception of vampires.”

  “There’s five hundred and thirty thousand of us,” Mariana replied.

  “Which proves my point,” Dionne said coolly. “That’s not even a quarter of a percent of the world’s population. You’re hardly a significant sample.”

  “That’s just the eastern quadrant of the United States,” Mariana replied.

  Not just Dionne blinked at that. Nayara saw Ryan’s attention jolt and Cáel’s, too.

  “How many networks like yours exist?” The question came from Kieren.

  “There’s twelve in North America,” Mariana replied. “We don’t really keep tabs on everyone else unless we’re trading favours, like the CERN City thing.” She gave a small smile. “You know what the nets can be like. It changes all the time, depending on who is hooked into which net.”

  Nayara caught the look Ryan sent her and interpreted it. Perhaps they had been trying to win over the wrong demographic all this time. Half their battle was already won...via the nets.

  Dionne Rinaldi, though, had returned to her mission. The music awards. “Nayara, you will need to find a dress, if you don’t have one. Something spectacular, to compete with the glitter that will be seen on the red carpet. Usually, women coax a designer into sponsoring them by lending them a gown for the evening, if they will drop the designer’s name for the cameras, but with only two days, we’re not going to have time to arrange a deal like that, so—”

  “What about the designer you used for the ball?” Mariana asked.

  Dionne blew out her breath and turned to face Mariana again. “What?” This time her impatience was patent.

  Mariana gave Dionne another friendly smile. “You really need to visit the nets more often, sweetheart. You’re just not keeping up on the gossip, are you?”

  Dionne’s mouth worked as she searched for a suitable response. She cleared her throat.

  “If you did,” Mariana replied, “You’d know that there’s a right ol’ fuss going on over that velvet and chiffon number that Nayara wore to the Vienna ball. No one can figure out who the designer is and no designer is stepping up and taking credit. Everyone’s trying to copy the dress and no one can figure out how to make it. Not with all that silk chiffon floating off it the way it did.” She shrugged. “I just think Nayara should go with her strengths. Everyone loved that dress. She should do another one, same designer. If she can.” Mariana smiled at Nayara.

  Nayara smiled back, her heart sinking.

  Dionne bit her lip, studying Nayara. “Who was it?” she asked. “If it was Alberto Cuéllar, or House Pon
tecorvo, or even Berg & Carlsen, I can pull in a few favours with them.”

  Nayara rubbed her temple. “In truth...” She winced. “I had the head of the wardrobe department just run me up something.”

  Dionne’s mouth opened again.

  Nayara rushed to explain. “I was so busy, you see and Cáel sprung the event on us with so little warning. I asked Cybelia to put together a dress like the other women would wear so I wouldn’t look completely out of place. She probably looked at footage from other years’ balls and figured something out.”

  “You mean,” Dionne said slowly, looking even more horrified, “You didn’t even have any fittings?”

  “Cybelia has my measurements,” Nayara said. “And we don’t change shape.” She wished that Dionne’s look of dismay would go away. It was such a simple matter after all. Well, she had thought it was. It was just a dress.

  “No...this is perfect!” Mariana said, her voice dreamy and distant. “High fashion, vampire style.” She started to smile. “Vampire fashion, by Cybelia. Of course Nayara shouldn’t wear human styles. She should wear her own! And it should be different, too.”

  Dionne put her hands on her hips. “Really?” she said, with a tone of exasperation.

  “I like that idea,” Nayara said. “Cybelia has spent centuries studying fashion and clothing. She’s really very good and she has a whole team of designers that turn out clothing for our travellers. They would probably enjoy more creative projects.” She realized that all the men in the room had slightly glazed looks on their faces. “But this is definitely a discussion for another time,” she added.

  “Then the music awards are go?” Dionne pressed.

  “Oh, do say yes!” Mariana coaxed. “I want to see your dress!”

  Nayara couldn’t help smiling. Mariana’s enthusiasm was simply infectious. “Of course,” she said. “I want to see my dress, too.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Justin was taller than Dionne Rinaldi, even with her high heels, but her legs were as long as his, so he had trouble keeping up with her temper-fuelled stride toward the visitor’s lounge.