* * *
Naturally, the Convocation met at the Cloisters because of course they did. Only the Powers would think they had the right to use the museum built from parts of five different European abbeys and funded by money from John D. Rockefeller as a place for their meetings.
“If they wanted old buildings why are they meeting in the United States?” I asked as we drove the winding road through Fort Tryon Park at the extreme north end of Manhattan.
“Because the U.S. is where power resides. We are the only superpower left,” David said from the backseat.
We were a tiny convoy of two cars. Our car, driven by Lucius, led the way. We had the two vampires in the backseat. In the following car were Parlan, Ladlaw, Jolly, and the master of the White Masons, who had turned out to be a mistress. Madame Adrienne Pelletier was a tiny woman who looked to be in her seventies or eighties, but her dark eyes were piercing, missing nothing, and she had a motherly smile that was at odds with her clipped French accent. She exchanged air kisses with Hettie, patted Jolly on the cheek, reducing him to a boy with one gesture, shook hands with Parlan and declared he looked a fool in those clothes, told Ladlaw she wished she was ten years younger, and thanked Lucius for his service. She then took my chin in her gnarled hand and studied my face.
“You have suffered but survived,” she said, and I had found myself blinking back tears. “Don’t cry in front of the Convocation,” she said. “Like all men, they can’t handle a woman’s tears. And they always assume they are a sign of female weakness. Poor fools,” she added with that sparkling smile.
We pulled up to the front of the building. Moonlight washed the gray stone, turning it to silver, and made the tiles on the roof look like blood. There were guards who opened the doors and scanned each of us with frowning attention. They were more of the heavy-featured, brutal-looking vampires I had seen at the Hunter kennel. They bared their fangs at Hettie. David bared his in response. Hettie merely gave them a disdainful look and stalked past them with the air of a queen mingling with the hoi polloi. She then stood in front of the closed doors and gave the guards a pointed look. One of them actually hurried forward to open a door for her. She swept through and David gave a hoarse laugh and followed her into the building. A vampire was waiting for us just inside.
Within a few moments the rest of our party had joined us and the vampire led us deeper into the building. Our footsteps echoed off the stone walls, and the blank eyes of statues, paintings, and effigies seemed to follow us. It was unnerving, and I swallowed several times, trying to summon saliva from a suddenly dry mouth. At least I looked the part of brave rebel leader, or at least I hoped I did. Hettie had impeccable taste and had dressed me in a calf-length beige skirt cut on the bias so it hung at different lengths against my knee-high black boots. I wore a black silk shirt and a short black leather jacket finished the ensemble. Hettie was dressed in her usual shimmering peacock-colored silk blouse and black leather pants and boots. She looked very beautiful and very badass.
David couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He might have been dead, but he wasn’t dead-dead, I thought. I choked down a nervous giggle. His gaze held none of that red flicker he’d gotten when he’d wanted to bite me. He just seemed like a poleaxed ox, and I hoped he had started to transfer his affection for me to Hettie. She was certainly a more appropriate object for his affection. I just wondered if the age difference would prove to be a problem. There was again that giggle response. I bit the inside of my cheek to quell it.
We were taken into a long hallway lined on one side with windows inset with stained glass in some of the mullions. They looked out on the arches and columns of a cloister walk. The moonlight was bright enough I could make out the garden beyond. A dais had been set up at the far end with a table and chairs, forcing us to look up at the fourteen men seated there. It was all designed to make us feel very insignificant.
I started a bit when I saw my vampire liege, Meredith Bainbridge, among the fourteen. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I knew he was very old and the fact that he took in fosterlings from human families should have given me a clue. Seven of the men were vampires, the other seven werewolves. I recognized one of the wolves as the head of Goldman Sachs and another was a member of the Joint Chiefs.
They were staring at all of us, but mostly at Hettie. She gave them the fang-baring smile. “Yes, boys, I’m not a unicorn, a griffin, or a dragon. Or any other kind of mythical creature you can name. I’m real.”
“You run a risk coming here,” said Meredith. “All of you.”
I stepped forward. “No, actually, we don’t. We’ve all got a problem, and you’re going to need us—all of us—to help you solve it.”
TOR BOOKS BY PHILLIPA BORNIKOVA
This Case Is Gonna Kill Me
Box Office Poison
About the Author
PHILLIPA BORNIKOVA has been the story editor of a major network television series, a horse trainer, and an oil company executive. She lives in the Southwest. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Tor Books by Phillipa Bornikova
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
PUBLISH AND PERISH
Copyright © 2018 by Melinda Snodgrass
All rights reserved.
Cover photographs: exit sign by Leonard Zhukovsky/Shutterstock.com; New York cityscape by IM_photo/Shutterstock.com.
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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Tor ® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-2684-3 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-4299-4763-3 (ebook)
eISBN 9781429947633
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First Edition: April 2018
Publish and Perish Page 26