Nightshine: A Novel of the Kyndred

by Lynn Viehl

  Genaro glanced up. “What I need, Mr. Marlow, are Riordan, Taske, and Marena. Stop making excuses and find them.”

  “Yes, Mr. Genaro.” Marlow turned on his heel and left.

  The presidential suite at the Barceló Karmina Palace was as secure as it was sumptuous, but Genaro felt caged. Back in Atlanta he could have retreated to the vault beneath his enormous home, where he kept his extensive collection of antiquities. The only time he ever relaxed was when he was surrounded by the forgotten glory of his Roman ancestor, Genarius, who had clawed his way up from nothing to become one of the most important and influential men of his time. While Genaro didn’t believe in reincarnation, he had often felt as if his ancient ancestor watched over him, reaching an invisible hand across the millennia to guide him along the path to power.

  Genarius wouldn’t have sat in a hotel suite, waiting like some indolent fool.

  When Genaro stepped outside into the hall, two armed men turned toward him, their expressions blank, their eyes watchful.

  “I’m going out for a few hours,” he told them as he went to the elevator.

  In the lobby, he had the concierge send for his car, and directed his driver to take him to Energúmeno’s compound. Along the way he used the car phone to check in with Delaporte back in Atlanta.

  “We’ve linked Les Frères de la Lumière to a European arson-for-hire ring,” his chief of security said. “They’re burning down properties and taking a cut of the insurance from the owners via charitable donations to the order. It’s all strictly across the pond, sir; we’ve confirmed that they’re not operating anywhere in Mexico.”

  An inventive insurance scam, but not one that interested Genaro. “What about Energúmeno’s assets? Have you found anything new?”

  “He’s contributed to some campaign funds of local and state officials involved in environmental protection. Looks like a PR move to tie in with his waste-disposal holdings.”

  Genaro looked out at the marina the car was passing, and saw a deckhand casting off a bowline from a charter boat. Two tourists were seated behind the captain, already drinking beer. The casting perch above the helm was shrouded with a fitted canvas cover that looked mildewed around the seams, as if it hadn’t been removed in some time. They’d be drunk by the time they went around the restricted zone to waters where they could fish without getting arrested… .

  “Don, check into these the campaign donations,” Genaro said. “I want the officials’ names, titles, job descriptions, and any legislation they’ve been involved in.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Protected habitats, wildlife reserves, or any area with restricted access. Anyplace Energúmeno could operate from with impunity.” He leaned forward to tap on the glass divider, and when the driver lowered it, he said, “Take me to the police station downtown.”

  “We’ll need some time to do the research, sir,” Delaporte was saying.

  “We’re out of time. Put everyone you have on this, and get it to me before the end of the day.” He ended the call and sat back, mentally reviewing the maps he had seen of the city. As the driver stopped in front of the station, he glanced out to see a woman sitting alone in the shadowy courtyard of the café across the street. Although he couldn’t see her features, the scarlet poppy she wore tucked in the hair above her left ear drew his gaze.

  You should have tried the wine…. Energúmeno does not allow us to leave the compound… . As soon as you walk through the gates, you will forget me.

  “Wait here.” He got out of the car and watched the girl as he crossed the street. She didn’t try to run, only offering him a gap-toothed smile as he approached.

  Genaro pulled out a chair and sat down. “Did he send you, or leave you behind with the other useless women?”

  She sipped from a glass of red wine, licking a drop from her upper lip. “You have an interesting mind, señor. No other man has ever remembered me after I compelled him to forget.”

  “Compelled? You drugged me.”

  She set down the glass. “You must leave Mexico now.”

  “Tossing me in a prison didn’t work,” he told her. “Neither will threats from your employer.”

  She studied him for a long moment. “My master could have killed you from the moment you arrived in Manzanillo. You do not interest him anymore. Go back to America, señor.”

  When she rose, he stood and seized her wrist. “I’m not finished with you. Where is he? What has he done with the Kyndred?”

  Instead of looking frightened, she chuckled. “If only my master had given me permission to compel you to go.” She lifted her hand.

  Genaro grabbed her wrist, but instead of gouging her nails into his neck, she rested her hand against it. A terrible longing devoured his anger as he gazed into her beautiful eyes and remembered her lovely name.

  “Forgive me for shouting, Quinequia,” he said, bringing her wrist to his lips. “It’s because I want you.”

  “I will tell you a secret, amigo. When I touch them, all men want me.” She leaned closer, resting her luscious curves against him. “You are cold and vicious, and care for nothing but power, but I could make you my lapdog. At least for a little while.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, eager to please her. “Take me with you. Let me care for you. I can’t lose you.”

  Her breath, sweet with wine, touched his lips just before she kissed him. Genaro enfolded her in his arms, avidly working his mouth over hers, delirious with desire.

  “Very nice for such a nasty man.” Quinequia pulled back and looked down. “Now you will release me.”

  His arms fell to his sides, and panic made him blurt out, “Don’t send me away again.”

  “No, unfortunately, I cannot do that.” She gripped his throat with both hands. “Listen to me, Jonah Genaro, and obey me. You will not search the islands. The man you seek is not there.”

  “Not there,” he agreed, his voice dull.

  “Bueno.” Quinequia’s eyes burned into his. “You will forget our meeting, and when I leave here, you will never think of me again.”

  “Forget.” The word tore at him, but the pain ebbed almost immediately as her face blurred. “Never again.”

  She led him back to the table, helping him to sit in the chair. “Good-bye, señor.” She took her hands away, turned her back, and walked across the street to his car.

  Genaro sat and looked at the empty wineglass across the table until a man touched his shoulder. He glared up at his driver. “What is it?”

  “You’ve been sitting here for a while, sir,” the man said, his expression uneasy. “I just thought I’d see if you were all right.” He tugged at his collar, as if it felt too tight.

  “I’m fine.” He stood, inhaling deeply to clear his head. “Wait for me in the car.”

  He watched the driver retreat, and then turned to pick up the wineglass. A faint red imprint on the rim indicated a woman had been drinking from it, but the courtyard was empty. The last thing he remembered was being in the back of the car as it pulled up to the police station, and checking his watch.

  He turned his wrist to look at his Rolex. Twenty-three minutes had passed, and he couldn’t remember a single moment of them.

  Genaro took out a handkerchief, wrapping it around his hand before he picked up the wineglass and carried it across the street with him.

  Inside the station he went to the command center and called one of the research techs over. “I want this analyzed,” Genaro said, handing him the glass. “Use the saliva for DNA typing and run the prints. Cross-reference both against our acquisition database in Atlanta.”

  “Do you have any details to narrow the search field, sir?” the tech asked.

  “Just one.” Genaro’s collar had grown damp with sweat, and he reached up to loosen his tie. “She’s female.”

  By morning most of the islanders had recovered enough to return to their homes, where Charlotte suggested through Tlemi that they stay.

  “Pici’s contract
ions have stopped, and Ihiyo is stable,” she assured them. “If anything changes, I’ll send word.”

  Xochi glanced at the other women and then replied in her language.

  “She say, you no need,” Tlemi translated, and tapped the side of her head. “We know.”

  Colotl issued some instructions as well, but stayed behind with Tlemi as the other islanders left.

  The women looked after their patients while Colotl took Samuel down to the beach to show him his hook-and-line method of fishing. Although they couldn’t communicate without Charlotte or Tlemi, simple sign language sufficed, and they caught breakfast in a few minutes. Then Colotl gave him another, less enjoyable tutorial on how to gut and clean their catch.

  “How delightful,” he muttered, pausing for a moment to shake off the scales clinging to his hands and forearms. “With all the fish I eat, I must remember to give Morehouse a raise.” As he applied the knife again, it slipped and sliced across the skin between his thumb and forefinger. “Damn it.” He pulled off the strip of rag he’d used to hold back his hair and wound it around the gash.

  Colotl frowned and reached into the pouch he carried, taking out the long pointed leaf of a succulent plant, and gesturing for Samuel to apply it to the wound.

  “Don’t tell Charlotte, or she’ll break out the suture kit,” he joked as he unwrapped his hand. The rag had no blood on it, he saw, because the cut had closed before it could begin bleeding. For a long moment he stared at it, and then, as a chill ran down the length of his spine, he brought his fingers up to his mouth, touching the edge of his teeth. None of them had turned into fangs.

  “Samuel.” Colotl gestured toward his mouth, tipping his head back and pushing a finger behind his front teeth, moving it from side to side.

  He imitated the motion, but felt only the roof of his mouth. He removed his fingers and shook his head.

  Colotl released a breath, looking as relieved as Samuel felt.

  “You guys went fishing and didn’t tell me?”

  Samuel glanced over at Drew, who was crossing the sand. “I thought I’d let you and Agraciana sleep in.”

  “I appreciate that.” Drew gave Colotl a wary look before crouching down to examine their catch. “Nice. I haven’t had fresh fish in years. Samuel, we’ve got a problem.”

  “Is this new or preexisting?”

  “New. Earlier I took a walk around the house and the grounds. There isn’t any copper within five miles of this spot. Which is basically the entire island.”

  Without copper, Drew couldn’t use his ability, which allowed him to manipulate the metal into any form he wished.

  “They’re running the houses off methane-fueled generators.”

  “Yeah, I already checked them out. They’re solid steel, and all the wiring is fiber-optic.” Drew kicked over a shell in the sand. “According to Gracie, copper is poisonous to the vampire. Figures he’d make sure the natives couldn’t get their hands on any.” He frowned down at the sand.

  “Samuel.” Colotl picked up the cleaned fish that he had strung together, and pointed to the villa. “Niccuiz. I take.” He gestured toward the sun as if moving it to the center of the sky. “Tiyazque oztotl. Cave.” He pointed to them and himself.

  “We meet at the cave at noon.”

  Samuel exchanged a nod with him, and after the islander strode up the beach he turned to Drew, who was kneeling and sifting sand through his fingers over a small mound of the same. “Now is not the time to build sand castles, Andrew.”

  “I’d make millions if I did.” Drew stood and surveyed the rest of the shore. “Is it all like this? The whole island?”

  “I haven’t walked the entire perimeter, but I assume so.” Samuel eyed the sparkling sand. “Is it artificial?”

  “Yeah.” Drew uttered a pained laugh. “It’s also riddled with gold.”

  “Surely you mean pyrite, or mica.”

  “Samuel, besides computers, the only thing I’m an expert on is metal.” He bent and scooped up a handful of the sand, stirring it with his fingertip. “Everything that glitters here is the real deal. At least one-sixth of the beach is twenty-four karat.” He poured it out of his hand. “Cagey bastard. He hid it in the one place Cortés’s descendants and the historians would never think to look.” He glanced up. “The vampire is—was—Motecuhzoma. Last king of the Aztecs.”

  Samuel listened as Drew related what the master and Stanton had told him. When his friend finished the bizarre tale, he grew thoughtful. “That explains the artifacts in the villa. I thought they were reproductions, but they’re simply newly made.”

  “You really think he’s the big M?”

  “It’s possible,” Samuel said. “Early explorers always brought disease to the Americas. It’s not a broad leap to imagine one of them was dark kyn. He must have turned the Aztec, who viewed his transformation as the process of becoming a god.”

  “Maybe that’s what let him survive what he’s been through.”

  Drew shook his head. “He’s gone loony tunes, but he’s still smart. He’s been taking over the drug cartels, and he can control anyone else he needs. If he does build this army and uses it to take over Mexico, Motecuhzoma’s revenge is going to have a whole new meaning.”

  Of all the objects in the villa, the only ones Samuel had not been able to touch-read had been the strange clubs hung high on the first-floor entry wall. “Come back up to the house. There’s something I need to do.”

  Samuel intended to drape the security camera with a cloth to obscure the lens; instead he found the equipment smashed and dangling from a frayed wire. Drew reached up, pulling down the ruined unit and running his fingers along the wires.

  “More fiber optics.” He inspected the camera. “Looks like it exploded.”

  Colotl joined them and grimaced at the twisted mass of metal. “Charlotte.” He mimed striking something with a club, and then swept his hand toward the rest of the villa.

  Drew whistled. “Your lady has a bad temper.”

  “She doesn’t want them to know Pici is close to delivering.” Samuel led the men into the living room, where he began taking apart the modules making up the conversation pit. “Grab one of these and bring them out into the hall.”

  By stacking the modules, Samuel was able to fashion a small tower beneath the display of the clubs. “You’d better climb it,” he told Drew. “It won’t hold my weight.”

  “Just catch me if I fall,” Drew joked as he started up.

  With Colotl’s help, Samuel was able to hold the modules steady, and Drew worked one of the clubs free of the hooks holding it to the wall. Colotl reached up to take it from him before he climbed back down.

  “Xitlachia,” Colotl said, his expression sobering as he passed it to Samuel. “Micoani yaotlatquitl.”

  “Sounds like he’s trying to say ‘handle with care,’ ” Drew said, only half joking.

  Samuel hefted the surprisingly heavy weapon. Carved from a single piece of teak, the four-foot-long business end had been fashioned like a squared blade, with deep notches on both sides. Single rows of black, prismatic stone blades had been fitted inside the notches, their rectangular shape as puzzling as the razor sharpness of their exposed edges.

  “It’s not a club,” Samuel murmured, turning it over. “It’s a macuahuitl.” At Drew’s blank look, he added, “An Aztec sword.”

  Drew’s expression turned skeptical. “Sorry, but in every movie I’ve seen, swords are made of forged steel or iron. That’s just a big wooden stick with some black rocks stuck in it.”

  “According to the historical accounts I’ve read, these were very effective in battle. One Aztec warrior used his to decapitate a horse.” Samuel closed his eyes briefly, drawing on his ability, which now provided only a glimpse of a powerful hand streaked with gold fashioning the weapon. “The vampire made these himself. I wonder why.”

  Drew made a rude sound. “Maybe he’s into arts and crafts.”

  “This isn’t a decoration.” Samuel took a
test swing, pitting the stone-blade edge against one of the suspended animal masks. The blade cut through the jaguar’s clay-and-hide visage as if it were made of paper, sending half of it to smash on the glass floor.

  “Oh, yeah.” Drew blew out a breath. “That’s a sword.”

  “You break that floor, boys,” a tired voice said, “and you’ll be mopping it up for weeks.”

  Samuel looked up as Charlotte came down the staircase. “How are the patients?”

  “Ihiyo is in and out, but no fever, no signs of sepsis. That’s my good news.” She rubbed a hand over the back of her neck. “Bad news is that Pici’s contractions have started again. They’re sporadic, and I’ve given her a mild sedative, but if her water breaks, I have no choice but to deliver the baby. As small as she is, that’s probably going to be by C-section.” She eyed the macuahuitl. “Just what are you planning to do with that thing?”

  “Use them to hurt the bad guys,” Drew said.

  “We’ll take down the others from the wall,” Samuel decided. “There aren’t enough to go around, but with Colotl’s help I believe I can make more.”

  “Can I have a word with you in private?” Charlotte asked, her voice tight.

  Samuel led her into the kitchen. “I know you don’t like violence, but we need more weapons.”

  “Why? So I can turn this place into a hospital?” She leaned back against the counter and folded her arms. “Why don’t you guys build a boat instead?”

  “We couldn’t finish it before they come back for Pi-ci’s baby,” he reminded her.

  “The vampire could come back with them, too.” Her lips thinned. “Last night he didn’t even touch you, and he still cut you guys down like you were paper dolls. Even if you make a hundred of those sword things, none of you could get close enough to …” She stopped and stared at him. “No.”

  “My ability to heal means I am the only one who has a real chance of withstanding the vampire’s ability,” he said quickly. “If we can lure him back to the island, and I alone attack him, I could survive his assault long enough to decapitate him—”