The Scarlet Deep

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “You’ve got free time now. Did you want to feed?” Ruth asked. “You haven’t this month.”

  Anne let out a breath and felt her fangs aching in her gums. She pushed down the thread of unease in her belly and nodded.

  “If you don’t mind.”

  Ruth let out a tut and came into the office. “Don’t be silly.”

  “I appreciate this so much.”

  “Don’t be daft, love. Danny and I are happy to have the bit of extra, aren’t we?”

  Ruth and her husband Dan had become the sole humans Anne drank from now that the threat of Elixir had become a reality. She was old enough that a healthy pint a week should have kept her strong, but Ruth and Dan could only give her one pint a month between the two of them, and Anne had always needed more than the average amount of human blood. Other immortals kept larger household staff, but almost all supplemented with animal blood nowadays. Anne was no exception.

  Ruth settled on the couch with Anne next to her, holding out a wrist and chattering about one of her terrier bitches that was about to have puppies. She and Dan had never been able to have children, so the animals had become the focus of all Ruth’s maternal leanings.

  Well, the terriers and Anne. Though Anne had hired her when Ruth was in her twenties, the woman had always tried to mother her. Amusing, yes, but not unwelcome. Anne was over two hundred years old, but she still enjoyed a bit of mothering from time to time.

  “Ready then?”

  Ruth smiled and nodded. Anne brushed a hand along the human’s forearm, letting the amnis lull her into a light sleep. Both Ruth and Dan preferred it that way, and it made taking the blood slightly less awkward for all.

  Anne felt her fangs grow long and she inhaled, taking in the sweet, familiar scent of her friend’s blood at the wrist.

  “Thank you,” she whispered a moment before she bit.

  Euphoria.

  Anne lost herself in it for the first few swallows. There was nothing like human blood. No other substance on earth carried the taste of pure life to her. It was hardly surprising that newborns and ancients alike craved it. Blood was substance and heat. Air and water. It pulsed with the pounding of the human heart. Filled the arteries and tributaries of the body. Ebb and flow. Beat and brush…

  She sank farther and drank.

  Her senses heightened and she could hear the lick of water as the tide swelled the bay. A night heron croaked near the shore. The wind raked over the eaves, and the blood slid down her throat, silken heat and lush longing. She ached for more.

  More.

  Aware she was skating the fine edge of control, Anne closed her eyes and pulled away.

  Taking a deep breath, she wrestled her bloodlust under control.

  She’d waited too long.

  It wasn’t working. Human blood once a month was not enough. She hadn’t battled her own instincts this way since she’d been a young vampire. There had to be some other solution. She needed to be drinking animal more often or hunting actively. Something to sooth the wild craving in her body.

  Anne took another deep breath and returned to Ruth’s wrist with a calmer head.

  Having blood offered, even if Anne insisted on paying Ruth for it, was still a humbling experience. She needed this. Though she could exist on animal blood alone, only human blood offered the regenerating fifth element immortals needed to feed their bodies and their minds. Animals carried only a hint of it.

  Anne had never wondered why the ancients tried to find the elixir of immortal life. A formula that would satisfy bloodlust would ease the aching weakness vampires had for humanity.

  It was the great paradox of their lives: superior to humans in every way but desperately in need of them.

  Anne felt as if her kind was at a crossroads in their history. As the technological revolution swept the world, it left vampires behind. Because of the amnis that kept them alive, they weren’t able to access the technology that was making the world smaller and smaller. The immortal population was never more aware of their weaknesses and never more in need of humans to help them.

  And that need fostered a burning resentment toward many who saw humanity as being closer to cattle than equals.

  Savoring the last few swallows of live blood, Anne lingered over Ruth’s wrist, touching her tongue to her fang to draw a drop of her own blood to heal Ruth before she pulled away and left the woman on the couch. She went to the small refrigerator in Anne’s office and grabbed a glass of milk along with a freshly baked cookie.

  It was a classic for a reason.

  She gave Ruth a few minutes to wake up on her own, jotting down notes in her planner as her secretary’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Milk and cookie.” Anne pointed to the tray on the side table.

  “Chocolate chip?”

  “Oatmeal raisin.”

  “Oh, you do love me,” Ruth said with a cheerful wink. The woman was as hearty as the fisherfolk she and Anne were both descended from. In a few minutes, she’d be on her way, bustling and bossing with no sign of weakness. Dan was the same.

  “So, do you want to join me and Brigid for tea?”

  Ruth shook her head. “I’ve got a mountain of filing to do, along with the correspondence to mail. I’ll leave you two. Plus she sounded as if she had business-type things to discuss.”

  “Oh?”

  Brigid was one of Patrick Murphy’s security officers. What business did she have that might concern Anne?

  LIKE all vampires, Brigid was forced to drive a classic car. Electronics were too pervasive in newer vehicles. It varied with the elements. Earth and wind vampires weren’t as reactive. Water vampires were more so. And fire vampires like Brigid were the worst. Brigid’s mate, Carwyn, had restored a beauty of an old Triumph coupe for his wife, painted it a glossy black, and taken it to a mechanic that specialized in converting cars for immortals. As a result, the engine purred as Brigid made her way up Anne’s road just a few minutes after midnight.

  The woman who got out was small, but her stride was anything but delicate. Brigid Connor was one of the toughest women Anne had ever met. She was also a ferociously loyal friend.

  “You got away late then?” Anne asked. “Oh! I like the purple. I wish I could do that with my hair. Drive go okay?”

  “Fine.” Brigid grabbed Anne in a hug. “Good, actually. Nice to stretch my eyes and get away from the lights.”

  Like many newer immortals, Brigid still had a hard time adjusting to city lights. Vampire eyes were more sensitive and electric lamps in the city could be overwhelming. Wearing sunglasses at night was often a necessity, not a fashion statement.

  “So getting away late…”

  “Carwyn’s fault entirely.” Brigid’s face immediately softened. “I had to placate the man for leaving him for a few days. You’d think I was going for years the way he pouts.”

  Anne laughed. “He’s adorable.”

  “And he knows it.”

  “It’s good to see you,” Anne said, guiding her inside. “A friendly visit or is something going on?”

  Brigid fell back in her usual chair, a smile flirting at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know. Is there?”

  “What are you on about?”

  Brigid looked out the window to the slip of water that was visible. The moon was waning but still full, and the black water glittered silver in the night.

  “I love this place,” Brigid said. “I don’t know if I ever told you how much it meant to be here after my turning.”

  “You’re always welcome.”

  “I know.” Brigid smiled. “You’re so lovely. And this place suits you so well. Such a distinctive part of the world. The water and the land meeting here. So beautiful and isolated…”

  Anne was starting to worry. Brigid didn’t seem troubled, but why the philosophical rambling? It was hardly her way to make small talk. Usually she loathed it.

  “Brigid—”

  “Why does Murphy have a painting of your inlet hanging across from
his desk?”

  Well, shit.

  “I always thought it was a bit odd.” Brigid’s smile had grown now. “He’s got such a fantastic view of the river from his office, but his back is to it. Security, I thought at first, but that’s not it. He’d hear anyone long before they could sneak up on him. No, he keeps his desk pointed away from the view because it’s pointing at the wall where that painting is hanging. And it’s not just a seascape, it’s your inlet. Your view from the dock. It took me a while to figure out why it seemed so familiar, but it finally hit me.”

  Anne cleared her throat. “Aren’t you clever?”

  “I really am.” The smile had turned into a grin. “He told me once that everyone called him Murphy”—Brigid lowered her voice and wiggled her eyebrows—“‘except those who didn’t,’ which I thought was grossly egotistical of him at the time—check that, I still think it’s egotistical. But then it hit me I knew who did call him Patrick.” She crossed her arms. “Angie calls him Patrick, but then they had a brief fling in the seventies, didn’t they? Know who else calls him Patrick?”

  “Brigid…”

  “You do! And then I thought, ‘Why hasn’t my dear friend Anne told me about her affair with the luscious Mr. Murphy?’ Combine that with a very intriguing painting hanging in his office where he can look at it every night, and it makes me wonder what gossip you’ve been holding out on. So, my friend who wanted every detail of Carwyn’s mad attempts at courtship, tell me the truth.” Brigid leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “Are the rumors true, and does he ever lose control outside the boxing ring?”

  She knew it was completely unintentional, but Anne felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach.

  “It was… far more than a fling, Brigid.”

  Some of her turmoil must have finally peeked through, because Brigid lost every hint of frivolity.

  “Oh, Anne—”

  “It was a long time ago. I… I didn’t know about the painting. I used to paint a bit, but I never knew he took one.”

  Brigid was waving her hands. “No! I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything. I thought it was like Angie, and we tease them both— Shit!” Brigid slapped a hand over her mouth. “Probably shouldn’t mention Angie. I’m an arse.”

  If there was anything Anne couldn’t stand, it was a friend feeling uncomfortable in her presence. “Don’t be silly. Like I said, it was long ago. We’ve both had relationships over the years. I know about Angie and… all the others. It’s fine.”

  “I’m an idiot,” she said, hanging her head. “So sorry. You’re just so quiet about your love life, and I thought I finally had something to tease you with.”

  “Ah, I’m a nun these days.” Anne shrugged. “I can hardly blame you. I had to live vicariously when you and Carwyn got together. Turnabout is fair play, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not.” Brigid looked up. “Not when it was far more than a fling. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “You’re going to keep saying that, aren’t you?”

  Anne huffed out a breath. “If I tell you that most of the rumors are likely true and that he was impressively adventurous for a man of his time, would you stop feeling guilty?”

  “Yes, but now I have even more questions.”

  Anne gave up and laughed. “I love you.”

  “I know you do. Carwyn worries that one of these days I’ll simply stay here, and he’ll have to hunt me down and drag me back.”

  “We’d manage to fight him off if we tried.”

  ANOTHER hour’s conversation left Anne in a troubled state of mind. The worries she’d had at the start of the evening hadn’t lessened with her friend’s visit; they’d grown worse. Like her hunger.

  The Elixir problem showed no sign of improving. After the drug had escaped its murky origins in Rome, it had showed up in Ireland and other parts of Europe, but no one knew who was shipping it. Patrick Murphy had tried everything possible to halt its import, but the drug was too easy to transport. Terrance Ramsay in England was having the same problem, and Anne knew she needed to ask her sister some hard questions. Was Belfast having the same issues? Had Mary been hiding it from her?

  To humans, Elixir looked like a clear pink liquid that smelled strongly of pomegranate. And yet it acted as a poison to vampires and humans alike. For mortals, there was no cure at all. They wasted away, unable to process any of the vital nutrients their bodies needed to remain healthy. They starved, even on feeding tubes. It was a horrible, painful death.

  In vampires, Elixir acted as a cure for the bloodlust that plagued them. The vampire stopped eating. Then drinking. All while remaining in seemingly perfect health. But gradually, he or she went mad from the lack of blood that fed their amnis, the vital energy that kept them alive and connected to their elemental power. Once Elixir invaded their systems, vampires could no longer process the blood they needed to survive. Not even forced feeding was a cure. The only cure—if it could be called one—was a near complete exsanguination of the infected immortal, followed by an infusion of their sire’s blood.

  For vampires such as Anne, who remained on good terms with her father, not a wholly hopeless proposition. For vampires such as Murphy or her next client, impossible.

  The patient Ruth knew as “the Russian” arrived minutes before his appointed time of three a.m. He was a particular sort, and Anne had never known him to be late in all the time he’d been “visiting” her.

  He refused to call her his doctor. He refused to consider her anything more than a friend he saw once every six months or so. He always propositioned her, and vodka was always involved.

  Psychological practice among vampires necessitated a slightly more individualistic approach.

  “Oleg,” she said, holding out her arms to embrace the fearsome fire vampire who ruled over most of Russia.

  “Anne,” he said, pulling her into a heated embrace. “Have you decided to leave these cold shores and warm yourself by my fire?”

  “Not tonight, my friend.”

  Not that it would have been a hardship. Oleg had a handsome, angular face and eyes the color of the grey skies over his home in St. Petersburg. He rarely smiled, but when he did, his teeth were even and his fangs… impressive. His hair was chestnut brown, and he wore a thick beard in defiance of his element.

  He also had several houses filled with human and vampire mistresses if rumors were to be believed. Oleg lived more like a czar than the mobster many called him.

  “Soon you’ll run away with me.”

  Anne laughed. “We’ll see.”

  He tipped his chin up, and Anne was once again reminded of wind and snow and fire in the night. Oleg was fiercely beautiful, but far from civilized. His human and vampire lineage was drenched in blood. Despite that, he treated her with a gentle respect, and Anne knew their friendship was one of the reasons her home remained safe.

  “Come. We’ll talk inside out of this cold. I brought a new vodka.”

  “Oleg—”

  “Just a taste, yes? For me. It is a new brand. I want your opinion.”

  The Russian was one of the most powerful fire vampires in Europe. Brigid, with her fledgling power, would be ash at his feet. Anne wondered whether he’d been able to sense the presence of the young fire vampire when he walked in the house. Probably. Fire vampires had the keenest noses of their kind. She also doubted that an immortal like Oleg considered someone like Brigid Connor to be anything other than amusing. Aside from the ancients, the reclusive scholar and former assassin Giovanni Vecchio would be considered his only rival. And Vecchio wanted as little to do with vampire politics as Anne did.

  “There is a fire in you tonight, lapochka,” Oleg said. “I can sense it.”

  “Is this the beginning of a very bad pickup line?”

  “Perhaps.” He smiled slowly. “To have a woman like you at my side? For this, I would offer your sire gold.”

  “I’m not for sale, but I’ll try to be flattered.”

&nbs
p; “You should be.”

  “Tell me what’s going on with your daughter. Have you spoken with Zara lately?”

  An angry stream of Russian was his only response. Anne shook her head and looked for the vodka glasses.

  Chapter Three

  DECLAN USED HIS HAND to point at the projection on the wall. “We can pick up these three properties for far less than market value, but we’ll need to use at least two different shell corporations and space the purchases out over several months.”

  “Are there any other buyers interested?” Murphy asked.

  “Not that I could find. These two are considered prime, but with the economy the way it is, there’s no telling when construction will pick up again.”

  He nodded. The Celtic Tiger had retreated, his country hit as hard as anyone else by the recent economic downturn. What once seemed like a gold mine of development in a revitalized docklands now lingered and crumbled, the city desperate to keep it from devolving more but unsure how to go about doing it. Declan had been careful approaching the human banks who owned the properties he’d determined would have the best long-term market value.

  Waterfront property was limited, at the end of the day. And while humans worried about decades of economic activity, an immortal thought about long-term investment.

  Very long-term.

  “Do it,” Murphy said. “We have the cash right now.”

  Tom finally spoke. “But we don’t have any use for ’em right now, either.”

  “Do we have the means to secure them?”

  Tom nodded. “It’ll cost though. Always does.”

  Murphy glanced at Declan, who nodded and said, “I’ve calculated that into the investment value. Once these two adjacent properties are secure, we can combine security arrangements on them and keep costs down.”