Elizabeth swallowed. Compassion for Saloman—if that’s what she felt—would not help her here. “What happened to the others?”
“Records are scarce. We believe some went similarly insane and either ended their own lives or were executed like Saloman. Saloman himself is said to have killed the only other Ancient, barely two years before he was staked himself. Apparently they quarreled over a human woman, Tsigana, who is named as one of Saloman’s killers.”
This part of the story she knew. “Thanks, Miklós,” she murmured. “You’ve made it much clearer.”
“Any time.” Miklós stood, hoisted his book once more, and took it to the researcher at the computer. Elizabeth returned to her own documents. Not for the first time, she wondered which of them she could get away with using in her thesis. Saloman had turned the whole premise of her thesis on its head. Was any of that stuff still valid?
Sighing, she tried to lose herself in the books. But despite the conducive surroundings, the peace, and the fantastic nature of the material, she could never quite do that here. Her nerves were too on edge. Her stomach twisted whenever she read Saloman’s name. She imagined him whispering in her head, in her ear, stirring her skin without the faintest breath as he murmured hot words of lust.
She burned with shame, with unsatisfied need. And she hated Saloman for that, almost more than for the people he’d killed and would kill.
“What are you reading now?” Mihaela’s hand on her shoulder some time later made her jump.
“How to kill the Ancients,” she said with a quick grin. “You weren’t kidding when you said it wasn’t easy.” Though as soft to the touch as anyone else’s, their skin was believed to be largely impermeable, with an extra layer of hardness beneath the epidermis, which grew stronger with age. The first blow was vital. It had to be accurately over the heart, forceful, and performed with the sharpest possible wooden weapon. One source recommended the weight of several people behind the stake—which might explain why Saloman had so many slayers.
“You leave the killing to us,” Mihaela soothed. “Are you ready to go back there now?”
Elizabeth blinked. “Back where?”
“Bistriƫa. Transylvania. Saloman, remember?”
Elizabeth noted the page and closed the book. “Mihaela, I don’t believe he’s in Transylvania anymore. I think he’s here, in Budapest.” Saying it, like thinking it, sent a strange tension twisting through her body. It might have been dread, or hate, but it felt perilously close to excitement.
Mihaela’s hand paused in midair, halfway to her hair. “You’ve seen him here?”
“No, no. It was just something he said about the new urban world and fun. I know he meant he was heading for the bright lights of a fun, modern city.”
“It could be,” Mihaela admitted. “We’ve heard nothing recently from our informant in Transylvania, so it’s possible he’s moved camp. On the other hand, it’s been quiet here. And the vampire Lajos, one of the ‘killers,’ remains unmolested. He’d go for him first.”
“Would he? Don’t you think he likes playing cat and mouse, raising a bit of fear first? I’m sure that’s part of his revenge.”
Mihaela rested her hip on the edge of the desk, a frown furrowing her forehead as she regarded Elizabeth. “You think that’s what he’s doing to you?”
“I know that’s what he’s doing to me. Only I can’t see why I’m due the punishment. I awakened him, didn’t I?”
“Well, that may be the source of his ambiguous attitude. He’s grateful to you, but he needs the blood of his Awakener to achieve full strength.”
There was a slight catch in Elizabeth’s laugh. “Well, that’s a bloody stupid rule.”
“It’s a perverse and unnatural science,” Mihaela agreed. “Though in this case, it serves the purpose of discouraging awakenings after executions. Isn’t evolution marvelous?”
Unexpectedly, Elizabeth wanted to discuss vampire evolution with the vampire himself—the vampire who believed in the evolution of his own and her species several hundred years before Darwin. She stood, thrusting aside the unwelcome notion.
“We’ll mention your theory to the others,” Mihaela said, “but not tonight. You remember about the concert?”
“Looking forward to it,” Elizabeth assured her.
With the familiar distinctive sound of the orchestra tuning up, Elizabeth sat back in her seat and began to relax. She was so looking forward to this: a couple of hours to lose herself in music, in something that had nothing to do with all this scary crap, and yet everything to do with Hungary—a concert of Liszt and Bartók at the National Music Academy.
Perhaps it was because of the odd cloud of dread and excitement that she was living in, but on this, her third visit to Budapest, she’d begun to appreciate the city’s beauty: the clean, classical lines of Pest spreading outward from the broad, curving Danube; the majestic bridges spanning the river to the ancient, picturesque city of Buda on the opposite bank, rising up the hill to the castle that had guarded it for centuries.
When she’d been walking with Mihaela along the river in the gathering dusk, after their pleasant meal in a small, family-run restaurant, Elizabeth had found herself wondering if she’d only ever been half alive before. She’d registered that she liked the place, yet had taken no time to know it better, to soak up the ambience. She’d merely moved between her hotel and libraries, airport and railway stations. In the villages, it had been different, of course; she’d had to go out, mix with the local people to talk to them and ask her questions about vampire superstitions, but had she really appreciated her surroundings?
Perhaps everything simply looked sharper, more attractive, when the threat of death hung over one.
Or perhaps she just finally felt useful. Ever since awakening Salomon, she’d shared a clear purpose with the hunters.
Elizabeth gazed up at the ornate walls and ceilings—it was a beautiful hall, in a beautiful building, not too big, very art nouveau and, Mihaela assured her, boasted excellent acoustics. They had seats near the front of the stalls, and the balcony on three sides above, full of fellow music lovers, made her feel almost cozy. On top of that, she’d begun to value the quiet, no-nonsense company of Mihaela, an unexpected friend in the midst of her suddenly insane life.
The auditorium quieted, then erupted into polite applause for the conductor, before silence descended once more and the music began.
It worked. For a time, it really worked. She really did lose herself in the music and in her surroundings. The back of her neck didn’t begin to prickle until halfway through the second piece. She covered it with her hand, casting a quick glance behind her at the rows of people who were paying her no attention at all.
Curling her lip at herself, she returned to the music. She watched the pianist, enjoying the wild concentration on his young, intense face—a future international star, already producing exquisite music. Her gaze moved upward, along the line of violinists and cellists to the carving on the balcony above. As the music began to take her again, a shadowy movement caught the corner of her eye, and she jerked her gaze around to the balcony door. God, she was jumpy. She’d almost imagined a dark figure stood there, but the only people on the balcony were seated, and none of them looked remotely threatening. However, the balcony door was open a crack. She must have glimpsed one of the theater staff passing in the corridor beyond.
Was it always going to be like this? Living on the edge of her nerves, afraid of every shadow?
Only if you let it.
She took a deep breath and gazed determinedly at the pianist. By the interval, she’d regained her calm and her appreciation of the music.
“Drink?” Mihaela suggested. “We’ll have to fight our way into the bar, but I know one of the waiters.”
“Lead on,” Elizabeth said with enthusiasm, and they joined the throng surging out of the auditorium. However, before they even reached the bar, Mihaela broke into smiles and began waving madly to a waiter who was easi
ng through the crowd. He grinned back and gave her the universal thumbs-up sign.
“He’ll hold them for us,” Mihaela said with satisfaction, beginning to extricate herself from the crowd. “Which is good news, because I so need to go to the restroom.”
“I’ll wait for you,” Elizabeth said, following her. It seemed preferable to fighting her way into the bar with everyone else.
Since there was a crowd at the ladies’ room too, Elizabeth strolled on to find a quieter spot to await Mihaela. As she went, she found herself admiring the whole interior of the building, particularly the beautiful murals, and as the stairs up to the balcony were deserted, she decided to have a quick look up there too.
The upper hall was empty and silent. As she walked, still examining the murals, her gaze slid ahead to the open balcony door. Mihaela was probably waiting for her by now. She should go back downstairs, yet she didn’t. The shadow she’d imagined earlier slid back into her mind, almost drawing her on to prove it didn’t exist—again.
Idiot.
She halted at the door, listening to the faint hum of conversation, and then glanced inside. A few idly chatting people still occupied their seats, although most were empty. With a vague idea of checking the view of the orchestra from up here, she stepped inside.
Her neck prickled. She spun around to face the door, and her heart jolted hard enough to make her dizzy. The blood rushed through her veins. She couldn’t breathe.
Saloman stood just to one side of the door, leaning his shoulder against the wall, watching her impassively.
He wore black: black trousers, a black shirt, open at the collar, with no tie, and no jacket. His black hair gleamed against his pale skin, a lock falling across one side of his forehead. God, he was beautiful. He looked stylish, bohemian, and could be mistaken for a music student, perhaps a contemporary of the stunning pianist.
In this new, urban world of wealth and freedom, music and technology? I want to have fun. Somehow she’d never regarded this kind of concert as the fun he meant.
Was it possible he’d come here for the music, not for her . . . ?
He stood very still, as only he could, his dark, steady gaze on her face.
Convulsively, she grasped her bag, feeling through the soft leather the shape of the stake she always carried now. Her heart seemed to be beating in her ears. What the hell should she do? Warn everyone? Run for it? Try to stake him in front of all these people?
These people whose blood he must have come here to drink. Shit, he could have done so already. There could be a trail of undiscovered bodies all the way down some back staircase. . . .
His full lips curved, softening his hard eyes. He looked almost welcoming, not at all like a monster who’d just drained several music lovers of their blood.
“Did you?” The incomprehensible words spilled out without permission. He looked amused. Lifting one finger to his lips in mock disapproval, he took a step closer, and her breath caught in panic. But he stopped there, not touching her, yet close enough that she’d have felt his breath if he’d had any.
“A light snack, I believe is the modern term.” It seemed he understood her after all.
“Are they dead?” Appalled by her own words, she cast a nervous glance around the scattering of people. A woman in the front row had twisted around to look toward the door, but otherwise no one was paying them any attention. It was as if she and Saloman were isolated in some private, intimate bubble.
Saloman said, “Of course not. I’m saving my main meal.”
Bastard. “Me? Why don’t you just kill me and be done? Why these cruel games all the time?”
His brows lifted. They were well defined, perfectly shaped, distracting her by the texture of the short black hairs. “Cruel? Life is to be valued. I’ve already let you live a week more than I could have.”
“I’m overcome with gratitude.”
“No, you’re not, but you should be. Don’t tell me you haven’t appreciated this week more than any other in your life.”
She stared at him, shaken to the core.
His lips quirked. “Are you enjoying the concert? You like this music?”
“Yes . . .” Still too baffled to do more than give the bare truth, she imagined the familiar mockery had vanished from his compelling eyes. They looked unexpectedly serious. “Do you?” she asked, just as if they were genuine acquaintances who’d met by accident.
“It’s like court music, only with more musicians. Very different from other modern music—although, of course, you won’t regard this as modern. Variety is good, but not at the expense of everything in the past.”
She swallowed, parting her dry lips. “I could almost believe you meant that.”
He shrugged. “Nostalgia is the curse of the old. I love the energy of your rock music. I love the exquisite melody and technique of this. And yet I miss the rough, untutored music that came before, passed on through generations for hundreds of years. Even the Gypsies no longer play it.”
“Not here.”
His eyebrows lifted again.
“In the villages,” she blurted. “In the mountains, you still hear it. Or something like I assume it might have been.”
His eyes held hers. They seemed to flare until she imagined a flame dancing there, then blinked. He inclined his head. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Laughter was fighting its way up through her, hysterical and undignified. As if he recognized it, he smiled, and her loins melted. He might have been touching her, intimately, her lips, her breasts, the aching tenderness between her thighs. She was so glad he wasn’t. She despaired because he wasn’t. And yet, for the first time she recognized something else in his smile, what it was that made him trouble to converse with her, what shone and flamed in those otherwise dark, opaque eyes.
Reciprocation.
It stunned her, as if she weren’t helpless enough already. Of course, she didn’t doubt for a moment that Mihaela was right. He would take her blood with her body and slaughter her without compunction. But it wouldn’t just be an act of excessive teasing, or stupid male domination or whatever else she’d been imagining. For whatever reason, he wanted her, her, and with a lust that burned as forcefully as everything else about him. The knowledge was elating, terrifying, huge. . . .
Laughter, oddly discordant, sounded in the corridor behind her. Someone brushed against her and apologized. She stepped aside as more people came in, separating her from Saloman.
Elizabeth backed out of the door. From the corridor, she glimpsed his tall figure towering over the jostling crowd.
Deliberately, he closed one eye. Have fun, he said inside her head. And then she turned and ran in search of Mihaela.
Chapter Nine
Convincing the others of Saloman’s presence in Budapest turned out not to be so difficult, thanks to the encounter at the concert. Although Elizabeth didn’t see him again and Mihaela hadn’t seen him at all, they could both vouch for the way several patrons absently rubbed their throats throughout the second part of the performance.
“I might have directed him back to the villages,” Elizabeth confessed. “But I’m sure he’ll return here.”
“You’re right,” Konrad agreed. “Lajos is here, as well as you. And the largest concentration of vampires, whom he’ll need on his side before he can move any farther. So Plan A still stands. The location is merely altered, which makes it rather harder to find him.”
“Konrad, he’s finding us,” Mihaela argued. “Or at least finding Elizabeth.”
Was that true? Had he gone there in search of her? She was sure now that he had seen her in the audience; he might even have drawn her to him by some supernatural power. But she still wasn’t convinced that he’d come looking for her rather than the musical experience—and for fresh blood. The fun of the game for him now was for her to find him. And he must know she wouldn’t come without the hunters at her back.
“Well, let’s not wait until he breaks into your flat,” Konrad s
aid. “Let’s start looking!”
“Where?” István demanded.
“Nightclubs,” Elizabeth said, as she should have at the beginning.
“What?” They gawped at her.
“Nightclubs. He’s been frozen for three hundred years. He wants action, and he likes rock music.”
Mihaela began to laugh.
Discovering the Angel was an accident brought about on the second day of searching by a chance encounter with a researcher who complained about his little sister frequenting dangerous, unlisted, and unregulated nightclubs.
Even so, provided with a vague address, they nearly missed it. But at the last moment, Mihaela noticed the uninspiring stone angel above the door.
Gazing up at it, Elizabeth felt her insides tighten. The more she looked, the more exquisite the carving appeared, its lines sharper and more expressive—and more familiar. “This is it,” she said positively. “It’s like the angels in his crypt.”
Istvan frowned. “There shouldn’t be a connection. This place must have been built well after Saloman was staked.”
“Vampire artist?” Mihaela suggested.
“Let’s find out.” Konrad pushed open the door, and the detectors began to vibrate as one.
“Wow. They’ve masked it,” Konrad said, peeking at the larger instrument inside his backpack, “but I’m getting loads of vampire readings. Two present right now.”
“Remember, he doesn’t show on the readings,” István warned.
“Oh, I remember,” Konrad said grimly. “Stakes ready. No killing without my say-so.”
Mihaela opened her mouth, as if to object, but closed it again with an irritable little shrug. It struck Elizabeth that she’d ignore his orders if she thought it best, and didn’t know whether or not to be comforted.
In contrast to the dingy staircase, sunlight flooded through the glass roof and the huge window that took up one entire wall of the club. Through it, Elizabeth could see the glistening Danube, and beyond it, the domed roof of the Parliament building and church spires of Pest.
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