“What do you demand?” he said, leaning back from the head of the Dragon, arm still on my collar pro forma, holding his other hand over his heart, where my vines still coiled.
“Free the hostages,” I said.
“No,” he replied.
“I could kill you,” I said, and a rippling growl crackled out of the Dragon.
“I could kill them,” he said, tightening his grip again. “You only offer one life.”
I scowled. “Then free one hostage. Give me Cinnamon.”
“No,” the lich said. His eyes gleamed at me, obviously pleased, and I started to get scared. What corner was he backing me into? “I will not free the children,” he said. “Without them, I have no leverage. The most I would do is … spare the life of one of the vampires.”
“I don’t want the vampires,” I said. “I want Cinnamon.”
“Then you will not mind if both the vampires starve to death,” he said.
My eyes widened. “Yes,” I said. “I mind.”
“Then spare my life,” the lich said, “and you may feed … one of them. A life for a life.”
“Leopold,” Vladimir cautioned. “I can still kill everyone in this room.”
“Do you not see what stands before you?” the lich asked, gesturing at me with his free hand. He no longer resisted my coiling vines; he actually leaned back into them, letting them cradle him, leaning back to appreciate the glowing head of the Dragon. “Frost could probably kill everyone in this room. So could I, or Delancaster, or Iadimus. One of us might survive, but if we fight, it will be a carnival of blood—and all those you hoped to save will surely die.”
Vladimir just stood there, holding his sword. His eyes flickered to mine, then to the lich. I found myself looking between the two of them as well. We were all in agreement; none of us wanted to die, but the lich held the upper hand. A truce was worth a gamble.
I drew in a breath and concentrated, and the Dragon furled its wings and slowly began drawing back into my body. The lich loosened his hand. Vladimir took a half-step back. And then I let the vines go and slid away from the magic circle to stand by Vladimir.
“Guards,” the lich said, gesturing at Scara. “Drag that off. Extract the silver bullets and feed her. This is her mess. She must regain her strength in time to see it cleaned up.”
The guards twitched, unwilling to come out of cover. Vladimir and I glanced at each other warily. The lich raised a shaggy eyebrow at us, openly curious as to what we would do. Finally Vladimir motioned them forward, and two guards carried Scara out.
“Now, choose,” the lich said. “She who left you, or she who took her from you.”
“Actually, I dumped Saffron,” I said. “And Darkrose and I get on fabulously.”
The lich tilted his head slightly. “Such modern ways,” he said. “In the old days she would have killed you for such a betrayal, for fear you would have returned with a stake.”
“Now we just go on Jerry Springer,” I said. “It’s more painful.”
The lich hissed. “Enough delay. Choose.”
I swallowed, and stepped between the cages.
On the one side was Darkrose: stripped out of her catsuit and leggings, wearing nothing but a ragged shift that was little more than a burlap bag. She was drained thin, her black skin crackled and dry like she was covered in burned paper. She lived—at least she breathed—but a normal human would be dead after ten days without water, or half starved without food.
But she looked nowhere near as bad as Saffron. They couldn’t have had her quite as long as Darkrose, no more than a week, but she looked little better than the lich: skin dead white, pulled tight over her bones, cheeks sunken until I could see her skull.
I looked more closely, then recoiled as I saw little white threads creeping over her skin. It was the vampiric fungus: the magical infection that powered vampires and animated zombies. You never normally saw it outside of a microscope. I knew what was happening—I had read Saffron’s paper. Without normal human food, the delicate balance between living human flesh and undead vampire matter inside Saffron had been disrupted, the vampiric fungus was blooming, and she was sliding from daywalker into normal vampire.
Saffron opened her eyes at me, filled with hunger, and I looked away, feeling none of the love I had once felt and all the hate. This was precisely what I had feared would happen if she became a vampire. I glanced at Darkrose’s pitiful form—but who was I kidding?
“I’m so sorry, Darkrose,” I said—and turned back to Saffron.
I stepped to the cage, pulling back my sleeve, and extended my arm to Saffron. At first she didn’t move, but then her brittle hands took it tenderly, and gave me a brief squeeze, as if she knew what this cost me. Slowly, tenderly, she kissed the skin above my hand.
—
Then her teeth sank in, her eyes closed in bliss, and Saffron took life from my wrist.
Return of the Vampire Queen
There was a sharp pain, a near-orgasmic pleasure, and a terrifying sensation of blood flowing out through my skin, drawn by the suction of her mouth through an orifice that should never have been there, through which blood should never have gone. But beyond all that I felt mana: my own life force, built up in my skin and my body while I had been threatening the lich, just pouring out through this new conduit like a live electric wire.
Seconds later, Saffron ripped her mouth from my wrist, snarling, droplets of blood spraying out over the cage. I collapsed backwards, holding my wrist, as Saffron stood in one explosive motion, arms thrown wide, shattering the bars of the cage so they clattered out across the hall, ringing with the impact wherever they struck like deranged churchbells.
The huge stone weight snapped off its chain and fell upon her. Her arm swung up in a savage motion, breaking off the metal spike with a twang. Then she caught the stone, screamed with rage, and hurled it the length of the hall, where it impacted with a clap like thunder.
Saffron turned towards Darkrose’s cage, and the guards tensed, raising their crossbows. One was too tense, and he loosed his bolt. Saffron caught it midair and crushed it in one hand.
“If starving me has taken my daylight, you all die,” Saffron snarled, broken splinters dropping out of her hand one by one to the stone floor below. She no longer sounded human; she sounded worse than the lich. “If you kill my mate, I will torture you all to death.”
“Such power, such fire,” the lich said. “Most impressive, surely, but you have been listening. The calculus in this room has not changed—unless you relent. Recall my offer. We are willing to acknowledge your power … if you acknowledge ours.”
Saffron glared at him, looked down, nodded.
“You planned this,” Iadimus said. I couldn’t pin down where his voice was coming from; if anyone was going to walk out of this alive, it was him. “You knew the Lady Scara would oppose so you had her taken out—and you knew who the Lady Frost would choose.”
“Would it change your vote?” the lich snarled. “We have lost two elders to this plague. We have already discussed replacements. She was our first candidate. Shall we proceed?”
Iadimus was silent for a moment.
“No, it would not change my vote,” he said. “And, yes, I think we should.”
“Congratulations, my dear,” the lich said, cackling. “You may sit at the big table.”
“You pompous windbag,” Saffron snarled. “You really think I will let this go?”
“Now now,” the lich said coolly. “Don’t be petulant, my dear. Delancaster has spoiled you. But the Gentry will not quake before you like leaves. Tantrums are unbecoming in well-groomed children.” His voice hissed like sandpaper. “Don’t make me take away your pet.”
Saffron tensed. So did the guards around Darkrose. Then Saffron seemed to crumple, and looked up at the lich, who gestured to the throne where Cinnamon sat. When the guard’s hand touched her shoulder Cinnamon hopped up like her ass was on fire. He led her to the edge of the stage, and she stood where
he put her, holding her tail so it wouldn’t switch back and forth. A little gasp escaped her lips, a rough cough and head snap, and the lich hissed at her sharply.
“Be silent, you foulmouthed brat,” he snarled. “Even if you are Frost’s daughter—”
“Leopold,” Vladimir warned. “The child has a condition.”
“Enough,” the lich said, voice crackling. “She was warned. No more insolence.”
Cinnamon nodded; then she looked at me, eyes pleading, neck twisting in its steel collar. Talk about stress—Cinnamon was one outburst away from setting the lich off again. How was I going to help her, sprawled on the floor amidst a pile of twisted metal rails and cracked stone?
“Thank you, Dakota,” Saffron said, and I looked up to see her looking sadly down at me. “I never wanted to force that on you.” Then she lowered her head, walked down to the stage, ascended the dais, and sat down under the crossbow of the guard.
“Uh … okay,” I said, sitting up but still totally bewildered. “What just happened?”
“‘The Gentry’ means a clique of the most powerful vampires in a region,” Vladimir said, bending down, examining my wrist. “This Gentry just offered ‘acknowledgement’ of Saffron’s power. By acknowledging their power in return, Saffron gains standing among them.”
“Wonderful,” I said, wincing as he pulled out a tiny silver flask with a cross and poured a clear, fizzing substance on the wound—holy hydrogen peroxide? “A vampire country club.”
“Don’t think of your vestigial Western aristocracy,” Vladimir said, pulling out a compact first aid kit. “Gentry is an old word, and the organization it represents is older still—”
“Enough history,” the lich interrupted. “I have kept my part of the bargain. A life for a life, Dakota Frost. Now … I count four more. What do you have to offer me in return?”
“What do I have to offer?” I asked helplessly, as Vladimir bound the wound on my wrist. “I don’t even know what you want.”
“Scara was right,” the lich said. “We did not bring you here just as the Envoy of a House we do not respect. And, as it turns out, neither did we capture Darkrose just to get to Saffron. You are a slippery woman, Dakota Frost. We captured Saffron to get to you.”
“To me?” I said. “What do you want with me?”
“Some of us,” Iadimus said, appearing on the dais, carefully staying out of direct eyeshot of Vladimir, “are not fooled by your protests and denials. You have to know why you are here: to stop your assaults on vampires.”
It took me a moment to get it.
“Do what?” I said. “You think I’m behind the attacks?”
“The police certainly do,” Iadimus said. “According to the Lady Scara’s sources, the district attorney suspected you from the start.”
“The district attorney is not the police,” I said, “and if she suspected me, it’s only because I was a magician at the scene of a magical crime—”
“With a history of killing by magic,” Iadimus replied.
“The police called me to that crime scene,” I said, inwardly cursing. McGough had been right from the start. I should never have been there. “They knew my history—”
Iadimus’s eyes tightened. “Perhaps they wanted to see what you would do.”
“Hang on, you’re saying the police, my uncle, invited me to the scene of an assault hoping I’d turn it into a murder, and didn’t arrest me on the spot when it did?” I said. “I don’t think you know how human police work—or my uncle, for that matter.”
“Perhaps your relative didn’t want to see you for what you were,” Iadimus said, pointing at Demophage’s coffin. “After he let you walk, you annihilated the Oakdale Clan.”
“Oh, you didn’t just accuse me of killing my own lover,” I said acidly.
“Bah,” Iadimus said. Yes, he actually said bah, and it was all I could do not to follow with humbug. “You are a magician, with knowledge, skill and animosity towards vampires. Before you eluded the police, they confirmed your presence at several of the attacks.”
“Because I was investigating them!”
“So the Lady Saffron claimed, but the Lady Scara’s sources say otherwise,” Iadimus said, holding up my Moleskine. “And you have detailed notes going back to the very first kills.”
“Of course, moron,” I snapped, “because Saffron assigned me that task weeks ago!”
“Her story,” Iadimus snapped back. “Perhaps she is shielding you out of misplaced loyalty, or well-placed loyalty if she is using you to eliminate her competition.”
“Some Edgeworlder had to investigate, because the police clearly don’t trust us—”
“Don’t trust her,” Iadimus said. “After the Lady Saffron’s spectacular lack of success dealing with assaults on the Gentry, the Lady Scara warned her contacts in the police the Lady Saffron might be attempting a coup, using you as her instrument.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said. “Now I know why I had to sleep under a bridge—”
“We warned the police, and the Lady Saffron publically disowned you within the hour,” Iadimus said. “Yet she was seen working with you closely mere minutes later, when the safety of someone still under her protection was at stake—a crime for which we could have charged her.”
I scowled at him. This was a conspiracy theory, deep rooted. It would not be easy to win them over. Heck, I was starting to question Saffron, and I knew I wasn’t her hired killer.
“There was a brief lull when the police managed to bring you in on a pretext,” Iadimus continued. “But you eluded them, and since then, seven more vampires have been killed.”
“Jesus,” I said, making Iadimus flinch. “That makes the combined toll, what, fifteen?”
“Sixteen vampires,” he said, eyes narrowed to blazing chips of ice. “But not just vampires. Sixty-four of our human prey—your kind—have died, and four werekin—”
“Fah,” Cinnamon said, flinching first at the death count—then at Iadimus’s glare.
“Not my fault,” I snapped, trying to refocus the conversation back on me. “Even when I was in hiding I was working to stop—”
“I do not believe you,” Iadimus said stiffly. “And neither does the Lady Scara.”
“I, however, do believe her,” the lich said, smiling. “And Scara is not here.”
Iadimus’s mouth opened in shock, showing full fangs. Then he covered them, scowling.
“Irrelevant. The Lady Scara’s argument holds. I still oppose you. The vote is tied.”
“What about Lord Delancaster?” Vladimir asked sharply. “He’s a vampire lord.”
“The rebel does not get a vote,” the lich snapped, and Vladimir and I looked at each other, baffled. Delancaster did not respond; he just sat on the throne, motionless. “His protégé, however … makes a quorum.” And then the lich looked at Saffron.
Iadimus drew a breath. “Oh, you manipulative bastard,” he said quietly.
“Protégé … me?” Saffron asked. The attention seemed to have rattled her, and her voice sounded one drop less like the lich, and one drop more like Saffron. “What about me?”
“You,” the lich said, “are now in the Gentry. What say you about Frost’s assignment?”
“You know what she’ll say,” Iadimus said icily. “What, did you plan this?”
“Planned the death of Velasquez, the assault of the Destroyer, the shaming of Scara? Planned Frost pulling a dragon from her back? Come now,” the lich said. “But never waste a good crisis. Answer, child. Did you assign Dakota Frost the task of defeating the graffiti?”
Saffron just stared at him. “Yes,” she said cautiously.
“So you would be willing to commit that to a vote? To a finding of fact by the Gentry, that this is the explanation for Dakota Frost’s presence at all the graffiti crimes?”
“Yes,” Saffron said, even more cautiously. I got this sinking feeling that we were being maneuvered into a trap. “Yes, I asked Da—I asked the Lady Frost to investigate
them.”
“I concur,” the lich said.
“I do not,” Iadimus snarled.
“Irrelevant,” the lich said, smiling. “We have a quorum of elders, who have made a finding of fact that dismisses Scara’s objection. In fact, we can go further … now that the Lady Saffron is in the Gentry, her request to Dakota Frost gains the force of command.”
“Now wait a minute,” Saffron began.
“No, I see no need to wait. You commanded her to act, and so far she has produced no results,” he said. His eyes flashed at me. “Perhaps we can find new ways to motivate her.”
“You mention Cinnamon’s name again,” Vladimir said, “and—”
“No need for threats, Vlad,” the lich said. “I heard you when you said you came for Cinnamon and not for Frost. If the child holds her tongue, she can keep her head.”
“I’m not going to let you take her mother,” Vladimir said.
“And if you had to choose between them?” the lich said.
“Well,” Vladimir began, his eyes flickering over at me. “I’d—”
“That’s the same choice I would make, Doctor,” I said, staring at Cinnamon. The mention of her name had rattled her once again, and she was biting her knuckle. What had she said to the lich to piss him off? I had to get her out of here, whatever it took. “Don’t be ashamed.”
“Excellent,” the lich said, eyes focusing on me. “Then perhaps you will both agree that if I guarantee her safety … I can, in exchange, place you ‘on the hook’ for Saffron’s command?”
I swallowed. Vladimir and I glanced at each other. Then we both nodded.
The lich’s mouth parted in that piranha grin. “Dakota Frost,” he said, his bony hand slowly extending towards the cinderblock wall, “you have been given a command by a member of the Gentry, and have failed us. Now, we give you one last chance to redeem yourself:”
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