by Debra Dunbar
Kelly heard the car door gently open and close behind her. Knowing it was Jaq, she tried to wave the woman back only to see her move up beside her.
“I heard. I’m going in with you,” she whispered.
And the other vampires probably heard it too. Kelly winced, but was unable to reply before Juan was back. The vampire looked at Jaq with narrowed eyes then ignored her and turned to address Kelly.
“The Consort is able to see you for a brief moment.”
“Thank you,” Kelly tilted her head, giving Juan a brief, tight smile. “I do apologize for this, but I’m afraid a werewolf must accompany me as a witness.”
Juan frowned. “I thought she was an offering for the Consort. She doesn’t smell like a werewolf.”
“I bathed today,” Jaq told him. It was all Kelly could do to keep from laughing.
Thankfully Juan accepted the explanation and turned to lead. Kelly tensed as they walked through the group of vampires gathered in front of the brick building that announced it held the law offices of Stubben and Mercer. About twenty Fournier surrounded the fifty Kincaid. Normally the Kincaid vampires would have prevailed with greater numbers, but with the Master dead, they all held back, clearly waiting to see the outcome of the regime change. Kelly wondered if they’d fight against the Prince if another claimed the position of Master. Probably not.
“The humans. What happened to the humans?” Jaq asked.
Juan ignored her, so Kelly repeated the question. He turned to her, pausing briefly in surprise.
“Humans? No idea. We haven’t seen any since we came into town. The Kincaids probably locked them away to starve us or something. We’ll find them.”
Jaq exchanged a relieved look with Kelly and continued on in silence as they walked past the last of the vampire group and up the front steps.
“Ten minutes,” Juan told them as he ushered them through the door and closed it firmly behind them.
The sound echoed through the room. Plush carpet spread out before them into a large open entryway that extended up both stories and halfway through the house. A sweeping staircase at the end of the room led to a second story toward at the rear of the house, and on either side, doorways indicated offices. It was what lay in the middle of the floor that caused both Kelly and Jaq to gasp. A body was neatly arranged on the carpet, blood staining its ebony skin. Next to it sat a monstrous creature cradling a head in its arms and rocking to and fro.
Monica’s illusion had vanished in her grief, and the woman before them was like something from a nightmare. Her body was skeleton thin, the bluish–gray skin tight over wiry sinew and bony joints. Hands with extra–long fingers clutched the head, caressing it with two–inch, yellowish talons. Her flesh was ripped in places, as if she’d clawed herself in grief, and black blood oozed sluggishly from the wounds. As she raised her bald head, milky–white eyes met Kelly’s, and the woman’s thin lips twisted, showing an entire mouth full of long fangs.
“Who? What?”
Kelly silenced her friend with a hand on her arm.
“Look what they did. How could they?”
With shaking hands, Monica loosened her tight hold on the head and placed it down against the corpse’s neck, as if she could somehow reattach it. Three times it rolled a few inches away, and each time she grabbed it, trying to keep it against the neck’s torn flesh. Finally she watched it roll and sighed, placing her hands on her knees and looking up at Jaq.
“Your kind, they often have the ability to heal, no? Angels do this. Some Nephilim do this. Please heal him. Please. I will do anything, give you anything. All my power, anything within my grasp will be yours if you do this for me. Please, I beg of you.”
Jaq swallowed hard, her voice shaking. “Ma’am, my healing doesn’t seem to work on vampires, and even if it did, I can’t do resurrection. I don’t think anyone, even angels, can do that.”
The woman seemed to crumple into a gray ball, her long fingers covering her face as she shook for a few moments in silence.
“They brought him back to me. At least they brought him back to me,” she said, her voice muffled through her hands. “The others they left dead by the road. Only Jared was spared to carry his dead Master. I should be grateful that they brought his body back and didn’t just pitch it into the water or throw it into the woods.”
Kelly took a sharp breath. This was bad. Monica had lost herself in grief. They’d be on their own once more, fighting a Prince who would now be a Master. Their fate seemed to be set, yet she still had to see if there was any other option.
“The Prince waits for you outside. Once you compose yourself and stand by his side, he’ll announce the transition and his assumption of the territory as Master.”
Monica nodded, pulling her hands away from her face. Kelly looked at Jaq and saw the werewolf nod at her in approval. Well, here goes nothing.
“But before you go, I want you to know that I am here with eighty werewolves, including the Alpha to assist you. We came to accept your offer, to fight at your side. I hope that deal is still on the table.”
Milk–white eyes rose to hers in surprise. “I thank you for your offer of alliance, but I am only a Consort and am unable to meet the terms of the contract I put forth.”
Kelly shrugged. “Then be a Master. This territory seems to be lacking one at the moment.”
The vampire slowly shook her head. “I’m a Consort, not a Master.”
“I’m a vampire, not a werewolf and look where I am right now.”
Monica laughed. It was a dry rasping sound that rubbed across Kelly’s skin like sandpaper. Her shoulders straightened, and her mouth tightened into a firm line. “Thank you, Kelly Demir of the werewolves. I will meet with the Prince.”
So much for her faint hope that this woman would step up to power. Their only chance now would be if the Prince saw some value in an alliance with them and honored their previous treaty as a favor to his new Consort. Either way, the future looked to be a difficult and bloody one.
“Would you please give us thirty minutes to cross back over the state line before you accept the Prince’s offer?”
Monica raised her head, confusion in her eyes. “So you have changed your mind? You are declining my offer, then?”
“I thought….” Kelly’s voice trailed off, and she gestured at the body on the floor.
Monica followed her gaze and ran a hand down the front of Gideon’s chest. “I never wanted to rule, but I won’t see his hard work, his legacy, be handed over to his killer. He was my life. I won’t let his death be for nothing, and for that I must face the Prince in challenge, and rule this territory as a Master.”
“Then yes, we accept your offer. What do we need to do?”
The vampire shimmered as she rose, and where there had been a monster, stood a regal woman with hair like black wool, and golden skin.
“Just witness. And be ready to ensure none of the Prince’s staff interfere with what should be a duel between the two of us.”
Kelly nodded and she and Jaq left. The crowd of vampires watched them carefully as they descended the steps and made their way back to the line of trucks. Jonah and the others had gotten out by this point, but waited cautiously by their vehicles.
“So the deal’s off?” Jonah asked Jaq.
She shook her head. “We need to wait while she and the challenger duke it out. Make sure no one interferes. We should have a plan to get out of here in case everything goes south, though. If she’s killed, we won’t find any diplomacy from the other group.”
“Duke it out? What, like wrestling? Boxing? You guys do twenty paces with pistols or something?”
The door opened, and Monica walked slowly down the steps. Kelly watched as the crowd parted and the Prince came forward, a smile on his face, clearly expecting an acceptance.
“Not pistols,” Kelly replied. “Knives.”
****
Monica watched the young vampire approach the steps, standing with his hand slightly raised in we
lcome. She had to admit, he made a fine figure with his carefully disheveled hair and immaculate suit. There wasn’t even a hint of triumph in his smile. Humiliating her, mocking her situation, would not benefit his cause in the slightest, and he was smart enough to put aside his elation in exchange for a humble attitude that would assist him in the long run. If only he were a few–thousand years older and she’d never met Gideon.
Gideon. The Prince’s suit didn’t even show a hint of the duel he’d fought, but in her mind, he was covered in blood and gore — a grotesque figure smiling at the bottom of a marble stairway. She’d never wanted this life, never wanted more than to walk by Gideon’s side, but some things could not go unavenged.
“Greetings, my Consort,” he said.
His voice was deep and pleasing, and Monica once again regretted that she would not be accepting his offer. Twenty–thousand years of tradition, and she was about to shatter it all. Her. The elegant and cultured Born. The little girl who always made her father proud. Daddy was no doubt spinning in his fiery grave right now.
She smiled at the Prince. “I am not, nor will I ever be, your Consort.”
His shock was quickly masked, as was the scowl that creased his face. “I assume then that you will be returning to Egypt? My second will be honored to escort you to the airport for your flight.”
The crowd of vampires behind him was so silent that she could hear the heartbeat of humans, safe a mile away, awaiting the all clear from the evacuation due to widespread gas leaks. Egypt. As if they would welcome her. She’d been gone three–hundred years after leaving for the new world. The fact that this Prince had offered his second as escort wasn’t lost on her, either. That he’d declined to take her personally was a stinging insult. And she didn’t care one bit.
“Why would I return to Egypt? I am Master of this territory.”
There was a collective intake of breath from the vampires below. Monica stifled a smile. Yes, her. A Master. A thousand years ago she wouldn’t have believed it herself. Actually, a few hours ago she wouldn’t have believed it herself, but that feisty little exile had given her hope that maybe things could be different in this new, modern world.
The Prince stiffened, his posture rigid even though his facial expression remained calm and mild. “I am laying claim to all the territory from Virginia south into the Caribbean, and west to Mississippi river.”
And here we go. Jared stepped from the crowd to stand next to her, his hands trembling as he clenched them by his side. He had every right to be afraid. His life depended on the outcome of this confrontation. Monica nodded at him, acknowledging his offer as a second, and turned toward the Prince.
“I refute your claim. As Master of these lands, I command you and your staff to return and never cross into my family’s area again.”
“But you don’t …do you even have a knife?”
No, she didn’t, but the fact she’d cracked his placid expression was worth the humiliation.
“I will use Gideon’s — I mean, the former Master’s. I’m assuming you have it and didn’t leave it on the shoulder of the road.”
He nodded stiffly, and another vampire came forward to hand Monica a simple iron blade. Bile rose in her throat as she took it, and she struggled to keep from collapsing into a sobbing ball on the steps. How many had Gideon faced with this blade? Its rough edges and simple hilt were so like the man she loved.
“Then I challenge you for the right to be Master.”
Monica tore her gaze from the knife in her hands and straightened her spine. “Accepted. Jared, would you please get that little Louis XVI table from inside. There is no sense in doing this on something so crass as a stump or a rock.”
Jared nodded and vanished through the door. Monica’s lips twisted into a wry smile as she realized he’d not responded verbally, so as to not address her by title. Should he call her Consort, or Master, or just Ma’am? She was sure every vampire from Virginia south was wondering the same thing.
In a flash, he’d reappeared, placing the walnut table at the bottom of the steps. The vampire by the Prince’s side stepped forward, and they examined the knives briefly before placing them on the marble top of the table. Monica walked down the few remaining steps to stand an equal distance from the table as her opponent.
“Shall we begin?”
The Prince inclined his head, and his aura flowed out to meet hers. It felt sharp and raw against her skin. The boy had potential. Monica edged open the gates deep inside her and allowed a trickle of power to release. It sliced through the Prince’s aura like a black arrow and the iron knife slowly rose from the table. In a burst of light, it separated and twenty duplicates swirled and danced in the air.
The Prince seemed confident and composed before her, but Monica felt his aura tremble and sweat. The battle with Gideon must have taxed his resources, but she wasn’t about to take an easy win. Her heart wanted to crush him, to tear his flesh to shreds while he screamed, to send his fangs back to his father in a box, but she held back. It was one thing to prove that she was a force to be respected, but one must always hide the true extent of one’s strength — all the better to surprise any future enemies.
Holding her illusion tight, she reached deeper inside and twisted her neck in a serpentine motion. The knives glittered in a field of gold — all but one. Monica smiled and selecting one, she burst the illusion in an explosion of colorful confetti.
The crowd shifted, a low mutter penetrating her concentration. Another knife and another firework of colorful paper flew through the air. The Prince frowned. Sweat beaded his brow as he took a tiny step forward. He’d not yet mastered telekinesis; only illusion. That meant he’d need to physically grab the knife and shove it through her heart with his own hand. That wasn’t necessarily a disadvantage. With enough speed, he could have her dead before she had time to react.
Another knife burst. Another step toward the pretty jeweled knife. This was a game she no longer had patience for. Her beloved grew cold in the building behind her, and all she wanted was an evening to grieve. Just one evening, then she’d assume her duties with all the grace and dignity she’d been raised to exhibit, leaving her aching heart for those daylight hours beneath the earth.
Ten knives popped, and the air was thick with tiny colored squares.
She would have missed it had she not been so very old. In spite of her concentration on her opponent, she felt something to her right — something sharp and deadly. At her age, Monica could feel silver from a block away. Even in sleep, she twitched and burned when it came within range. She refused to feast on humans who had worn the metal within the last month, knowing how even the faintest hints of it in their skin and blood caused agony throughout her body.
Splitting her concentration, and allowing more of her aura to roll from her core, she turned her face to the right. The silver knife stilled, less than an inch from her back. The hand holding it trembled as it tried to overcome the resistance and complete its forward momentum.
“Jared, darling, did you think I would not notice the wound in Gideon’s back? My grief did not blind me to such an unorthodox injury. Treachery, and clearly from someone close and trusted — someone who would have been spared in the aftermath.”
Three more knives burst in sparks of lavender. She’d tired of confetti, and her mercy was miles away, especially where a traitor was concerned.
“Give me a reason not to kill you, Jared. One reason.”
The vampire stuttered and tried to jerk his hand away. Monica held him close, reaching out a bit of her aura to anchor him in place.
“I had no choice, my Master. Please. I beg your forgiveness.”
She thought of the body lying in the building behind her. Gideon. The smell of his skin at nightfall, when he’d been out in the sun all day. The heat in his brown eyes when he’d looked at her. The passion in his physical affection. If only she’d been able to have his child, to have something to cling to now that he was gone, but there was nothing e
xcept memories — memories that would fade as the centuries wore on. Rage consumed her. She reached out.
“I’m sorry, Jared, but forgiveness is beyond me at this moment.”
Her aura flared. The vampires surrounding them cringed as a sound like glass scratching a chalkboard screeched across the street. Anger. Loss. Pain. Anguish that consumed her every cell. White light burst in a pulse, and Jared exploded into small chunks of flesh and bone. The silver knife fell to the pavement, clattering in loud protest. Monica smiled through her anger and turned her attention to the trembling, sweating Prince.
“Someday I hope you know my pain. Know what it means to love beyond every rational thought only to see it vanish before your eyes. Not because I wish for revenge, but because I wish you to see what truly matters in this life — not what your fool father has filled your head with, but what truly matters.”
The Prince ground his teeth and muttered something unintelligible. His pretty knife trembled on the table. It was an improvement, and Monica couldn’t help a smile. In five–thousand years or so, he’d be a force to reckon with.
Seven knives exploded into a spray of light, and one knife remained, spinning above the marble–topped table. Slowly it inched forward to hover within a few inches of Kyle’s chest. He shook, his face determined and resigned. The bejeweled knife on the table shifted left, the hilt rising an inch.
Monica ignored it and concentrated on her own knife. She could feel it brush against the silk of his suit jacket, feel the acrid bite of his aura. It was the aura of a man who knew he was about to die. One move and it would be over — draw blood with the ceremonial knife to shatter his aura then leap forward to decapitate.
It played out in her head like a movie scene. With the Prince dead, she’d need to confront his father. The elder Fournier would be far more difficult to defeat. There would be centuries of spying, information gathering, assassination attempts and stealth attacks. All the things a Master vampire relished.
Gideon hadn’t relished those things. He’d only wanted to make their territory a better place for the family, to grow their wealth and secure their safety.