The Accords Triptych (Book 2): Bloodstream

by Ian Thomas

  “Please say you’ll visit, old man. It really has been an age,” Blackthorne said, one hand shaking Gracchus’ the other on the vampire’s back.

  “In time,” the regent said guardedly. While Blackthorne knew of the two bodies, there was no reason to mention the unease in the vampire court. Wise move, Eddie thought as Blackthorne stationed himself at his side.

  “And Sabine,” the Englishman said, taking both her hands in his and kissing them lightly. “Rest truly does agree with you.”

  “Why, Mister Blackthorne, I think you’ve been without good companionship for too long,” she blushed, the scant amount of blood needed to sustain her these days blossoming beautifully in her cheeks.

  “Radiant,” Blackthorne sighed, kissing her hands once more and releasing them. They bid farewell to Eddie and took the elevator down. Which left Eddie and Blackthorne among the last few in the apartment. Blackthorne’s wolves had found companions amid the wait-staff, very much ready to continue the party in private elsewhere.

  Loudly clinking empty glasses and scooping up plate Eddie hoped the remaining guests would take the hint and leave. If it took grabbing the Clorox and a sponge, he’d do it. He had a hotel to get to after all.

  Most did take the hint.

  All that is except Blackthorne.

  “Gracchus is in good form,” he stated, pouring himself a scotch. “Should be less of an obstacle than I expected.”

  “It’s late,” Eddie whined, his energy flagging. Then he connected Blackthorne’s words. “Obstacle? Sorry what?”

  “This was one bang-up soirée you threw together, good man.”

  “I had help.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Quite incredible that young lass. You’ve done well.”

  “We’re – I”

  “Always did have a knack for diplomacy you did. Not my bag that sort of thing. I figure a spade’s a fucking spade. But bloody hell can you work a room. You had witches, wolves, vampires and the sodding Clan Delphae in the same room and not a single punch thrown. Someone knocked a glass over…but that was about it. Very impressive.”

  “But?”

  “No buts. It’s a genuine compliment. I’m in awe. Marks you the best man for the role.”

  “Role?”

  “Yes, role. These accords have been an absolute godsend for us. All of us. And it’s all done to the vessel and the Pack Lord. The communities are thriving.”

  “Some would say the vampires aren’t.”

  “And that’s where you come in?”

  “I’m still not following.”

  “Keep up now,” Blackthorne said, sitting forward. He had Eddie’s full attention. And not in a good way. “Gracchus is a man in love. Sabine has all but forgotten she’s a vampire. They’re both tired. They need a well-earned respite from the petty squabbling of a large court like that.”

  “What’re you proposing?” Eddie asked uneasily.

  “It’s quite brilliant really. Inspired by your friend McLachlan. Sometimes an objective hand truly is the best course of action.”

  “Wait, you’re suggesting…” But his voice trailed off unable to utter the words.

  “Precisely. A wolf should be running the New York court of vampires. And not just any wolf. You.”

  The words knocked the air out of him. His brain’s fatigued state all but collapsed under the weight of the notion.

  XXVII

  Matteo // 04:44

  Cinnamon!

  McLachlan stared at his phone in disbelief.

  No one had ever actually invoked the safe word. Well, Dylan once or twice during their fake feud. If he saw or heard the word Aardvark, McLachlan dropped everything and found a way to his brother.

  Cinnamon was his safe word though. And when he suggested it to Matteo he had only been half serious. In what crisis did a 500-year-old werewolf need a safe word. He’d lived through two World Wars, untold revolutions, the occasional coup, and pretty much seen the world devolve into the state it was today.

  Yet there it was. Plain as the early morning around him. Cinnamon.

  “This calls for donuts,” McLachlan muttered to himself as he slipped out of Rebecca’s bed.

  “Yes please,” she murmured. Shit, he thought, this was gonna be tricky.

  “Go back to sleep.” He kissed her gently. “Matteo’s having a moment. Won’t be long.”

  “Cinnamon?” she asked with a smile.

  “Cinnamon.” He kissed her again and grabbed his clothes. Pulling on his jeans he felt guilty. Gee, there’s a new sensation, he mused wryly. He hadn’t told Rebecca but when he stayed over he didn’t sleep after sex. He napped. Dozed. On the odd occasion he nodded off but generally his stain precluded any chance of actual rest at night time. Hence he was awake when the message came in.

  Swinging past the Donut Pub on West 14th, he loaded up on a range of baked goods, least of which were several in the cinnamon range. Of course when he got to Matteo’s he needn’t have bothered.

  Pacing the ground floor in his boxer shorts, a giant jar of peanut butter in one hand a spoon in the other, the Pack Lord was half way to his heart attack.

  “Hey, whatcha got there buddy?” McLachlan asked, his voice upbeat and light. “You wanna trade? Nice sugary treats. At least two are peanut butter adjacent. Come on. Easy now. Hand over the jar.” In a moment not unlike Indiana Jones’ golden idol switch in Raiders of the Lost Ark, McLachlan inched forward. One hand held the bag of donuts, while his fingers of the other twitched nervously.

  No such delicacy was shared by Matteo who tossed his friend the jar, spoon and all, swiping the proffered bag.

  “Cinnamon huh?” Matteo asked, far more lucid than McLachlan had expected.

  “Donuts have always been emergency food.” And oddly appropriate when ‘aardvark’ was invoked also. “You good?”

  “Yeah, kinda, just…”

  “Little more specific please,” McLachlan said. In reply Matteo pointed, mouth full of donut, to a nearby armchair. McLachlan was surprised to see Eddie sitting there, very still. “Hey. What happened to the hotel?”

  “I know, right,” Matteo said before Eddie could reply, crumbs and frosting spitting from his mouth.

  “He’s gonna need a bib,” Eddie said quietly.

  “You really should be far more honorable with Hayley than you are,” Matteo managed, his words unobstructed by food. “An amazing young woman and you’ve just…well…nothing.”

  “It’s called being a gentleman,” Eddie said, his anger building. “And I’m not sure I really want to take advice from an emotional cripple.”

  “Hey, whoa now, let’s not dig up more snakes than we can kill.”

  Both men stopped. It was a ploy Connie had taught him after years of marriage to Frank. When in doubt, pull something Texan out.

  “Pretty sure I didn’t leave a warm bed and a warmer woman so we could deal with Eddie’s chastity.”

  Matteo pointed at Eddie again, a Boston cream shoved into his face.

  “Blackthorne wants to put a wolf at the head of Gracchus’ court,” Eddie said. “And not just any wolf. He wants it to be me.”

  “What about Gracchus?”

  “Extended leave of absence? Spend time with Sabine? Don’t think he wants to kill him. It’s not about him. It’s more having a wolf to preside over the vampires.”

  “That’s crazy. What made him think of that?”

  “This is the best part,” Matteo said, his tone contrary to his words.

  “You,” Eddie said, looking up at McLachlan. “Because of the accords. He’s got this idea that an objective outsider can be a successful leader.”

  “I’m not leader,” McLachlan replied. The look Eddie and Matteo shared said otherwise. “Wait, you’re not actually considering this are you?”

  “No,” Matteo said.

  “Hell no,” Eddie stated vehemently. “It’s treasonous.”

  “Is it?” McLachlan asked. “No really, is it? I don’t know. I mean he’s not Pack Lord
so he’d have to do this by force. Especially if you opposed it.”

  “As I would,” Matteo said, the donuts seeming to have appeased his mood. He seemed calmer, more assured of himself. “And in that it would be mutinous more than treason.”

  “So what’s the panic?” McLachlan asked.

  “This is out there,” Matteo said firmly. “If he’s said it to Eddie, then God knows who else he’s said it to.”

  “Sure Blackthorne’s a jackass, but he’s not that stupid.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Eddie said. “Thankfully Rowan cast that eavesdropping spell on my place because if the wrong person heard that, everything would come apart. Your accords. Matteo’s goodwill with the communities. All of it gone. We’d be facing another war.”

  “Vampires versus werewolves. Doesn’t get more classic than that.”

  “Says the outsider,” Eddie said.

  “Not to mention another Pack War no doubt in the middle of that too,” Matteo added grimly.

  “And you’d be seen as the architect of it all,” Eddie said pointedly at McLachlan.

  “Me?!”

  “Best friend to Matteo, you engineer peaceful accords that bring together the three communities and cement him as the reigning Pack Lord. Then after a few years, a wolf takes over the vampire court. As a sign of faith, Rowan would step in as head of the werewolf packs, forcing the wiccans to accept a vampire head. Gracchus would be an obvious choice. Though he’s still viewed as a wolf sympathizer by some.”

  “That is an insane leap,” McLachlan protested.

  “Is it?” Eddie asked darkly. “There’s some logic to it. I can see it. I just don’t like it. And we all know the communities well enough to know it wouldn’t go down easily.”

  “Hence a war,” McLachlan said.

  “Exactly,” Matteo replied.

  “What do we do?”

  “Nothing for the time being,” Eddie said.

  “Oh come on!”

  “He’s right,” Matteo said. “He’s only said this to Eddie. Who will dismiss it in jest. Wait for Blackthorne to bring it up with me where I will show some sign of consideration to win him over but ultimately reject the idea.”

  “That’s dangerous.”

  “Very, but we’re trying to avoid war on two fronts. The vampires and the packs,” Matteo continued. “We back off looking for this rogue vampire. Leave it to Gracchus’ people. Make comments here and there that he’s handling it well. Elevate him among the wolves, the Clan, and the Wiccans. Use the goodwill from last night to keep people informed. Reinforce the strength of community. Show Blackthorne that Gracchus is a strong leader and wait for him to think the idea was a fool’s errand. At the same time we show our support for the Samhain. Really invest with the wiccans.”

  “Hold on,” McLachlan said, startled by the cool analytical mind he was seeing in Matteo. “Couldn’t this all be seen as posturing to make Blackthorne’s plan a reality?”

  “It could,” Matteo replied. “Like you said this is dangerous. Doing nothing makes us seem arrogant if his plan comes out. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.”

  The room fell silent.

  “Okay so I have a question,” McLachlan announced.

  “Shit,” Eddie breathed. McLachlan was not known for pre-empting himself as such.

  “How is it that we’re pretty much juggling around the idea of Dracula v Wolfman only on some epically global scale, and you’re rallying the troops, barely freaking out yet getting all Saint Crispin’s Day speechy?” he asked Matteo directly. “The donuts weren’t that good.”

  “Saint Crispin’s Day speech?” Matteo asked. “She really is a good influence on you.”

  “I like to think so,” McLachlan replied. “And don’t deflect.”

  “He’s the Pack Lord,” Eddie snapped. “It’s what he does.”

  “There’s another part to the question isn’t there?” Matteo asked, studying McLachlan closely. “The actual question.”

  “You know me so well,” McLachlan said with a sly smile. “Yet when Ben turns traitor, you fall apart.”

  “He didn’t fall apart!” Eddie shouted, shooting to his feet.

  “He pretty much did,” McLachlan said, gesturing to the jar of peanut butter with a spoon lodged in the middle of it.

  Silently, Matteo turned and walked to the French doors leading to the garden. The sun was still rising, its rays yet to steal across the trees and into the house. The other men looked at each other. Eddie angry that McLachlan had dared push Matteo this far. Possibly also angry that he hadn’t pushed Matteo this far himself. McLachlan felt the pang that once again he’d been the reckless outsider pressing buttons.

  “You can be an infuriating prick, you know that,” Matteo said over his shoulder.

  “Thank you.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment.”

  “It wasn’t an insult either,” McLachlan countered. He knew he’d hit a nerve but he also knew it was the right nerve.

  Matteo turned back to them. His eyes were haunted but his face seemed resolved to address the truth finally.

  “Perhaps you should sit down,” he said looking to Eddie. Not expecting that, Eddie took a seat. McLachlan sat across from him in solidarity, least it seemed like he was challenging Matteo. Again.

  “Where to start?” he muttered to himself. “Grammatically none of what you said were actual questions.”

  “Deflecting.”

  “Dick.” Matteo looked at the floor for a moment. “Really wish I wasn’t just wearing boxer sho–”

  “Deflecting!” This time it was Eddie. And it was an accusation.

  “What Ben did. Betraying us. Me. It brought back some painful memories.” He fell silent again, his eyes stuck in that memory. “I’m sure you’ve probably wondered why I never had a large pack, family being what it is to me.”

  “Never really…” But Eddie didn’t finish his words. They all had just not seriously. Matteo was always surrounded by brother-wolves that the question wasn’t asked. Despite his words he felt Eddie tense in the chair.

  “Ben w-wasn’t my first pup,” Matteo stammered finally.

  Had he heard right, McLachlan thought, his stomach lurching suddenly. But it was nothing compared to Eddie. He paled, staring intently at the floor. He was so still, McLachlan worried. Instinctively, his fingernails sharpened into short claws.

  “About twenty years after I was sired Athias thought it was time I started my own pack,” Matteo said, the words coming out in a rush. McLachlan wanted him to stop. He knew confessions broke like floods but this was going to wreak havoc. “I’d seen the world several times over, become one with the beast but I missed my brothers something fierce.”

  “How many?” Eddie asked curtly. He was struggling to hold himself together. McLachlan could see that. First, the notion of him leading the vampire court, then this. Too much had fallen on Eddie’s shoulders to see the pain Matteo was in. The reverse was true also. Matteo finally able to acknowledge his past, he didn’t see the impact this was having.

  “Five,” Matteo replied, his voice small.

  “What happened to them?” McLachlan asked, seeing a small bloody stable in a cold night. The memory eclipsing the moment.

  “Betrayed. Slaughtered. By Colton.” Grief overtook him, head bowed and shoulders racked with sobs.

  “And you never thought to tell us?” Eddie asked, anger threading his words.

  “I–” Matteo began but the words didn’t come, seeming to hear Eddie’s pain through the admission.

  McLachlan saw the scene in his mind. The memory Illyana had guided him to. So much blood, cruelty and carnage. He understood the man’s grief and horror. “Give him a moment.”

  “What? A few hundred years wasn’t enough?” Eddie demanded, suddenly on his feet. “I’m your blood. How could you not tell me?”

  “I-I never t-told Ben either,” Matteo said.

  “And you wonder why he turned on you,” Eddie spat.

  “Hey
!”

  “Stay the fuck out of this McLachlan! This is family.” He looked at Matteo coldly. “Or it was.”

  “That’s enough.”

  “Not even close,” Eddie seethed. “Betrayal runs in the bloodline.”

  “Eddie,” Matteo called, but he was already striding out of the house. The door slammed a second or so later. Wrenching sobs tore from Matteo with a guttural moan. McLachlan put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, standing close in case he fell. The images of the stable flashing in his mine, he wished he could show Eddie what he’d seen. Surely he’d understand. As the cold light of morning seeped into the house it seemed nothing could dispel the pall over Matteo.

  XXVIII

  The young vampire had no idea what she’s playing with, Carys thought, sizing up the man before her.

  “Henry Gardiner,” he said affably, extending a hand to her.

  “Carys.” She smiled, accepting his hand. He drew it to his lips and kissed them.

  “At what point do we just abandon the whole last name thing?” Holly asked, idly standing nearby. “I mean I kinda like the one name thing. Makes it so much easier. Besides my last name was kinda blah. So can I drop it? Like as of now?”

  “Usually once you’ve killed your parents,” Carys replied, captivated by Henry.

  He was far older than he seemed. A man aged in centuries more than decades. She was a child in comparison, Holly an utter newborn.

  More intriguing about him was what he was. Not a vampire, that much she knew. Which left werewolf, but he didn’t have the same smoky, musky smell about him. There were other immortals she knew existed. Singular entities preserved by curse, gift, or artifact. Was he one of these, she wondered.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” he said. “I must thank you for looking after young Holly here. Not being a vampire myself I don’t know how to mentor a newborn like her.” It was a lie, Carys realized. One he had told her willingly. He wasn’t a vampire. That part was true. But he did know the ways of the vampire, he just did the minimum not to make Holly a bigger threat than she was. “It’s an appetite I understand but don’t share. I really must thank you for helping dispose of her other…meals.”