Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10)

by Colleen Gleason

  “Whatever it is, make up your mind, because we haven’t got a moment to lose.” She pushed toward him a piece of paper that had been sitting on the counter. “We just received this. It was sent through Aunt Cookie’s millinery, and Temple brought it over.” She gestured to the other woman, who seemed unable to take her eyes from Max.

  Well, at least one female appreciated him. And was maybe even a little intimidated.

  Max snatched up the paper, glad to have something on which to focus other than the snide greeting from his daughter. He thrust away familial complications and became a Venator as he read the note.

  Relinquish the pyramid. For every hour you delay, a very pretty price will be paid. One by one by one.

  “Of course it’s from Iscariot. Flora would have gone right to him with the news—and it’s her writing, as I should know.”

  Max looked at Macey. “How is that?”

  “She was my best friend.”

  He held her gaze for a moment, for there were volumes of unspoken words there. He felt a pang of pain for her grief.

  “No details or directions either, about where or how to ‘relinquish the pyramid.’ The assumption being—we’ll know,” Woodmore commented. “That doesn’t make me very optimistic.”

  “It’s Iscariot. There’s nothing optimistic about him,” Macey replied flatly. “He is evil personified. We don’t know where he’s been staying or how to find him, so there’s no opportunity to besiege him in his lair.”

  “And he’s recently come into possession of Rasputin’s amulet. That’s part of the reason I’m here,” Max said. “But that’s not the only reason.”

  “So I’ve heard. Tell me, Max…what are you going to do with the extra vis bulla you seem to have acquired?” she asked in a very chilly voice.

  It dawned on his that she wasn’t pleased he’d spoken with Alphonsus. He frowned, but before he could decide how to respond, Macey moved on.

  “What is Rasputin’s amulet?”

  “It’s an emerald the size of a peach pit, set in a gold fitting, worn as a pendant or brooch. It increases the power of its wearer, extends it, and—”

  “It glows. Green. In the dark,” Macey said. Her eyes were wide and she glanced at Woodmore. “That’s how.”

  “You’ve seen it?” Any last bit of hope Max might have clung to that Iscariot hadn’t learned about the power of the amulet disintegrated.

  “Seen it, and been the recipient. That explains my dream,” she said, looking at Woodmore. “Iscariot taunted me in a dream, and when I came out of it…I was bleeding. In the same place he’d wounded me months ago. As if he’d just reopened the scars.”

  Max sucked in his breath. “Bites? Macey, have you been Marked by Nicholas Iscariot?” His heart ceased to beat. No.

  “No,” Woodmore said. “She’s not been Marked—at least in the same way Lilith did to Max Pesaro. I made certain of it—the bites he inflicted on her were normal, and healed well with salted holy water. But he’d cut her too, with a dagger, and—”

  “And those wounds healed, but…but then they came back,” Macey explained.

  “In your dream?”

  “Yes, but also—when I encountered him in person, a month ago, he caused the cuts to open again—they’d healed but there were still scars. They bled. And also last night the same thing happened.”

  “Last night?” Woodmore turned toward her as Temple made a shocked sound. “You didn’t bother to mention that.”

  Macey’s face hardened into stubborn, closed-off lines. “Yes, I had a little encounter with him. It wasn’t anything serious—he was across the street from me and he stayed there…until he disappeared. He’s just…tormenting me. Trying to, anyway. Nevertheless, he made it clear he wants the rings.”

  “Not anymore. Now he wants the damned pyramid,” Woodmore said grimly.

  “You said, ‘that’s how.’ What did you mean?” Max said, fighting back the shocking, startling fear that suddenly threatened to overtake his mind. His daughter and Nicholas Iscariot: face to face? His daughter, marked and scarred by the bastard? His insides turned to ice.

  Thank God he’d come. His jaws were tight, his fingers curled into his palms, his body fairly vibrating with the need to go now and find him.

  If only he knew where.

  “And in your dream, two nights ago,” Woodmore continued, causing Max to wonder if the bastard had been there when it happened—he knew where Macey slept, didn’t he? “Tell him about that. I find that more concerning than the other.”

  She looked at Max. Now he saw fear in her eyes, which ratcheted up his own protective instincts. He fought them back, tucking them away for when he needed them. It was imperative he focus on facts, not emotions.

  “I had a dream and Iscariot was there, threatening me, demanding the rings, and—and when I woke from the dream, I was bleeding. It was real; it stained my clothing. Chas saw it too.” Her fingers, resting on the bar, trembled slightly. “And I saw him wearing the pendant in my dream—something I’d never seen on him before: a greenish glow emanating from here”—she touched herself in the middle of her breastbone—“as if he were wearing a pendant. It might also have been beneath his coat last night, but I didn’t see it.”

  “Rasputin’s amulet,” Temple muttered. She had an old book in front of her and began to flip through the brittle pages.

  “‘A root of malevolence shall marshal such power as never before known. It shall permeate far and deep, and only the dauntless one and his peer shall rise up to it,’” said Woodmore.

  A root of malevolence. There could be no better description of Nicholas Iscariot. Shall marshal such power as never before known. Max had never liked the sound of that, and he liked it even less now that his daughter was in the midst of it.

  Thank God I came, her pride be damned.

  “But who is the dauntless one?” asked Temple. “Do you know?” This question was directed at Max, but it seemed as if she were too bashful to look at him for more than a second, let alone address him directly.

  “Even if I did,” he replied, “it wouldn’t matter. It would be beyond foolish to rely on a prophecy to determine how to resolve this matter. We must rely on ourselves.”

  “Right, of course,” Temple murmured, and returned her attention to her book.

  “Do you have any way to contact your friend—Flora, is that her name?” Max asked Macey.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “I suppose we have no choice but to wait for whatever will come,” he said. “Unless anyone here has a better idea?”

  They shook their heads, each as grim as the next.

  He suspected it was going to be a long, unpleasant night—waiting for some message, some further information.

  While all the while, dodging cold dagger-eyes from his own flesh and blood.

  And wondering what the other woman he loved was doing, cozied up on the sofa in front of a bloody fire.

  Bugger it to hell.

  ELEVEN

  ~ In Which our Heroine Considers the Perfect Right Hook ~

  Macey avoided her father’s eyes, as well as his person, for the rest of the dreary Sunday and its evening at The Silver Chalice.

  She had nothing to say to Max Denton.

  Sure, she was glad he was here—for all she knew, he was the dauntless one, and as far as she was concerned, he could face down Nicholas Iscariot with whoever his “other half” was. But that didn’t mean she had to start buying him ties for Christmas and having Sunday dinner with the man.

  There were other things on her mind—things she wished she could erase, and things she knew she was foolish to be upset over. After all, the safety of hundreds, even thousands, of mortals would surely be at risk during the conflict with Iscariot. Her own private matters of the heart were of little concern in the grand picture.

  But try as she might to stop them, her thoughts kept going back to the moment when Grady had opened his front door earlier today.

  She’d looked
up at him from beneath her dripping fedora, ready to speak—to make up some excuse to come into the man’s house. She knew Grady, knew he would never turn away a damsel in distress, or anyone in need, for that matter. She hadn’t had a plan, she just thought if she gained entrance, if she could spend some time with him…maybe…perhaps…they could start over…differently.

  Or something.

  She didn’t know what. Didn’t really know why she’d gone there in the first place.

  Macey made a sound of disgust that had Chas glancing over at her. He, like everyone else in the group—which was spread out at separate tables in the pub—was poring over ancient books and writings in search of a way to destroy Rekk’s Pyramid.

  At least, that was what she was supposed to be doing, instead of tormenting herself with memories of Grady—and the fact that Sabrina Ellison, older woman and adventure photographer, had been coming down from his bedroom in her dressing robe.

  Even now, the thought of that made her well up with nausea, and her very fertile mind delve into imaginings it had no business going into.

  Her first reaction, after the stupefaction of discovery and the blind reeling away into pouring rain after a stammered excuse, was that it had been less than two weeks since she’d asked Wayren to use the special gold disk.

  Less than two weeks, and he was already fooling around with someone else? An older woman, too, vastly experienced and worldly—and possibly even a very rich one.

  But by the time Macey got to the end of the block and was passing Garrick’s Butcher Shop, her tears of frustration were mingled with rain, and she realized how foolish she was being. If Grady had no memory of her, it hadn’t been only two weeks since they’d been together. There hadn’t even been a “together” in his mind.

  You did the right thing, she reminded herself as she sloshed through puddles and trudged through mud. Grady deserved his own life.

  But you didn’t give him a choice. Temple’s voice mingled with her own conscience, and Macey glared into the waterlogged day.

  It’s done, she told herself firmly. It’s over. I’ll live with my decision.

  And so Macey returned to the pub late in the afternoon to find the ominous note from Iscariot that had sent them all into a tumult. Yet, in a very small way, she was grateful for the distraction it provided.

  Now, it was hours later and she was considering her options: continuing to search for the solution to destroying Rekk’s Pyramid, going to bed and resting until the next thing happened with Iscariot, or heading back out into the now-pitch-dark city and see what trouble she could stir up. She didn’t want to just sit here.

  Hmm…maybe she should go back and see what Capone was up to. Terrorize him a little, as he was prone to do to others.

  As if reading Macey’s mind, Chas stood abruptly and gave a graceful stretch that had her watching him with appreciation. Well, there was another option.

  “I’m going to bed,” he said, his gaze sliding over hers. “My eyes are burning, I’m beat, and it’s—Christ, it’s nearly midnight. Who knows when we’ll hear more from Iscariot.”

  “Much as I hate waiting for him to act, I can see no other option at the moment,” Max commented. He was wearing glasses to help him see the small, faded print of the book he was reading, and the dark-rimmed spectacles made him look like anything but a fearsome warrior. “However, I suggest at least one of us remain in the pub at all times in case we receive another message.”

  “But don’t you feel like we should be—doing something?” Macey said. “Rather than just waiting? Who knows what he’s doing right now!”

  Max removed his spectacles and looked at her, lifting a brow. “I’m all ears, Macey. What do you suggest?”

  She gritted her teeth. He was right, and, dammit, she agreed with him, but she wanted to be doing something. Instead of brooding and thinking. It felt as if they were at Iscariot’s mercy.

  “If you want to go on patrol, hunt around, see if we find anything, I’ll go with you,” her father added.

  Not what she had in mind. Not with him, anyway. “The weather’s so bad out, I suppose everyone’s probably holed up for the night,” she muttered. “Even vampires.”

  “Wait…I think I’ve found something.” Temple spoke suddenly and caught their attention. “It says something here about an evil pyramid stone…it goes on with a description—Yes, that sounds like it: onyx stone, shaped like the ancient pyramids, the base is square and the length of a short finger…yes, this must be it. It says here…hmm…let me translate…” Her voice trailed off, and was followed by the scritch-scratch of a pencil on paper and her mutterings.

  Macey felt her father’s eyes flicker back to her, but she didn’t look at him. She wasn’t giving him any openings to start up a friendly parental conversation.

  “All right,” said Temple after a moment of writing. “Here’s what I have. Apparently, the pyramid can be destroyed—get this—‘with the curved tongue of the ruby-eyed skull.’”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Chas said. “Skulls don’t have tongues—or eyes, for that matter. Where is Wayren when you need her?”

  Macey couldn’t help it—she looked reflexively toward each of the doors, half expecting the mysterious chatelaine to walk through one of them at any moment. Both doors remained closed.

  “That’s all it says,” Temple replied. “And I’m confident the translation is right. I checked it three times. There might be more, but that’s all there is in this section.” She yawned. “I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day, and I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Despite the dark situation, her face softened into a cat-with-the-cream expression.

  “I’ll stay here—take the first shift,” Max said. “In case something changes.”

  For some reason, his easy offer made Macey feel slightly guilty—but she wasn’t going to give in to that base feeling. Then it evaporated as her father went on, “Woodmore, if you’ll relieve me at four.” It wasn’t a request—and he hadn’t included Macey.

  “I’ll relieve you at four,” she said flatly. “Chas should rest. He’s been badly wounded.”

  Max merely shrugged, ignoring Chas’s outraged scoff that he might need to be coddled. “Very well. I’ll be here. Presumably, there will be a place for me to sleep at that time?”

  Macey couldn’t help but feel a tad deflated at his easy acquiescence. “Yes. I’ll show you then.”

  Thus the group disbanded for the evening, and it was assumed Chas would stay on site instead of going back to his own flat, due to the nature of their predicament.

  Macey shot a glance at Max just as she went through the door to the private apartments and saw that he’d settled himself at a table with a short crystal glass, a tall, dark bottle, and a stack of books and papers. He looked…forlorn.

  A little shaft of something poked her in the heart as she paused, looking at the dark head bent over his studies, one hand holding a pencil, the drink off to the side. She smothered a startled noise, for in that moment, her father looked just like the man in Sabrina Ellison’s photograph. The tableau—the mood, the pose, the resemblance—was astonishing in its familiarity. It was as if she’d been brought into the photograph in real life. Even the shadows seemed the same.

  Obviously sensitive to everything in his environment, Max lifted his head and found Macey watching him. From across the room, she saw a flash of something in his eyes—pain? hope? apprehension?—and forced her lips into a small, polite smile.

  “Good night, Max. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  “Macey…”

  “I’ll see you in a few hours,” she said again, then fled, closing the door behind. Her heart was pounding, her palms were damp, her eyes felt gritty—and she didn’t really understand why.

  He was just a man, just the man who’d caused her to be born. And had caused her to have this vocation of hers—the one that would keep her forever alone and solitary, and always the target of evil.

  Now he was a collea
gue, a peer—a partner. Albeit an interfering one. Nothing more.

  She stubbornly shoved away the flicker of a long-lost memory of sliced apples and star-shaped seeds and laughter and—No, she didn’t need that taking up space in her mind right now.

  Macey turned blindly, blinking rapidly, rushing away from it all, and slammed into Chas.

  “Whoa there, lulu,” he said, catching her with gentle, firm hands.

  She managed to look up at him without showing her confusion and pain—at least, she hoped the emotions were hidden—and completely switched the set of her mind. “I was hoping you wouldn’t go home tonight,” she said, easing closer as she took hold of him.

  Strong as steel, smooth and muscular, his arms acted as anchors in the midst of her turmoil. His warmth and the power of his presence steadied her. But she wanted more. She needed it.

  “I’m glad you decided to stay here tonight,” she said, looking up at him. Her heart was suddenly pounding, and she felt a little queasy with all sorts of nerves and emotions.

  Chas’s eyes shuttered and he eased back a bit. “It didn’t make sense to go home.”

  She moved in a little closer, her attention wandering over the healing wounds on his neck, the strong beat of pulse thudding there, the darkness of his skin beneath the torn white shirt…then over his stubbled jaw and to his mouth. The beauty of his form and features took her breath away.

  “Macey,” he said quietly. She felt a little tremor run through his muscles, a tiny shiver beneath his skin. “I don’t think… Whatever you’re thinking, lulu, it’s not a good idea.” He sounded a little breathless, a little dusky and rough, and as if the words had been wrung from him.

  “Why not?” she asked, shoving away a pang of uncertainty. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it the other night in the alley. You practically tore my—”

  He swooped down and covered her mouth with his, smothering the rest of her sentence, dragging her up against his steely body. He was warm and hard, smelled spicy and masculine, and tasted salty and hot. He kissed her forcefully, wildly, with deep penetration and long, sweeping strokes…with desperation and desire and something much darker.