Brigit skimmed papers quickly and meticulously while Gerhard lay in his stupor. The power of her whispered scenario seemed to ebb with each tryst. Sooner or later, she would have to go much further in truth, unless she finally got information they could use.
Most of the drawers were locked, and Gerhard hadn’t let slip where he kept the key. She couldn’t break the locks without giving herself away, so had to make do with what papers were accessible, and once again, they were nothing but the most tiresome orders.
Orders, orders, orders, they do love their orders.
Suddenly, Brigit came across a set of orders that made her sit down hard. She had to read them all several times before they began to make any sense, and even then, they made no sense. How had Mors not heard about this? How had none of them? How was it possible?
She glanced down at the blissful Gerhard.
“You can’t be serious, can you?”
He stirred slightly, but slept on.
Brigit replaced the papers and lay back down, even though she really wanted to throw him out the window. The sooner she woke him, the sooner she could get home and they all could get to work.
“When?”
Brigit answered the flat inquiry with bitter sarcasm.
“Czechoslovakia next week. Poland in September. Autumn is a fine time to start a war, especially with a country with whom you have a nonaggression pact.”
“He denounced that, or don’t you remember?”
“Yes, well, and they signed one with Denmark, do you think that means anything? Something will certainly be rotten in that state, you mark my words. This war is coming, the plans are well in motion, and what the hell are we going to do about it?”
“I am trying, but what can I do, really, when my man is involved in culture?” asked Meaghan, her accent fretful and petulant. She folded her arms and fixed her eyes on the teakettle. Swefred laid a hand on her shoulder and looked at Brigit and the others resignedly.
“I wondered. It’s the questions the journalists haven’t been asking that have been worrying me. When I pointed out to the one fellow I’m supposedly friends with that he seems to be doing nothing more than regurgitating the party line in print, he was, shall we say, surprised. As though he couldn’t imagine his job entailing anything else. I think they’re rather proud of what’s been accomplished, and this great future. They want to keep extolling it in the papers.”
“Or they’re too terrified to do anything else.” Brigit was disdainful.
“Not without reason. But what we need to do is penetrate the inner circle.”
His eyes swiveled to Mors as he spoke.
“I don’t want to take all the fun from everyone.”
“Since when?” but Cleland winked at him. He turned to Brigit with a placating tone. “Masses of Germans have been saying for years that there ought to be a total German empire again, that the Danzig is rightfully part of Germany, just like Austria. Come on, you remember von Bismarck.” Brigit mashed her lips together and glared at the ceiling. “Well, what did you expect?” Cleland continued, a bit more heated. “You’ve seen empires in their infancy before. Did you think they’d detail all their plans in the newspapers for the world to read? Put it to an international vote, perhaps?”
“Don’t be exhausting. All I want to know is why we didn’t already know this, why we didn’t already stop it. It’s getting a bit late to interfere.”
“This hasn’t exactly been a stroll in St. James’s, has it?” Cleland snapped. “These people aren’t fuzzy little bunnies, either, you might have noticed.”
“We’ve been doing our best,” Swefred added, almost as petulant as Meaghan might be.
“Have we? Have we really? If we had good fake propaganda, confused people, we could create chaos. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”
Cleland and Swefred exchanged glances, riling Brigit further.
“Well then, what the hell are we doing? What are we doing?” Brigit demanded. “We’re supposed to be so clever, so capable, so powerful, what are we doing? How are we breaking their backs if they’re getting ready to mow down Poland? I’ve hardly gotten to even eat anyone really worthwhile, we have to be so damn cautious. What? What do we do now?”
“She’s right,” Mors interjected, laying a hand on Brigit’s tensed forearm. “We should have made more progress by now.”
“It’s hard to make progress against such determination,” Cleland protested. “They’re so sure they’re right, and they’re so loyal to each other, and the party, and him. I think the Goddess of Discord herself would have a hard time turning this group on each other. We must be cautious, and clever.”
“But we cannot be total slaves to caution,” Mors pounded the wall for emphasis. “We cannot, lest we lose yet more and then more. Indeed, as the lady says, what is our purpose but to thwart such actions? We must be true to our very selves, and ruthless, ruthless and bold. Ambition! Ambition …”
“By that sin fell the angels.”
Even Meaghan gaped at Swefred. His face was impassive, inscrutable, and Brigit wondered if he’d gone so far as to make a joke. It seemed so unlike him, but, she reminded herself, she had made a point all these years of not getting to know him too well.
Mors recovered from the surprise of the interruption and grinned.
“Verily, aye, but we were never angels. Nay, not even bright still. We may cling safely to our ambition.”
“So what then? What do we do?” Brigit knew it was now she who sounded petulant, but there was something unsettling creeping into her skin, and she wanted a plan to which she could cling with new passion. Mors locked eyes with her, sending a spark through the room.
“There is a great Prussian general coming to Berlin soon.” Mors spoke in a hypnotic purr. “One of the most famous heroes of the Great War, but a star long before then. He’s been critical of the Reich, but apparently has changed his mind, and is now to be one of the top commanders and advisers. They think it’s going to make a tremendous difference.”
Brigit interrupted.
“So you did know they were preparing for war!”
“No, my impatient Yorkist. I knew they were preparing for an empire, and that is not necessarily the same thing, as the Anschluss demonstrated.”
Brigit grumbled and folded her arms. Mors continued.
“They are arranging quite the fete for General von Kassell, and he will speak to a select group. It will be in all the papers.” Mors paused to wink at Swefred. “He will arrive laden with treasure. One wonders where on earth it was amassed, but never mind. Wouldn’t it be a shame if he and all his honor guard were assassinated before the festivities began? And troubling, too, because who amongst them could even think of such a terrible plot, let alone carry it out? Indeed, if the sabotage is made to look as though committed by a crack team within the party, well, can a spine so bent ever again stand tall?”
Even Meaghan and Swefred looked interested.
“So when? When is he coming?” Brigit felt as impatient as a child, but didn’t care.
“Late in May, is the word so far.”
“But that’s ages from now!”
“Gives us time to plan it properly, as Otonia would have it.”
The others nodded, pleased, but Brigit couldn’t shake her disquiet. She needed to do something, now.
“I’m hungry. I think I’ll go out.”
Cleland glanced at the clock.
“Slim pickings this time of night, Brigit. It’s pushing close to dawn. Are you sure you want to risk it?”
“I can’t wait.”
She could feel the others looking at one another, and hear the silent questions, but she didn’t care. She needed more than a meal. She needed a kill.
The night was chilly, and felt much more like midwinter than early spring. Brigit prowled discontentedly through the frosty, bluish haze. Spring. The days would soon be getting longer, giving them even less of an advantage. They ought to have come earlier in the autumn. But back i
n November, they thought they knew what they were doing and how they would carry it off. And though they hadn’t admitted as much to one another, or even to themselves, they’d tacitly assumed the mission would be accomplished by now and they would be home.
She wondered about this plan of Mors’s and the effect it might have. If they did it right, it could indeed be the strike they hoped for. Something definitive, something to throw the Nazis off their game, to keep them from gaining their much-sought prize. But she wished they could do it now.
No. I wish it were already done.
As she reached the business district, she began to send out inquiring sniffs. After half an hour, she started to worry. Cleland had been right, this was a foolish time to try. In London, there were always the after-hours clubs and parties and salons to enjoy, but here, despite the glorious dream of a society that they were supposedly bringing to fruition, there was nothing so fun. The happy hedonism of the Weimar days was long gone, as were the days when men like Mikhail Bakunin or Aleksandr Herzen might look to Germany as an inspiration for the democracy they hoped to cultivate in Russia. Perhaps the people were confident, and felt strong, and had an outlet for their energies and something in which to believe. All this, yes, but theirs was a dour world. Of course, she only walked by night and wasn’t privy to much beyond the scope of the mission, but it seemed to her it was only their little clique of vampires who laughed with anything like sheer pleasure in this strident city.
What a turnup for the books, if history could record it. A great new world indeed, where only the undead experience unadulterated joy. I’m embarrassed for you.
She giggled. The giggle turned into a gurgle as a sniff caught at last and she scampered happily toward her prey.
Two night watchmen outside a bank vault had purloined some good gin and were happily toasting each other’s future success as they climbed up the ladder. They toasted the inner circle, the Führer, of course, the Fatherland, and all its most luscious blond daughters. It may have been the effect of all that gin, but one watchman was sure he saw the glittering head of just such a blonde winking at him from down an alleyway. A sweet whisper sounded in his ear:
“Komm her, mein Schöner. Ich hab’ was für dich.”
Well, if a blonde with such an intriguing voice had something for him, who was he to keep her waiting?
His compatriot hardly noticed him get up and head down the alley, and probably just thought he was going to relieve himself. Which, in a way, he was. He chortled, almost skipping up to the blonde, who was so beautiful he nearly stopped breathing. She was like something out of a film. Yes, things were definitely turning around in his life. It must be the uniform. Women were notoriously helpless for a man in uniform.
She stroked his face. Her hand was cool, almost cold, but the touch electric. Her fingers danced through his hair, teased down his neck—how could such a young, open-faced creature, with such a delicate smile, be so experienced?
He hadn’t realized they’d been walking, had no idea where he even was, but her lips brushed his ear and made his knees tremble. The whisper she spoke was unintelligible, perhaps musical, something from an old song. It was enthralling and yet unsettling. But not so much that he wasn’t still melting under her light touch.
Brigit smiled, looking at him. Young, handsome, overflowing with ambition. And he was no angel, either, and was about to fall. This paragon, an Aryan ideal, a simple watchman who would be in the Gestapo soon, if he parried his connections well and curried enough favor. He was just the sort to break down doors, beat the defenseless, and rip apart families, then go home and dandle his own children on his knee. Brigit looked further into him, and smiled even wider. Yes, and then put them to bed, make dutiful love to his wife, and sneak out to steal a few hours with his current mistress. And every Sunday, he’d enter the church with a proud, clean, self-assured heart.
The smile stretched, and she held a hand to his chest firmly, making sure he saw it all. The rising red in her eyes, the jagged cheekbones bursting from under the smooth skin, the spreading jaw that accommodated her shiny, well-kept fangs. He shook his head, too frightened to scream, sure he had simply slipped into a gin-soaked nightmare. He had a whole plan for his life, he was the shining hope of his family, and in a country cleansed of undesirables, he could go far. Could, and would. It was not, it could not be about to be quashed, snuffed out, and in such an impossible and ignominious way. No. Everyone knew the Führer had purified the land, that no vampire walked in Germany anymore and never would again. Impossible. His head continued to shake, almost of its own accord.
Brigit gripped his head and forced it to nod. With one last grin, she sank her teeth into him, loving the gasps of anguish, loving the feel of his body jerking in hopeless desperation. She sucked slowly, wanting to draw out the pain, but it had been a long time since she’d killed a man using pure fear, and she’d forgotten you needed a taste for it. And as for the taste of him, well, it was perhaps the worst yet of all the food they’d been eating. His callousness, arrogance, superiority. All that, spicing the fear and the fury, scorched her esophagus. She choked and his blood spurted out through her nose and down his back. She pulled away, sputtering. If Eamon could see this, he would be rolling on the ground with laughter. The watchman slumped against the wall, not dead yet, and coherent enough to look at her with a bleary eye and smile.
“Choking on me, vampire? Good.” And he laughed weakly.
Brigit wiped the blood off her mouth, now set in a hard, thin line. She seized the watchman by the cheekbones and jerked him up to face her.
“Challenge me, will you? Mock? This, this is nothing. I promise you, what I have inside me is far more frightening and destructive than anything stewing in your soul. Mine is the never-ending nightmare, or don’t you know?”
Even as she said it, she wondered fl eetingly if it was true. Something in his eyes told her he wasn’t so sure, either, and it made her eyes blaze harder. She dug her fingers more deeply into his cheekbones, feeling them splinter under the pressure.
“Don’t you know I could feed off you for a month, if I wanted?”
He managed a shrug, not dropping his eyes from hers.
Well. Courage. I certainly didn’t taste that before.
However, she wanted him to know, to understand, the way she wanted all of them to know what sort of fate they might be bumping up against, the longer they stayed on this path. He was sputtering, and she could see him working up enough saliva and blood to spit in her face. She pinched his lips so that they poked out like a duck’s bill.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to have respect for the dead?”
With that, she snapped her fangs through his lips, silencing him. The pain and the heat from her eyes made his own water. She summoned more of the demon from under her flesh—an inch-long talon extended from her index finger. She poked it into him, just above his nipple, and slowly ran it down, down, down, into his inner thigh. Her red eyes burned into his agonized ones.
She pulled away from him, ripping open his lips. Using just her forefinger and thumb, she neatly broke his jaw. He was past screaming now, and clawing desperately for the relief of death. His hand clutched at her coat in a silent plea. She leaned into his ear again for one last whisper.
“Yes, I could keep you alive, conscious, in this much pain, for a month. And I wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep over it, you can be sure.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “But I won’t. Because unlike humans, we don’t inflict pain for fun.”
The gratitude came rushing into his eyes and she nodded, satisfied.
The rest of him went down much more smoothly.
Czechoslovakia went down without a whimper, German Jews were stripped of yet more rights, and a ship full of refugees was turned away from the States and sent back to Europe. There was nothing in the news to rally the vampires. General von Kassell’s arrival was delayed, only adding to the exasperation. At last, however, he was on his way, and they were ready for him
. The event was to take place on June 21, which amused Mors.
“Delightful. A midsummer night’s nightmare.”
Von Kassell was arriving in one of the Führer’s personal trains. A woman Cleland kept entertained gave him some details of the treasure the general was bringing—cash and valuables that Bavarian Jews were no longer allowed to keep. She could hardly comprehend how they’d done so well for themselves in the first place. The stacks of confiscated marks were loaded into the train’s armored cars, to be sent on to safety in Switzerland, but the jewels and objets would be fairly distributed, unless that Magda Goebbels bitch and Eva Braun creature claimed more than their share.
“There’s more.” Meaghan smiled. The other four stared at her. “He’s bringing approved culture. One textbook factory has provided all the history books for Berlin students for the next two years, the local Department of Education has spent a great deal of money on the venture. And the art, well, simply thousands was sunk into the commission of this art, all to hang in the great halls of power, and schools. Portraits of the man himself, much of it, him, and so many of those around him. So that no one will ever forget the faces of these architects.” She stole a sly glance at Brigit. “Or anyway, that’s what my man at the Chamber says.”
Swefred kissed her and the other three looked away, but they were openly impressed. The train and all in it were a veritable Tutankhamen’s tomb. It was ripe for the plunder.
General von Kassell and his twelve guards were early. Most of the expected guests were at a tour of a new school and would not arrive for another hour at least. The small group of SS officers and lesser men assigned to this evening’s proceedings were nervous and apologetic, but the general brushed off their concerns, cheerfully untroubled, and said he was quite happy to sit by a nice fire and wait. He did not care for long train journeys.
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