Storm's Heart er-2

by Thea Harrison

  Oh, Tiago.

  She started to look around for her cell phone before she remembered it was still in her evening bag in the suite two floors down. Using the phone by the bed, she asked the hotel switchboard to dial the suite. She listened to it ring. Disappointment bowed her shoulders as no one picked up. When the voicemail system clicked on, she said, “Tiago, it’s me. I’m sorry I sent you away like that. It—the whole thing—just came as such a shock, that’s all. Please call me back if you get this, okay?”

  She hung up slowly. He might have already gone back to the suite to collect his things and leave. It certainly wouldn’t have taken him long to get his things. He traveled light. She picked up the phone again and dialed the front desk. When a pleasantvoiced woman answered, she said, “Hello, this is Niniane Lorelle.”

  “Your highness! Good afternoon, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m trying to get a hold of sentinel Black Eagle and he isn’t picking up in the downstairs suite,” she said. “Have you, by any chance, seen him recently?”

  “Yes, he left about fifteen minutes ago,” said the woman.

  This time the disappointment was crushing. She covered her eyes. “I see.”

  “Would you like to leave him a message?”

  Would he even come back to the hotel or was he already on his way back to New York? “Yes,” she said, her voice leaden. “If you see him, please tell him I need to speak with him. It’s very important.”

  After the woman promised to do so, Niniane hung up. And why wouldn’t he return to New York? He had seen her to safety, just as he had promised. After everything he had done for her, she had pretty much kicked him in the teeth.

  She couldn’t think and didn’t want to feel, so she curled up on the bed again and closed her eyes instead. She must have slept because the next thing she heard was a soft knock. Rhoswen’s pure voice asked if Niniane would like a supper tray brought to her.

  “No,” she said.

  She closed her eyes again. She heard quiet, grotesque footsteps echoing in the shadowed, silent palace halls. She stumbled in the pools of blood from her brothers’ small bodies. Blood had a raw-meaty smell and a consistency that was impossible to mistake, a slippery stickiness that coated her hands and knees as she fell. She scrambled to her feet and ran from a chill Power that hunted for her. It tightened the air like an invisible boa constrictor as she hid in the dark and smothered in her own panic.

  The bedroom was fully dark when she next awakened. Disoriented, she fumbled to turn on a light and dig for her wristwatch. She hadn’t worn her watch to dinner because it hadn’t gone with her pretty red halter dress.

  9:30 P.M. Gah. Sleeping through the day was a stupid thing to do. Now she would be up all night. She sat up and stared at the floor, feeling thick and slow, like molasses moved in her veins or she was only half alive because a vital artery had been cut and she had been bleeding out while she slept.

  She looked at the silent bedside phone, and her eyes filled with tears.

  Oh no. No, she didn’t. She swore under her breath and pushed off the bed, grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge and left the bedroom. There had to be something in that damn library that she could lose herself in. If she could not find a book, then she could by god find something to drink. Or maybe both.

  When she opened the door, two Vampyres stood in the shadowed hall, the male that Tiago had thrown into the stairwell and Rhoswen. With her sensitive Fae hearing, she could hear people moving quietly about in other rooms in the penthouse. It sounded for the most part like people were spending the evening in their rooms. She imagined a quiet night was a welcome respite to everyone after the drama of the last couple of days.

  “Do you require anything?” Rhoswen asked. “Perhaps some sustenance?”

  Niniane shook her head. “I’m going to the library.”

  The blonde Vampyre inclined her head. Niniane walked to the library, which was dimly lit by a small table lamp and the jeweled glow of moonlight shining through the stained-glass window.

  At first she thought she was alone in the room. Then she saw the still, silent figure in the armchair. She paused and almost left again, because she wasn’t sure she could handle more of Carling that day. But something about that entirely still figure drew her forward.

  Carling still wore the Egyptian-cotton caftan from earlier. She had removed the stilettos from her hair. The slender knives lay on the side table by the armchair.

  “Carling?” Niniane said.

  The Vampyre showed no response. Niniane took a step toward Carling then another, watching the incredible perfection of that profile against the jeweled backdrop of sapphire, ruby, gold and emerald in the stained-glass window behind her. Carling’s stillness was complete. Those long, dark eyes were fixed and blank, her lush lips slightly parted.

  Ice slithered down Niniane’s spine. All Vampyres could be eerie in their stillness, since they did not need to breathe. Rhoswen and the male Vampyre had been unmoving when Niniane had walked out of her room, but still they had retained a quality of alertness. She could sense they were aware of her.

  Carling seemed to be in a different condition altogether. She looked like she was a mannequin or like she was some kind of Stepford Vampyre waiting for someone to flip a switch and turn her on.

  Stepford Vampyre. Ew, actually.

  Niniane cleared her throat and said in a louder voice, “Carling?”

  “Macbeth was on to something,” said Carling.

  Niniane almost leaped out of her skin then felt like a fool. Carling had spoken in a quiet, absentminded voice and had made no sudden moves. Get a grip already, doofus.

  She asked, “What do you mean?”

  “In his soliloquy. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow really does creep in its petty pace from day to day,” said Carling. “What will the last syllable of recorded time be, and who will be the one to write it? No matter how long we live, we still wonder when our world will end and how.”

  Niniane’s unease increased. Carling had appeared to respond to her name, but she still seemed absent, her expression unchanging. She referenced Macbeth as if she were responding to the conversation that had occurred between Niniane and Rhoswen in the hall, but that had happened hours ago. Something was wrong, perhaps badly so. Niniane’s stomach clenched.

  She said in a quiet neutral voice, “Would you like for me to get Rhoswen for you?”

  Carling’s dark gaze snapped up to Niniane’s face, and in an instant the sense of wrongness was erased. “Gods, no,” said the Vampyre with a weary amusement. “Her frantic devotion is so tiring.”

  Niniane regarded her. She had a feeling she shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t help herself. “Are you all right?”

  Carling smiled. “I am not doing too badly for an old, diseased woman. We Vampyres are the lepers of the Elder Races, you know, since we were human until we were infected, and of course all of the Elder Races are immune to the disease. I’ve always felt a somewhat irrational connection with the Wyr because of it. As the lepers and the beasts of the Elder society, neither of us are quite as acceptable as the rest of you.”

  Niniane quirked an eyebrow. “None of us are that acceptable, Carling.”

  The Vampyre chuckled. “Too true. Sit, little Niniane. We did not have a chance to finish our earlier conversation when your Wyr so rudely interrupted us.”

  He’s not my Wyr.

  A vicious surge of pain came out of nowhere. She took a deep breath and managed to keep the words from tumbling out of her mouth. Then the memory of Carling twisting the head off her own Vampyre and staring at its eyes as it crumbled to dust flashed through her mind, but Niniane stepped forward anyway to sit in the chair Carling indicated.

  “I don’t understand you,” Carling said, as she tilted her head and regarded Niniane.

  Niniane blinked. “You don’t understand me?”

  “Is that so difficult to believe? You don’t maneuver for power around me, and yes, sometimes you are af
raid, but underneath it all sometimes it seems that you . . . like me. Even though that isn’t wise or safe. And you are sad at the same time. I find that puzzling.”

  Funny, how accurate Carling was at describing Niniane’s reaction to her. Niniane gave the Vampyre a lopsided smile then looked at her hands. She couldn’t possibly tell Carling that she thought the Vampyre was something precious and horrific, an enigmatic tragedy like the ruins of a historic battlefield.

  She settled for a small truth. “I do like you, even if maybe I shouldn’t. And sometimes I get sad when I think about all the friends or associates that you must have outlived. I don’t just mean humans. Losing human companions is painful enough. I’m talking about people who have our kind of life expectancy, I guess.”

  “You have already lost more than enough people in your own time,” Carling said, her voice gentle.

  Was that gentleness an illusion? Did Carling mimic human behavior, to manipulate or to be social, or were there tattered remnants of humanity still left inside that exquisite exterior? Niniane sighed. Whatever the ultimate truth was about Carling, Niniane would not be the one to discover it. “I wanted to ask you something, if you don’t mind.”

  Carling gestured with a few fingers.

  “Why do you hate Tiago?” The words dropped like stones thrown in a pond, causing a ripple of reaction that moved outward to an unseen shore. Carling never moved, but Niniane’s chest grew tight. She forced herself to breathe evenly as the silence stretched taut between them. She said, “I just want to understand.”

  The tension splintered as Carling exhaled an angry laugh. “The reason is so old it hardly holds any meaning, and he doesn’t even remember, which makes me even angrier. I met him once in Memphis.”

  “Memphis,” Niniane said, taken aback.

  Just as she was going to ask what Carling and Tiago were both doing in Tennessee of all places, Carling said, “Of course it wasn’t called Memphis then. That came much later. Then it was called Ineb Hedj. It was the capital of the entire world, and at dawn the sun would shimmer on the Nile like a sheet of hammered silver overlaid on jade and lapis lazuli.”

  Niniane caught her breath. “You met him in Egypt.”

  “Yes, a very, very long time ago. Tiago was a god, and I was a commodity. I was young and still human, taken out of poverty and the river mud because of my looks. I was given to a god to entice him to stay with our people. I was entirely desperate, but he did not even look at me. He left and I was punished for it.”

  Niniane had gripped her hands together at the small, dry telling of the ancient story. She said, “That’s horrible.”

  “It’s ludicrous,” said Carling. “I didn’t want him. I was just a child with a pretty mouth, and he terrified me. I was glad he left.”

  Niniane forced her hands to relax. “What happened after that?”

  Carling’s lush lips pulled into a smile, as if she were the Mona Lisa of demons and had just swallowed a soul. “I clawed my way to a better life,” the Vampyre said. “I learned poisons and warfare and sorcery, how to rule over others, how to destroy my enemies, and how to hold a grudge with all of my heart. Then I discovered the serpent’s kiss that turned me into a god as well, and no one ever took a lash to me again.”

  Serpent’s kiss. Niniane stared at her. “You’re talking about the time when you became a Vampyre.” Carling inclined her head, and Niniane saw in the gracious, imperial gesture how much Rhoswen imitated her mistress. Niniane asked, “And Tiago never realized what happened or who you were?”

  “No.” Carling’s expression turned wry. “But when I look at him, I want to strangle him all the same.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Niniane said.

  “Child,” Carling said. The Vampyre’s dark gaze was quizzical, somewhat bored.

  “I don’t care if it did happen eons ago,” Niniane told her on a flash of ferocity. “I don’t care if there’s a more sophisticated way to respond or if it doesn’t matter to you anymore. I am sorry for what that girl went through. I’m sorry for what the girl I was went through. We may not be those girls anymore, but their ghosts live on somewhere inside us, if only in the memory of what happened, and someone ought to say it: those children deserved better.”

  Carling’s gaze dropped. The graceful wings of her eyebrows pulled together. She said, “You are right, of course. They did.”

  Niniane had slept too long, and none of it had been refreshing. Her eyes felt dry and scratchy. She dug the heels of her hands into them and rubbed. “It happened so long ago, and Tiago didn’t mean to do anything wrong. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  Again Carling gestured with a few fingers. She made poetry of the movement through a couple inches of space.

  “Do you think you could try to set aside your grudge?” Niniane asked. “I’m asking that you do this as a favor to me, in the interests of building an alliance between us.”

  “You care about him.” Carling spoke as if she savored the words, even as she stared at Niniane with intense curiosity.

  There wasn’t any point in denying it. She said, “Yes.”

  “Even after he withheld the truth from you about the second attack?”

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  A shadow of a scowl crossed Carling’s face. The youthful, impetuous expression was a startling incongruity amid such disciplined, mature perfection. The Vampyre said grumpily, “Oh fine. I won’t do anything to him as long as he doesn’t try to do anything to me.”

  Niniane sagged in her chair. “Thank you,” she said. “That means a lot to me.”

  Carling gave her a hard look and said, “Perhaps it means too much to you. You should be careful where you step next, Niniane, and in whom you place your trust. You are in a fragile place right now.”

  Niniane’s spine stiffened. “I am well aware of the place I am in.”

  The Vampyre’s expression softened. “I know you don’t want to believe that Dragos had anything to do with the assassination attempt. I could feel the struggle in you earlier.”

  She was startled by the context of the conversation. “You can . . . feel my emotions?”

  “Yes, of course. As Vampyres grow older our senses become more acute. The eldest of us eventually lose our taste for blood and we feed on the emotions of those around us. I have not partaken of human blood for several centuries now.”

  Good grief, Carling was a succubus. Niniane said, “You sense what other people are feeling.”

  Carling shrugged. “I sense the feelings of those who are alive, at any rate. Other Vampyres are of no use to me when it comes to sustenance.”

  What an intrusive ability. Niniane’s forehead wrinkled. Well, that explained how glossy the Vampyre had looked at various times today. Niniane wondered what the jagged landscape inside of her tasted like to a succubus. Could it taste as bitter to Carling as it did to her?

  If she asked, would Carling tell her what Tiago felt about her? Would the Vampyre tell her if that sadness she thought she had seen in his eyes just before he left had been real or feigned? She clenched her fists and jaw so tight her teeth ached, in order to keep herself from asking the pathetic question.

  It wasn’t as if knowing could change what had happened or bring Tiago back.

  Carling said into the small silence that had fallen, “After two hundred years’ sanctuary with the Wyr, you may want to believe that you have forged an unbreakable bond with them. But remember, what was almost your entire lifetime is not so very long a time to those of us who have lived so much longer.”

  Niniane’s mouth tightened. “I’m also well aware of my relative youth and inexperience, thank you.”

  “It is not my intention to point out your inexperience or to make you feel inadequate,” said Carling. “And I don’t have answers for the challenges you face. I merely wish to caution you and give you food for thought. Stronger and longer alliances have certainly been broken, and the Great Beast is older than all of us. He is old and wily. His first priority will alw
ays be the Wyr, and you are not Wyr.”

  Did Carling really mean to provide food for thought, or was she trying to sow distrust between Niniane and Dragos? Niniane shook her head. “Everything you said is technically correct. Old alliances can be broken, and of course Dragos’s first priority is the Wyr. But I don’t buy that as an argument for Dragos’s possible involvement in the attack against me. It doesn’t make any sense. Why would Wyr who were disguised as Dark Fae attack me, while another Wyr kills them to defend me?”

  “I do not know.” Carling pursed her lips.

  Niniane said, “If for some unfathomable reason Dragos wanted me dead, it would have been much more simple and efficient for Tiago to have killed me himself.”

  “We do not have enough information,” Carling said. “Perhaps there is a schism within the Wyr of which we are only now becoming aware. Perhaps the Great Beast is playing a much deeper game than any of us can understand right now. I have always liked and respected Dragos, but I never completely trust him.”

  Niniane took a careful breath. Could Dragos have played such a deep game that even Tiago did not know what it was? Dragos was certainly capable of it, but she would not believe that of him in this case, not unless she was faced with indisputable proof.

  After a moment she forced herself to speak out loud again. “Thank you, Councillor. I’m glad we got this chance to chat, and I will think carefully on all that you have said.”

  “Be sure that you do,” said Carling.

  TEN

  “ I like your duck waddle across the parking lot,” Tiago told Clarence “JoBe” Watson. “It made its own statement. Maybe it wasn’t the one you wanted to make. But it was definitely its own statement.”

  Tiago had found Clarence hanging with three of his homies on South Damon Avenue. They were wearing gangsta bling, displaying their colors and jamming to 50 Cent. The brothers had taken one look at Tiago striding toward them in his black fatigues, barbed wire tats and visible weaponry. The gods only knew what they saw in his face. Flares of white lightning kept flashing in his eyes. He had hidden them behind sunglasses. The brothers had bolted like so many rabbits flushed by a wolf.