II
The Olemancer
“Force,” said the Eighth. “You can force a man to do what you want him to do in a number of ways. That is the beauty of force. Force can be blunt, such as when I hold a gun to a man’s head and threaten his life. Force can come in numbers. If I am the majority, and you are the minority, you’ll do what I want because of intimidation and pressure alone. Or, in other words, if I am the sea and you are an island, what choice do you have but to change shape beneath the weight of my will? But these are barbarous uses of force. There is a gentler way, you see. Just as rigid, but subtle in execution.”
“And what is that?” asked Corvessa, bored with George Abrams’s pedagogical speech. The two had been at it for hours now. Parliament had held an assembly earlier that day, and the topic of England’s colonial projects had been the heated subject of much debate. Now, back at the Bureau of Immortal Affairs, Corvessa and the Eighth were discussing their own efforts in India and the Caribbean isles respectively. Each was a proponent of completely opposite tactics, and now Corvessa sat slumped in a chair as the long-winded war veteran went on.
“Necessity is the most convincing argument, Corvessa. There is no better way to win a war than to fight your enemy using another enemy.” The Eighth nodded to himself and folded his arms behind his back as he paced around her chair. “And I am not talking about a human, werewolf or vampire enemy. I mean an enemy that can’t be fought with swords and cannon. Something unseen that creates fear and doubt. That is the most powerful form of force.”
“I can’t disagree,” admitted Corvessa, getting up and moving away from Abrams, whose obnoxious political aura she could not tolerate. “But as powerful as fear is, it is not easy to control. One must be a puppeteer, Mr. Abrams. One must be able to direct people to do what he wants, but without touching them. Fear makes people disorganized and weak, but it makes them unpredictable and hostile as well.”
“Go on,” said Abrams, not actually listening but rather looking into a mirror and running a polishing cloth across the patchwork of metal in his cheeks. The magic keeping him alive and in one unified piece had been failing him of late. To keep the pain from rearing up he kept a bottle of magic oil devised by Corvessa’s subordinate, Udbala, in his office or in a pocket, ready to use at any time. Udbala was a talented sorceress, just as Corvessa had said. Her skills lay in olemancy, an old world magic based in oils and potions. Her creations served the purposes of the Bureau and the Eight well—so well that Abrams decided to employ them in the Caribbean, where the Third was learning to master their potential.
“I argue that motives are a better means of getting things done,” Corvessa was saying. “People are such selfish things. Everyone wants something different. Find out what a man desires, and you can get him to do anything you like by promising him, in return, what he wants.”
“What is it you want most, Corvessa?” asked the Eighth, pocketing the bottle of magic oil and wiping off his heavy metal hands.
“Oh, I’ve attained everything I’ve ever sought. I’ve had plenty of time, you know. I’m not sure there is any one thing I truly want,” she lied quickly and convincingly. “What about you, Mr. Abrams?”
“Only for the Eight to succeed in their noble cause,” he replied without hesitation. “I’d give my life to see it through.”
“I believe you,” said Corvessa, turning her face away and concealing a smile.
“Speaking of the cause, have you any word from the Seventh?”
“Udbala has taken up a post in the city of Bombay and directs the regional army from a palace in the islands,” Corvessa replied. “The Bureau is England’s arm in India. We will take it without any opposition from the Royal Navy in due time.”
“And the pirate?”
“Jack Darcy has captured Thomas Crowe and the others. They should arrive in Bombay in two months’ time. Once the Blood Moons deliver the captives, Udbala will order the attack,” said Corvessa. With one long fingernail she drew an arc through the air. “Thomas Crowe will be in our custody, and Jack Darcy’s band of hellions will drown like rats.”
“The manner in which you conduct war in the east is symphonic in its beauty and grace, Corvessa.” Abrams smiled in a less than charming way when he delivered the compliment, the plates in his cheeks grinding against one another. “I couldn’t have done it better myself.”
“Is that a concession, Mr. Abrams?” asked Corvessa, smiling sweetly as she left the office. “By the way, I’ve decided I’ll be visiting the King tomorrow evening. I don’t have time to start a war tonight.”
From the offices of the Bureau, Corvessa strolled leisurely across town, taking her time to watch the uninteresting humans heading home through the dark. She took some time to bother a perfume maker for a bottle of sweet smelling aromatics, and to her delight on her way home she met a handsome young man, with whom she flirted outrageously. As they parted, Corvessa turned and bore her eyes down on the back of his head, slipping into his thoughts for a moment before turning to walk away when she had done her work. She walked until she came upon a dark manor surrounded by a tall, wrought iron fence strangled in vines. There she approached the front door and squeezed inside.
The House of Roses had recently taken up residence in the former estate of Don Violanti Pagani, the late patriarch of La Legione Rossa of Florence. After he was betrayed by Dea Capello and Sylvia LeRouge and assassinated by the Bureau of Immortal Affairs, his headquarters in London was turned over to the House of Roses—a cult as exclusive and secretive as a vampire cult can be.
Begun in Paris by Corvessa in 1701, the all-female cult muscled its way into immortal politics in France. Though its place in vampire affairs was and had always been heavily disapproved, not a single soul ever dared tell Corvessa to keep her hands out of the dealings of greater vampire societies like the Black Coats or the Red Legion.
Inside the Pagani house, Corvessa made her way to her bedroom on the fifth floor. As she passed by she greeted her girls, who were playing the piano, lounging on the sofas and snobbishly talking among themselves in corners or hanging about in doorways and halls. From the other side of closed doors Corvessa heard the voices of young men conversing with one of her girls—sometimes two or three. She couldn’t suppress a wicked grin.
“Good evening, Madame Corvessa,” cooed a dark eyed vampire as she came out into the hallway, dragging an undressed and lifeless young man by the ankle.
“Good evening, Lillian,” said Corvessa. “Please be careful with that. I don’t want it on the rugs.”
“Yes, Madame. Shall I take it outside?”
“No, dear, take it downstairs and throw it in the chute. I haven’t yet fed Ulysses today. Poor thing is probably starving and confused. I had him brought from Paris only a few days ago, and I know it’s a difficult adjustment for him.”
“Yes, Madame.”
“I hate to bother you, dear,” Corvessa added as an afterthought, “but could you also have one of the girls assist you in cleaning out his chamber? He walks all over the bones, and the noise is unpleasant when I’m trying to relax. I can hear it all the way upstairs.”
“Of course, Madame,” said Lillian with a pleasant smile. With a nod, she turned and walked down the hallway and around a corner, swinging her hips, yanking along the dead man by his ankle and knocking his head into the floor molding, leaving a dark red smudge. From another room a scream rang out and then stopped as quickly as it began. The girls’ giggling followed it.
In her bedroom Corvessa shut and locked the doors behind her, taking off everything but a light gown and draping herself on a sofa. From the table next to it she took an olemancy dish, a jug of oil and a candle. Pouring a small amount of the oil in the dish, she touched the candle to it, setting it alight, and set the candle and oil jug aside. As the flames jumped across the oil and turned bright purple, Corvessa waited. After a moment, a breeze came through the room and a cloud of purple dust appeared in the middle of the floor, taking the shape of
Udbala.
“You wished to speak?” asked Udbala, standing tall and brushing off her garments as if she’d been busy working on a spell or potion.
“Good evening, Udbala. I just arrived home and was speaking with one of the girls. I was afraid they would not like London, but they have made so many acquaintances and met so many nice young men …” She set the olemancy dish on the table next to the sofa to free her hands. Udbala had given it to her so they might talk to one another privately across the great distance from London to Bombay. “And it made me think of Thomas Crowe.”
“I was only just speaking with Jack Darcy,” said Udbala. “One of his magicians contacted me. It will please you to know that he has had no trouble with the captives, but I must remind you they are still two months’ away from here, in Zanzibar.”
“You met the girl…what’s her name…when the two of you crossed paths in Tangier, am I correct?” asked Corvessa. Her eyes narrowed in spite, thinking of Molly Bishop.
“Gabriel Vasquez’s daughter? The sorceress? Yes, I did. What a twist of fate that she, once my ally, is now my prisoner. Perhaps even a stepping stone in my people’s liberation.” Udbala didn’t express much sympathy for Molly, the girl she’d once helped save Tom’s life. However, she didn’t express Corvessa’s hatred of her either. The truth was, she was sorry for the circumstances, but the times had changed, and so had her loyalties.
“How is Thomas? I don’t want him harmed.”
“Jack Darcy did not say,” said Udbala.
“What about the girl?” asked Corvessa, twisting her head to look across the room disinterestedly while toying with her fingernails.
“All the captives are unharmed…” Udbala began but stopped short.
“But what? You sounded as though there was something you were going to say,” said Corvessa, sensing something awry.
“It isn’t terribly important, but I thought you would rather not hear me say—”
“What is it?” Corvessa demanded, sitting up and propping an arm on the sofa cushion.
“The girl is carrying a child,” Udbala said, taking a deep breath and exhaling uncomfortably.
“By whom?” Corvessa pressed, standing quickly, shoulders pulled up and tense. Dark phenomena, the likes of which Udbala had never seen, began to occur in the room. Corvessa’s red hair moved like slow flames, and the skin around her eyes darkened with tiny black veins. A creeping blackness shrank the candlelight.
“Jack Darcy did not say. He was unconcerned about it, actually.” Udbala kept her calm so that Corvessa might keep hers.
“Well after she is in your custody and Jack has been put down, the first thing you are to do is find out, do you understand?” Corvessa shook with anger and saw red. “And depending on what you learn …” The thought of Molly having a child with Tom did not merely upset Corvessa. It made her lose control entirely. “… I will decide what to do once we know more.”
“Will that be all?”
“Yes, you may go.” Corvessa waved a hand and walked stiffly back to the sofa to lie down and shut her eyes, one arm flopped across her face. The image of Udbala left the room, little grains of purple dust hissing through the cracks in the walls and floor.
“Madame Corvessa?” Lillian’s sugary voice came from the hall. “A young man is here to see you!”
“Come in, dear!” she called, rolling over on her side and displaying herself playfully as Lillian escorted in a young man, the one Corvessa had met in the street earlier that evening. “Oh, so you decided to come and see me after all?” she asked the young man, who appeared to be in a trance. There was not a trace of surprise in Corvessa’s voice.
“Yes,” he said, eyes fixed on her, blinking as if he were having trouble trying to be charming and talkative. “I thought we’d like to continue our … conversation.” He smiled awkwardly.
“It’s been quite an evening for me, and I’m afraid my mood has changed,” said Corvessa with a frown. “But I am famished. Why don’t we have something to eat first, hmm?” Getting up from the sofa she walked smoothly across the bedroom and twirled around behind the young man, leaning her face into his neck. He kept still and tense as she put her lips to his skin. Suddenly a sharp pain shot through him and he went limp. Corvessa pulled her fangs from his neck as she finished and dropped him to the floor. She would call one of the girls to come and remove him later. She was far too tired and upset to deal with another man at the moment.
*
For Molly things seemed to be improving. She did not tell her friends this for fear of jinxing their situation, but lately it had become easier to slip out of her cell each night. This, she knew, was probably due to a recent incident. Jack had sent two new guards and one of his magicians down to the brig one night to take a look at Molly, who had been getting sick frequently. The old magician, an east African werewolf, determined there was no sickness troubling her and that the crew need not worry about any curses or hexes, either. He left to deliver this news to Jack Darcy, and to inform him the girl was pregnant, not ill. However, he left Molly alone with the other two Blood Moons, who were not the guards meant to watch the brig that night. Thinking they could get away with it, they entered Molly’s cell, but before they could harass her she flung them from the cell with a powerful blast that broke most of one werewolf’s ribs and twisted the other’s left leg backward. Hearing the clamor, Jack Darcy rushed to the brig with the old magician and berated the two werewolves for their stupidity and disobedience. Heeding the warnings of the old magician, Jack ordered that no one was to enter the brig anymore and that it was to be locked until the ship reached Bombay. He would not have his ship torn inside out because a few lonely werewolves couldn’t keep their hands off of Molly or, for that matter, the other girls.
Because there were no guards anymore, unlocking the brig was a serious problem until Molly figured out how to magically manipulate the tumblers in all the doors. She amazed herself with the things she could do when she simply concentrated her energy and thoughts. After tossing the two werewolves out of her cell, she felt powerful and confident again. She had grinned at the thought of keeping Thomas in line with her new skills, but her grin had turned quickly to a frown. She kept forgetting that Thomas was gone.
When the ship stopped in Zanzibar, Molly’s guess was that it was March. She had been carrying her and Thomas’s child for almost two months. At first the discovery had been a miserable one. It only reminded her of Thomas and how alone in the world she was again. There was also the sickness to deal with, the weariness and the aches of getting around. She almost never slept. However, these things became routine, and before too long her child was her one reliable source of happiness. On nights she could not rest, she sat in a corner of her cell, humming and holding her stomach. When she stole away to the gardens at night, she would do the same, watching the glowing flask and shutting her eyes to imagine Thomas sitting beside her, holding her and their baby. In some way, because she was with her baby, she was with Thomas, and that gave her hope.
Zanzibar was an exciting stop for the werewolves of The Howl. A famous hub for spice and slave trade, it was always overflowing with human goods. Jack Darcy loved Zanzibar because he knew it was never in short supply of a good man or two who would give anything to escape their miserable life of bondage. The slaves of Zanzibar knew about Jack Darcy and the Order of the Blood Moon, as well. Anyone in irons knew if Jack chose you, it was your chance to be a free man again. Jack Darcy was not like all the other wealthy merchants, sultans or European governors. He was king of the pirates. His crew was not a crew of slaves. They were an army—a great army—and they lived to terrorize the sort of people who sold their fellow men like cattle.
Molly kept her attention on the activities of the crew all day, starting when The Howl dropped anchor that morning somewhere near Zanzibar City. She had a feeling Jack would be going ashore and that at least two boatfuls of werewolves, if not more, would be going with him. She heard the first boat being lowere
d to the water around the middle of the day, and when she did, she decided that if Jack were going to be gone for some time, it would be as good a time as any to go snooping around in his cabin. She believed her and her friends’ things might have been stowed in his cabin on the main deck, since she had been unable to find them anywhere else below deck over the past weeks.
No one was watching the brig, so Molly quickly tampered with the lock on her cell and got out. She told the others what she planned to do, promising she would come back with some food, as she nearly always did. Leon was especially uncomfortable with her decision to go out during the day, but he and the others understood her urgency. It was unanimously agreed that if Molly could discover the whereabouts of their things, they would be better off when the time came to escape … perhaps when they reached Bombay, perhaps sooner. Molly took a moment to cloak herself from sight, then unlocked the brig and waited until the corridor outside was empty before walking out and gingerly shutting the door behind her.
Molly held her breath as she made her way down the hallway, partly because of the awful smell and partly because she had to tiptoe by a few werewolves on the way to the stairway. She almost got off the stairs on the fourth deck because she was so accustomed to stopping to spend time in the gardens. The mistake could have been costly, because if she’d taken one more step than she had down the fourth deck corridor, she’d have run into a horde of Jack Darcy’s werewolves, who were at that time taking fresh water that had been boiled clean of salt to the garden boxes. On the fifth and sixth deck stairways Molly flattened herself against the walls as werewolves passed by carrying crates and barrels on their shoulders, shoving and grunting as they lugged magic oils, gunpowder and grease down into the gun decks. She knew if the ship weren’t overrun with the strong scent of these and other materials, her invisibility would never have done her any good, for the werewolves would surely have picked up her scent and hunted every inch of the ship for her. She knew Tom had often been able to find her this way. She hated to think what Jack would do to her if she were careless.
The Lore Series (Box Set): All 3 Books In One Volume Page 74