You're So Vein

by Christine Warren

  Ava saw Regina frown in confusion, the same confusion she felt but did not know how to express.

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Regina’s forehead furrowed in confusion. “Why would she kill herself because of you? I mean, if you had died, maybe I could understand. You know, the shock of losing you after the death of your father. But to kill herself after nursing you back from your injuries … that doesn’t make sense.”

  Misha squeezed her hand and shook his head sadly. “It would have to Ireniya. She was a devout Christian, much more devout than anyone else in the family, or in the village, where they still prayed often to the pagan gods of the area. She would not have understood Dima’s transformation. For him to become a vampire would have amounted to something worse than his death for her. She would have believed that his soul itself had died. It’s what she thought of me when I last spoke to her, when she told me Dima had died. It must have been right before she took her own life.”

  “She never even told me she had seen you,” Dima said. “She just went for a walk and didn’t return.”

  “And you were left with no one.”

  Ava knew the anger she felt had crept into her voice, but she couldn’t help it. It was just too much. His older brother’s desertion had obviously wounded him, and although she thought Misha was an idiot, she sort of got what he’d been thinking. In a weird sort of way, he’d been trying to protect his family from the taint of being associated with what those around them would have perceived as “evil.” Their father’s death would have added to that burden of sadness, but death in battle had been part of life back then—devastating but understandable. But for Dima’s mother to then go and kill herself was an action that Ava could not forgive.

  Suicide was the ultimate act of selfishness, and she could admit that now as a person who had briefly considered that it would be better to end her life than to live it as a vampire. That, however, had been before she had looked into Dima’s eyes and seen the pain that could linger after the act even almost eight hundred years later. His mother had caused him that grief, had caused it by believing that ending her own pain was more important than the suffering she would cause to the son she left behind. Committing suicide essentially said to friends and loved ones and the world at large that you were the only thing that mattered, that your problems were hopeless, that you deserved to escape from them, and to hell with everyone else.

  Suicide was nothing more than a way to look in the eye of the people who loved you and say, My pain is paramount, and I want it to end. The pain you will feel when I am gone, and the guilt you will experience at not having been able to stop me, do not matter to me. I am willing for you to suffer for the rest of your life so that I can take the easy way out of mine.

  If Ireniya had been alive and standing in front of Ava today, Ava would cheerfully have killed her.

  Misha dropped his wife’s hand, stepped away from the sofa, and crossed to face his brother in front of the cool fireplace. When Misha spoke, his voice was low and full of regret. Even Ava could hear his sincerity.

  “For my part in that, I apologize, bratok,” he said, humble in a way Ava had never thought possible, let alone seen before. “I never knew you were alone, for if I had, I would have come to you regardless of the consequences. I know what it is like to feel true loneliness, and it is a fate I would wish on no one, especially not a beloved brother.” He reached out, placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, dark eyes meeting blue and holding. “I do not know if I deserve your forgiveness, Dima, but if you were to give it, you would have my eternal gratitude. Either way, you will have my eternal love, from brother to brother.”

  Ava watched the emotions scroll across Dima’s face like slides of microfiche—first denial and betrayal and anger and hurt, then sadness and acceptance, forgiveness and love. The second set lay as a purifying blanket of snow over the first, not washing it away, but softening it and eroding it so that in the spring there would be something new and better that grew from its rubble.

  “I have only one brother,” Dima answered finally, his voice low and harsh, “and I have just found him after many lifetimes apart. I do not want to lose him again, no matter what pasts lie between us.” He raised his own arm, placed his hand on Misha’s opposite shoulder. “Bratok.”

  They looked into each other’s eyes, searching; then each quirked a lip in a mirror-image half smile.

  Regina sniffled. “That’s so beautiful.”

  Missy handed her a box of tissues. “It really is. I love happy endings.”

  Behind them, Samantha cleared her throat. “Um, so do I. Except that I’m not sure we can actually call this an ending.”

  Graham glanced at her. “Why not?”

  “Because while I was checking my files for information about the connection between Misha and Mr. Rurikovich, I was also making a phone call.” She took the inside of her lower lip between her teeth and gazed with fascination down at her feet. “Since he was in town on official business, I figured that I should follow standard procedure.”

  Graham swore, loudly, but the sound did not drown out Misha’s own profanity, this one uttered in forceful, guttural Russian.

  Samantha cringed. “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing what I was supposed to.”

  Missy reached up to grasp the Lupine woman’s hand. “It’s all right, Sam. You didn’t do anything wrong. I think the boys are just grumpy is all. They don’t really blame you for anything.”

  Misha glared in Missy’s direction. “Speak for yourself.”

  Regina smacked him. “She’s speaking for all of us. Because none of us can blame what’s going to happen next on Sam. It was inevitable. The fact that she sped it up a little is nothing we can hold against her.”

  Ava felt a stirring of concern. You know, just a twinge. “What exactly is going to happen next?”

  Misha was the one who answered, and his grim expression did nothing to reassure Ava or to quiet the butterflies in her stomach.

  “The council. It’s time to explain to them exactly what’s going on.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The chambers where the Manhattan Council of Others met were tucked beneath the concealing floors of the Vircolac club and were accessed by a stairway from inside the club that was guarded at all times by members of the Silverback Clan’s security team. It also, Ava discovered, was decorated like something out of the imagination of Vincent Price.

  She had managed not to goggle when she and Dima were led down into the club’s basements and through a series of stone corridors lit with actual torches. Torches! In twenty-first-century New York. Someone involved in this thing was taking the whole “creatures of the night” thing just a little too seriously.

  She thought the same thing when she met the actual members of the council itself. They were lucky, Reggie had assured her, to be meeting only the “Inner Council” of a couple of dozen members and not the full council of nearly two hundred. Ava felt sure she would be grateful for that, just as soon as the lot of them stopped staring at her as if she were a particularly rancid-smelling homeless person who wouldn’t stop asking them for spare change. As usual, she met any sign of disapproval or distaste with the kind of attitude and appearance that said, Think what you like, peon. I am too important and perfect to care for the opinions of others. And, by the way, did you step in something, because I detect a whiff of something … unpleasant.

  Thankfully, after changing into the clothes Missy had sent for on her behalf, Ava looked good enough to pull it off. She touched the lapels of her slim pinstriped waistcoat discreetly and pretended to care about what Rafael De Santos was saying to the rest of the crowd. Rafe was the current head of the Council of Others and husband of practicing witch and herbalist Tess De Santos. Tess had become a good friend of Missy’s and had begun attending girls’ nights several years ago.

  “There are reasons we do not have rules like that, Preston,” Rafe was saying as Ava tuned back in to the debate, his faintly accented voice soun
ding both polite and completely in control. And as if his patience had begun to wear thin. “Unlike our European brethren, we do not believe we should punish the victim for the actions of the criminal. It is not Ms. Markham’s fault that a rogue vampire attacked her and turned her, nor do I think we should fault Mr. Rurikovich for choosing to aid her rather than allowing her to die or to suffer through a painful transformation unaided.”

  The man to whom Rafe had addressed himself, a portly older man in a wrinkled three-piece suit, opened his mouth as if to launch another protest, but Rafe cut him off with a raised hand and a raised voice.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the jaguar Felix said, his voice calling all the room to order, “I believe we have strayed from our topic. It is not our prerogative nor our intention to sit in judgment over the actions of either of our guests. Rather, we have gathered so that we may decide what actions need to be taken now that we have heard their news from the European Council of Vampires.”

  Yes, and the news had been received with all the enthusiasm with which the inhabitants of glass houses received the news of a forecast for hailstorms and the reinstitution of public stonings. After hearing about the rogue who had killed one human woman then attacked and turned Ava; the mission Dima had been sent to New York to carry out; and the communication the female vampire had sent to Ava, the council had acted as if the only matter for concern was Dima’s breach in protocol. The only thing they got ticked about was that they had not been alerted of his mission immediately upon his arrival in New York. They thought their right to know trumped the fact that a convicted multiple murderer and violent megalomaniac was on the loose in their city and looking to raise an army of new vampires to help her wage war against most of Eastern and Central Europe.

  “I think we have all agreed that we disapprove of our European friends’ tactics in this case,” Rafe continued, ruthlessly steering the group back onto the track of the discussion, “but that does not help us to deal with Yelizaveta Chernigov.”

  “She displayed a lack of respect for the laws set down by this council several years ago,” Misha said from his seat near the middle of the long conference table—Ava thought it was actually an antique dining table, late eighteenth century, probably English or French. “At that time, she sent a representative to our city with instructions to kill the head of the council and recruit as many new vampires as possible into her house. I have no doubt, after hearing Dima’s story, that Yelizaveta is back up to her old tricks. She must be stopped.”

  There was a brief silence around the table.

  “I don’t think anyone is arguing with that.” This came from a small woman with East Indian features and a certain feline cast to her face. “We are not debating whether or not this Chernigov woman is a threat, or whether or not we must take steps to have her recaptured and returned to the ECV to serve out the punishment they have given her. The question, I think we would all agree, is how should we do it?”

  There were murmurs of agreement.

  “After all, she isn’t really our problem at the moment,” said a small man with a sharp, pointy face and whisker-like stubble. His voice was high and, like his movements, tended to dart from one spot to another. “We shouldn’t have to risk our people. Why risk our people when she isn’t our problem? Contact the ECV, I say. Contact them and tell them to send more men. Let them take care of it.”

  “If the ECV sends an army,” Dima warned, “Yelizaveta will dig in her heels and we’ll have an all-out war on your soil. If you think you will be able to remain out of it in those circumstances, I suggest you think again.”

  “There are those of us already here who would be happy to join in any action the council authorizes against Chernigov.” Misha’s undertone of eagerness left little doubt that he counted himself among that group.

  Dima shook his head. “While I appreciate the support, I have believed all along that stealth is what will triumph over Yelizaveta Chernigov. I have no more desire to raise an army here than I have to send to the ECV for one. I would much prefer that I and one or two others infiltrate the target’s resting spot, the place where she will be surrounded by the fewest guards and minions. That way we can get it, take her by surprise, subdue her, and bring her out again with minimum fuss and the least amount of risk for anyone to be harmed.”

  “If you have such a fine plan, young man, why haven’t you executed it already?”

  Ava looked across the table at the speaker, an old woman with silver hair and dark eyes and the kind of commanding presence Ava wanted to be able to maintain when she reached that age.

  For the first time it occurred to Ava that when she reached that age, she would still look exactly the same as she did today. The thought made her a little wistful that she’d never get the opportunity to be a crotchety old woman. Then she realized that just because she wouldn’t look like a crotchety old woman didn’t mean she couldn’t act like one, and she felt a little better. The element of surprise, she knew, was not to be taken lightly.

  Dima turned his attention to the woman and spoke with carefully civil tones. “Up until now, I was unable to locate her. Yelizaveta is arrogant, but she is not stupid. She knows enough not to broadcast her whereabouts to those outside of her own house while she is still being pursued by the European Council.”

  “Up until now?” The old woman seized on the phrasing like a terrier with a juicy soup bone. “That sounds like you recently made something of a breakthrough. Am I right?”

  “You are. Yelizaveta recently made contact with Ms. Markham and revealed her whereabouts.”

  “Well, then what are you waiting for, you young pup? Go out there and get her!”

  Rafe smiled at the old woman, amused but clearly still respectful. “I believe our guest would like to use a bit more finesse than just knocking down her front door, Ms. Berry.”

  The name clicked in Ava’s mind. The old woman was Adele Berry, grand dame of Manhattan Other society and grandmother of another occasional girls’ night guest, Cassidy Quinn. Ava had heard that Cassidy, her husband, and her family were very involved in the politics of the council, but she’d never expected to see any of them in action.

  Adele made a noise that, coming from any other woman, Ava might have called a grunt, and leaned back in her seat. The change in position made it clear that her right hand rested not on the arm of her chair but on the top of a silver-headed cane she rested on the floor beside her. “That seems like a lot of trouble.”

  Dima turned away from the old woman and focused on Rafe instead. Ava could almost see him thinking that at least the Felix was likely to speak reasonably. “Thanks to Ms. Markham, we have recently learned of the location that Yelizaveta is using for her headquarters,” he said, “but the only information we have is the address. I don’t know what the building is like or how many men or guards she keeps on hand, let alone what room or rooms she uses for her private quarters. If we want to take her there, we need to know where they are and when she’s most likely to be in them.”

  “Ah, so you need a plan, then.” Adele nodded sagely. “Best look to the women, then. I’ve never known a man who could strategize as well as an intelligent woman.”

  Ava had to bite back a smile. Damn, but she could get to like that old biddy. “Actually,” Ava spoke up, “I had a thought. I don’t know if it qualifies as a plan, per se, but I believe it makes sense to try it.”

  Dima looked at her, and she could tell from his frown that he was already feeling a bit suspicious. “What are you talking about? What sort of plan have you thought up?”

  Next to his brother, Misha scowled. “I have found over the years that it is best to ignore her when she says things like that, bratok. Asking questions will only encourage her.”

  Ava shot Misha a look that might have done Adele Berry proud, then ignored him. “The reason you know where to find Yelizaveta is because she sent me a note summoning me to meet her there,” she reminded Dima. “I don’t see why we should waste time trying to come up
with some complicated plan involving the cover of darkness and a bunch of gadgets out of a James Bond movie when we already have the perfect excuse to show up at her place and ask for a tour.”

  “No.” Dima’s denial was swift and loud, and she hadn’t even finished explaining what she intended.

  “It’s simple,” she continued. “I’ll answer the summons and go to Yelizaveta’s lair. While I’m there, I can make note of all the details you need to know to get inside and then report back. Or if you’re worried I might forget something, you can tag along inside my head. Simple, straightforward, and low risk. So what do you think?”

  Dima glared at her, and his warning was a silken threat. “I think I’d like to see you try it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dima spent the next day and a half regretting those words. Bitterly.

  He had been the only one unimpressed with Ava’s idea. The council had thought it was brilliant. No surprise there, since most of them had never met Ava before, and so had no personal feelings for her whatsoever. They wouldn’t worry about what could happen to her when she wandered into Yelizaveta’s lair, alone and unprotected, and started sticking her nose into the woman’s business. If the vampiress even suspected why Ava was there, Yelizaveta would kill her—without hesitation and without mercy.

  But Dima was supposed to sit back and pretend that watching it didn’t bother him? Yeah. Right.

  Tonight he sat in a small sitting room at Vircolac and brooded about the fact that when the sun set again tomorrow, he would be confined to listening in Ava’s head while she walked into the den of the lion and prepared to tug its tail. The mood such contemplation had put him in was the reason that he was up here alone instead of in one of the game rooms with Misha and Graham and several of their other friends playing poker to pass the time. They had kicked his sorry ass out for being a “downer.” So he had come upstairs, to the small two-bedroom suite Graham had given him and Ava to stay in for the night. Vircolac was closer to Yelizaveta’s headquarters than the loft was. Ava remained with her girlfriends somewhere downstairs.