Blood of Angels (Book 2 of the Blood Hunters Series)

by Marie Treanor

  She said, “You must have known what I was doing. Why did you even open the door? Did you want to stake Béla and me for the outrage?”

  The truth flashed into his mind like a lightning bolt. He almost laughed. “If you really want to know, Angyalka, I opened the door because I wanted to see you doing exactly what you were doing. Did I want to stake you? No, I wanted to be your victim.”

  Her eyes widened in shock.

  A self-mocking smile tugged at one side of his mouth. “That’s not an easy thing for a hunter to bear.”

  He stepped closer, because he couldn’t not. And yet for his own sanity, he needed to be away from her. “Good night, Angyalka.” He kissed her gently on her cool cheek, then turned and left her.

  ****

  The following morning was almost like old times. István sat beside Mihaela in the hunters’ library, scene of the fight which had almost killed him, and researched vampires based on the American continent.

  “This sounds like your Jacob,” Mihaela said, pointing at her computer screen. “New York vampire, unaligned to any leader, has avoided acknowledging either Travis or Saloman. Specializes in Central Park muggings, which he can blame on humans, and his primary motivation seems to be monetary greed.” She glanced round at István, who was pouring over a large, leather-bound tome on the desk. “And guess where this information came from?”

  “Travis?” István hazarded.

  “Elizabeth,” Mihaela said triumphantly. “She encountered him in New York when she went there to track down Saloman’s sword and kill Severin. He knew who she was before he came here.”

  “And if Jacob knows, so does Basilio, who is an altogether more dangerous kettle of fish. I think he was responsible for the bloodless killing on the Széchenyi Bridge—he never seems to have outgrown a love of messy kills. Son of a noble Spanish conquistador, turned by an Aztec native at the age of forty, apparently by his own request. Numerous atrocities attributed to him, including the slaughter of entire villages, sadistic torture and rape of his victims—both living and undead, for what that’s worth.”

  “Has he ever had designs on leadership?” Mihaela asked.

  “Not so far as this book goes. Up until the nineteenth century at least, he seems to have avoided bonding with other vampires for any purposes at all.”

  “So what brings him to your Jacob?” Mihaela wondered.

  “They must want the same thing.” István frowned. “Freedom. Neither acknowledges a leader. They prefer to do their own things without any interference. Say what you like about Saloman, he interferes.”

  “Then they’re here to bring Saloman down? I wonder if they fully appreciate the difficulties of that?”

  “They may do now. They both saw him at the Angel. And as soon as he came near Gabby, Basilio’s ‘child,’ she took off like a Harrier.”

  “They’re still in Budapest, and Saloman isn’t,” Mihaela mused. “Is that significant?”

  “Almost certainly. And they know about Elizabeth. And they want my gadget.”

  “Hmm.” Mihaela’s gaze grew speculative. “How’s that going? Any breakthroughs?”

  “Actually, yes. It’s all to do with angels.”

  “Angels,” she repeated.

  “Saloman told me the power was in the word, and it is, but more than that, I think it’s in the idea, the concept. In just about every culture and religion of any time and place, including that of the pre-Christian Ancients, there are angels of one kind or another, guardians and messengers from heaven. Through that, the word has special significance in enchantments. And objects called angels, like sculptures, seem to absorb and magnify the power of any enchantment, just by being what they are and being called what they are. People too.” Like Angyalka. But the words hovered unsaid, as if voicing them would be betray her trust. How had that happened? This was Mihaela…

  Mihaela’s eyes had grown wider at his enthusiasm. “I suppose it’s no weirder than being able to enchant at all,” she said faintly, then appeared to pull herself together. “And you can use this angel stuff?”

  István nodded. “I think so.”

  “Any way you can finish it quickly, while making everyone believe it’s very far from complete?”

  “Maybe. I can probably disguise my presence at home, so they think I’m never there and never working on it.”

  “Then, if they decide to strike without it because you’re taking too long, we’ll have it to use against them,” Mihaela said with considerable satisfaction.

  István regarded her with amusement. “All very neat, but what the hell is it they’re going to strike?”

  “Who?” demanded a voice behind their heads, and István swung round to face Mikl?s, Librarian and chief of the Hungarian order under the Grand Master. Mikl?s smiled thinly. “Good to see you working together. Are you back officially, István?”

  “Not officially,” István replied.

  Mihaela said, “We’ve stumbled across a group of overcurious foreign vampires who may be up to no good. Just learning what we can in case it leads to anything.”

  Mikl?s nodded. The first team had always been given leeway to pursue their own leads and initiatives. He seemed to hesitate, then, “Has either of you heard from Konrad?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “He has to come in,” Mikl?s warned. “Or Saloman will find him before we do.”

  They nodded again, like dogs in the back of a car, until Mikl?s, apparently satisfied they understood, walked on.

  “Will he?” Mihaela asked with dread.

  “Saloman? He told me that one way or another Konrad’s teeth would be drawn. I can’t see him balking at killing the Angel bomber, whatever Elizabeth says.”

  “Could you do it?” Mihaela asked abruptly.

  István frowned. “Do what?”

  “Kill—” she began impatiently, and too loudly, judging by the glares emanating from a desk farther up and from Mikl?s at reception. She lowered her voice. “Could you kill Konrad?” she whispered.

  István had thought about that already. He knew the answer. “No. No, I couldn’t.”

  When they’d found all they could in the library, Mihaela e-mailed their American colleagues for any further information, and then they went to their favorite café across the road from the headquarters building for a quick coffee before Mihaela returned to work.

  “What do you do in there all day without a team?” István asked curiously.

  She shrugged. “A bit of admin, a bit of helping out with the other teams if required. I’ve been giving Lazar a hand with some stuff too.”

  István glanced at her. “Interesting?”

  “Oddly enough, it is.”

  He nodded but said no more. It sounded like Lazar was taking István’s advice and sussing out a better replacement. István was glad. Mihaela was suited to this now in ways István never would be. He supposed that Mihaela had always craved security and peace, while István was too restless to settle to anything. Being a field hunter suited him because it involved so many different skills, so many different places.

  With their coffee in front of them, Mihaela regarded István over the rim of her cup. “See anything of my friend Andrea?” she enquired.

  “Funny you should say that. You didn’t mention anything to her about the Angel Club, did you?”

  Mihaela’s mouth fell open. “The Angel Club? I should bloody well think not!”

  István sighed. “That’s what I thought. She and Lara turned up there last night claiming a friend of mine had told them about the place. No, wait, there’s more.” And he told her about Maximilian’s enchanted picture and Andrea’s abortive attack on Angyalka.

  “Fuck,” Mihaela said, awed. “I thought they were such nice people. The kind who never even see any trouble.”

  “They probably were until they met you.”

  “Hey, I knew them already,” Mihaela retorted. “It was meeting you that set them off.”

  “It does seem to’ve set so
mething off,” he agreed. “No hunter, without a very good reason, would send humans to a place like the Angel. And if it’s a vampire up to no good, I can’t really see the point.”

  “Unless it was the same vampire who enchanted the picture?”

  “That crossed my mind,” István admitted. “Could Maximilian tell who enchanted it?”

  “Maybe, if he was here. He’s not planning on coming back for a week or so.”

  István drained his cup and set it down in the saucer. “Miss him?” he asked casually.

  She smiled. “Yes. I look forward to him coming home—like a kid at Christmas. And I have Robbie.”

  “Is he managing school?”

  “The teacher has difficulty keeping track of him—it’s an open-plan building. He’s as likely to join the older kids’ class, beard the headmaster in his office, or distract the dinner ladies as to sit down at his own desk, but he’s happy enough—and interested enough. He soaks up Hungarian like a sponge. What?” she finished as István continued to gaze at her.

  He smiled. “Nothing. It’s all good to hear. Funny how things turn out.”

  “Never in a million years did I imagine they’d turn out this way,” she acknowledged. “Me and a vampire adopting a psychic child and playing happy families.”

  “You’re not playing, though, are you?”

  She flushed slightly. “It’s an odd sort of family, but no, I’m not just playing.” She nudged his arm resting on the table. “Doesn’t mean it’s not fun.”

  Mihaela had never been so contented as in these last three months. He couldn’t doubt she was having fun. The image of Angyalka and Béla drinking from the stranger flashed through his mind. With it came an echo of the same accompanying tangle of emotions, repulsions, and attractions.

  He found himself rubbing the side of his neck. The skin still tingled where Angyalka had bitten him. Mihaela followed the gesture with her eyes, and he forced himself to stop and drop his hand.

  She said, “You’re wondering how I deal with the…feeding stuff, when I’ve spent all my life trying to prevent it.”

  “It can’t be easy,” he said as neutrally as he could.

  “It’s an adjustment,” she confessed. “Like we adjusted to not automatically killing them. Like we adjusted to talking to Saloman. Then…” She shifted in her chair, wrapped her fingers around her cup, and rubbed it distractedly while her color rose. “We think of biting as brutal. When they aren’t fighting, it isn’t. According to Max, most humans never know it’s happened. If they do, it’s only as a sensual dream. Yes, it’s still an invasion of privacy, an assault in so far as it lacks permission. In most cases. Once you’ve…felt the bite yourself, you don’t object in the same way.”

  Angyalka writhing on him in the throes of orgasm, sinking her teeth into his skin, his vein, sucking his blood into herself in a long, delicious stream of pleasure… Fuck, who’d object to that?

  “It’s who he is,” Mihaela said.

  “Then you don’t object to him biting other people?”

  She thought about for a moment. “I know he won’t hurt anyone without reason. I suppose it’s the intimacy I object to. It’s like…kissing, if you like. There are many kinds of kisses. No one objects to their lover kissing a friend’s cheek, or an aunt’s, or even a stranger who’s just been introduced. It’s a politeness.”

  Her eyes focused on him, a wry smile beginning to form there. “Does that sound like an excuse?”

  “I don’t know anymore,” he said ruefully. Then, before her sudden frown could turn into questions he didn’t want to answer or even think about right now, he stood up. “I’m going to go and work on the gadget. Let me know if you hear any more about our American visitors?”

  ****

  Angyalka sat back on her heels and gazed at Maximilian’s painting without seeing or appreciating the art. She was tracing the intricate pattern of the enchantments placed upon it. There were several, overlapping and tangled, which explained why she hadn’t immediately found them all in Justin’s head.

  Centuries ago, Maximilian had taught her to enchant. He’d taught her well but in something of a hurry, since he was desperate to get away and wanted to leave her as safe as possible. Disenchanting, unraveling the spells of others, had got left off the curriculum. She’d no real idea how to neutralize the wretched picture. What she was hoping for was a clue to the identity of the enchanter.

  Someone wily, elusive, and experienced. But there was no signature relating to anyone she knew well. Unless they were disguising their work.

  Reaching out with both hands, she grasped the frame, then ran her hands over the picture, searching for the feel, the echo, of whoever had touched it.

  But although many had touched and gazed, including Maximilian, Mihaela, Robbie, and Angyalka’s own helpers, as well as Bruno Geller, Andrea, and several unknown humans, she could tie none of them to the enchantment.

  She frowned. Mihaela and Robbie had both touched this picture but suffered no ill effects—or at least none that she knew of. And surely she would have heard. A hunter with a frantic urge to kill vampires could have done a lot of damage to Saloman’s détente. Nor could a murderous child have slipped under the vampire radar.

  So the chances were, the picture had only been enchanted after it came to her shop.

  Her quick surge of excitement died. The knowledge didn’t really exclude anyone. The picture had been on open display for weeks.

  A hunter with a frantic urge to kill vampires… The rogue hunter Konrad? Was he really just scared of détente, or had the picture driven him to bomb the club?

  She could find no echo of him touching the picture. But then, she didn’t know him; he was little more than a few glimpses and an idea formed from other people’s words.

  She sighed and turned the picture back to face the kitchen wall. It had better be wrapped up and safe before her cleaner came. She’d have to leave the detective work for Saloman or perhaps Maximilian.

  In the meantime, she had a business to run. Several businesses, since her undead travel agency had begun to flourish. And a final date to look forward to with István.

  As she sat down at her dressing table and picked up the scissors, she wouldn’t let herself think beyond tonight and the knowledge that this time it really would be the last. She knew in her heart he would only come tonight to keep his word.

  With the speed of long, long practice, the scissors flew over her grown hair, cutting and styling it as she preferred. Each sunrise it grew back to the length it had been on her death, and before sunrise, before she even saw any other being, she cut it again. It was a symbol of who she chose to be in undeath, of rejecting the helpless creature she’d been in life.

  She liked being a vampire. But the disgust on István’s face when he’d walked in on her and Béla feeding twisted through her like some sharp, tearing claw. She couldn’t exist with that, any more than he could live with what she really was. And so tonight, it ended.

  Whatever “it” was.

  ****

  When Jacob awoke, the sun hadn’t quite set. Basilio sat by the window, watching the light fade through a chink in the heavy curtains.

  On the double bed, Gabby slept like the dead—well, like the very young undead—perfectly still. She was naked as she’d been when the sun began to rise and her lights had gone out. Jacob suspected Basilio had created her largely for the convenience of his sexual urges. At least he didn’t seem to hurt her too much, although Jacob, who normally didn’t give a damn what anyone did in front of him, felt uncharacteristically uncomfortable when they had sex in his company. It came to him that he really didn’t like Basilio. Sometimes, he even wished he hadn’t contacted the old bastard, and if it wasn’t for the fact that the Mexican was his best chance of freedom to make some serious money, he’d have left him here and gone back to New York.

  With some surprise he realized he was homesick.

  But at least his head had stopped hurting.

  He
sat up. “What’s happening?”

  “We’ll never have a better chance than this,” Basilio said.

  “To stitch up Saloman? Don’t suppose we will.”

  “The trouble is, we don’t know when he’s coming back, and the Angel hostess is already giving me strange looks. She’s stronger than she appears, and she senses something.”

  “Too much for you to deal with?” Jacob asked. He could never help riling Basilio, even though the old vampire would turn on him without a second thought. True death would be a welcome relief from whatever punishment Basilio dreamed up.

  Basilio’s lip curled. “Hardly. But if she summons Saloman before I kill her, then all the magnifying tools in the world won’t be enough for us to hold Elizabeth Silk. We need to start now.”

  Jacob tugged at his hair in agitation. “Basilio, without the tool, we can’t even find her. The hunter hasn’t made it yet.”

  “Then he must be persuaded to hurry,” Basilio said, as if talking to an imbecile. “As for the Awakener… I think it’s time to round up our friends.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  István realized he was peering at the circuits from far too close. It had grown dark, and his only light was from the computer screen. He stood and switched on the overhead light, then stood for a moment, blinking. Pleased with his day’s progress, he swept the unfinished device into his rucksack, Angyalka statuette and all. He wasn’t leaving it around for Jacob or anyone else to find.

  He showered and changed quickly, grabbed his jacket, and stuffed the pockets with a vampire detector, a bungee reel, one of the new disruptors, which had been on in the apartment all day, and his usual sharpened stake. Then, realizing he was starving, he shoved some cheese inside a chunk of bread and ate it as he slung the bag over his shoulder and left the apartment.

  It was raining. As he walked toward his car, parked a few yards farther down the street, the vampire detector vibrated. István put his hand in his pocket and closed his fingers around the stake but kept going until he reached the car. Only then, did he give in to his prickling neck and glance casually around him while he fished the car keys from his pocket with his left hand.