by C. P. Foster
“No more sparring, Your Highness; no more verbal games. I wish this to be clear.”
His hand, left hanging in midair by her withdrawal, lowered to the table, and he stared at her.
“As I told you, I do not usually conduct negotiations this way.” She raised her voice a notch to ensure that any vampires in the room would hear, and many of the humans as well. “Soul Killer knew this, so I cannot imagine why she chose to make a spectacle of it. Perhaps she realized I would never accept you as a client on my own terms and hoped the fear of a public scene would convince me to give you what you wish. If so, she miscalculated.”
Rimbeau’s eyes widened. “Are you saying no to me?”
A murmur went through the little crowd of spectators. One actually snickered.
“That is exactly what I am saying. I would never take you as a client, and anyone who knows both of us could have told you so. Surely the Monarch of the Great Basin Territory must have realized this—unless she is a very poor judge of character.”
A hiss sounded from less than an inch away; Soul Killer had moved too fast for Angie to see, bringing her so close they almost touched. “That was not wise.”
Several people gasped. Angie jerked her head around to find the Monarch’s eyes had gone dark, and she felt the power of an ancient mind attempting to assert itself over hers. The defenses she had learned years ago were so ingrained she was not usually even conscious of them, but now she strengthened them with her own will. She did not dare let on that the attempt at entrancement had failed, though, so she made her face go blank and prayed she could fake it well enough to fool the vampires.
“Perhaps,” Soul Killer said, very quietly, so none of the humans nearby would hear, “we should go to your rooms, Monarch Rimbeau, and have that session now. You said you wished to debase her? To degrade her? I would be most honored if you would allow me to watch.”
Rimbeau glanced at the crowd of people. He tried to hide it, but outrage and humiliation marred the handsome lines of his face. He matched the quiet tone of Soul Killer’s voice, but his shook with fury. “This is not what I wanted. You said she would give me anything I asked for.”
“She will, by the time I’m done.”
“Were you even listening to what I said to her? No force, no entrancement! Any fool can do that,” he sneered.
Soul Killer went still. “Fool?”
“Yes, fool! And I do not ally myself with fools.” He paused. “However…I would not mind punishing her for this display of contempt. She certainly deserves it.”
“Oh, yes. On that we agree. But, since you hold such things as beneath you, I believe I shall take care of it myself.”
Rimbeau growled, a rumble so deep it was barely audible. His fangs lengthened, and he reached across the table to take Angie’s hand. The pressure of his fingers ground her bones together. Instinctively, she tried to jerk away, but Soul Killer caught hold of her face and forced Angie to look into her eyes. Again, that ancient mind tried to assert control.
“You will be still and show no sign of pain,” the Monarch commanded.
The beginnings of panic fluttered in Angie’s chest and sent fine vibrations through her muscles. Damn it, had she misread the movements of the crowd? If James’s people weren’t here, if they didn’t act quickly, she would be dead before morning. She struggled to obey Soul Killer as if she were, indeed, entranced. Forcing herself to fall still, she concentrated on accepting the pain instead of fighting it. If Rimbeau squeezed any harder, he would break something. Maintaining the illusion of entrancement grew more difficult with each passing second, as she tried to control the autonomic responses of her body to the threat of damage.
A rush of sound and wind swept past her, and Soul Killer was jerked back several feet. When the motion stopped, a vampire stood on either side of the Monarch, each holding one arm. She was too shocked to struggle.
“You dare attack me in my own territory?” Her small body tensed, and it was quite possible she had the strength to swat them both like flies.
A series of metallic clicks stood out in the silence that had fallen around them. Vampires and humans alike froze at the sound of hammers drawn back on at least a dozen guns, all pointing at Soul Killer and her companions. Rimbeau let go of Angie’s hand and eased back in his chair. A mask of amusement settled over his features.
James had not just sent vampires to protect her. He had sent human law enforcement. The vampires with them were dressed in their version of riot gear: black leather clothing, boots, and gloves, with silver handcuffs dangling from their belts and badges sewn onto their shoulders.
“The Covenant’s storm troopers,” Soul Killer snarled. “Violating my territory is an act of war. You have no right to be here.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” one of the humans said, a woman with a raspy, hard voice, “but these vampires are consultants to the Federal Task Force on Supernatural Security. The United States government does not recognize your territorial boundaries, not when it comes to violence against humans.”
“Really,” Rimbeau drawled, “there’s no need to overreact. The lady has spoken, and as humans say, no means no.” He smiled, all charm. “A gentleman always respects that.”
Soul Killer stared at Angie with black eyes gone cold and hard as jet. Angie turned back to Rimbeau and acknowledged him with a mocking nod before she looked at the men and women who continued to train their guns on the little group. There were too many for two vampires, even ones as powerful as this pair of Monarchs, to entrance them all. The Monarchs might have escaped the humans, despite their weapons—an old vampire could move faster than bullets. Likewise, they could have fought free of the two vampire consultants if there had been no other threat. But the combination of humans and vampires working together stacked the odds against them.
“This is inexcusable.” The Monarch of the Great Basin Territory focused her outrage on the human who had spoken. “I do not take such insults lightly.”
“Is that a threat, ma’am?”
Soul Killer’s eyes narrowed. She slid her gaze around the room, and at last seemed to realize she could do nothing, for now. There were too many witnesses.
“Only a threat to speak with your superiors.” Her voice and expression both grew smooth.
“Of course.” The agent nodded. “You go ahead and do that.”
“Now,” Soul Killer said, “unless you intend to arrest us, my companion and I will be going.”
The woman who had spoken lowered her weapon and took a step forward. “That suits us fine, ma’am. Miss Devereaux will be leaving town immediately, just so there won’t be any further trouble. We’ll escort her ourselves.”
She signaled the two vampires, who released the Great Basin Territory Monarch and eased back cautiously. The Monarch looked at one, then the other, as though memorizing their features.
“I do hope you will return to my territory soon,” she said. “I would like to offer you the hospitality you deserve.”
Neither spoke. Soul Killer settled her cold gaze on Angie and extended her fangs so they protruded over her lower lip. Then she turned and stalked away, Evan Samuels following in her wake.
“Clearly, Miss Deveraux, you are more important than you like to admit.” Rimbeau stood, careful not to make any sudden movement. “I heard you were under the protection of powerful people, but this goes beyond anything I could have expected. Please convey my regrets for any inadvertent offense on my part.”
He held out his hand. Angie hesitated before taking it. When she did, he bent low so his lips left a moist trace of blood on her knuckles. His gaze rose to hers, and what she saw there belied the old-world gesture of respect.
“I will be certain to pass that on.” She let him decide for himself just what it was she would pass on—his words or his intentions. Or both.
The enchanting smile returned, and he shared it with the humans around him. “If you will excuse me, ladies, gentlemen, I believe I shall retire to my rooms
.”
A few guns remained trained on him as the agents parted to let him pass. The rest lowered their weapons.
“I’m Section Chief Carla Yeats, head of Nevada’s Special Threats Task Force.” The lead agent tucked her gun into its shoulder holster. “I don’t know who you are, Miss Devereaux, but I sure hope you’re worth the trouble you’ve stirred up.”
“So do I,” Angie murmured. “So do I.”
The two vampires and four of the human agents went with her to her room, while the rest took up positions around the casino. One of the agents helped her pack, and then they escorted her to the airport as promised.
Angie arrived at SeaTac Airport later than she’d expected. James had insisted on sending his private jet rather than letting her take a commercial flight, so she wasn’t able to leave Reno right away. Fortunately, the travel time between the two cities was less than two hours, so there were still several hours remaining before sunrise when at last she landed. James waited on the tarmac with a Covenant Enforcement agent. Angie nodded to them, then did a double take.
“Vanessa?”
“Hey.”
They hadn’t seen each other in more than two years. Vanessa had changed. Her hair was short and dark brown now. Her body language was stiffer, her expression harder, and her eyes had a distance Angie understood all too well. When you couldn’t bear to look at things up close, you removed yourself from them and let the detachment protect you. Woman and vampire regarded each other, then embraced tightly.
Chapter Fourteen
It doesn’t take magic to make a zombie. A severe case of PTSD has the same effect, but without the craving for brains.
—Annette Zimmerman, MA, psychology
Sarah Miller
Twelve Years Ago
The room was nicer than her dungeon. She had a soft bed, blankets, pillows, a shower and a toilet, even a television. They gave her all the food she wanted. The door, however, remained locked. Humans and vampires took turns guarding it day and night. After the bloodbath at Antonio Romero’s keep, Ruler Sutherland and his enforcement team had taken Sarah and Vanessa to his stronghold in Dallas, Texas. Once a luxury hotel, it was now the fortress of the vampire Ruler of the city. She wasn’t allowed to see Vanessa, but least she wasn’t completely alone among the vampires. They assigned a human servant named Debra to look after her. Middle aged, going thick around the waist, she acted like someone who had taken care of children and knew what they needed. Sarah might not be a child anymore, but she needed the same things: sleep, clean clothes, a bath, and healthy food.
A physician saw to her wounds—minor cuts and bruises, mostly—and diagnosed malnutrition. He suggested they bring in a psychologist to assess the result of years of abuse. The psychologist didn’t get far, though. When he had finished trying to talk with her, she sat in front of the television, watching the screen without focusing on the picture.
“She can’t cope with the trauma,” he told Debra, “so she’s just gone away, where none of it can touch her.”
“Will she come out of it?”
He shook his head. “She might, if she starts to feel safe, but she’s surrounded by vampires and their servants. After what they’ve done to her, she’s not likely to ever feel safe around a vampire again.”
“There’s nothing we can do about that for the moment. After the Tribunal…”
“Yes. Well.” He put on his hat and picked up his briefcase. “Call me when you’re ready to actually help her.”
The longer she stayed there, the harder it was to think or move at all. Strange. Now that she was no longer being abused, shouldn’t she feel glad? There was only this heavy gray blanket of insulation, holding her still inside and out.
Her one pleasure was the window. Her third day in the Dallas stronghold ended with a glorious sunset, and in its wake she watched lights come on and grow brighter in contrast to the deepening night. Sarah leaned her head against the windowsill, not thinking, not moving, unable to do more than simply exist. She did not react to a knock on her door. As if from a distance, she heard Debra let someone in, followed by the murmur of voices.
“If she don’t come out of it on her own,” the visitor was saying, “we’ll have to help her.”
“Help?”
The tone in Debra’s voice got Sarah’s attention. She turned slowly to see who had come into her room.
Sutherland stood not far away, observing her.
“Yeah,” he said. “Help.”
Debra moved to stand between the two of them. “What kind of help?”
“I won’t hurt her, but she’s gotta be able to speak when the Tribunal convenes. It’s only a few hours away, and you don’t seem to be gettin’ anywhere. Entrancement’s our only option, short of violence.”
“Entrancement?” Sarah laughed, surprising herself as much as she did them. “That won’t work on me. I’m immune.”
“Immune.” Sutherland approached, leaving Debra no choice but to move out of his way unless she intended to physically block him. “That’s quite a boast, young lady.”
Boast? Yes, maybe she was boasting. She felt an intense satisfaction at the fact he could not control her with his mental powers, and wanted to rub his face in it. How odd, that the first feeling she experienced would be this.
“Try me.” She raised her eyes to his.
He gazed at her, and his pupils dilated. There was a sense of something prying, seeking entrance, but she had made her mind a long, curving wall of glass, too smooth to grab hold of, too thick to breech. He frowned.
“How?” he asked.
“Practice.” She heard the bitterness in her voice and was again surprised. Not only had she felt something, but she had not even bothered to try hiding it. This worried her, and she wanted to climb back inside her blanket of silence, but it seemed smaller than it had before, as if it wouldn’t quite cover all of her now.
“Looks like entrancement won’t be necessary after all.”
The vampire gestured to Debra, who reluctantly stepped out of the room. He sat in a chair next to Sarah and gave her a considering look. “They’ll want you to testify soon. Tonight, maybe, for sure by tomorrow. Will you be able to answer questions?”
Sarah turned away from him. Things were coming back into focus, and it made her uncomfortable. She curled herself into the armchair, unconsciously mimicking a fetal position. “What is this Tribunal thing? Is Vanessa on trial?”
“Yes, ma’am. Killin’ the heir to a Monarchy is a very serious crime.”
As the comforting fog slipped away, Sarah began to shake. She had not needed to conceal her feelings for several days because she simply hadn’t felt them. Now, she returned to the discipline she had learned during her years of slavery and took a breath, willing herself to appear calm. “So you do have laws.”
“Sure. They ain’t as bureaucratic as yours, though. Our justice is quicker.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we don’t waste time with a bunch of appeals, and we don’t wade through miles of red tape.”
Sarah looked out the window. “What do you want from me?”
He said nothing, perhaps waiting for her to turn her attention back to him, but she kept staring out the window until he finally answered, “They’ll come to get you when it’s time to hear your testimony. Just tell ’em the truth.”
Sarah nodded. She leaned her head against the windowsill once again, and after a while, he went away.
When they led her into the auditorium, she saw seven vampires on the stage, sitting behind a long table. They all looked cold and serious, some frowning, some thoughtful. There weren’t many people in the audience, perhaps forty at most, scattered around a space meant to hold at least five hundred. In the front row she spotted Vanessa’s crayon-yellow hair. Next to her sat a vampire who had been turned just as he was reaching middle age. Gray salted his dark hair, and a few lines marked his face. He hid his thoughts and feelings behind a blank expression. Vanessa did her be
st to mimic his wooden calm. Sarah’s guards, a pair of tall females who wore dark suits as though they were imitating the Secret Service, led her onto the stage so her back was to everyone but the judges, then withdrew.
“Sarah Miller.” The vampire at the center of the table spoke. She wore her silver hair in a severe braid, and her clothing was all black and gray, no color whatsoever. All of the creatures seated on either side of her wore the same. Not identical, but similar enough to suggest a uniform.
Sarah hadn’t been asked a question, so she didn’t say anything. She had decided it would be best to appear meek and afraid. In truth, she felt much as she had during the last few weeks of her time with the enclave: dead from the inside out, but with a seething pit of rage buried far, far down where she could barely sense it. She kept her head lowered, twisted her hands together, and waited.
“Is that your name?” The vampire sounded impatient.
“Yes, ma’am.” She glanced up, not quite looking at any of them, then back at the floor.
The creature nodded and gestured to someone behind Sarah.
A vampire who had been seated there rose and stepped onto the stage, stopping some yards from her side. His skin might have been olive when he was human, but the paleness of his second life gave it a sallow cast. His black hair was slicked back from a face that had developed jowls, a red nose, and deep bags under his eyes before he was turned.
“Monarch Romero of the Texas Territory, you may begin your questions.”
The vampire bowed slightly before turning to Sarah. “According to your statement, human, you lived for several months in my son’s keep. When did you first arrive there?”
“I’m not sure. It was hard to keep track of time.”
“I see. And were you fed?”
“Yes.”
“Clothed?”
“Yes.”
“Given a roof over your head, a room in which to sleep?”