Death's Mistress dbd-2

by Karen Chance

Ray was exhibit number two in the creepy undead department. He, Christine and I were in the sitting room next to the study, waiting until the big shots decided we were needed. I’d taken the opportunity to dig the bullet out of Ray’s skull before the wound healed over. But so far, I wasn’t having much luck.

  “I’m working on it,” I told him. I had him in my lap, catty-cornered on a towel. But if he strained, he could manage to glare up at me. He’d been straining a lot.

  “Well, work faster. I’m getting a migraine here.”

  “It’s not my fault. The knife blade’s too wide. I can’t get it far enough in.”

  “Then use something else!”

  “I don’t have anything else,” I said, yanking it out of his skull. Christine suddenly jumped up and fled the room. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Ray gave an eye roll. “Who cares? I got an emergency here. You don’t find that damn thing, and I’m gonna have to go to a bokor. And I hate those things.”

  He was referring to the legal sort of necromancer. They worked for the vamps instead of against them, smoothing out damage to vampire flesh the way a cook would knead bread dough. “What’s wrong with going to a bokor?”

  “They’re nothing but hacks. And don’t believe those ads they run, either.”

  “What ads?”

  “You know, in the backs of all the papers.”

  “Guess I must have missed them.”

  “The ones that promise to make things bigger.”

  “What things?”

  “You know. Things. The one I tried charged me a fortune, and all he did was make it lumpy.”

  “Oh.” I’d seen Mr. Lumpy; Ray should have sued.

  Christine came back a minute later with a sewing basket over her arm and proffered a knitting needle. “Will this help?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.” Our fingers brushed as she passed it over, and she jerked back like she’d been burned. “I’m not going to bite you,” I told her impatiently.

  “I’m sorry.” Her eyelashes fluttered, and one hand went to her hair, nervously. She seemed horrified to learn that it was still down, and quickly pinned it back into a chignon. The hairstyle left the bones of her face bare, but they could take it. “I… I have never before met a dhampir.”

  “Lucky you,” Ray muttered.

  “How do you know what I am?” I demanded.

  “Louis-Cesare informed me.”

  “Really. What else did he say?”

  “Ow! Watch it!” Ray groused. I looked down to see that I’d jabbed him in the eye.

  “He did not say anything else,” Christine said, sitting back down. She’d changed out of the bloody night-dress as soon as we returned, with a squeamishness that seemed a little odd in a vampire. The new ensemble was a deep rose gown with scads of antique handmade lace around the low neckline. It complemented the glossy dark hair, delicate features and big brown eyes.

  I went back to work, but I could feel those eyes on me, like a weight.

  I sighed. I’d known this was coming. She could probably smell Louis-Cesare all over me and vice versa. And while it wasn’t a servant’s place, even a favored one, to criticize her master, I was fair game.

  I looked up, waiting for it, but she didn’t say anything. She just sat there, her gaze steady on mine. And weirdly enough, there was no challenge in it. If anything, it held a kind of childish wonder.

  “Take a picture; it’ll last longer,” Ray told her.

  She blinked. “I’m sorry,” she told me again. “I did not mean to stare. But I must admit that I find you fascinating.”

  What I found fascinating was that the needle just kept going in. Half of it had disappeared inside Ray’s skull, and it hadn’t hit anything yet. Well, nothing hard anyway. I tried wiggling it around, but it made his eyes cross so I stopped.

  “Any particular reason why?” I asked Christine.

  “You kill vampires.”

  “Only the bad kind,” I told her, to prevent another freak-out.

  “They’re all bad.”

  I would have thought she was kidding, but that beautiful face was perfectly serious. “You’re a vampire.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re evil?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s a novel approach.” She tilted her head to one side in a question. “Most vamps I’ve met are like anybody else,” I explained. “They find ways to justify what they want to do so it leaves them the hero of the story.”

  A small frown appeared between those lovely eyes. “But that would be useless. Denying what we are does not change it. Evil is evil, regardless of the face it wears.”

  This conversation was getting a little surreal. And that was from someone used to talking to Radu. “So you’re a self-professed evil vampire?” A nod. “And I kill evil vamps.” Another nod. “Should I just kill you then?”

  “Oh, not yet,” she told me earnestly. “I have done little to redeem myself.”

  “Elevator don’t go all the way to the top, does it?” Ray muttered. And then his eyes lowered to half- mast, and he started to grin, lazily. “Oh, yeah, baby. Right there. That’s the spot. Hit that a—”

  I hastily pushed the needle a little farther in, and he shut up.

  “I thought you believed that vampires lost their souls,” I reminded her. “How do you get redemption after that?”

  “It is not easy,” she told me seriously. “For years I could not understand why God would allow this to happen to me. I felt betrayed, lost, unclear what path I should take. I hated my master for making me like this, for giving me these terrible cravings—”

  “But you got over that.” I didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm, but Christine didn’t look like she’d noticed.

  “Yes. He did not mean to hurt me, merely to change me into what he was. And he does not see himself as a monster, did you know?” she asked, apparently amazed.

  I stared at her. “If it hadn’t been for that ‘monster,’ you’d have been dead a long time ago!”

  She sat forward, nodding eagerly. “Yes, yes, precisely. That is what I finally realized, too. Louis-Cesare was doing God’s work, although he did not know it. I was meant to live this life, to have this chance. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Well, I’m glad you worked through all that pesky guilt,” I told her. And then the point of the needle popped out the back of Ray’s head on a little gout of blood.

  Christine and I stared at it for a moment. “Is it… supposed to do that?” she asked.

  “Do what?” Ray rolled those eyes up at me. “Did you get the bullet out?”

  “Um.”

  “Dorina!” Mircea’s less than pleased voice cut through my dilemma. He’d been in a pissy mood since we showed up on his doorstep with a headless naked guy, a terrified hostage and a bunch of vampires claiming that Louis-Cesare was a murderer.

  Go figure.

  I tucked Ray’s head under my arm and wandered next door, where Mircea, Marlowe and some older vamp I didn’t know were bracketing the dead man. Louis-Cesare sat on a sofa off to the side, with his head in his hands, looking about like I felt. I doubted it was good old-fashioned fatigue on his part—more like the depth of the shit he was in had finally impressed itself on his mind.

  Good, I thought evilly.

  Mircea had gone casual today, in a midnight blue suit with a slash of pearl gray for a tie. He had the suit coat off and the shirtsleeves rolled up. He had examined the dead man and hadn’t wanted to ruin the Armani, I guessed. “We are ready for your evidence,” he informed me.

  “There’s no time for this,” Marlowe said, running a hand through his already-messy curls. He was dressed in his favorite deep burgundy, although it was rumpled enough to make me wonder if he’d had to dress quickly.

  “We must make time,” Mircea said sharply. “I need something, Kit. I cannot stand before the Senate and defend him successfully with what we have.”

  Marlowe shook his head violently enough to send the curls d
ancing. “The only evidence she can give will hurt our case, not help it. She took the only thing he had to trade for Christine. And the current ban on duels meant there was no other way to save his servant’s life but to kill the man who held her captive.”

  “Louis-Cesare does not stab people in the back,” I pointed out.

  “Which is why it would have been an intelligent method to use,” Marlowe snapped. His tone said that he’d have vastly preferred to blame me for this, and how dared I have been with other people when it had happened?

  “I had an appointment—” Louis-Cesare began.

  “An appointment to give him the price he’d demanded for Christine’s return—a price you could no longer meet,” Marlowe said.

  “I used the front door and was ushered in by one of his servants! Even had I lost all conception of honor and decided to murder the man in cold blood, I should hardly have chosen to do so under those circumstances.”

  “If you were thinking clearly, perhaps not. But you admit yourself that you were enraged.” Marlowe was good at playing devil’s advocate, but even I knew he wouldn’t be the only one saying these things soon. This was bad.

  “Tell me again what happened,” Mircea said. Between the screams and the accusations and the gun pointing, we hadn’t had time to discuss the evening’s events in detail at vamp central.

  “After speaking with Dorina, I came up to confront Elyas about his duplicity,” Louis-Cesare said tersely. “I was ushered into the waiting area.” He nodded at the small room with the comfy chairs. “I waited. But after a time I became impatient and—”

  “How long a time?”

  “A minute, perhaps two. I was in no mood to indulge Elyas’s power games. In the end, I went through without an escort and found him as you see.”

  “Then explain why he died while you were standing over him, holding the knife used to sever his arteries!” Marlowe demanded.

  “I cannot. I smelled the blood when I opened the door, but I did not know that it was his. I only discovered what had been done when I bent over the body. The knife was on the floor, and I picked it up to get it out of the way of the spreading stain. As I stood up again, he died. I felt it when it rippled through the house, and a moment later, his family was there, along with half or more of his guests.”

  “Yes! Dozens of witnesses and a story a child wouldn’t believe.” Marlowe threw up his hands. “If you are going to lie to the Senate, at least make it plausible.”

  “I am not lying.” It was the king-to-peasant tone again, and it didn’t look like Marlowe liked it any better than I had.

  “The wooden knife was in the heart, Louis-Cesare,” Marlowe said, pointing at the gory thing that now resided on the desk. It wasn’t the usual plain-Jane stake, but a hand-carved specimen with a long, slender blade and a distinctive finial. I even thought I caught a glimpse of some metal—steel or silver—at the tip.

  Elyas had been stabbed with the Cadillac of stakes.

  Nothing but the best for a senator.

  “As soon as the wood penetrated the muscle, he died.” Marlowe continued. “There is no delayed reaction; you know this!”

  “There are two ways into the study, as you can plainly see,” Louis-Cesare said icily. “Someone must have entered from the hall, killed him, and left while I was waiting. The study is soundproofed—I would have heard nothing!”

  “And this mysterious murderer did this in what?” Marlowe demanded incredulously. “The thirty-second window of opportunity he’d have had?”

  “It is possible,” Mircea commented. “Elyas was playing host for most of the evening. He doubtless retired to the study to meet with Louis-Cesare only shortly before he was killed. It may well have been the first chance a murderer would have had to get him alone.”

  “It was also the first chance Louis-Cesare had.”

  “The master retired to the study not ten minutes before his death,” the old vamp put in, although no one had asked him. He was dressed like a butler, and he looked vaguely like one, too, with bushy salt-and-pepper hair, muttonchop sideburns and a mustache that said he was overcompensating for something. He was likely the senior vamp in Elyas’s household.

  I moved around the desk while Marlowe and Louis-Cesare glared at each other. “What is it?” Mircea asked, as I leaned over the body.

  “Don’t touch that!” Marlowe ordered, seeing what I was doing.

  “I hadn’t planned on it.” The wooden knife in Elyas’s heart hadn’t been disturbed, and the telltale sign was still on the bottom of the blade, on the portion that had stayed outside the flesh—a small ring of pale, almost translucent gray.

  “Dorina?” Mircea glanced from the hilt to my face, eyes suddenly sharp. He knew I was about to hand him something. And damn it, he was right.

  I stood back up. “Elyas could have been killed at any time during that ten minutes,” I told them.

  “He could not!” Marlowe barked. “We know when he died. The reaction was felt by everyone in the apartment—including you.”

  I sighed. This was going to cost me a fortune. “There’s a way to delay the reaction.”

  His eyes immediately narrowed on my face. “How?”

  “You asked me a question yesterday, about how I get out of clubs and homes after killing a master, without his servants immediately zeroing in on me.”

  “And?” His eyes had gone a bright, glittering black.

  “I behead the master first, because—I don’t care who you are—that’s going to be a shock to the system.”

  “Damn straight,” Ray commented.

  Marlowe never even glanced at him. “And then?”

  He was like a goddamned dog with a bone, I thought resentfully. “Then I tie his hands behind his back and jam the stake into his heart—a special one I previously coated in a thin layer of wax.”

  His eyes widened.

  “I don’t see why that would make a difference in the time of death,” Muttonchops said.

  “The body’s heat melts the wax,” I said, spelling it out for him. “But not right away. I have anywhere from thirty seconds to a couple of minutes to get away before any of the actual wood touches the heart.”

  “And you can control the amount of time by the thickness of the wax,” Marlowe said, blinking. “It’s so bloody simple. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Maybe you don’t kill as many vamps as I do,” I said sourly. “The point is, anyone could have offed Elyas. Set him up like I described. Then hurry out into the hall, and either leave the apartment entirely or—”

  “Or rejoin the other guests as if nothing had happened.”

  “And remain to see the body being found to make certain that nothing went amiss,” Mircea added. He looked at Muttonchops. “I would appreciate a list of all your guests tonight. Invited and otherwise.”

  The vamp did affronted dignity well. “You cannot believe one of them to be responsible! I assure you, everyone here was of the finest—”

  “Of course,” Mircea murmured soothingly. “I would expect no less of an illustrious house. However, it is the usual protocol, and I will be asked for it.”

  The vamp nodded stiffly but made no move to leave. He concentrated for a moment, probably trying to summon a flunky, but they all appeared to be out of order. He gave a disgusted sound and walked to the door to bark an order to a human servant instead.

  Mircea thanked him and turned back to the body, still looking grim. “That’s how it was done,” I told him. “I promise you.”

  “I do not doubt your word, Dorina,” he said, with emphasis.

  “You don’t think the Senate will believe me?”

  “Well, I don’t believe you,” Muttonchops said. “It’s preposterous. I’ve never heard of such a thing. A first-level master would merely break the bonds and remove the knife.”

  “Not with his head just cut off and a stake through his heart,” I said drily.

  He gave me a purely venomous look. “I could do it. And I’m second-level
.”

  “Want to try?”

  “Dorina.” Mircea gave me the look that said, “You’re not helping.”

  “Believe me, I’ve done this enough to know,” I told him. “It works. Maybe if the vamp in question had more time, he could figure a way out of it. But he has only seconds. They may struggle a bit, sure, but they are mostly paralyzed, and the majority don’t even realize the danger. They think I missed the heart and left them for dead, and that one of their servants will find them shortly. And they’re gone before they realize their mistake.”

  Muttonchops turned to Mircea. “Even if you accept this creature’s evidence, the fact remains that no one else had reason to kill the master!”

  “Like hell,” Ray said. I thumped him hard, and he shut up. But Mircea shot me a look.

  “You can point out to the Senate that Louis-Cesare had the rest of the week,” I told him. “If he planned to kill Elyas, he’d have done it later, after he had exhausted all other possibilities. There’d be no reason to do it tonight, especially in so public a way.”

  “It’s the best we’re going to get,” Marlowe said, looking at Mircea. “Will it be enough?”

  Mircea closed his eyes. He didn’t look optimistic. “The Senate is meeting in an hour in an emergency session. We will soon know.”

  A couple of large vamps approached with a stretcher, but Marlowe waved them off. “The Senate may ask to see the body in situ.”

  “But dawn approaches,” Muttonchops said, sounding scandalized.

  Since it was only about one a.m., the guy was exaggerating. But then, he was upset. And he didn’t know how long the Senate bigwigs intended to leave his master exposed.

  That sort of thing was a major taboo in the vamp world. Once a vamp’s power leaves him, his protection against the sun goes with it. Any stray beams after that will fry what is left to a crisp in a matter of seconds. The last service a vampire performs for his or her master is ensuring that the body is hidden away so that the sun can never touch it.

  Marlowe’s expression said he couldn’t give a shit, but Mircea moved in with soothing, reasonable arguments, his voice taking on the cadence that said power was being exerted, but subtly. Muttonchops’s frown smoothed out, and within moments he was nodding, as if leaving his master’s gory body slumped at the desk was the best idea he’d heard in a while.