by Karen Chance
I stopped wondering if I was about to become something’s lunch and struggled to sit up. Unfortunately, that made the room tilt violently and my blood seep out even faster. A tearing, sharp pain bit into my side every time I moved or breathed.
“Lie still if you want to live!” Louis-Cesare ordered harshly. “And call that thing off or I will be forced to kill it. I cannot help you while constantly fending off attack!”
“What is it?” The room kept swimming in and out of my vision, but I managed to focus on the hovering gray thing. It reminded me of a Mr. Potato Head doll assembled by a two-year-old. All the parts were there, but they weren’t necessarily in the right place. The comparison was strengthened by its incongruously long, sticklike arms and legs, which poked at sharp angles out of the fur. Its knees were currently up around its head as it squatted protectively beside me, close enough that the stench emanating from it made my eyes water.
“A lot which failed to sell. It was about to be killed when you went mad.” Louis-Cesare nudged it cautiously with a toe and it snarled at him so viciously that one of its bent fangs pierced its bottom lip, causing a trickle of black blood to join the matted dirt and who-knew-what on its chin. “It appears to be under the impression that you saved its life.” A misshapen appendage that only vaguely resembled a hand reached out to pat my hair. “How touching. Now call it off!”
“How do I do that?”
“Improvise.” He had his hand on his rapier, and I didn’t doubt he’d use it.
I sighed. “It’s okay,” I told my little groupie. “If he lets me die, Daddy will kill him for you.”
The thing must have understood something, because it shuffled back a few paces, letting Louis-Cesare get close enough to examine me. I lay back against the floor while he touched my cheek gently, then stroked along my throat. Light mental fingers danced past my tattered shields and suddenly I could breathe without pain. His hands were warm on my skin and his touch swept away the last of the confused frenzy. They made me feel steadier, anchored, and I realized that he’d hit me with a suggestion. Normally, that sort of thing wouldn’t work, but my shields were in shreds. And since it took most of the pain away, I didn’t feel like protesting.
I closed my eyes and let a wonderful numbness creep down my body from neck to knees. The room was spinning to the point that I knew I’d lost a lot of blood—enough to be dangerous even for me. I didn’t try to catalog my wounds, since I couldn’t seem to concentrate, and decided to use what little mental capacity I had for more important things. “Claire?”
“She was here, but not by the time we arrived. There is a note for you, when you are well enough to read it.”
“A note?” Trust Claire to find time, in the middle of a slave auction, to leave a note! The girl needed therapy. I laughed, but it hurt, so I stopped. “I feel well enough now,” I said, and made the mistake of trying to sit up again. The room did some kind of weird kaleidoscope thing and started to grow dim.
“Stay put!” I was told savagely. “You will never read it if you are dead!”
I decided he might have a point, and lay back again. The twisted hulk of the cage loomed over us, and I had to be careful not to move much or I came into contact with some of the hundreds of pieces of splintered wood that littered the place. I eventually identified them as the remains of the folding chairs the bidders had been using. Olga’s group must have gone nuts.
I’d lost Mircea’s coat somewhere and now Louis-Cesare tore my T-shirt in two. “We haven’t even had dinner yet,” I protested weakly, and he glared at me out of eyes lit by an inner glow. “Daddy’s turn gold,” I told him confidentially, and giggled.
“You should be unconscious by now,” he muttered.
“Dhampir,” I reminded him. Louis-Cesare didn’t answer, but he upped the amp on his suggestion. I found myself staring into eyes like starlit steel, some unsuspected poetic part of me whispered, or lightning cutting across a summer sky. They really were amazing, those eyes. “Pretty,” I observed, which seemed to startle him.
Olga appeared behind him, her bulk dwarfing him as if he were a child. She bent over to see me better, close enough that her golden beard tickled my chin. “She alive?”
“For the moment.” Louis-Cesare’s voice sounded strained.
“Good. That vampire, he not here,” Olga informed me.
“Where we hunt now?”
“I’m working on that,” I told her. She nodded, satisfied, and lumbered away.
Louis-Cesare began digging around in my chest for something. A bullet, I remembered vaguely. The auctioneers had had guns, and judging by where his impromptu surgery was taking place, someone had been a good shot. It had missed the heart, but not by much.
“We cannot take her along,” he commented. It took me a moment to realize he was talking about Olga.
“Sure we can.”
“You know nothing about her!”
“I know Drac killed her husband. I don’t think she has a chance of bringing him down, but it’s her right to try.” Humans might be willing to fight their battles in court, and for lesser things the magical community followed suit. But for this, someone would bleed. I just hoped it was the right someone, as the idea of Olga writhing away her final hours on one of Drac’s special poles didn’t appeal.
“She is a Bergtroll,” he informed me, as if there was any chance I’d failed to notice.
“Uh-huh. A really pissed-off one. You don’t want her to come, fine. You tell her. I’ve had about all the violence I want for today.”
Louis-Cesare looked like he was going to argue, so I distracted him with a pitiful groan. Too bad it wasn’t faked. He went back to surgery, and in return for my agreement to stay still while he patched me up, he filled me in on some of the stuff I’d missed. “It seems we disrupted an illegal auction featuring failed experiments by the Dark Fey. They gave them to a group of humans they use to do some of their errands as—what do you call it? A bonus,” he said, dropping the bullet he’d extracted onto the floor. “The prisoners said that there were no mages here, only humans. I believe the Dark Circle abandoned this location as too vulnerable, and that the wards we found were some they did not bother to remove when they left.”
“And what did the humans say? If they work for—” I broke off at a particularly painful dig.
“We would have asked them had your allies left any alive,” was the acerbic reply. Another little bullet hit the floor. No wonder I felt like crap. Even I usually manage to avoid getting shot twice in the chest on the same day.
Then what he’d said registered. I looked around and for the first time noticed that the man who had attacked the little crossbreed was now draped across a couple of cages—on opposite sides of the room. Pieces of the auctioneer and his staff were everywhere, with an arm still clutching a gavel about a yard away. While Louis-Cesare stitched me up, I watched Olga’s little troll, appearing unaffected by his obviously broken nose, tuck it into a basket alongside other mangled bits. Takeout, I presumed.
“Wait a minute.” My sluggish brain finally threw up the obvious question. “If this was some bargain-basement slave auction, why was Claire here?” The idea of her in what amounted to an odd bin was ludicrous.
Louis-Cesare didn’t reply, being too busy digging a.22 out of my thigh. Before I could press him, someone came into view who drove the words right out of my head. “Shit!” I tried to rise, but Louis-Cesare held me down.
“What is wrong with you?” I just stared past his shoulder at the new arrival. Either I was hallucinating or the threat wasn’t as great as it seemed. I really hoped it was the latter, since I was in no shape to defend myself.
The newcomer knelt gracefully beside me. I tried not to stare, but I don’t think it worked. At least he was worth it, being quite simply the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Golden hair spilled over his shoulders and in the dim room it seemed to glow with an inward light. Eyes so dark green they were almost black provided a startling contrast, especially fra
med by gold-tipped lashes. But his face was the most surprising thing about him. Faint laugh lines crinkled around his eyes, and his smile revealed even white teeth. Despite the perfection of the features, the first word I’d have used to describe him would have been “pleasant,” something I’d never have thought to associate with a member of the Light Fey.
The Fey’s otherworldly looks did not keep him from being attacked by a growling gray blur, however. “What do we have here?” The light, musical voice sounded amused, and a softly shimmering hand plucked the creature out of the air. “Ah. An infant Duergar. Is it yours?” I just stared as he held the poor Duergar securely by the nape of its neck. It tried to scratch him, but the Fey’s arms were even longer than its own and kept it just out of reach. “But this cannot be the fearsome warrior,” the Fey said, his eyes widening as they took me in. “She is too young, and far too pretty.”
“She is five centuries old,” Louis-Cesare replied tersely.
“As I thought,” the Fey said. “A mere child.” He lifted my hand to his lips and if the dried blood on it bothered him, he didn’t let it show. “I believe you are called Dory, am I right? I am known as Caedmon, at least in your world.”
The Duergar seemed to object to Caedmon touching me, and started flailing its sticklike limbs in a frantic attempt to scratch his eyes out. The Fey glanced at it. “They can be very useful: resistant to poison and most magic, fierce in battle, extremely loyal, and many are skillful smiths. I once had a wondrous belt with a gold buckle—exquisite work—made by one of their renowned artisans. But if you’ll forgive the observation,” he added, “this is a poor specimen.”
I grabbed the snarling thing away from him, and it quieted after wrapping two spindly arms around my neck. “It’s only a baby,” I said defensively.
Caedmon nodded. “True, but without the proper training and the supervision of its people, it will never acquire their skills. And I think it unlikely to be welcomed among them. There appears to have been some mixing of bloodlines. It would almost certainly be viewed as an abomination. It would be a kindness to put it out of its misery.”
I hugged the Duergar and fought not to gag. After a bath, he’d kind of look like Animal from the Muppets. I always liked the Muppets. “I think I’ll call him Stinky.”
Louis-Cesare rolled his eyes, but Caedmon merely smiled. “How apt.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, doubting he’d come to buy anything. The Fey tend to be a bit more particular about their slaves.
He gave an elegant shrug. “It seems we have a common purpose: I, too, am looking for your friend.”
“The Fey Council sent him,” Louis-Cesare explained, shooting the newcomer a dark look. Apparently, they’d met before I woke up, and it didn’t look like Louis-Cesare was impressed.
“To investigate this unfortunate matter,” Caedmon added. “I am greatly concerned for your friend. She must be found, and the sooner the better. I thought I had discovered her whereabouts, but was too late.”
“Why are you interested in Claire?” She’d never mentioned a connection with the Fey. And here I thought I was the one with all the secrets.
“I greatly look forward to discussing that with you,” Caedmon said, “but”—his gaze swept my battered form—“perhaps when you have recovered?”
“Tell me now.” I put a hand on his arm, and found it almost cool to the touch, or maybe that was the liquid feel of the silk. If any fashion designers saw how he wore his plain gray tunic and leggings, the medieval look would be on every runway come fall. I tried to sit up, but still didn’t have the strength. Even the pain from the wound Louis-Cesare was currently picking at hardly registered. I couldn’t remember a single twenty-four-hour period in which I’d lost consciousness this often, but it felt like I was slipping away again.
“Here, allow me.” Caedmon laid a hand on my forehead. His power surrounded me, like sunlight on my skin. Despite the fact that we were underground, it threw a pattern of gently waving branches across my body and gilded the dusty air until everything glittered. The sounds of the cleanup became a distant background noise, overwritten by musical laughter and voices singing unknown songs. I breathed in a rich forest smell, and vague shadows swirled up around me in a storm of green and gold, like leaves caught in a high wind. For an instant I thought the cave would disappear altogether; then a phantom leaf brushed my cheek and I jerked away, scrambling to reinforce my shields. The sensations hadn’t been threatening, but neither is the sun until it burns you.
I didn’t know whether the images were deliberate sendings—an unobtrusive attempt to calm my nerves—or simply part of what he was. Either way, they passed quickly, and with them went much of my lethargy. Unfortunately, their passing also broke Louis-Cesare’s suggestion, and that meant a return of some serious pain.
I let out a string of Romanian curses I thought I’d forgotten and pushed the vamp away. Stinky hissed at him. “What are you trying to do, an amputation?”
I looked down at my legs, which a moment before had been peppered with seeping wounds, only to find that all but one had closed over—the one he’d been digging in. As I watched, a lump appeared under the skin and, instead of staying put, began roaming around in a very unpleasant way. Then out of the wound popped a squashed metal object that I distantly realized was the bullet Louis-Cesare had been trying to locate. A second after that, the wound closed.
I stared at it in amazement. No one healed like that except a first-level master. Or, it seemed, the Fey. My mind immediately began wondering how you’d go about killing someone who could repair major injuries that quickly, while Caedmon helped me to my feet.
“You’re a healer.”
He smiled, and it was breathtaking. “A minor talent.” “So tell me about Claire.”
His smile widened. “You’re a single-minded little thing, aren’t you?” Since he topped me by at least a foot and a half, I decided to ignore the “little” remark. From his perspective, it was accurate.
“Yeah. Besides, if we pool our information—”
“My thought exactly,” he agreed, perching on the overturned cage like he was posing.
Louis-Cesare stood with folded arms, his mouth a straight, hard line. Something about the Fey seemed to annoy him, or maybe he didn’t care for the turn of conversation. Finding Claire wasn’t his mission, but I was glad to see that he was smart enough to realize that there was no way to prize me out of there until I’d learned all I could. Radu was safe enough for the moment; Claire wasn’t.
“It is a long tale, suitable for a bard’s song,” Caedmon said, his voice taking on a lilt that was almost singing itself. He had no real accent that I could place, but I’d have known blindfolded that English wasn’t his mother tongue. “But perhaps it would simplify things if you could tell us what this says?” He pulled a piece of paper out from under the cloak he wore, and looked at it with vague irritation. “Humans are such restless creatures. Every time I visit this world, they have new tongues among them; I no longer attempt to keep up.” He handed over the folded scrap, which I saw with surprise had my name on the outside. “It appears that someone knew you were coming.”
I sat abruptly on the edge of the cage and opened the letter. It was in Romanian and came straight to the point; Uncle never had been much for small talk. Drac didn’t trust me to betray Mircea without an added incentive, so he’d provided one. He’d found out about the auction from his Dark Circle allies and recognized Claire’s name. It seemed he had bothered to get my recent résumé, and thought there was a chance I might want my roomie back. If I preferred that to be in something other than a hundred pieces, he suggested I get to work on delivering his brother. Claire was “something to sweeten the deal.”
I stared at the words, written with a quill pen in blood. I smelled it, just to be sure, and it was Claire’s. Most of the magical community had moved on to using ballpoints like everyone else, but Uncle had always been a traditionalist. Since the letter was basically a contra
ct for Claire’s life, I suppose he’d thought it appropriate.
I reviewed my options, and they were universally horrible. I could ignore Drac’s command and lose Claire to what was certain to be a particularly gruesome death, or I could betray Mircea and Radu. It had never really occurred to me until that moment to hand over the family. I didn’t feel like a part of it—I never had—but it was somehow difficult to think about it simply not being there anymore. I had assumed I would find a way to turn the tables on Drac; now I realized that the easiest way to get what I wanted, maybe the only way, was to go along with his plans.
For some reason, that thought made me almost nauseous. I killed vampires, but my targets were usually revenants, the masterless psychos who were little more than animals. Vamps who stayed, however marginally, within the law had little to fear from me, although I didn’t let that get around. And now I was expected to kill those who not only were within the rules but helped to make them?
“Dory.” It took me a moment to realize that Louis-Cesare had been talking. Caedmon was regarding me with compassion. I’d probably been leaking my inner turmoil all over the place.
I looked at Louis-Cesare and drew a complete blank. I am usually a fairly glib liar—nothing like dear old Dad, of course, but good enough for most circumstances. Yet I couldn’t think of a thing to say. Neither alternative was acceptable, but as least I had options. But if Louis-Cesare discovered what Drac had planned for Radu, I’d never get a chance to figure a way out of this. He’d move him back to MAGIC even if he had to cart him off bodily, and that would seal Claire’s fate as surely as if I’d killed her myself.
“Drac has Claire,” I finally said, hoping my pause would be mistaken for shock. “He says not to come after him, or he’ll kill her.”
Louis-Cesare nodded, but Caedmon appeared confused. “Who is this? Another vampire?”