Triad Soul

by Nathan Burgoine

  “Fine.” Anders let go. They drove in silence for a while.

  “I wonder if Luc has ever heard of a demon body that didn’t turn to ash.”

  “Curtis.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t get involved,” Anders said.

  Curtis shrugged. “The only way I can think of to leave a dead demon body behind would be with magic. David thinks the Families aren’t involved, otherwise there’d’ve been no body to find. They’d’ve gotten rid of it some other way, after whatever they did to it. So the thing is, there’s a werewolf running around killing a demon, and there’s magic involved that has nothing to do with the Families.” Curtis looked at him. “As soon as they find out, the Families are going to be taking a long look at any wizards they don’t control, don’t you think?”

  “Fuck,” Anders said.

  “Yep.” To the best of Curtis’s knowledge, other than some Orphans out there who might or might not have been known to the Families, the list of wizards the Families didn’t have major influence over was just as long as David’s list of trustworthy wizards: one name.

  His.

  “Once Luc gets up, we can make a plan,” Curtis said. “He’ll have an idea of what to do.”

  “Right,” Anders said. The word was barely a grunt.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I have ideas.”

  Curtis spared a brief glance Anders’s way. “Hey. Don’t. If I needed a plan to wipe my enemies from the face of the earth in a rain of destruction as wide as the city? Or I needed to seduce, I don’t know, an army base or something? I know who I’d ask. But this isn’t that kind of problem.”

  “A whole army base?”

  “Or a rain of destruction.”

  Anders’s gripped Curtis’s thigh again, giving him another squeeze. “You still got those camo pants?”

  Curtis shifted in his seat. The heat the demon put out was somehow comforting and distracting all at the same time, especially when Anders’s hand had inched a bit closer to the inside of Curtis’s thigh.

  “I’m driving,” Curtis said. His voice cracked a bit, though, which defeated the stern tone he was going for.

  “When we get home,” Anders said. “You put on the pants, and I’ll drive, soldier.”

  “You’re insatiable.” Then he grinned. “I like that about you.”

  Two

  “I tend to agree with Anders,” Luc said.

  “Someone note the time and date,” Anders said.

  Curtis sighed. “I get it. I don’t want to get involved either.” He bit his lip.

  “But?” Luc said.

  Curtis looked at him, a small smile lifting the corner of his lips. “You know me too well.”

  “Tell me what you want to do.”

  “Someone killed a demon and did something pretty awful to him, magically speaking. I’m meeting with my craft night group tonight, and I thought maybe I could pick their brains about it. It can’t hurt, right?”

  Luc regarded Curtis for a moment. He was obviously upset. Luc could feel it through their bond, a mix of concern and empathy typical of the wizard. And Curtis’s point about how the Families would react if this magical assault was indeed unsanctioned by their leaders was valid. Would the Families look at the three of them if things were indeed happening out of their purview?

  Probably. He was loath to admit it.

  “I could look into it as well. I am not without resources,” Luc said.

  “Here we go,” Anders said. Both he and Curtis were on the couch. Anders had one arm wrapped around Curtis’s shoulder, and he hugged him. “Settle in for a royal speech from Ducky Lucky.”

  Curtis patted Anders’s arm. “Don’t be so jealous. Luc may be an actual vampire Duke, but you’re still royalty to us.”

  “Yes, every court has a jester,” Luc said.

  Anders gave him the finger with his free hand.

  “Charming.”

  “What do you mean, though?” Curtis said. “What resources?”

  “As the Duc,” Luc said, ignoring the way Anders rolled his eyes and groaned, “I have access to the archivist and the other heads of the coteries as well. I’d intended to have a meeting with them in any circumstance, to discuss the lone vampires. I can ask them about this as well.”

  “So we’re getting involved,” Anders said.

  Luc raised one shoulder. “Technically, I should be involved anyway. This is my city to govern.”

  “You govern the vampires.” Anders snorted. “You don’t govern demons. Or wizards.”

  “Then I shall consider it community outreach.”

  “You are the last person the demons would speak to,” Anders said. He gave Curtis another squeeze. “You neither, no offence. You’re both pretty, but meetings between you guys and demons haven’t gone too good in the past.”

  “Hey. Self-defense,” Curtis said.

  “Right. Lethal self-defense,” Anders said. “If we’re gonna get into demon business, it’s better if you two hang back.”

  “So you’re to be our ambassador to the packs of Ottawa?” Luc said.

  Anders grinned. “Think of me as Gandhi. Only sexy as fuck.”

  “I don’t think Gandhi was ever actually an ambassador,” Curtis said.

  “Whatever. They’ll bow down to me or I’ll kick their ass.”

  Curtis blinked. “Anders,” he started. “Gandhi didn’t—”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Luc said, giving Curtis a small shake of his head. There was no point.

  Curtis blew out a breath. “Okay.”

  Luc nodded. He checked his watch. It was still early in the evening. One of the benefits of a Canadian winter was how early the sun set. “What time will you be back from meeting your wizard friends?”

  “We usually don’t go past ten,” Curtis said. He pulled himself out from under Anders’s arm and rose. “I should eat something before I go.”

  “I’ll schedule my meeting accordingly,” Luc said.

  Anders leaned back on the couch. “I’ll hit the Brass Rail.”

  Curtis frowned. The Brass Rail was one of the bars in the Byward Market. “Is that a demon hangout?”

  “No,” Anders said. “I need to see a guy about a blow job.” At Curtis’s sigh, he added, “after I’ll go figure out which pack the dead guy belonged to. How about that?”

  “If you can squeeze it in,” Curtis said.

  Anders got up, grinning. “I’ve got lots of practice with squeezing things in.” He swatted Curtis’s ass and left the room.

  “He’s certainly mastered the single entendre,” Luc said.

  Curtis’s cheer seemed a little forced, anxiety thrumming through the bond they shared.

  “What’s wrong, lapin?” Luc said.

  Curtis seemed to be taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Luc didn’t want to let Curtis’s nerves bother him, but Curtis was smart. If something worried him, it should likely worry them all. He had a way of thinking sideways at a problem, exposing different angles than others would consider.

  Luc waited.

  “Okay,” Curtis said. “If you knew something about an Orphan wizard, say, and you thought I needed to know it, but you also really, really wanted to make sure I didn’t react a certain way or hurt the Orphan wizard, would you tell me?”

  Luc crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t imagine you to hurt anyone at all if you could help it.”

  Curtis winced.

  “Which means you know something you think I should know about a lone vampire, I assume, drawing on your Orphan parallel, and you’re not sure you feel the same way about how I might react to such a person.” To Luc’s surprise, the thought actually stung. He was a predator, yes, and he believed himself to be a pragmatic sort, but the notion Curtis might consider him…what? Unkind? Cruel?

  Yes. It stung.

  “No, it’s not you,” Curtis said. “I know you. Hell, I lo—” He bit off whatever he was about to say.

  The unspoken word hung in the sudden sil
ence.

  “I trust you,” Curtis said. “And Anders. You two are…” He stalled again. “I’m not saying this right.”

  “Just tell me, lapin.”

  Curtis took a breath. “You’re right. There’s a vampire. A vampire who isn’t in a coterie. And that vampire is important to someone I also trust and care about.”

  “How did you find this…of course. The spell,” Luc said. When their clash with Renard had hit its peak, they’d worked a spell to locate him, and thanks to the aid of someone gifted with sensing the undead, they had succeeded beyond their intent. They’d created a literal map of where every vampire had been that evening, on the last of the three nights of a full moon, when the coteries gathered. Every lone vampire in the city had been marked in blood on a map.

  “Right. The spell.”

  “If there is any way I can avoid it, I will ensure this vampire is not mistreated. That’s the best I can offer, lapin, without knowing more. Assuming this vampire has done no harm to others, I should be in the position to make sure no harm is done in return. Now. Tell me. Because if I don’t know, I cannot help. Who is it you’re worried about?”

  Curtis took a deep breath and began.

  *

  Luc regarded the office, schooling his features as best he could. He had faced truly trying moments in his long life. The ire of his maker when everything had gone fallen to pieces over the nights following Luc’s rebirth as a vampire. The forced debasement at the will of other vampires when he’d been caught without a coterie. The company of Anders. He had even faced down a warlock. But in the face of some things, even the greatest comportment could fail.

  “You can redecorate,” Catharine said.

  Luc allowed himself a small grimace. “Was I that obvious?”

  Catharine’s laugh was almost musical. As always, the Lady Markham was the picture of grace. Her long, chestnut hair had been braided to fall over one shoulder, and her beautifully honey-colored eyes had only the barest traces of makeup around them. The dress she wore, a sleek navy design that left her shoulders bare beneath a white shawl, might not have been formal wear, but somehow she made it look like it was made for royalty. Luc wasn’t entirely sure if her title was inherited, married into, or even still applicable, but she bore it with every movement she made. Vampire, yes. Capable of destroying those she found despicable, absolutely. But she was in all things first a Lady in every sense of the word.

  Luc had no doubt she felt the same as he did about their current surroundings. She had even known them when the occupant responsible had still ruled. Surely, that had been even worse.

  The office of the Duc of Ottawa.

  To say the former Duc Renard’s office was not to Luc’s taste would have been a vast understatement. It was possible, Luc supposed, for this much chrome and black leather to look professional or at the very least stylish, but the pieces Renard had chosen were anything but. They were garish. Pompous. Showy.

  Frankly, they were tacky.

  The desk loomed like an obelisk, a glass top on a blank ebony block. The chair behind it was completely unsuited to anything other than a cheap villain’s lair in one of Anders’s terrible action movies. It resembled a leather throne, complete with silver studding along the armrests. The three guest’s chairs on the other side of the desk, however, were small, short, and understated. The whole set-up screamed a message of power with a complete lack of subtlety.

  “It’s deplorable,” Catharine said.

  “Thank you,” Luc said. “I have pieces I can bring in. I will do so as soon as I can arrange it. My thought was to transfer my business dealings here. Curtis might like his father’s office back, and it would mean I would be here more often and available should any of you need me.”

  “I am glad you’re going to use the space,” Catharine said.

  Luc paused. He’d not done much as Duc since he gained the title the previous autumn, but that had been on purpose. He hadn’t wanted to create any friction with the other coteries. He’d received a few token letters of welcome from other cities, though none from those higher in the lignage than himself, but so far vampire politics had left him more or less alone. The vampires of Ottawa had suffered enough under Renard’s rule. Though Catharine had proven herself to be at least an ally, if not a friend, Étienne and Denis still struck him as ciphers. When he’d asked Catharine to accompany him to his office this evening, he hadn’t been sure what to expect.

  The world’s ugliest office, apparently.

  “Yes, well,” Luc said, remembering the reasons he was here. “I’m hoping not to call you all here very often. I’d rather not disrupt your lives if I can.”

  “Something quite hard to get used to,” Denis said.

  Luc turned. Both Denis and Étienne had arrived, a study in contrasts. Étienne was a compact, lean man with almost pretty features and a fresh, clean-shaven look, but Denis was stocky and taller, and had a habit of stroking his short brown beard when he was thinking. Luc bowed. They returned the bow, dipping lower and longer than he had, as was befitting his station. Even as it annoyed him as a pointlessness of vampire politics, it still provided his baser nature with a small thrill.

  He held power over these three and, through them, all those in their coteries. Such a change of fortune in his existence.

  He returned his attention to the office.

  “Upon seeing this place,” Luc said, “I think if you are all willing, we will forgo sitting? I don’t think I care to try out that…throne.” He gestured to the high-backed leather chair. “But please, take off your jackets, get comfortable. I brought a bottle of wine, if any of you would like?”

  Catharine’s voice was light. “That would be lovely.”

  Étienne and Denis settled their coats in the wardrobe to the left of the office door, and Luc poured glasses of wine for them all. Even the former Duc’s stemless, square wineglasses were off-putting. For a man who’d been a vampire for a century, Renard had apparently courted the worst of the modern. Luc made a metal note to inventory the room before he left. At least the floor was a richly polished maple. Not everything needed to be redone.

  When they all had glasses, Luc raised his. “To our first official meeting.”

  They drank. From their facial expressions, Luc decided the wine had suited everyone’s tastes. He hoped it sweetened their dispositions for his next topic.

  “I had originally brought you all here to discuss only one issue, but now I have two. The second might be easier to cover. What do you all know of any lycanthropes in the city?”

  Catharine’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “Nothing, I’m afraid. Or nearly as much. My understanding is those few who do come to Ottawa are generally found in the Market, which is a bit removed from my spheres of influence.”

  “She’s right,” Denis said. “I know of no lycanthrope packs in the city proper. There are two packs in Gatineau, I believe, and a fairly large pack in Merrickville. The only wolves who come into the city, though, are those with work.” Denis looked at Étienne. “You have more dealings in the Market than the rest of us.”

  Étienne’s nod was slow and careful. “Yes.” He looked at Luc. “I personally know of three wolves with business in the city proper. A tattoo artist, a truck driver, and a wildlife veterinarian.” He paused. “Is there a problem with the wolves?”

  Luc looked at the three vampires and wondered how much he could trust them. Their situations had all changed, and he had taken little time in the last few months for them to get to know each other—something he was now regretting, even though he believed it had been a good choice at the time.

  “There has been an attack, and it appears a werewolf was involved,” Luc said. “While none of our kind were involved, I would prefer to be…in the loop with the investigation.” Luc watched their faces carefully, but if any of them had already known about the attack, none showed any sign. In fact, Catharine made a noise of surprise, and Étienne clenched his strong jaw.

  “Who was atta
cked?” Étienne said.

  “A demon.” He wasn’t going to volunteer the strange details of the demon’s corpse.

  “My instinct would be to suggest it was a lone wolf,” Étienne said.

  “How so?” Luc tilted his head. “Please tell me. You all likely know more than I do.” His admission sent a frisson of surprise across the features of the three other vampires. He supposed they were very unused to any admissions of ignorance from Renard.

  “Well,” Étienne said. “The Gatineau packs have been at peace with each other and us for years, and the Merrickville lot are young and less powerful by far. None would want trouble. The lines are clearly drawn, and any wolf coming into the city would know better than to act out.” The soft-speaking vampire paused. “Now, if a demon had started something…” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see it escalate. Wolves can be…touchy.”

  “Thank you,” Luc said, meaning it. “I’m glad not to discover some already underlying issue at hand. I have someone investigating from the demon side, and perhaps they’ll uncover more.”

  “Your…friend Anders?” Catharine said.

  “Yes,” Luc said.

  She took a sip of wine. “It must be useful to have such access to the wizards and the demons.”

  “I don’t think any of us have any illusions about how welcome Anders is with the other demons, nor Curtis with the Families in general.”

  “Still,” she said.

  “Still.” He returned to the topic at hand. “Do we have contact information for the wolves who work in Ottawa? I don’t know which of you Renard had as archivist, but—”

  “He didn’t,” Denis said. “He had one of his own coterie in the position.”

  Luc drew in a breath and exhaled. It was an affected gesture, and one he hoped conveyed his annoyance and frustration with the late Duc’s casual lack of regard for so many of the standards of tradition.

  “The former archivist is no longer with us,” Catharine said. “However, prior to her assignment, Denis had the duty.”

  Luc could have cheered Catharine for her grace in the moment. She’d released Denis from having to admit the Duc had taken the position from him and given it to someone far less worthy, but still she managed to let Luc know what had happened, and the resource he had at hand.