Triad Soul

by Nathan Burgoine

  “I would be grateful were you willing to be restored to the position. You are the eldest here, then?” Luc said.

  Denis nodded, glancing at Catharine and Étienne. “Of the three of us, yes.” His voice had a slight teasing note as he regarded Luc.

  Luc revealed just a hint of fang. “Given I cannot be Duc and archivist both, my age becomes irrelevant.”

  Catharine laughed. Even Étienne cracked a smile. This was a staple of the game of vampire politics. Still, Luc saw an opportunity to foster some regard among them. Though he knew it might also be a small gamble and was even perhaps giving something away he could have used to his advantage later, he took it.

  “1759,” Luc said.

  All three turned to look at him, and none schooled the surprise from their faces. He wondered if it was his age or the thought of surviving more than two centuries without a coterie that shocked them. Perhaps both.

  “Quebec City,” he added. “As I will now have access to the archives, it seems only fair you three know about your Duc.” He paused. “And I suppose I will earn an entry myself.”

  “Thank you.” Étienne spoke, but Luc could see similar sentiment in the eyes of the other two.

  Not a mistake, he decided.

  “I’ll look into the wolves,” Denis said. He glanced around the ugly office. “I’m aware of two out of the three Étienne mentioned, and I can easily track down the third. Moreover, lone wolves are known to come through the city. With your permission, I can also begin looking for whatever passed for the archives during Duc Renard’s rule. As it turns out, I have copies of everything I had gathered beforehand.” He cleared his throat. Strictly speaking, that was not the proper thing for him to have done, but Renard’s positioning of the archivist among his own coterie had already removed many of the rules from play. Denis’s actions were wise, and as they would now benefit Luc, he wasn’t about to argue their propriety. “I will email you unless I find something too sensitive, in which case we can meet again?”

  “That would be perfect,” Luc said, grateful.

  “The second thing?” Catharine said.

  Luc wondered if he’d garnered enough goodwill already for this. Still, he had only one way to find out. “I have a thought about the lone vampires in our city I wish to put forth to you all.”

  The three fell still. Luc might be phrasing it as though he was asking their opinions, but all in the room knew if it came to it, what he declared would be expected to be enforced.

  “None of us wish to add to our ranks from those made in lesser ways or with lesser results,” Luc said. He worked to force any emotion from his voice, and succeeded through no small effort. Having been a castoff himself, despite his strong ability with glamour and through events not of his own making, he knew full well what it was like to be alone simply for being judged as unworthy in some way. “But it has come to my attention where and exactly how many of these lone vampires we have in Ottawa, and I believe I have a solution.”

  They were all watching him sharply now. None of them knew how Luc had managed to find Renard’s place of rest the night their former Duc had been destroyed, and Luc was not about to enlighten them about Curtis’s spell. An unexpected side-effect of the scrying had been finding out where all the vampires of Ottawa had been that evening. Even if it was likely now that information was out of date, it had provided a census of a kind to him. There were nearly a dozen such vampires.

  “I have a thought to allow them to form a lesser coterie. No representation here, of course, and subordinate to all of you. They would report through one of their own to one of you. My thought here is Étienne, who has the widest territory around the city proper. Having them gathered and bound to each other would add a measure of control. And it’s not without precedent.”

  They absorbed his words silently.

  “That sort of thing is usually only done in times of war,” Catharine said. “When there is no time to discover the quality of the creature sired.”

  Luc knew that very well. He saw the flickers of understanding cross their faces. Quebec City. 1759. He met their gazes and waited for each to look away.

  “How many are there?” Denis said.

  “To the best of my knowledge, and I have no reason to doubt it, there are currently eleven. Not a low number, I realize. Likely some of that is due to our former Duc’s rule. And far more than the three required.”

  “Do you have an idea of them at all?” Denis said. “Their character or ability?”

  Luc shook his head. “Not really. Tracking them down would require a deft touch, as I imagine all would flee at the sight of any of our kind. Having been in the position of a lone vampire myself, though, I would hope they see the a chance to escape their current situation as a good deal.”

  “Yes,” Étienne said, with enough feeling behind it that Luc wondered if the quiet man had also had a taste of a time without a coterie. He’d chosen Étienne not only for his territorial range, but because he’d known less about the man than the other two. He thought handing him leadership over a group would, in a small way, give him more influence and be a step toward forging a trust between them.

  “I’m not sure I see a downside myself,” Catharine said. “None of us like knowing the things that could happen during the full moon, when the lone ones are so often willing to take chances.” She nodded. “I like the idea.”

  “Yes,” Étienne said again. “I’d be willing.”

  “It’s worth exploring,” Denis said, though he was more hesitant. “And I suppose it stops them accidentally finding each other and forming a coterie without our permission.” He glanced at Luc with a measure of contriteness. “Meaning no disrespect.”

  “None taken. That’s exactly the desperation and disorder I’m trying to avoid.” Luc relaxed a fraction, but he felt real relief. “I’m glad. It will take time, and we’ll have to make contact carefully. We’ll have to consider territories and mentorship for those who may have been made and abandoned. Choose your advocates carefully. I will share the locations with you where you might have the most luck looking.” Luc had no intention of handing over the exact addresses Curtis’s spell had uncovered, but they’d all need something to work with.

  Étienne seemed lost in thought. Denis narrowed his lips.

  Catharine raised her glass. “We may have a werewolf on the loose, a dead demon, and a group of unfortunates to gather and train, but I for one can’t help but feel this was the best meeting we’ve had with a Duc in decades.”

  Luc regarded her. The Lady Markham might have all the beauty of a rose, but he would never underestimate her. Roses had thorns. Of all of them, he knew she was the one most capable at vampire politics. Everyone raised their glass and drank.

  She caught his eye and raised a single, elegant eyebrow.

  Three

  Anders hadn’t come to Sintillation often. For one thing, the performers weren’t usually to his taste, what with the ladies being the ones on stage six nights out of seven. The men who came to ogle them weren’t exactly primed for his attention either, given most had come to get a glimpse of naked women.

  But on Wednesdays, the strippers were men, and the clientele was mixed. Mostly women came to the all-male shows, but some gay men would sometimes come along with them. And on those evenings where Wednesdays had fallen on the three nights of the full moon, he’d come to Sintillation knowing he’d likely find a willing man who’d enjoy a man he could touch after hours of only being allowed to look.

  He hadn’t been back since forming the triad with Luc and Curtis. Anders enjoyed the freedom of not having to settle, to find scraps enough to make it through another month. Besides, seeking out a challenge was more fun.

  He remembered Curtis’s comment about seducing an army base and made a mental note to figure out where the closest barracks might be.

  Sintillation defied the usual pitfalls despite being a strip joint, maybe because the Market was generally more upscale along its major thoroughfares. It wa
s clean. The drinks weren’t watered down, and the ground floor was a high-class bar in its own right. And the strippers? They were considered some of the hottest acts around. Cynics declared it was thanks to Ottawa being a government town; none so lascivious as politicians, after all. But Anders knew better.

  A good proportion of the strippers were demons like him. Drawing on the lust of the watchers might be a difficult trick—any demon doing so would have to be careful to hide their eyes, which grew black when feeding. But if done right, it was basically a buffet of souls to nibble on.

  And hey, you even got paid.

  Anders climbed the stairs to the second floor. The stage had three removable poles and pedestals as well as a runway leading from the main stage, with chairs set close alongside. A horseshoe of tables made a second ring of viewing for those who didn’t want to get directly up on the stage, and a bar was against the farthest wall.

  Anders scanned the room. It was early, so no one was on stage, and the tables and chairs were empty. Two bartenders were busy behind the bar, stocking and prepping, he figured. They were both fit, bore identical white Sintillation logo T-shirts that clung to their upper bodies, and showed off pumped arms to great effect.

  Anders approached the bar and tried to take measure of the two men. They seemed almost identical to him, dark hair, dark eyes, clean-shaven and sporting deep tans, but as he got closer he saw one had more of a baby face than the other, who bore a single silver hoop in his right eyebrow. Both were very attractive, but by the time he’d gotten to the bar, he was sure neither were demons. Baby-face was huffing a bit with effort putting cases of beer on top of the bar, a weight no demon would struggle with, and Eyebrow just didn’t have the right feel to him. Hot, sure. Fuckable? Definitely, in a quick-and-dirty way. But demon? No.

  “Hey,” Anders said. Eyebrow faced him. Baby-face kept working.

  “We don’t open up here until nine,” Eyebrow said. “If you’re looking for a drink, downstairs is open.”

  “I’m looking for a friend,” Anders said. He let his allure burn, a heat that rose from his skin and washed out over the bar.

  Eyebrow blinked once and looked at Anders with something like admiration. No lust. Not gay, then. Still, Anders’s allure would cast him in as favorable a light as possible.

  “Who’s your friend?” Eyebrow said.

  “Ethan. He’s pretty new.”

  “Oh. Sure.” Eyebrow gestured to the left of the stage. “Through there. I’ll let them know you’re coming.” He pulled a small walkie from his belt and held it to his mouth, pressing it. “Ethan’s got a visitor.”

  After a moment, a voice said, “Okay.”

  “Just knock.”

  “Thanks.” Anders crossed the floor. To the left of the stage was a door painted the same color as the wall and hard to spot at a glance. He knocked.

  The man who opened the door was tall and black, and built solid beneath the loose grey sweatshirt and jeans he was wearing. His hair was military short, and he sported the most carefully groomed goatee Anders had ever seen. The heat the man generated was palpable.

  Definitely a demon.

  He looked at Anders with suspicion.

  “You’re Ethan’s friend?” The man’s voice surprised Anders, softer than he expected.

  “Friend might be pushing it,” Anders said. “But I need to talk to him. Tell him it’s Anders.”

  The man narrowed his eyes. Anders didn’t react. Ethan might have spoken of him before, but he couldn’t do anything about that now. Besides, it was flattering.

  After a moment, the man stepped aside. “Come on through.”

  Anders followed him. The room ran the full length of the wall behind the stage, with obvious stations for dressing and makeup, and a series of doors Anders figured led to smaller changing areas. Wheeled racks of outfits were lined up, and a large whiteboard listed names and times beside the curtained area Anders assumed opened to the stage.

  He spotted Ethan in front of one of the mirrors. When Anders had first met Ethan, he was a whiny little scrappy thing with no idea he was about to become a demon. Now his buzzed black hair didn’t make him look like a pool cue, but seemed to entice touch. His frame was filling out, too, and though he might never lose the youthful look he had, it would serve him well. That he was wearing a white sailor’s outfit, complete with hat and knotted scarf, didn’t detract from the whole.

  Fact was, Ethan looked good. Healthier than the last few times he’d seen him, and more than that, he looked strong.

  “Ethan,” Anders’s guide said. “You got a visitor.”

  Ethan looked up, saw Anders, and grimaced.

  “Hey, buddy,” Anders said.

  Ethan rose from his table and walked over. “What are you doing here?” He had pretty blue eyes, when they weren’t glaring at you.

  “Everything okay?” The big guy’s soft voice had deepened.

  Anders couldn’t help but notice the big demon was now standing a little closer to Ethan. Almost protectively. That was interesting. Demons usually didn’t buddy up much. They sure didn’t often care about demons who belonged to other packs, let alone an incubus like Ethan, who was gay and more or less an outcast. Ethan’s group was the bare minimum of three needed to offer the protection of a pack. He was owed respect and autonomy for sure, but Mr. Tall, Black, and Butch was offering something more.

  Ethan glanced at his protector. “I’m good, Kavan.”

  With a nod, Kavan left the two alone, though he didn’t go far. Ostensibly, the big man was picking through the closest rack of outfits.

  “He’s a sweetheart, eh? Got somewhere we can talk?” Anders said.

  Ethan’s frown grew, but he nodded. “The office.”

  Anders followed him through the first of the doors, and Ethan closed it behind him. The office was plain and functional. A desk, a computer, a couple of filing cabinets, and only one chair behind the desk. Neither of them took it.

  “I like your look, sailor,” Anders said. “Tearaway pants? They really work for your ass.”

  Ethan grunted. “Thanks ever so much.”

  “You know why I’m here, right?”

  Ethan sighed. “David told me. About Louis. Yeah.”

  “You hear anything here?” Anders said. “You know which pack he belonged to?” Anders didn’t know much about the various packs in Ottawa. Demons weren’t big on hanging out with other demons, and when he’d been on his own, he’d spent most of his time hiding from the other packs, who’d have gladly fucked him up for shits and giggles.

  “You just met him,” Ethan said. “Louis runs in Kavan’s pack. Ran, I mean.” The correction came with a flinch. “Did Curtis figure out why he was…y’know…like that?”

  “Still a pile of meat instead of ash?” Anders said. Ethan paled. “Nope. Not yet. He’ll figure it out, though. What can you tell me about Kavan’s pack?”

  Ethan let out a breath. “Most of them don’t talk to me—having you visit isn’t going to help, by the way. Turns out people don’t much like you, if you can imagine.” Ethan’s voice was dry.

  “Jealousy,” Anders said. “You said most don’t talk to you. Some do?”

  “Kavan does, for one.” Ethan paused. “He’s…nicer than usual, I guess.”

  Anders raised an eyebrow.

  Ethan shrugged. “I know, I know. David said the same thing. I’m not saying I’m going to trust him with my life or anything, but he didn’t give me shit for being a fag like the others did.”

  Anders noticed the past tense. “Did?”

  Ethan smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, and Anders had to give the kid credit. If he wanted to, he could turn the youthful look he had going for him into something cold and hard, and not just a little bit mean looking. Ethan held out one hand, and blue hellfire burned bright and hot in his palm. It was a pretty impressive display, especially for someone still relatively new to being a demon.

  “It turns out it’s harder to intimidate me now I’ve got a
pack of my own,” Ethan said.

  “Tyson’s working out, then?” Anders said.

  “Yeah.”

  Tyson was another demon, but not an incubus like them. Tyson was a rare male fury. His kind fed on wrath. Still, David and Ethan had formed a pack with him, thanks in no small part to Anders, and there were obviously benefits to having a wrath demon in the mix. The gleam of satisfaction in Ethan’s eyes was a welcome sight. Anders hadn’t much enjoyed Ethan’s whiny period.

  “Suits you,” Anders said.

  Ethan closed his fingers, snuffing out the flame. The scent of brimstone lingered.

  “Yeah, well.”

  “You hear anything about this Flint guy?”

  Ethan shook his head. “Nothing that matters. He wasn’t one of the guys here. I never worked with him. He worked at the Senate.”

  The Senate was a bar Anders had never tried. It catered to government types, and for the most part, Anders found government types some of the least sexy people alive. He wondered if Louis Flint had found enough willing ladies there, or if it had just been a job to pay the rent.

  “Okay,” Anders said.

  “The thing is, Flint wasn’t…” Ethan sighed. “He wasn’t important, is the general vibe I get from everyone. I call tell they’re more angry he’s dead because it means someone attacked their pack rather than they care about him being actually dead. The anger isn’t about Louis, it’s personal.”

  Anders regarded Ethan, taken aback. The kid seemed pretty sure of himself. “What do you mean?”

  “I can feel it,” Ethan said with a shrug. “I can’t make anger happen, not like Tyson, but ever since we made a pack, David and I can feel it. The same way I can tell when someone’s horny. Y’know.”

  Anders did. It was how they fed, as incubi. But as a wrath demon, Tyson focused on anger, not lust. Apparently, adding him to the mix with David and Ethan was blending their abilities somewhat. Just like him and Luc and Curtis.