Kindred Spirits: The Marnie Baranuik Files Book 6

by A. J. Aalto

  Dane ushered us into a long room with high ceilings, at the end of which was a huge fieldstone fireplace. That was the other thing old revenants loved: heat. The only source of light in the room, the fire was meant to draw our mortal eyes, casting half a dozen Nazaire Youngers in subtle shadow along the edges of the room. Naturally, I studied the shadows more closely, noting the shifting figures there. Our footsteps echoed on the granite tile floor, Malashock’s stride heavily confident beside my quick-footed Ked-squeaks.

  Ludovic Nazaire looked so much like his maker that he could have been Malas’s twin, and he sat upon a similarly carved throne, though his was softly padded to cup his frail body. Hunched, mostly bald, wizened, with the same startling cornflower blue eyes, he was the very picture of the viscount, and his searchlight gaze made me just as uncomfortable as Malas’ had. The weight of Ludovic’s power was heavy on his shoulders, and the struggle of maintaining so much telekinetic capacity had caused his physical regeneration to slip; his flesh was the pale yellow-green of something gone sour, his veins were black and ropy under papery skin, and his bones showed through in thin spots. I Felt Malashock’s surprise, and if Harry’s appearance had frightened her, Ludovic’s was about to cause a damn heart attack. She hid it expertly, for all the good it would do her here; every revenant in the room tasted her distress.

  Ludovic’s gaze gleamed with hunger — he’d put off his nightly feed, perhaps so that we’d feel his intensity in the room, a move meant to intimidate. Even knowing exactly what he was up to, it was a very effective tactic. My belly began to shiver and jitter like I'd swallowed some Alka-Seltzer superballs.

  “You bring a vampire hunter before me, DaySitter?” No grating rasp like that of his maker, Ludovic’s voice was smooth and calm, but his desire was anything but. His hunger rode high in the room. His neck jerked slightly sideways in a way I’d seen in a snake about to strike, and his words were wet with saliva.

  “She's better than a pot smoking rock jockey, wouldn’t you say? You didn’t appreciate him at the casino. You’re very careful not to deal with those who break human laws. Mickey Nyquist isn’t careful with his vices. You are wise to avoid him. I apologize for not shielding you from his company earlier. Liv Malashock only indulges in legal forms of murder; mortal law enforcement won’t give you any side-eye for having her in your home, I promise.”

  Malashock choked on her tongue but refrained from speaking.

  Ludovic, however, showed no surprise. He was quite aware of who we were and had clearly calculated the risk versus reward of having us. You don’t get to “age-not-estimated” being incautious.

  “Is she an offering, DaySitter?” Ludovic challenged.

  “Nope,” I said then considered Malashock a bit more fully. “Not yet, anyway. I might change my mind. We’ll see if she gives me any sass.”

  The revenant narrowed his eyes at me, assessing, decided I wasn’t kidding, and threw his head back with laughter. The cohort in the shadows belatedly joined in, some forced, some apprehensive, and maybe one or two with genuine mirth. Sycophantic stiffs.

  Ludovic held up a decrepit hand and curled two crooked fingers at us. “Approach.”

  I strode forward with Malashock close enough to me that I could smell her deodorant working extra shifts. The Youngers who had stood between us and the throne faded back, shrinking into the shadows to lurk until we had passed, then pressed forward again to flank us until we were encircled by the undead. Greeeeeat.

  I immediately lowered myself to my knees before the throne, chin to chest, and hoped the vampire hunter would mirror me. She did. The Blue Sense prickled to life at my summons, and I probed politely around me for any signs of dangerous intentions; I felt only approval. So far, so good. When the ancient on the throne made an affirmative noise, I stood.

  “Hail, Glorious Elder,” I started courteously, “cherished master of the grave, keeper of the gift of immortality.”

  “Hail, honored DaySitter,” Ludovic replied. “Centuries untold celebrate your gift of submission. Is that why you seek me out? To submit?”

  “Nah, bro. I bring greetings from House Dreppenstedt. Digging the vibe in here, thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, child,” he said. “I have spoken with Malas, and I have agreed to hear you. But I have also spoken to Princes Merzyan and Borodian. I know why you’re here.”

  Do you? If I was making Ghaz nervous, he knew more than he was letting on.

  “I mean no harm,” I said, but that wasn’t entirely accurate, and the old revenant picked up on it immediately, tasting my trickery. His eyes glittered with warning as they lightened ominously. I couldn’t see his fangs elongating behind his human canines, but in the way a rabbit senses a nearby fox or hawk, I knew they were. Instincts tripping, belly quavering now, I swallowed hard. “I don’t mean you any harm. I need your help, sir.”

  “You have been investigating the Sarokhanians. Ghazaros does not enjoy being the focus of your distrust and disrespect. Why is this great house any of your concern?”

  “Great house?” I said. “I thought you were in a blood feud with them. House Nazaire owes loyalty to House Dreppenstedt, do they not?”

  Ludovic said nothing, waiting inexorably for me to answer his question, so I switched tactics. “I understand that you don’t wish to be disloyal. Someone tried to break into my office and my cabin back in Colorado. Do you know who that might have been?”

  His left hand began drumming fingers along the arm of his chair softly. I sensed we were testing one another. He didn’t trust me. I hadn’t given him any reason to, outside of Malas Nazaire’s vote of confidence.

  “What happened to the last vampire hunter you played with, Ms. Baranuik?” Ludovic asked.

  Malashock flinched, but didn’t look over at me.

  I said immediately, “Let’s speak alone, sir. We can speak more openly if it’s just you and me.”

  “No,” Liv said, in a voice that perps and witnesses probably obeyed without thinking.

  Ludovic shook his head; not at me, but at Malashock. The weight of his gaze shifting away was like having a dump truck stop tailgating six inches off my bumper. He hadn't done anything, exactly, but the imminent press of something that could go very wrong, very fast was a palpable weight to be free of, if only for a moment.

  “Ask your hunter, now,” Ludovic said, “how many revenants has she taken? How many of her partners have died in the process?”

  “Yeah, she’s a fucking nightmare,” I said, shooting a thumb in Malashock’s direction. “Think I don’t know? She’s also super judge-y and tiresome. Just like the last damn vampire hunter I played with. And she’ll probably get drained like he did. Mark Batten. That was his name, before his bullshit got him bodied.”

  “I have made you unhappy,” Ludovic said, and I sensed that his apologetic tone did play at the edges of being genuine. “You had affection for your last hunter. Do you have affection for this one?”

  I shrugged. “She’s not the worst person I’ve met, I guess”

  Malashock grit her teeth until her molars squeaked.

  “Now you have made her unhappy,” Ludovic warned.

  “I’ve been doing that since we met,” I said, waving it away. “I make almost everybody unhappy. And it’s not a huge surprise that I’m not blowing your skirt up, either. I’m sure you understand, I’m in a tight spot. Would I be here if I wasn’t? Unarmed? Kneeling before a revenant I’ve just met? Without my companion?”

  Ludovic considered me for a long beat, then smiled. It was horrifying. His fangs were the color of overcooked oatmeal and longer than my index finger. They came to the type of needle-sharp point popular with revenants in a habit of filing the edges, a habit that had gone out of fashion several hundred years ago, but remained in rare cases. “Do you know the history of immortal dwellings in Shipman’s Corners, Newark, and Butlersburg?”

  I didn’t, but I had the feeling I was about to hear it. And boy, did I. Malashock shifted to a full sit, cross-leg
ged on the floor. I tried to remain in a respectful kneel before Ludovic’s throne, but after about ten minutes of his reminiscing, I had to swing my legs around and rest on my butt, thighs screaming, feet nearly asleep. Still, despite the discomfort, I noticed several of the Youngers peel away from the walls, filtering from the room, no longer entranced by the guests. They'd heard these stories innumerable times, or had been there. I might have envied them their escape, just a little.

  Ludovic blossomed in front of an audience the same way Harry did, happily spinning a tale of what his life was like in his so-called glory days, before modern mortals ruined everything pure and good with their godless machinery. It was a lot like listening to my grandfather rant on the phone about “this generation,” whichever one he was currently picking on. Ludovic was more passionate about how my grandfather’s generation had trashed everything with their cheap, wartime, cookie-cutter homes, and their light and noise pollution. It was sort of refreshing.

  I fell under his spell willingly, letting myself picture the region through his eyes, wide swaths of sweet-smelling farmland and plenty of tasty British soldiers in uniform. Malashock may have squirmed at that, but I chuckled with Ludovic, and he seemed to appreciate that I could understand his delight — as an old French revenant devouring the British, nothing had given him as much pleasure before or since.

  I flashed back on the memory of Harry’s rage after Gregori had fed from me, and his distress, not only that it had been another revenant, but a French one. Goodness, that had sent him into a near tizzy. For revenants of their age, deeply ingrained cultural biases and rivalries were difficult to shed, if they even bothered to shed them at all. Harry had gone to war with the French time and time again under a British flag. Ludovic and Malas both had been to war against the British, likely many more times than that, and I knew for a fact that Malas had served under Napoleon — I’d been treated to a vision of young Malas on horseback, before his Talents had degraded his physical form. No matter how much bonhomie the modern political climate might exhibit, Harry and Ludovic were still very much butting cultural heads in the New World.

  I began to get an idea. Would this particular French revenant enjoy the groveling of a British one’s DaySitter? I would need to scrape and beg and humble myself, and Harry, even further. I’d have to go very low. I had no problem throwing myself down like a dirty doormat to be scuffed up. Harry would be furiously indignant, but Harry wasn’t here.

  I focused all my feelings on how desperately I needed Ludovic to guide my hand through the rest of this meeting; it was easy to convince myself that, without him, I’d fail. I saw his face soften, and his eyes light with pride. The Blue Sense told me I was on the right track.

  Dane brought glasses of lemon water with ice for us, and then bent his head next to his companion’s, speaking too softly for me to make out the words. Ludovic nodded, but said, “I’m not ready to go just yet.”

  I had more time. I had to take my shot. “Sir, do you know my companion, Lord Guy Harrick Dreppenstedt? English fellow, snooty accent, big words, balding, about yea high?”

  He pursed his lips. “I know of him.”

  “He needs your help,” I said softly. “Moreover, I need your help. He gave me permission to come here and plead my case because he knows you’re the only one who can. Lord Guy will be in your debt if you assist me.”

  I Felt him exalt, and though he didn’t react physically, he preened emotionally, pleased. He demurred, “I doubt I can be of any aid…”

  A lie, the Blue Sense insisted, thumping repeatedly in the front of my skull like a plunking fingertip. Lie, lie, lie. He wants to help, but needs plausible deniability.

  “I need the name of the eldest Sarokhanian,” I said, dropping it loudly.

  There it was, out in the open, and if I was going to die for it, it would be now. There was a collective sound in the room like a veil of spirits taking flight, a soft inhalation made by lungs that hadn’t needed to in decades, dry and catching. I drew enough psi to probe tentatively, picking up snatches of uncertainty, alarm, hostility, hunger, and all-out fascination. I sensed that the few remaining Youngers believed the story they’d always been told: Aston Sarokhanian was the Soul Caller, the eldest Sarokhanian. Now, I had offered up some seriously juicy gossip, the kind of gossip these old guys lived for.

  Mischief flickered in Ludovic’s eye, quick as a flash, so fast I thought I’d imagined it. But it was echoed now in the tiniest curl of his lip.

  “But you know Aston Sarokhanian,” he replied archly. “I am given to understand that you’ve met him in person, at Svikheimslending, where the Overlord gave you that mark.” He leaned forward again, his nostrils flaring as he took in my scent. “Let’s talk about more enticing matters, little DaySitter. You smell of smoke and rum.”

  Had Rotten Roy also marked me in some hidden way? Would Ludovic think I was playing both sides?

  “Why might that be, I wonder?” he continued. “You’ve been playing footsie with a smuggler, perhaps. That is foolhardy behavior, if you want one’s pennyworth, but stranger bedfellows I have known.”

  “No, sir,” I said, letting the word ring loudly in the room, straightening boldly. “You won’t distract me with that carrot.”

  Ludovic clucked his tongue and sank back against his throne, seeming for a moment to sulk.

  I pressed forward. “I was once under the impression that Aston Sarokhanian was Crowned Prince of the Blood. That he was the Soul Caller. We all thought so.” I took a deep, calming breath. “But… that’s not accurate, is it?”

  Ludovic drummed his bony fingers on the arms of his throne and studied me with those gold-shot, cornflower blue eyes so much like the eyes of Malas. “You smell of candy that’s been overcooked. Boiling on the stove top. And something else. Lemons?”

  “It’s this burnt sugar and lemon bubblegum I’m chewing. Listen,” I said firmly. “I need your help. I don’t need to know how bad I smell.”

  “It’s not entirely unappealing.” A flicker of a smile. “Your blood smells positively wonderful.”

  Blerg. “Sir, that’s the nicest thing a man has said to me in days.”

  “Oh dear.” He pursed his lips in a sympathetic pout that reminded me of Harry’s patronizing little moue. “Perhaps if you minded your place, the gentlemen in your life would be more prone to flatter and pet you.”

  A surprised ha bubbled out of me before I could trap it. “Well, there ain’t a flying ratfuck’s chance of that happening, so let’s work with what we have, shall we? Now, we can do this two ways. You can fess up, or I can stand here stinking up your living room with my aura until you do.”

  “It’s no good, DaySitter. Nothing can or ever will be known about the Lord of Exile.”

  Aha. I did my best not to pounce. Batten was right. There was another. Aston was not the head of House Sarokhanian. I Felt Malashock tense, excited, and hoped she could remain quiet and under control. At least we had a place to start. Encouraged by his willingness to keep talking, I nodded for him to keep going. When he didn’t, I growled.

  “I’m calling bullshit,” I said, brave with Malashock at my back. “That’s just heaping piles of dead-geezer Falskaar Vouras bullshit, and you know it. You know about the Lord of Exile. Clearly, stuff can be known about him. Spill the tea, pal.”

  “You will not unveil his secrets, little mortal. You are nothing before this throne,” he reminded me, nostrils flaring at my insolence. “You are warm meat and fluttering heart.”

  I’d been called worse. At least he hadn’t called me a maple dip yet, but the evening was young. “We need your help, sir. I’m begging you.”

  “I cannot give you what you ask for.”

  “Cannot or will not?” I wilted. “Even in a blood feud, you’d side with the undead before you’d think of helping me?”

  “Do you expect loyalty of the Keepers of the Grave,” Ludovic said, “that I should side with you in your petty mortal squabbles? What has the Lord of Exile done that wa
rrants my betrayal?”

  The Blue Sense gave an encouraging zing — Ludovic was playing coy, but the desire for plausible deniability lingered. The problem was, I didn’t have much more to offer him, and had no idea how to reassure him. “What has he done to me,” I asked, “or what has he done to you?”

  “What has he done that I should wish to rise in your defense?”

  A Younger revenant at his right said slyly, “Has he killed a human? Oh dear. What a tragic loss.”

  There was a smattering of throaty laughter around the room.

  “Yeah, none of you have ever done that before,” I said, sinking into the hopelessness of the situation. As a very old revenant in this region, Ludovic had to be seen as supportive of the ruling house, whether he truly did or not in the secret corners of his heart. It was expected. In order to break through that wall of stubborn etiquette, I’d have to come up with something more serious than “mortals are in trouble.”

  “He’s feeding in phantasm form,” Malashock told them.

  She was met with a complete lack of surprise or outrage of our hosts. Her words brought a fresh round of chuckling. I knew it was a pointless argument; beyond protecting their own DaySitters and personal supplies, they weren’t bothered by mortal deaths. I’d have to come up with something that offended them directly, something weighty.

  I took a wild chance. “He’s putting his entire bloodline at risk of destruction by doing so. You know it, and I know it, and, more to the point, the pink piece of paper in her pocket knows it.”

  One of the Youngers nearby blinked in surprise then narrowed his eyes. He waited for his maker to ask the questions.

  He didn’t, so I added casually, “I guess that doesn’t matter, either. Dying mortals, dying immortals, who cares? One bloodline gone, whatevs, right? Not like the Sarokhanians are your besties. Or that they’d ever be useful buds if Old Dude’s always napping, eh? I can see why you might not miss him.” I got to my feet, and so did Malashock. I tipped an invisible hat to them and motioned back in the direction from which we came. “Never mind, then. We’ll just let the hunters working for federal law enforcement manage the problem, and the Sarokhanian line can go poof. I’ll make sure to write in my report to Gold-Drake & Cross and the UnHallowed Throne that you didn’t feel like working with me to protect them, in the end. Silver lining: once we bust up the Sarokhanians, I guess you’ll be the eldest in the region. Bonus, eh? I’m sure all the houses up in the Arctic will find that change in leadership fascinating. Thanks for seeing us. Good night, boys.”