by Alexis Hall
“Thank you, Mr. Knight,” said Sofia, in that careful voice you use when talking to your boyfriend’s parents. I bet when she left she’d say thank you for having me. “The soup is lovely.”
“Call me Thierry, chérie. You’re family now.”
Run, girl. Run, and don’t look back.
She smiled prettily.
Sigh.
Elise was passing an ice cube over her fingertips, frowning slightly. “May I ask”—she indicated Hephaistion—“why this gentleman is not sitting down with us?”
“He is my servant, Elise,” returned the Prince of Wands, with a sardonic smile. “A created being, hewn from stone and animated with stolen fire.”
“That is no reason he cannot dine with us.”
“He has no need to eat or rest. Indeed, he has no physical desires. What benefit could he possibly derive from a dinner party?”
“Is that not his decision?”
The Prince of Wands tilted his head, still smiling faintly. “Hephaistion, do you wish to join us?”
“I wish only to please you.”
There was a horrible silence.
“So, this is nice,” I exclaimed.
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Acton. “Katharine, with Sebastian’s help, I’ve managed to renegotiate the terms of your release. As long as I accept responsibility for your actions and you remain in London, you may leave the house freely.”
Hmmm.
This was basically good news, but I wasn’t comfortable owing the Prince of Wands a tenner for pizza, let alone my liberty, and possibly my life. “Uh, thanks.”
I couldn’t see any reason at all for him to help me. Julian had once told me that the Prince of Wands played a very deep game, and half the things he did were straight-up misdirection, so it’s possible he was just trying to keep people guessing. If it wasn’t that, then I was probably fucked, and worse, I was fucked without knowing how or why.
“Don’t thank me, Miss Kane,” he murmured. “I believe executing you would set a bad precedent.”
I had to agree. It would be especially bad for, say, me.
Acton nodded. “My feelings exactly, Sebastian.”
“If I may enquire,” asked Elise, “what manner of precedent?”
The Prince of Wands glanced at her curiously, and I wished she’d shut up. The last thing we needed was Sebastian Douglas taking an interest.
“The Council has great power,” said Acton. “If that power is not tempered with mercy, then we would become little more than petty tyrants.”
From where I was sitting, that ship had already kind of sailed.
“Well put, Acton.” The Prince of Wands took a sip from his glass. “But my rationale is rather more pragmatic. Mortals are simply outside Council law. The Council would not imprison me for killing a human. Nor should it imprison any human for killing me.”
“But it is the Council’s responsibility to curb the excesses of our kind. We cannot kill indiscriminately without fear of reprisal.”
“Because to do so would risk exposure.”
“And,” said Acton, with surprising sincerity for a man holding a glass full of human blood, “because it is wrong.”
The Prince of Wands smiled. “Morality is a poor basis for policy, particularly for a Council of immortals. While I lived, a slave could be used at the will of his master, for any purpose. He could be made to fight to the death, or be cast into a pit of lampreys, or suffer any other indignity of his master’s choosing. A mere handful of centuries ago, in this very city, they hanged eight-year-old children for the most insignificant of crimes. Diego spent most of his mortal life torturing heretics, and Kemsit was poisoned so she could be buried alongside her king. Do you really think you could persuade even three members of the Council to truly agree on what was right or wrong? It is far simpler and far wiser to consider only what is necessary.”
Bitter experience has taught me that you don’t engage with intellectually superior wankers who make long speeches about moral relativism. Normally when somebody starts talking like this, my first instinct is to punch them in the head, but that wasn’t an option here because he could probably kill me with his brain.
“Sebastian,” chuckled Acton, “if I thought you believed half of what you said, I’d stake you myself.”
“My dear Acton, if I believed half of what I said, I most assuredly would not say it.”
I seriously considered drowning myself in the soup.
The meal dragged on, but eventually Thierry served the last course and the party began to drift into armchairs and corners. I excused myself and pegged it upstairs to find my cigarettes. I could smoke all night if I had to. As I was leaving my room, I heard voices coming down from the spiral staircase that led to Patrick’s emo-loft. Out of sheer force of habit, I stopped to listen.
“—doing here?” That sounded like Sofia.
And then a voice I didn’t recognise, low and cracked, probably female. “I am here for you, child.”
I’d left my knives in my room, on account of it being a bit rude to carry concealed weapons at a dinner party, particularly weapons designed specifically to kill the hosts.
I very quickly went through my options. If I went back for my daggers, I could miss something important. But if I didn’t, and I suddenly needed them, there wouldn’t be time. I erred on the side of armed, grabbing my gold, because it was probably a vampire up there, and sanctified steel in case it wasn’t.
I came back in on “No, child, something far more precious.”
Oh, that wasn’t good.
“You’re creeping me out! Leave me alone!”
“When did the dreams begin?”
“I’ll scream.”
Okay, that was my cue.
I rushed up the stairs, which is harder than you might think when you’ve got a knife in each hand. It’s a real trip hazard. I burst into Patrick’s room and found Sybil standing there like the Woman in Black except, y’know, in white.
She turned and smiled. Nine times out of ten, when a vampire smiles at you it’s a threat. The snake draped round her shoulders lifted its head and hissed at me. I don’t think it liked me either. Then, without a word, she drifted past me and down the stairs.
Sofia looked like she was having a worse evening than I was. “What are you doing here?” she asked, with a slight tremor in her voice.
“I was just passing. I thought you might be in danger.”
“You were spying on me!”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Well, I had sort of been spying on her. But it was the good kind of spying. Holy shit, I was turning into Patrick. “I’m sorry, are you all right? Do you know what she wanted?”
“Just leave me alone!” Sofia picked up Patrick’s miniature replica of The Thinker and brandished it. “I don’t want any of this.”
“Look, whatever is going on, I can help you.”
“Patrick said you’d say that. You’re just trying to get between us.”
It occurred to me that sheathing the knives might be a good start. I disarmed and put my hands in the air. “Okay, okay, I’m going now.”
I got out of there. If I’d learned two things over the last ten years, they were a) you can’t help people who don’t want to be helped, and b) trying to help people who don’t want to be helped is kind of a dick move.
I really needed that cigarette.
“Patrick,” I said, when I passed him on my way out, “your girlfriend’s upstairs.”
He glared at me. “It is no business of yours where she is.”
I gave him the whatever gesture and went outside for a fag. Nipping round the corner out of the way, I slumped against a wall, and lit up in peace. I only smoke when I’m tense or miserable which, in theory, would be a great way of cutting down, but it turns out I’m tense or miserable a lot of the time. I’d giv
en up completely when I was with Eve and almost completely since I’d been with Julian. But this was a special occasion. I would have grabbed any excuse to get away from, well, basically everyone there, and Elise had abandoned me to go and stop Hugh Shawcross from eating his girlfriend. She could be so selfish sometimes.
I took another drag of my cigarette. The night air smelled of nicotine and solitude. The great thing about antisocial habits is they mean you don’t have to be social.
“Miss Kane.” It was the Prince of Wands.
Bugger.
I wanted to tell him that, whatever he was selling, I didn’t want any, but circumstantial evidence suggested he might be on my side on this one, and I’d already pissed off one Council member tonight. “Something I can help you with?”
“On the contrary, Miss Kane, I believe there is a matter with which I can help you.”
I dropped my cigarette and stomped it out. “That’s mighty neighbourly of you, Mr. Douglas.”
“Please, call me Sebastian.”
There was no way I was telling him to call me Kate. I thought about telling him I was fine on my own, but I’ve learned from long experience that when a vampire says they’re going to help you, what they mean is they’re going to do something whether you like it or not, and they want you to be grateful for it.
“All right, Sebastian,” I said wearily, “how are you going to help me?”
He smiled his cat-got-the-cream smile. “There are eight voting members of the Council present. I have known some of them for centuries. You need five of them to support you if you are to avoid execution.”
I wasn’t liking those odds. “So what are you offering?”
“Support. I have my own reasons for wanting to see you acquitted.”
“And there’s me thinking you were doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”
He flicked imaginary dust off his pristine, white sleeve. “Come, come, Miss Kane, such cynicism in one so young.”
“I’m thirty-three.” As soon as I’d spoken, I realised to him I must have sounded like a child proudly telling an adult that they were seven and three-quarters.
“Precisely. But, no, you are quite right. In my world, there are no allies, Miss Kane, except of convenience.”
I sighed. “Just get to the point.”
“You need five votes to live. You have mine and Acton’s, and I believe I can persuade Thomas to see reason.”
“The Prince of Coins hates me.”
“My dear, everybody hates everybody. If that were ever a barrier to cooperation, the Council would not function. Thomas can be made to see where his interests lie.”
“Okay, that means I need two more. Assuming you can deliver.”
“I shall do my best. And, even though I say so myself, my best is really rather impressive.”
Anyone who talked like that was blatantly evil.
The Prince of Wands was smiling at me once more. “Not evil, Miss Kane, merely practical.”
Oh fuck, he could read minds.
His smile became a smirk. “I’m afraid so.”
“Ha-bloody-ha.”
“Unfortunately,” he went on, “of the remaining Council members, there are only two that might be biddable. Sybil is insane and not, I think, best pleased with you. Halfdan is a capricious meddler who cannot be trusted. And Kemsit respects no will but her own.”
That just left Diego and al-Rashid. I somehow couldn’t imagine either of them leaping to my defence.
“Al-Rashid is a conservative. The Council has never executed a mortal before, and I doubt he will want them to do it now. If you present your case to him, he will likely listen.”
This conversation was making me really regret throwing my cigarette away. “And Diego? He didn’t seem the compromising sort.”
“He is not. He is quite ruthless in pursuit of his goals. But your execution is not his goal. I believe you’ll be able to deal with him.”
“Uh, what is his goal?” I asked.
“I have no idea, but if you speak to him, you will find out.”
“So, you just expect me to walk into his house and say ‘Hi, what’s the master plan?’”
His lip curled. “Don’t be petulant. I expect you to come to the house of Aeglica Thrice-Risen at sundown tomorrow. I will ensure the Emperor and Death are willing to receive you.”
It all sounded too good to be true, which probably meant it was. But since I had no way of knowing what the Prince of Wands wanted out of this whole situation, I was at real risk of getting in a but I know that he knows that I know he knows loop. It was probably a trap, but they were already going to execute me. How much worse could it get?
“Your caution is wise, Miss Kane, but I am glad you see sense.” He turned and made a beckoning gesture. “Come, Hephaistion.”
Hephaistion appeared apparently from nowhere, bearing his master’s hat and cane. And, with that, the Prince of Wands sauntered into the night.
Poncy fuck.
“I heard that,” he said.
Chapter Six
News & Regrets
Snow fell softly on the Dream of a city. I was lost in a maze of stairs and concrete cells, walking on black feathers and silver ice. Shadows crept across walls and pressed against windows. I followed the darkness as it deepened.
In the distance, I could just make out the snow-crowned skeletons of trees.
I came to a low wall. The darkness spilled over the top like smoke. On the other side, clustered graves, half buried beneath feathers, snow, and tangled ivy. I pulled myself up and dropped down onto a bed of broken twigs and thorns. The darkness here was so thick I could feel it heavy against my skin. It pulled at my hair and snatched the warmth from my lips. I could see nothing but graves and trees and too-bright snow.
I tried to move. I couldn’t. It was like a weight pressing down on my chest.
I tried to breathe. I couldn’t. Shadows gathered at the corners of my eyes.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.
All around me was the beating of wings.
* * *
I woke exhausted, aching, and breathless.
Fuck.
I groped for my mobile phone and checked the time.
Twenty past six.
Fuck.
I fell back against the pillows. It was too early to get up, too late to go back to sleep.
Fuck.
I had no idea what that was all about, and if it was up to me, I wouldn’t be finding out anytime soon. I should probably ask Nimue what happens if you die in a dream. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, feeling generally pissed off that this was time I could be spending asleep. On the bright side, at least I was allowed to leave.
So I left.
The part of me that was still seventeen and well brought up didn’t like the idea of sneaking out without saying good-bye and thank you, but Acton was probably already at his practice, and the rest of the family were going to be sleeping until midafternoon at the earliest. I made do with a Post-it stuck on the piano. It said, “Thanks—KK.”
For the first time since I’d met her, I was in the office before Elise. I felt almost virtuous. I’d already put on the coffee and checked the answering machine, and was running through my emails when Elise arrived at eight thirty on the dot. Elise’s unfailing punctuality would have made me feel bad, except, since she doesn’t sleep, I kind of think she’s cheating.
“Good morning, Miss Kane. I am happy to report that Miss Katz was not murdered in the night by her vampire boyfriend.”
“Fantastic. Good work, team. We should probably keep an eye on that for the foreseeable.”
“I enjoy being on stakeout,” observed Elise. “I believe I am good at it.”
She was. But, of co
urse, she didn’t need to eat, go to the loo, or blink if she didn’t want to. Once again, cheating. I was going to say yes, you are, but Elise found praise confusing. Telling her she did her job well was like telling her the sky was blue.
“We really need to find this guy,” I said instead. “And we can’t just sit around waiting for him to slaughter one of his friends. I’m going to talk to the nurse who let him go, see if I can find out anything useful. It’s a bit of a long shot, but we’re not really in a position to be picky.”
“And what would you like me to do, Miss Kane?”
“Hit the news. See if you find anything that looks like a vampire attack. There’s not many newly turned vampires running around. If Mr. Shawcross has been feeding at all, he’ll probably have left a trail.”
Patrick would have been really useful right about now, assuming he still had his police contacts, which he might not have since he’d gone back undercover as a whiny seventeen-year-old. Not that irritating teenager was a role he had much trouble getting into. The Prince of Wands probably had another man in the police, but I had no idea who, and I didn’t want to get any closer to Sebastian Douglas than I had to.
I heard that, purred a voice in my head I was 90 percent certain was my imagination.
I finished clearing out my emails. It was mostly spam and admin, a voicemail from Dad and some photos from my stepmum, Jenny, and a message from Lucy Archer I didn’t want to read. Lucy was a forensic accountant and the widow of my late partner. I’d got her to do some work for me a few months back, but apart from that, we hadn’t spoken for nearly a year. It’s hard to know what to say to someone when you got their husband killed.
The email said, I need to talk to you. Call me.
I deleted it and left for the Whittington.
When I arrived, the hospital was in chaos, and when I did finally track down the nurse, I didn’t get much out of him. He was pretty busy, but it seemed like he genuinely couldn’t remember what had happened. That told me a bit, but not very much. Most vampires can fuck with your head one way or another. Still, at least now I had an idea of the type of head fucking—I was looking for a bloodline that dealt in memory loss. If it had been Aeglica’s, he’d have remembered being terrified; if it had been Julian’s, he’d have remembered...um, yeah.