by Alexis Hall
Caradoc and al-Rashid had both leapt onto the windowsill and were stemming the tide pretty damn effectively. The Prince of Wands had fucked off and was standing behind the door, not drawing attention to himself. I guess he didn’t want to get blood on his nice white suit.
Mercy was tearing people apart with a ferocity I wouldn’t have expected from someone dressed like Mary Poppins. The Prince of Coins had pulled a gun and was picking off anybody who made it through the front line. Acton just stood there, looking concerned and sorrowful, and nobody seemed to want to attack him. Halfdan seemed to have vanished.
One of the vampires sprang onto the table and tried to bite Kemsit in the neck. It crumbled to dust as it touched her. She didn’t even blink.
On the other side of the room, Sybil had backed one of the attackers against the wall and was holding it mesmerised as her snake slowly coiled round its body. Diego had something pinned to the table and seemed to be snapping its fingers, one by one.
A couple of them came for me, but Julian just bamfed between them and clawed their throats out. It didn’t kill them, but it made them back the hell off.
Suddenly, a couple of fledglings broke free from the melee and rushed to the back of the room. The Prince of Coins levelled his pistol and calmly shot one of them in the head, but the other grabbed Aeglica’s sword and bolted for the door.
Caradoc sprang down from the windowsill. “Stop the thief,” he yelled.
The Prince of Wands extended one languid hand and pushed the door closed. Caradoc came up behind the vampire, wrested the sword from her hand, swung it round in an arc, and split her in two from shoulder to hip.
Mercy wheeled round in a flurry of black taffeta and gore. “Caradoc, that weapon is not yet yours to wield.”
It was nice to know that not even a bloodbath could get in the way of the incessant vampire bickering.
And then the room was full of ravens. And standing in the middle of them was the Morrígan. Just like when I’d seen her in the Dream, she was tall and pale with a kind of terrifying beauty like a sheer drop off a cliff. Somehow, it was worse in person. I felt I should be on my knees. I looked round and realised that half the Council already were.
“You have something that belongs to me,” she said. Her voice was darkness and dead things. She turned slowly in a swirl of feathers and shadows until she faced Caradoc.
To give the guy his due, he was still standing. “We defeated you once, Dread Queen. We will do so again.”
The Morrígan laughed. I’ve heard a lot of creepy laughs in my time, and that was going straight in at number three. “Then step forth, Sir Knight, and strike true.”
She spread her arms wide, stirring the wings folded at her back, and a raven swooped down and landed on her wrist.
There was no way this was going to end well.
Caradoc charged, bringing Aeglica’s sword round and cutting savagely down into the Morrígan’s neck. There was nothing there but feathers. And then her hand erupted through his chest and lifted him off the ground. He just hung there for a moment, not moving, the sword slipping from his grip. One of the Morrígan’s birds landed on her palm and began tearing at Caradoc’s face.
I didn’t like the guy, but that was pretty grim.
At last, she lowered her arm and shook him onto the floor in a shower of blood and ick. He lay there, twitching, his face a terrible ruin and what my A-level biology told me was probably vitreous humour streaking down his cheeks like tears.
The Morrígan bent to pick up the fallen sword.
“That is enough.” Kemsit still hadn’t moved. “You were found wanting. Your time is over.”
“The treaty is broken. I am here to claim what is mine.”
“Nothing here is yours.”
The Morrígan twisted something out of the hilt of Aeglica’s sword. Then Kemsit was standing in front of her, one frail, girlish hand wrapped around the Morrígan’s wrist. Where she touched, the skin began to crack, greyish flakes falling away between her fingers. With a series of heavy, almost comical thumps, the Morrígan’s birds began to fall from the air.
I could feel the hand closing round my heart again, and I had to struggle to breathe.
The Morrígan lashed out and laid Kemsit’s face open to the bone. Slowly, the blackened edges of the wound began to knit together.
Kemsit didn’t move, but the desiccation kept creeping up the Morrígan’s arm. Slowly her fingers uncurled, and something dropped to the floor with a plink.
“I will rain death on this city.” And she vanished into darkness.
There was a very long silence.
Thomas Pryce, the Prince of Coins, tucked his gun away and stepped forwards. “It seems we are at war, and we have no war leader. I therefore propose the following course of action. Al-Rashid, I would ask you to take charge of the defence of the city until a new Prince of Swords can be appointed.”
Sir Caradoc clawed himself painfully into a seat. He was healing but slowly. “You will not,” he rasped, “hand this country to an infidel.”
“I concur,” said Diego.
Pryce shrugged. “Infidel, papist, it’s all the same to me.”
While they were quarrelling over a five-hundred-year-old religious dispute, I picked up the thing the Morrígan had dropped. It was a shard of pottery, about three inches long. I had no idea what it was, so I pocketed it for later. Yes, a millennia-ancient vampire queen was looking for it and might want it back, but hey, a clue was a clue.
Things had quieted down again and al-Rashid was agreeing to protect London from the Morrígan and her army of disposable undead psychopaths.
The Prince of Coins turned to Halfdan, who had reappeared as mysteriously as he’d vanished. “I take it we can count on your support.”
He flashed a wide, oddly charming grin. “Actually, I was thinking I’d sit this one out. I hate to be mercenary, but I’m really not sure what’s in it for me.”
“We gave you the North!” growled Caradoc, turning his slowly healing face towards the Regent.
“Yes, you did, and I’ve still got it whether I help you or not.”
The Prince of Wands stepped out of the shadows. “I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you, brother, that our former mistress is not forgiving.”
“That was the problem with the Morrígan. She always took everything so seriously.”
“We also,” continued Pryce, “need to send word to the Scots and Irish princes, and the Lords of Wales.”
“The Morrígan had followers in Ireland,” said Julian.
“All the more reason to tell them.” The Prince of Wands pushed aside the body of a fledgling and reclaimed his seat at the table. “If they know that we know that she has returned, then they will not be tempted to conspire against us out of the false belief that we do not know. Of course, they may already know, but at present, we have no way to know what they know. If we tell them, we will know what they know, and all we will not know is how long they have known it.”
“You must be getting to me, Sebastian,” drawled Julian, “because that almost made sense.”
The meeting looked like it was going to drag on for a bit, and since they’d apparently forgotten I was there, I went for a cigarette. Outside, the moonlight washed over a wasteland. Aeglica’s overgrown garden had withered away. The weeds on the driveway were dust, the grass brittle skeletons. The rose bower where I’d seen him playing chess with Mercy was a ruin of bare thorns.
I’ve smoked in worse places.
Chapter Fourteen
Vampires & Champagne
After the trial, the slaughter, and the death of an innocent garden, Julian took me back to one of her many shag pads to celebrate what I suppose was technically a victory. I was, after all, still alive, and I hadn’t sold anyone out to stay that way.
“Ah, that sink brings back memories,�
� said Julian, as the automatic light came on in the kitchen.
“It brings back memories of being attacked by a killer tentacle monster.”
“Oh, you always focus on the negative.”
She pulled open the fridge, which was stocked entirely with champagne and little boxes of expensive chocolates.
“How many girls are you planning to bring back here?” I asked.
“As many as you want, sweeting.”
“Just pour me something.”
Julian grabbed a bottle and popped the cork. “Darling, this is Krug 1988.” Her expression turned dreamy. “A fine year by all accounts. An ineffable penetrating flavour, with remarkable depth and sophistication.”
“Do you want me to drink this or have sex with it?”
Julian grinned, teeth glimmering. “Why choose?”
I caught her up and kissed her. Wine and rose leaves and freedom, and the taste of Julian’s laughter, sweet in my mouth. I’d almost forgotten what it was like, just being with her, without shadows, betrayals, and my imminent execution hanging over us. Yes, she was still a vampire prince and I’d never be her number one priority, but right now, I couldn’t seem to remember why that bothered me. She made me feel good, like being drunk without the comedown, and I needed that. She pressed into me, curling round me like a snake. Her body was cold and fragile, but the arm she slipped round my waist was impossibly strong. And we kissed and kissed forever, the way you only kiss someone when you thought you’d never do it again. We kissed until I couldn’t breathe and Julian was whimpering against my lips.
We broke apart, still standing close, Julian’s cheek resting against mine. I could feel the flutter of her eyelashes.
“I’m glad I didn’t lose you,” she whispered.
I’d been beginning to wonder. She hadn’t exactly moved heaven and earth to save my arse. But she’d spoken up for me at the trial. At the last possible fucking minute, but she had spoken up.
“I’m not that easy to get rid of.”
“You won’t be here forever.”
Here lies Kate Kane, died peacefully in her sleep aged 94. Beloved daughter. Sorely missed.
“I think I’ve got a few years in me yet. And if you keep up the ‘woe is me, I’m immortal’ stuff, I’ll crack this bottle over your head.”
“I know, and I’m so lucky to have you, but I can’t not think about it.”
“So you’re celebrating my unexpected survival by moping about my inevitable death?”
Julian gave me a little squeeze. “You’re right, I’m being silly. I just realised how close I came to...”
She trailed away, and I didn’t fancy asking her to finish the sentence. Close to losing me? Close to sacrificing me? Close to killing me herself?
This was turning into one hell of a celebration.
I snatched the bottle out of her hand and took a swig. Bubbles burst over my tongue like they were all going yay. This really wasn’t a drink for drowning your sorrows, but fuck it, I shouldn’t have had any sorrows. I was alive and in an expensive flat with my hot vampire girlfriend. It wouldn’t last forever, but what does?
“Are you drinking my vintage Krug like it’s a bottle of Beck’s?” asked Julian.
“Yeah, I am. Do you want to make something of it?”
“You’re a complete barbarian.”
“I’m barely getting started. Now cut the emo and do what you’re good at.”
Julian pulled away mischievously. “I’ve been around for eight hundred years, sweeting, I’m good at a lot of things. I can open an oyster, illuminate a manuscript, extemporise a mean sonnet, and fly a biplane.”
“I was kind of hoping you wanted to fuck.”
“You modern girls have no appreciation for poetry.”
I seized her by the cravat and pulled her into another kiss, and then we tumbled onto the kitchen floor in a tangle of limbs and velvet. I just about managed to stop the champagne spilling everywhere. I put the bottle down and started tearing at Julian’s clothes. She’d gone military for the Council, all epaulettes, gold piping, and thigh boots.
“Y’know,” I said, “for a sex vampire, you are fucking murder to get undressed.”
“Anticipation is the quintessence of erotica.”
“Oh, shut up.” I poured the champagne over her mostly naked body.
Julian shrieked and wriggled. “I can’t tell if this is a waste of perfectly good champagne.”
“I think it’s a perfect use of good champagne.”
I pinned her down and kissed her again, wine trickling between our lips, light and golden, mingled with the deep, dark taste of the vampire prince of pleasure.
Julian sighed. Her eyes were so very blue in this light. “I’m inclined to agree.” She tipped her head back, to expose the graceful, vulnerable curve of her throat. I followed the rivulets down her neck, and she shuddered, skin flooding warm beneath my mouth.
I was starting to feel a little light-headed, but I hadn’t drunk nearly enough for it to be the champagne. There were probably things I should have been worrying about, but they could all go fuck themselves. I felt like one of the bubbles that had gathered on Julian’s skin. I drifted across the surface of her body, showering her in light, fleeting kisses, fizzing with lazy desire, and thinking of nothing, living for a moment in Julian, and Julian alone.
I picked up the bottle and spilled more champagne over her torso, letting it run over the planes of her body and pool in the hollows of her hips and collarbone. She was beautiful, gleaming like a nymph in a waterfall. A waterfall that cost two hundred quid a bottle.
“This is fun,” she said, happily.
She arched, catlike, and the liquid gathered, swirled and rushed about in little sparkling streams, breaking into tributaries that arrowed interestingly southwards. I bent my head and pursued them with my tongue, chasing the taste of sex and celebration.
I drank champagne from Julian, and I couldn’t imagine a better way to serve it. It glistened on her breasts, gathered in her navel, and left spirals across her ribs as she writhed under me, her hands gliding over my shoulders.
Then my hat fell off and flopped over her face. Julian burst out laughing, batted it away, and wrapped her legs round me. “Maybe you should take your coat off as well. Go crazy.”
“Can’t. Busy.”
I took another drink from the bottle and kissed her in a flurry of bubbles, licking the champagne from her lips.
“Can you actually taste that?” I asked, coming up for air.
“No, but I can taste you.”
“Do I have an ineffable penetrating flavour, with remarkable depth and sophistication?”
“In your own way.”
“What do you mean ‘in my own way’? Is that no? Am I a can of Budweiser?”
Julian reached up a hand and ran her fingertips over my cheek. “No, Kate. It’s complicated and hard to describe. You taste of desire and regret and passion and recrimination and hope and loss and power. It’s strongest in your blood, but I can catch a trace of it on your lips and on your skin.”
“I have no idea what to say to that.”
Julian twined her arms around my neck, pulled me down, and kissed me. Her teeth grazed my tongue, blood, pleasure, and champagne mingling wildly in my mouth, until everything was bubbles and darkness. I shuddered against her, my hands clutching at her hips, my mouth on her mouth, my thoughts slipping away, falling with her into ecstasy, bright and gold and black.
Later, Julian peeled me out of my sticky seriously-in-need-of-dry-cleaning suit and carried me through to the bedroom where—as I’d discovered the last time I was here—she’d inexplicably had a bath installed. At least it wasn’t full of monster guts anymore. She lowered me into a cloud of bubbles and steam and climbed in after me.
“I feel like such a lesbian stereotype,” I said, sleepily.
Julian wriggled between my legs and rested her head against my shoulder. “Sweeting, I’ve been taking baths with my lovers for the past six hundred years. I think I can safely say I was doing it before it was fashionable.”
“You’ll be asking me to move in next.”
“I got through that phase in the seventeenth century. You know how it is, you try to take things too far too fast, and you end up in a midnight duel to the death on the roof of the Bastille.”
“Did you win?”
“Well, it was sort of a draw. It usually is when you’re both immortal.”
“Bad breakup?”
“You could say that.”
I drifted for a while, feeling warm and shagged out. I had dozens of tiny red bite marks running up my arms like I was a really cack-handed heroin addict.
“So, what happens now?” I asked.
“I thought we might wash the champagne off, head to bed, have sex five or six more times, and then you’ll probably need to sleep.”
“I meant with the Morrígan and the army and everything.”
“Oh, that.” Julian twisted round to glower playfully at me. “I was hoping we could take a night off.”
“Sorry, I just got thinking about it.”
“You’re in a bath with me naked between your legs and you’re thinking about another woman. I’m almost insulted.”
I skated my hands across her slick, bubble-dusted skin. “I’m thinking about an insane vampire queen who lives in a graveyard with a bunch of ravens and apparently killed thirty thousand people in the sixteen sixties. I don’t think she really counts as another woman.”
“Really? I’d have thought she was just your type.”
“Are you seriously asking me if I would hit that?”
“I would.” Julian shrugged. “Those cold, piercing eyes. The wild hair. The talons. To say nothing of the wings.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
“You can always judge a person by how many of their enemies you want to sleep with.”
“Classy.”