by D B Nielsen
She strode off in the direction of the bathhouse. There, she found her brother and much more besides.
Julius reclined in the enormous stone bath, hewn out of sandstone bedrock. He was naked from the waist up, displaying the taut, powerful build of the Roman commander he once had been, but now his skin was pale and diaphanous, the blue veins running beneath looked like a map displaying rivers that cut across the landscape.
“Ah, dear sister.” Julius smiled at her with hard, darkly glittering eyes. “Come to visit me at last. Have you brought your youngest offspring with you?”
“Julius,” Aislinn acknowledged, keeping her distance. “Unfortunately, no. Cooper is completing his combat training in the field, in preparation for his final examination, passing the Abattoir.”
Julius’s nostrils flared. “Pity. I must admit I’m surprised he’s passing his training in record time. Even you, the daughter of Kayne, spent years under Caleb.”
Julius was trying to get a rise out of her, but she simply smiled calmly. “You forget,” though she knew Julius had not forgotten, “Cooper was a human hunter before he was reborn. He has spent years in combat training. Most of the recruits, including me, are raw and inexperienced when they begin their training and don’t have the benefit of spending years at a hunter academy and learning those skills.”
Julius smiled without mirth. He knew very well Cooper was experienced as a fighter. He hadn’t been a hunter long, but he had been marked by the Immortal Huntress. Yet this puzzled Julius, since there was a natural immunity hunters had to being turned, which should have made Cooper’s rebirth impossible.
Julius knew more than he had told his sister.
Marduk and the others had tried turning hunters for centuries, without success. When the hunters’ immune system failed to accept their vampire blood, his brothers had no further use for them, killing them cruelly and sending their broken bodies back to the Church. Finally, they had accepted defeat. There would be no hunter-vampires.
Now, however, the rebirth of Cooper—and as a Malum, no less—sparked new possibilities. Perhaps it was due to a genetic mutation. Perhaps Kayne’s female bloodline was compatible with the blood of the Immortal Huntress. Whatever the case, he could see ways to use this new knowledge—and his sister and youngest nephew—to his advantage.
“Well, let us see how well he performs in his final examination.” Julius’s words were a reminder of her perfect and unbroken record. He had waited years for it to be bested without success. Perhaps the former human hunter had the necessary skills to match the daughter of Kayne. His smile widened like a crocodile.
“Minter, I did not expect to see you again so soon,” she said, turning her attention to the only other vampire in the room.
“Prima Aislinn, a pleasure as always.” The gangly, reed-slim frame unfolded from his task to give a small bow to the daughter of Kayne. “As you can see, it is time to extract Primus Julius’s blood for minting.”
“Is it ready for collection?” A feral, bottled-up hyperactivity exuded from Julius as he was forced to remain motionless during the collection process.
Reaching into the muddy-looking water of the bath, the Minter drew out a handful of wriggling, shiny, black leeches. The leeches covered most of Julius’s lower body like an oil slick.
Ugh. Revolting.
Aislinn’s pale brows furrowed as the distinct, metallic sharpness of Julius’s prized blood permeated the loamy smell. She didn’t know what disgusted her more—the smell or the sight before her.
“Not quite.” The Minter allowed the squirming things to drop back into the bath, save for the few fully bloated ones which he carefully placed in sterilized glass jars.
The making of the Aurum Julius coins was rather a different business from the usual activities within the coven. Aislinn knew they used leeches to obtain the blood for harvesting, as vampire blood stayed in its system undigested but did not sustain the organism’s life.
“You know Cleopatra preferred milk baths,” Aislinn commented, trying to distract herself. “It’s gentler on the skin than leeches.”
She shuddered at the foul reminder of her own blood being drawn by the Druid through full-pronged needles and wondered when she would be able to put aside the phantom feeling of discomfort under her skin that continued to haunt her. Perhaps the use of hypodermic needles was more efficient for bloodletting, but it was also excruciatingly painful—though that might also have been caused by the deliberate use of dark magic to subdue her.
“Well then, what shall we talk about?” Julius asked her with deceptive pleasantness. It was like waiting for a viper to strike. “I trust you did not interrupt the Minter simply to exchange pleasantries.”
Aislinn held his stare, nice and calm. Julius was a psycho. She didn’t want to push him too far over the edge, but she needed to state her case. She needed to persuade him that it was his idea to involve their brothers. “There is much to discuss, brother. This drug on the streets, Black Magic, is—”
“Not of interest to our Father.” Julius dismissed her words with a wave of his imperious hand. “And therefore, should be of no interest to anyone else.”
“Please, my lord, try to remain still,” chastised the Minter as he dipped his hand into the bath to retrieve more of the swollen parasites.
Subsiding further into the bath, Julius stated maliciously, “However, as head of this coven, it is sometimes necessary to discover a threat and work to disarm it before it can do any harm. Your son, Dorian, has things well under control.”
Aislinn’s eyes rounded in disbelief. “Dorian? What are you talking about?”
Julius’s eyes glittered feverishly. “He has infiltrated the Underground drug ring, acting as my spy on my orders.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Aislinn’s tone sounded calm when she spoke, but she was seething inwardly. “Dorian has been working with Marcellus and the dark mages to gain power. He’s going to start a revolution.”
“That’s a dangerous accusation, sister.” Julius’s smile was vindictive. “And coming from his own mother, too. I assume you have proof?”
He was being patronizing. But she was no rookie at playing this game, even though powerplays weren’t her thing. “Proof? While you wait for your proof, you think our coven is safe? Ancient vampire blood has been stolen from the Cairo Coven’s columbarium without their Minter knowing—without Marduk knowing. Black Magic is infecting our species. There’s barely contained anarchy within our coven, even before your foolish attack on the Zooarians.” Julius looked dangerously close to losing control. “Tell me. When will you act, or are you afraid to show some balls and do something on your own initiative, rather than waiting for permission from Father? Or perhaps you’re waiting for your own blood to be stolen to benefit the other races. Is that what you’re waiting for?”
Julius was ready to launch himself out of the stone bath at her. His face was a mask of fury, but he managed to rein it in. It was only the Minter’s fussing over the parasites collecting his precious blood that restrained him.
“You dare suggest sedition?” Julius coldly spat, his voice laced with an underlying viciousness. He was dangerous in this mood.
The Minter kept his head bowed low over his work, but a cold smile of amusement played around his lips when he was sure Julius was otherwise occupied. He preferred Julius’s anger directed at Prima Aislinn rather than himself. He’d been at the mercy of Julius’s fickle moods before. At least, there were no accusations thrown his way, no suggestion of his own corruption, nor that he was lax in doing his job. The other Minter may have appeared incompetent, but he was pleased the Prima did not suggest it was somehow his fault since he prided himself on his work. He remained silent and continued going about his business with the leeches, even though he could have offered clarity on one or two of Aislinn’s points.
“Didn’t I say as much?” Aislinn replied to Julius’s question heatedly. “Don’t you listen? Of course, there’s been talk of insurrection.”
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Inwardly, she was trying to calm herself. She knew it would be easier to win him over with honey than vinegar, but there was no love lost between them, and Julius refused to listen to a mere woman.
“Talk? Is it your plan to incite the Zooarians against me? Or perhaps join with the millennials?” He did not know for certain if the rumors were true, but just the suspicion was enough for him. “Or are you grooming the Malum hunter you turned to overthrow this coven?”
The softness of her features, the delicacy and sweetness, had been replaced by harsh lines and angles reflecting her indignation. “I have never been a radical. Speak to my middle son if you prefer his sugar-coated lies, but be careful of the Janus you seem to favor. This coven’s in danger of collapse. Will you only be satisfied when it lies in ruins?”
“Enough!” Julius belted out of fuming lungs. His tone made even the Minter pause.
Julius turned toward the young Nubes, fury radiating off him like steam, the storm brewing in his eyes as they enlarged to jet-black. “Have you finished?”
The Minter dropped several more leeches into glass vials. His hands were steady, though inwardly he was trembling. “It will only take a few more minutes, Primus Julius.”
“Be thankful you aren’t hooked up to a machina sanguinem exhauri. Leeches are so much more pleasant. Like Dorian, they’re dark, slippery, ruthless bloodsuckers, but unlike my offspring, they only drain you a bit at a time, taking what they need. They’re parasites but they aim to keep their host alive.” Aislinn taunted her brother, seeing his eyes take on a hectic obsidian shine. Aislinn preferred him in this mood. Enraged, Julius’s actions were easier to predict as his anger controlled him. “Have you never wondered why Dorian is keeping you alive?”
Something flashed within Julius’s eyes that gave her an ounce of hope. Doubt. Suspicion. Or was it fear?
“The machina sanguinem exhauri hasn’t been used for centuries,” Julius scoffed in disbelief, not entirely willing to take her word for it.
“Funny that. I was hooked up to one just the other day.” Her voice was threaded through with sarcasm. “And wasn’t that a novel experience? Gave the old veins a little workout, like an arterial colon cleanse.”
“Who would dare do such a thing?” her brother demanded, not in complete disbelief but affronted that someone would have the audacity to lay hands on one of Kayne’s chosen Twelve, even if he personally despised her.
“Prima Aislinn, may I ask when was this operation performed? And why did they use such draconian methods of bloodletting?” The Minter finally entered the conversation, though he was much more curious from a professional perspective than concerned for her wellbeing.
“I believe they wished to inflict excruciating pain.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Julius’s look held scorn, as if suggesting she was a drama queen.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she mocked. “The IV drip filled with dark magic to sedate me might have given it away.”
“Dark magic? You cannot be serious. Since you obviously escaped, where is this IV drip now?” Julius’s interest in the IV drip wasn’t merely academic. He was curious about its contents. Any new means of torture interested him. The dark magic sedative was a source of immense power. If he could harness that power somehow, he could use it against his vampire enemies—of which he had many.
Aislinn’s face was a mask of innocence as she artfully claimed, “The IV drip, my blood, all of it was destroyed by fire when I escaped. There’s nothing left.” She wasn’t about to tell him that it was handed over to Nikolaus and Benjamin for safety and further inquiry since she trusted them implicitly to look after the needs of the coven far better than her selfish brother.
While it was no longer the Crusades, their species still prepared for unexpected attacks from the human hunters and shapeshifters who weren’t averse to engaging in bareknuckle combat. Many vampires of notable age continued to have a sentimental attachment to destroying their enemies using archaic, tried and trusted ways—with brute force, vampire skills, and cunning.
Benjamin’s common complaint was that Julius preferred such outdated methods, failing to realize the advances in technology. Wars could be fought with the push of a button, an automated process using computers, surveillance equipment, and high-tech weaponry. Torture, however, still required stakes and bullets and knives.
Ingenuity in weaponry now came from the military or NASA. But this irradiated fluid was the stuff of horror films for her kind. It was impossible to harness sunlight as a weapon, other than the solar cells, but with their use of magic, the dark mages were able to draw on blood and suffering to fuel their spells and their weapons.
Julius’s tone was frigid. “I see. That is a great pity.”
“All done, my Lord,” the Minter declared, finally looking up. He eyed Kayne’s two children with the dispassionate gaze of a scientist, as if calculating the genetic parallels between them, even as they bickered and fought with each other, displaying dissimilar traits.
“Whatever you believe, you know my feelings about magecraft.” Aislinn’s voice was purposeful, her tone clipped. “I think I’ve made my position quite clear when it comes to the dark mages. I’d sooner see them in Demura than let them draw another breath.”
“Perhaps, but it may be that your desire for vengeance blinds you as much as it always has,” stated Julius, raising his opinion of her obsessive pursuit for revenge as he felt that she continually exposed their race to danger by taking her quest too far. With the human hunters almost on their doorstep, Julius felt no empathy for the one responsible for creating much of the mess. “You are to leave this alone. Allow Dorian to handle things on my behalf. That’s an order.”
Aislinn bit back her response.
Vlad it. Julius was still head of the coven.
She was just wasting her breath.
Meanwhile, the Minter assisted Julius from the stone bath. It was an awkward process, despite the agility and grace that was natural to vampires. The young man’s extra height made him seem self-conscious and gangly around Julius’s solid but shorter frame and nakedness.
Aislinn turned away, not from a sense of decorum or privacy but out of pure disgust.
Julius’s depravity was legendary among the vampire covens. His appetites were excessive.
As a former Roman, he esteemed the Roman emperors like Nero, Claudius, and Caligula who were noted for their perverse sexual acts, including those with their female relatives. While incest was nothing new in the immortal realms and especially among vampires, since quite a few Malums turned humans into vampires out of lust, Aislinn wasn’t into that weird, slightly gross Edward-Bella thing. Julius could find his lovers among the many willing female supplicants in the coven—she would not be one of them.
When she turned back around, the Minter’s ministrations were almost done. Julius’s pale skin was glistening all over with perfumed oil. He was being rubbed down, not with ordinary linen, but with cloths of the purest and softest wool. Finally, the Minter held out a blazing scarlet robe to wrap Julius in. As he tied the velour belt at the waist, Julius turned to face Aislinn.
“You have given me much to consider,” he said patronizingly.
He snapped his fingers, and within moments, his personal bodyguards appeared, raising Julius onto a gold gilt sedan couch where he reclined.
“Well, consider one last thing, brother dear. You may want to be more careful, as I’m certain your blood is highly sought after. It is, after all, much older than mine.” Aislinn cautioned with a smirk, as he was trundled off by his men to the Inner Sanctum. “Just imagine what would happen if they created another Immortal Huntress.”
The look on Julius’s face as he stared back at her was priceless.
Chapter 19
It was yet another Wednesday night at Nocturne, and the club was packed. At times like these, Aislinn missed Caleb the most, when the club was at its busiest with the typical crowds of young bloods partying hard midweek, so drunk
and happy they became disorderly. Not that she couldn’t handle the crowd on her own, but she missed Caleb’s reassuring presence and someone sensible to talk to—she wasn’t exactly spoiled for choice among the usual clubbers when it came to stimulating conversation.
But business was good, and she should have been pleased. Instead, she preferred the relative quiet of the storeroom. Checking the club’s supply of their most popular bottle, the thirteen-year-old corked Californian ruby red, while Lark and the new bartender, Harper, served drinks at the bar, Aislinn pondered recent events. Missing Caleb didn’t mean she could forget the lessons he’d drilled into her over a millennium.
Two down. One to go.
The dark mages. Her thoughts always returned to that fateful day a millennium ago in Ireland.
And now there was one. Only one left from the original triune.
But then she thought of the dark mage they’d killed last winter who had attacked Benjamin. He was obviously part of the same order of Druids.
Perhaps I’m wrong, and Stanislav’s right, and there are more. Many more. And it’s bigger than this. Bigger than Sorcha’s death.
She felt numb.
But what does it matter? Only the triune matter, don’t they? They’re the ones who must pay. A promise is a promise.
Killing the Druids was all that she’d lived for all these years. She should have been rejoicing. Pumped with righteous fervor. But instead, she didn’t feel anything.
Maybe the joy and relief would come with the death of the last dark mage, the leader.
She was just so damned tired. Sometimes, she just wanted it all to end. It was easy to envy humans their small lives.
The roar of the crowd upstairs made her realize how old she was, how old she felt. Most of the patrons were half her age. The ancients never went clubbing, probably because their enthusiasm for living had waned long ago. It was easy to become jaded and cynical after a millennium or two on Earth. And yet, it wasn’t over for them or her.