A Dozen Black Roses (14 page)

Although he has been drained of his very essence, the vampire prince still has enough life force remaining to plead for mercy. The stranger watches as she brings the heel of her boot down on her sire's skull, snuffing out a malignancy that has stretched more than seven centuries.

She knows she should feel exaltation, joy—at least a perverse pleasure. After all, she's spent over twenty-five years searching for the bastard who stole her humanity. But instead of feeling a sense of closure, there is only rage: the churning fury of the whirlwind. In the dream she looks up into the rippling sky, with its ominous thunderclouds, and suddenly she is no longer watching herself. She stares up into the heart of the coming darkness, and in it she sees a pair of eyes. The eyes are blood-red and without pupil or white—just huge, blood-filled eyes. And she knows then, as dreamers always seem to know things that go unspoken in dreams, that she is looking into the eyes of the Other—the vampiric side of her personality; the part of her that revels in the pain of others, that delights in the suffering of enemies, that relishes cruelty. It is the side of her she fears and yet needs if she is to survive.

The Other looks down on her and its voice shakes the heavens.

"Beware."

The stranger claps her hands to her ears, even though she knows she is dreaming.

"Beware the blood-wizard."

Crimson wells from under the Other's lids and begins to spill from the skies. Wherever it strikes it hisses and steam rises, like water boiling over in a pot. Some of it splashes onto her hand, scalding it. She cries out and draws back in pain—

Only to find Ryan's pale face before her, his eyes wide with fear. With a gasp of shocked surprise, she let go of his throat. "Sorry, kid," she rasped, trying her best to conceal the shuddering that racked her body like a junkie. "I—I must have been having a bad dream."

The boy scuttled over to the window, watching her cautiously as he massaged his throat. She groaned under her breath and wondered if there was a way to possibly feel worse than she did at that moment. She rolled off the mattress in a single, fluid moment, picking up her leather jacket.

"I thought you said you aren't like them." Accusation and hurt rasped in his voice. Despite his street-toughness, Ryan was still only a child. And a sorely used one, at that.

The stranger sighed and combed her fingers through the unruly tangle of her hair. "Most of the time I'm not, Ryan. I try to keep the bad part of me under control—but sometimes it gets out. And when that happens, I don't want anyone around I care about, because I'm afraid I'll hurt them."

Ryan tilted his head and looked at her. "Do you care about me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do. 'Cause I sure don't want to hurt you, Ryan. Not now, not ever. That's why I'm going to get your mother back for you."

The boy darted forward, wrapping his arms about her waist, burying his face into her stomach. Despite his slight build, the boy had a grip like an anaconda. It had been a long time since a child had hugged her like that. Too long. She smiled as she stroked the boy's head.

"Hey, don't get your hopes up just yet, okay? It's still not a sure thing! I've got a lot of strings to pull on this one—and I need your help to make sure everything works out."

"I'll do anything you tell me to!" Ryan said, tilting his head back to look up at her.

The stranger caressed the boy's chin with the ball of her thumb and ruffled his hair. "I don't doubt it.

You're a brave kid, Ryan. And you'll need every last ounce of that bravery if you want to get your mother

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) away from Esher. Tonight I've got to send a message to Sinjon about what Esher is up to— and I need you to take it to him. Don't look so worried—I got Sinjon to promise to give you safe passage. You're under his protection now, which will keep you safe while I'm not around. But to be sure, I'm going to give you this to wear."

She reached inside the neck of her T-shirt and withdrew a thin silver chain from around her neck. At the end of the chain hung a silver crucifix, the cross lengths made to resemble briar thorns. She looped the necklace about the boy's neck twice so that it dangled at his chest and not his crotch.

"This is an enchanted crucifix, specially warded against Kindred. Vampires fear it above all else. None will dare touch you while you wear this."

Ryan moved to the circular attic window, to study the necklace in the last of the dying light. The stranger glanced past the boy to the church bell tower, and remembered the shadowy figure she'd glimpsed shortly before going to ground.

"Ryan—what is that building over there?"

The boy looked to where she pointed, then shrugged. "It's some kind of church. It's got a weird name.

Saint Ever-Ready or something."

"Does anybody live there?"

"There's an old guy who stays in there. He wears a long black dress with a white thing sticking up in front. Cloudy says he's a father, but I never see any kids with him. The only time he comes out is to go to the liquor store. I think he's kind of crazy, but not bad crazy, like the homeless guys kinda are. He used to leave me scraps, back when I was sleepin' on the street."

The stranger returned her gaze to the bell tower and tapped one of her fangs, momentarily puzzled. A priest? In Deadtown? Interesting. Her train of thought was interrupted by Ryan tugging on the belt of her leather jacket, holding up the thorny crucifix.

"Did this cost a lot?"

"I suppose. I don't really know. My sire gave it to me."

"Will he get mad if he finds out you gave it to me and I lost it or something?"

"It's okay. He won't mind. I killed him."

***

As she strode through the House's twisted corridors, she could feel its master draw her toward him, as a magnet does an iron filing. She had neglected mentioning the blood oath to Cloudy, partially because she knew he wouldn't grasp the significance of the act, but largely out of fear that it would erode what trust she'd built with him. While she was secure in her own willpower, she had to admit that Esher was indeed a charismatic lord. It was easy to see why the weaker, less secure vampires flocked to him.

She found Esher in his audience chamber, holding court with several of his new recruits. Most of them looked to have once been drifters or unwary commuters—the easiest prey for today's urban vampire.

Unremarkable in life, they remained so in undeath. Without clan or class, they needed someone like Esher to provide their new existence with focus. They watched his every nuance avidly, like starving men outside the window of a bakery. Esher was seated on his portable throne of office, with Decima standing to one side. Nikola was nowhere to be seen.

"I called you before me, my friends," Esher said, his voice ringing like a bell, "because we are on the cusp of great change! In two hours' time, I am to meet with the representatives of a powerful human drug cartel. The results of this meeting will be far-reaching—both inside and outside Deadtown. I have every reason to believe that the humans are interested in eliminating Sinjon and the Black Spoons once and for all—and that they would enlist my help in the matter!"

There was muttering among the gathered Kindred. One of them, a vampire dressed in the skin of a junior executive, spoke up. "But, milord— wouldn't that lead to jyhad?"

The gathered recruits muttered even louder among themselves. They all knew that a declaration of open war between princes was indeed serious. Although covert warfare was standard among the competing vampire clans existing in the urban demesnes of the twentieth century, full-fledged jyhad was increasingly rare. In the olden days, jyhads between vampire lords had been extremely common, but the invention of communication satellites, personal computers and video cameras made such traditional activities

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) exceptionally risky. To make things even chancier, jyhad was frowned upon by the Kindred governing council, known as the Camarilla, which saw to it that the existence of the various clans were kept hidden from the human world on which they fed. Those who transgressed against the Camarilla's codes of conduct were dealt with quite harshly. And permanently.

"Technically, this is not the same as a jyhad." Esher said, smiling patiently. "If an outside agency, such as—in this case—human druglords, declares war on a Kindred prince and formally elicits the help of other Kindred against their enemy, then it is not a true jyhad. A true jyhad between Kindred is signaled through the ritual delivery of a bouquet of a dozen black roses.

"Now, I want to have some of you with me tonight, when I go to meet the human druglords. Not because I fear them, but because I wish them to see that I am what I claim to be—a prince of the Kindred!" The recruits fell to talking among themselves again, but Esher silenced them with a clap of his hands.

"Decima will notify you as to which of you will be part of my entourage. Until then, await my arrival at Dance Macabre!"

The recruits bowed as one, placing their left hands over their throats in deference, and turned to leave.

The stranger moved to follow them, but Esher's voice rang out, stopping her in her tracks.

"A moment, if you please. I would talk to you."

"As you wish, milord," she replied, forcing a smile.

Esher leaned forward, his chin resting on his fist, and eyed her intently. "I am told you were nowhere to be found in the barracks during hibernation. Nor has Torgo been seen since I sent him down to the catacombs with you. He was in thralldom to me, and I have called to him, blood to blood, but he does not respond."

The stranger shrugged. "I'm not big on slumber parties. And as for Torgo, the last I saw of him, he was tottering down an alley in search of a buzz."

Esher sighed and shook his head. "That is highly likely. A lush is a lush, whether he gets his alcohol from the neck of a bottle or that of a wino. I wouldn't be surprised if the drunken fool got caught out in the sun. But that still does not excuse your insubordination. Watch your step, stranger. I am quick to reward those who serve me well, but I am quicker to punish those who displease me. You don't want to get on my bad side."

She bowed, placing her hand over her throat. "Your will is law, milord."

"Don't think you've escaped being disciplined, childe," Esher said as he shook a finger at her, his voice stern. "I'll see to you later. But first I have more pressing business to attend to this evening."

"The druglords are actually coming to Deadtown to meet with you?" she asked, changing the subject.

Esher barked a dry laugh. "They don't dare set foot here even during the day! They are superstitious fools, born of dirt-ignorant peasant farmers. Still, just because they fear us doesn't keep them from trafficking with devils. No, I am to meet with them in a restaurant that serves as a front for one of their operations."

"Do you trust them?"

Esher shrugged. "What have I to fear from humans? They are tools in my hand, nothing else."

"Am I to accompany you, milord?"

"No, you are to remain here. I have sent for Nikola. She is to await my return in my private chambers.

Since Decima will be accompanying me to the rendezvous, I need you to guard her against Sinjon."

"But I thought Webb and Obeah guard her at all times."

"They do. But they are mere humans. I need a Kindred sentry to back them up, in case Sinjon sends his progeny to attack. And I have every reason to believe that Sinjon is interested in stealing my precious dancer from me!"

The stranger lifted an eyebrow. "How so?"

"I was foolish enough to offer the old reptile any boon he desired—and he claimed Nikola! Of course I denied her to him, and now he claims I have breached Kindred etiquette!"

"Technically, he's right, milord…"

"I don't care if he's in the right! I'll see him to Hell first!" Esher snapped as he got to his feet. "You are to keep watch until I return, is that understood?"

"Perfectly, milord."

***

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"Down here," the boy replied.

She glanced down at her feet and saw the boy's pale face peeking up at her from underneath a sewer grating. The stranger dropped down on her haunches, pretending to adjust her bootlaces, and passed a piece of folded paper to him. "I'm supposed to be patrolling the perimeter, so I don't have much time to talk. You're to take this to Sinjon."

"What about you?"

"Esher's ordered me to stay here and watch after Nikola."

"You're going to take her away, aren't you?"

"I'll try. She'll have Obeah and Webb with her."

"You can kill them easy!"

"Look, kid—just deliver the note, okay?"

She straightened up and headed back in the direction of the House. She shouldn't have told Ryan about his mom. Now the kid was going to expect the rescue to happen tonight. As she neared the checkpoint, she noticed the area was sparsely manned. Esher had ordered the Pointers to hang at the Dance Macabre that evening, so Sinjon's forces wouldn't notice the decrease in numbers in front of the club. As she trotted up the steps to the House of Esher, the door opened and Decima stepped out.

"I was about to go track you down," the lieutenant said icily.

"I was just finishing the perimeter check. The zone's clear."

"Lord Esher will be exiting from one of the auxiliary tunnels in five minutes, as he does not wish to be seen leaving Deadtown. You are to await the arrival of his bride, then see that she is safely escorted to Lord Esher's private chambers. You are to remain on guard outside the doors of the chamber until Lord Esher's return. Is that clear?"