Death's Rival (5 page)

My brows rose, though there was no way he could have seen my reaction in the dark.
I hadn’t been paying attention to actual turns on the ride, just the scents. Stupid
move. I wondered how I was getting back to the airport. “This thing got GPS?”

“GPS-linked, voice-activated HDD navigation system. Just push this button and you’re
on.” He opened his door and got out.

Ooookaaaay.
I got out too and looked over the car. Lexus sedan, new, a fancy car. I’d have noted
all this right away if it had been a motorcycle, and maybe oohed and aahed a bit.
Cars were just transportation for me. I pocketed the keys. He waved to the welcoming
committee and started jogging back the way we had come. In the distance, I saw headlights
moving along the road. His ride, presumably.

I turned to the blood-servants and the vamp awaiting me and repeated the little speech
Leo had made me memorize. When I was done, I shut my mouth and waited. No one said
anything. The silence stretched. By pulling on Beast’s hearing, I could make out night
breezes soughing over rock, tough-leaved plants clacking together with a dry, slithering
sound, and the click of insects, hard carapaces and chitinous legs noisy as they ran.
I could count the breath of the humans and pinpoint the one, still vamp.

They let the silence build, and it felt dangerous on the night, but Beast was a hunter.
Patient. Unmoved by ploys. And so I stood, appearing relaxed, waiting. Once upon a
time, and not so very far in my past, this little game would have left me with my
knees knocking. I was getting better at vampire games and didn’t know if that was
a good thing or not.

Finally the vamp said, “You stink of danger. Of the scent of predator, but not one
I know.”

“Fancy that,” I said, my voice carrying no trace of emotion. The first time I met
Leo and Katie, his heir, they had both hated my scent, but when Leo accepted me, all
his vamps had done so too, without a word being spoken. Interesting tidbit to be dissected
later. If I lived.

“And you stink of blood. A fresh kill, for Pellissier’s Enforcer?”

The vamp’s tone was harsh and pitiless and demanding. Pretty good for so few words.
I said, “I was attacked at the airport. I was forced to kill a blood-slave.” Before
he could draw a breath to reply, I added, “Not one of yours, I’m sure.” And I was
sure, because I didn’t taste the – slave’s scent on the wind and hadn’t detected any
scent I smelled here on either attacker. But I wasn’t gonna add that. Let my comment
be considered a polite disclaimer with a hint of uncertainty in it.

“We were not expecting visitors.”

I didn’t reply to that, letting the silence work for me now.

“My mistress will not accept you in her sanctuary for long. You have a letter of passage?”
the vamp asked. I detected a hint of accent in his tone, maybe Russian or one of the
formerly Russian countries.

“I do. I carry a letter of concern for your mistress.”

“Our mistress is unwell.”

“So I hear. Leo sends his regards and his well-wishes to his longtime friend.”

The night fell silent again for a whole minute, which is a long time in the dark with
guns pointed at me, before the vamp spoke again. “Come this way.” The light fell on
him when he turned, and I recognized Nicolas Nivikov, a former vamp stray, from his
photo; the Russian was Rosanne Romanello’s heir. Ro took in all sorts of strays—vamps
with no master and no hunting ground. This one had been a rival until they fell in
love, and now he was her protector and her heir.

The blood-servants fell in behind me as I followed Nicolas up the low steps into the
house. I didn’t like that, but there was no way to refuse. The door opened, held by
a blood-servant, ugly muscle who looked me over, taking in the weapons. He didn’t
like me carrying and wanted me to know it. I nodded once at him, a single downward
thrust of chin.
Duly noted.

The interior shutters I’d expected to see were in place, stacked back against the
sides of the windows. The décor was done in Italian antiques juxtaposed against modern,
southwestern art, with contemporary updates like comfy but traditional Italian leather
furniture and soft Hopi-patterned rugs over Italian marble floors. Not that I knew
much about Italian stuff, but the dossier on Sedona’s master of the city had been
detailed. Very detailed. The place smelled of leather and sage and blood and something
vaguely sickly sweet I couldn’t identify.

I was shown into the library, where the smell of leather was strong, mixed with the
scent of old paper, ancient ink, and the mold that likes books. There, I waited for
over half an hour as various blood-servants and house-vamps came and went, introducing
themselves, offering coffee, tea, wine, a snack, a full-course dinner, and an opportunity
to freshen my toilette, which I interpreted as a chance to use the little girls’ room.
I turned them all down. No way was I accepting anything to eat or drink in this place
or back into a closed space with my britches down. I thought it was odd that Ro’s
Enforcer didn’t show up and scope me out, but maybe he was watching on the well-hidden
security cameras in the corners of the room. I thought about making faces at them,
but controlled myself. I understood why the vamps and servants kept me constant company.
The vamps wanted to sniff me, and the servants wanted to get a good look in case they
had to kill me tonight.

At the thought, Beast rolled over deep in my mind, pulling her paws close under. It
was a good position if she needed to launch her body—a strike posture, which meant
she was paying close attention to everything, in spite of her silence. My growing
sense of unease dissipated slightly knowing that she was awake and aware.

I was perusing the library’s titles when Nikki-Babe appeared in the doorway. “This
way, if you please,” he said. I followed him through a receiving parlor into a small
office, where a vamp sat in the shadows. The photo I’d seen of her had obviously been
taken in this room, but Rosanne’s illness had progressed since. Now she had pustules
up her neck and across one cheek. Another was on her lip, as if the disease liked
mucous membranous tissue.

She clutched a handkerchief, and blood dotted it. Her nose was bleeding. I had never
seen a vamp bleed except from a wound. Had never seen one sick. Freedom from bodily
complaints, illness, or needs—with the exception of blood and sex—was supposed to
be a benefit of being a vamp. But no more, it seemed. The sickly sweet smell was Ro—the
scent of disease and decaying blood.

The room was filled with an odd tension, electric and gluey, as if it stuck to me
when it brushed past. I had paused too long, let the silence grow too deep. I didn’t
want to approach, but I had been schooled by Bruiser in Mithran visitation etiquette.
I had to present my letters of introduction. I stepped to the table and laid the envelopes
before her. The official one, Ro handed to Nik. She opened the privately addressed
one, the one written in Leo’s own hand with lots of old-fashioned flourishes, the
words
Ro, mi amore
on the envelope. They both read, and when Rosanne was done, she folded her letter
and placed it in her desk drawer, which she locked with a small key hanging on a chain
around her neck.

“Nikki tells me you were attacked.” Her voice sounded weak and whispery. “They were
not mine.”

“I know,” I said gently.

“He also prepared me for your scent, but I find it not entirely unpleasant. You smell
of predator and aggression, but also of contact with my Leonardo. He is well? I had
heard . . .” She stopped to breathe, little desperate gasps, which nearly made my
eyes bug out. Master vamps did
not
need to breathe except to talk and to fight, and this one had to stop and reoxygenate.
Not good. “I had heard he had not recovered from the death of his son. I liked Immanuel
immensely.”

“He recovered,” I said shortly. Leo’s state of mind and the death of his supposed
son wasn’t a subject I wanted to talk about, since I had killed the creature masquerading
as Immanuel. “He’s now concerned about
you
.”

Rosanne made a very Italian gesture, a slow throwing of her fingers, as if the subject
was unimportant. “I was offered a Blood Challenge. I did not contest it. I have a
master now.” She shook her head, and with the movements, her sick scent floated into
the room. “It has been long since I was . . . mastered. It was difficult at first.
But he has left me in control of my own hunting grounds. He has made me his heir of
this land.”

This part was the tricky part. To mention her diseased state might be considered insulting.
I’d been warned that if I was attacked after entering and being welcomed, it would
be when I brought up the obvious. But she had mentioned Leo’s illness, so maybe I
had some leeway there too. “Leo is concerned that his old friend is not recovering
as quickly as she should.”

The tendrils of tension wrapped around me like the prickly webs of a spider, close
and sticking. “I have been sent a treatment by my new master. However, there is only
one, and I may not drink as often as I need.”

I thought about that for a moment until I found the translation. The new master had
sent her blood-servant or – slave who had the “treatment” in his blood, but if she
drank too much he’d die. She had a human drug, a human antibiotic factory to feed
on. She was getting enough to keep her alive, but not enough to heal totally. Talk
about a way to control your subordinates. Her new master had probably been the one
to make her sick and now only he had the power to heal, or at least to keep her alive.
No way was she going to thwart him. “And his name?” I asked. When Rosanne didn’t respond,
I clarified, “The name of your new master?”

“I may not answer.”

Without turning my head, I glanced at Nikki. His face was closed, as unyielding as
a marble statue. No answer there either.
Well, crap
. “May I ask another question about your master, without giving offense?”
What I’d like to do is beat it out of you, but I have my orders.

Ro chuckled, almost as if she had heard my thoughts. Vamps are as adept as any predator
at reading body language and interpreting vocal tones as cues, so maybe in a way she
had. “Do you know how you were infected?” I asked. “Is the disease associated with
your new boss?”

Ro said nothing, but Nikki laughed, and the tone was not happy. “This illness is a
scourge upon all of us.”

Which I took as a yes, but that didn’t really help me much. From my memory, I pulled
up the formal words for my next request—which was the primary reason for my visit,
and the biggest reason I might not walk out of here under my own power. “The Master
of the City of New Orleans,” which was Leo’s less formal title, “has dependable and
confidential physicians in his employ who might assist with finding a cure. He requests . . .”
I took a steadying breath. This was the most dangerous part. “. . . that you allow
me to draw a sample of your blood for testing.”

Nikki stepped toward me, vamp fast. I stepped back, toward the door.
Beast does not run from predators.
The voice in my head reminded me that running from vamps activated the chase instinct.
Not that it mattered. The opening was suddenly filled with a blood-servant—the big,
bad, ugly guy who had held the door, all brawn and speed and no brains. The tension
in the room shot up like a wildfire hitting a stand of dry pine.

On reflex, I ducked right, backed into the corner of the room, pulled the nine-mil
and a vamp-killer, the one I’d killed the blood-slave with. I knew the vamps would
smell the fresh blood, even after the thorough cleaning I’d given the blade in the
ladies’ room.

Nikki-Babe followed so fast I didn’t see him move. He was so close I could smell who
he’d had for dinner. I heard the distinctive click of fangs snicking down on the little
hinged mechanism in the roof of his mouth. In a single heartbeat, his eyes vamped
out. “Pellissier must still be caught in the dolore of grief to ask such a thing,”
he said, black pupils the size of quarters spreading into bloodred sclera. “He is
insane still, from the loss of his son.” No trace of white or iris remained in Nikki’s
eyes, and no trace of humanity. This was going to hell in a handbasket fast.

I shoved the gun up under Nikki’s chin. “Silver shot,” I warned, on a whisper. He
stilled, his eyes twisting back to Rosanne. “Look, lady,” I said to her, “I don’t
want trouble. Leo just wants to help. Girrard DiMercy is back with him, and Leo is
sane again.”

Ro lifted a hand. The pressure in the room died. “Girrard has returned to him?”

“Yes, and Leo thinks his private lab can find a cure to the sickness.”

She thought about that for a moment. “You know how to do this taking of blood?” I
nodded. “You may.” Nikki-Babe started in with a barrage of oddly accented Italian,
clearly disagreeing with her decision, but I ignored him. According to the Vampira
Carta, she was in charge. I slid away from Nik, keeping him in my side vision, and
stepped to the desk. Ro rolled up her sleeve. Oh, goody. I wasn’t gonna get sucked
to death.

I holstered the weapons and opened the small tote, taking out the blood drawing kit.
I wasn’t skilled at taking blood, but I knew how to do it. I pulled on gloves and
tied the tourniquet around Rosanne’s arm. The pustules were here as well, and the
smell of the sickness was gag-inducingly strong this close to her. There was a vein
right in the middle of her arm, slightly plumped by the tourniquet. I cleaned the
bottles and tubes, each with different-colored tops and containing different anticoagulants,
with alcohol, and then the sticking site with foamy brown soap and Betadine. I pulled
the cap from the needle and stuck the sharp needle under her skin. She didn’t flinch,
though I wasn’t experienced with the procedure. If it had been a stake, maybe then . . .

I stifled the thought and pushed the first bottle on, then the next, then four more
tubes in succession. When I was done, I popped the tourniquet. Put a square of gauze
above the insertion site and removed the needle. Flipped the safety cap closed.