Forged in Flame (31 page)

As the human walked past without spotting him, Lucian changed his mind. The blue eyes and red hair were no longer hidden by the hood all the servers had been wearing. He recognized the Knight that Julian had seen speaking with Morrigan’s sorcerous mentor, his brother.

“Oh yes, you should be useful.” Lucian lashed out with his power and smiled when the Knight’s eyes went wide as the spell lanced through his defenses.

Stepping out of his hiding place as the Knight went down on one knee, the vampire watched the Knight’s mouth open in a silent scream, hand on his temple.

“Were you following me?”
 

“Vampire.” The human hissed, still unable to stand or speak above a whisper.

“Yes, I am, and you’re a Knight of the Order of the Black Rose. That’s rather a pretentious title, isn’t it?”

Lucian knelt, getting almost eye level with the Knight, he began sifting through the other man’s thoughts. Centuries of practice let him push past his opponent’s mental defenses. Deep down, he found a name, one rarely used anymore, a name the man had used for decades prior to the Order finding him.

“Well, hello, Jarreth,” Lucian said with a grin.

“Kill me and get it over with,” Jarreth said as it seemed his mind was being picked apart by thousands of insects. He fought the scream building inside, refusing to give the vampire the satisfaction.

“Oh, you’re not going to die, yet. I have plans for you and you’re going to
come with me
.” He slipped the command into the Knight’s mind, anchored it and waited.
 

After several moments, a shadow passed over the other man’s eyes. He stood, brushed himself off and waited silently for orders.
 

Lucian smiled, knowing the steady, silent countdown happening in the human’s mind. They needed to get back to his base before the compulsion wore off. The trick would not work a second time.

“Perhaps this evening wasn’t such a waste, after all. Come along now.” He turned and exited the alley, heading back to the industrial building where he’d holed up since arriving in town three nights before. The Knight followed behind him, in step with the vampire.

Morgan stood on the landing and scanned the remains of the gathering. Far too many bodies were scattered on the floor, vampires who would never again feel the touch of night on their faces.

“What did this? There are only thirty-five or so survivors out of a crowd that numbered almost one hundred,” she whispered.

She caught sight of Lucian in the middle of the dance floor as he stared at the walking wounded and dead. The elongated nose of his mask had been splattered with blood, lending an even more insane appearance to his costume. He tilted his head to the left as though questioning something. He met her gaze for a long moment before removing his hat, and he bowed with a flourish.

If I find out you had anything to do with this, I swear, evidence or no, I will end you
, she thought not knowing if her Grandsire could hear her thoughts. Morgan didn’t think so, but the slight hesitation in his step as Lucian strolled through the carnage, into the foyer, caused her to pause.
 

What a shame. This has to be done.
She did a final, quick walk-through, her heels echoing in the empty house.

Once in the foyer, she pulled shadows around herself as Richard had taught her near the beginning of their training. Satisfied she wouldn’t be seen, Morgan called fire to her palm. The flame started out small but soon expanded to something about the size of a softball. She held it in her palm, feeding it more energy until it glowed blue at the center and flickered with tongues of red and orange around the outside. Satisfied it would do the trick, Morgan bounced the ball in her hand twice before tossing it into the center of the now empty dance floor.

Thanking the Gods that they’d had enough walking wounded to clear out the corpses, she watched as the ball of flame exploded outward, fire flowing from the epicenter devouring the mix of alcohol and lamp oil she’d ordered poured over the floor. Flames spread out across the floor slithering like living things seeking prey to devour.
 

“Morgan,” Christophe whispered, breaking her out of her reverie. “Time to go.”

“I’d say it is past time,” she replied.
 

“Well, I tried to get you to leave earlier, but you weren’t so keen on listening,” he joked, linking arms with her.
 

“You might say the party wasn’t so hot at the time. I had to wait.” Morgan said with a yawn.

“Time to get you home,” he said, knowing that using her ability often left her exhausted.

As they crossed the front entrance threshold, he heard the roaring crackle of flame as it fed on wood, cloth and any other fuel it could find. Christophe and Morgan stepped into the night as a police car, blue lights flashing, pulled up to the curb. He tensed and readied to make a move, but Morgan laid a hand on his arm and shook her head.
 

Without speaking a word, Christophe steered them onto the sidewalk and away from the house. When they were about half a block away, he turned back and noticed the cop standing near the open door of his car, speaking into the handset of his radio. He paid them no mind as if he’d never seen them. At his side, Morgan stumbled and cursed under her breath in a language Christophe recognized as her native Gaelic dialect. Her grip on his arm tightened, and he realized she must have used sorcery to hide them from sight.
 

“Are you casting?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“You just have to make it out of sight. The corner isn’t far.”

“No. We have to get back to the house. We’re both covered in blood.”

“It’s Halloween, no one will think it’s strange for people to have blood on them. Besides, I can use my natural charm and good looks to convince them not to ask too many questions.”

“We’re doomed.” Morgan groaned, trying to lighten the mood before she tripped on the hem of her skirt.
 

Christophe caught her, and lifted her into his arms. Cursing himself for not thinking of it before, he started running. He didn’t pay attention where he went beyond heading in the general direction of the house and putting as much distance between them and the mansion as possible. He dodged the few people on the streets, looking for a place where they could hide. He slowed and checked the street. Breathing a sigh of relief when he found that most of the house lights were dark.
 

“Morgan.” he said, giving his mentor a gentle shake.

“We have to get home.” She sounded beyond exhaustion.

“First, you need to get your feet underneath you. Do you have that flask?”

“In my bag.” She held out the small drawstring purse she wore on her wrist.
 

Christophe took the bag, opened it and fished out the silver flask engraved with her initials and a Celtic knot pattern. He opened it and passed it to Morgan. She accepted the flask with a smile and gulped three long swallows.

“What do you think happened back there?” he asked.

“Somehow word got out about Zachary’s ball and The Order decided to have a little fun,” Morgan answered, taking another swig from the flask.

“If that’s their idea of fun, I’d prefer to stay on their boring side.” He stood and looked around, again checking for either threats or a cab.

28 - San Francisco, CA - October 31, 2012

Christophe carried Morgan up the walk to the front door, not wanting to set her down. He kicked the bottom of the door several times, praying that Nicholas was home. Christophe shifted Morgan’s weight. His keys were in his pocket, but he couldn’t reach them with her in his arms.
How am I supposed to do this? I suppose I could prop her against the wall…

The door opened revealing Morgan’s husband wearing only a pair of black sweatpants. His sandy hair appeared more burnished gold with droplets of water clinging to some of the ends. The knock at the door must have interrupted the elder vampire’s shower. He frowned, blue-gray eyes darkening as he stepped out of the way, letting Christophe step past with his burden.
 

“What happened?” Nicholas demanded as he closed the door behind them.

Without looking, he reached out and tapped a code into an electronic panel mounted beside the door frame, to reset the alarm. He stepped in front of Christophe and held out his arms. The younger vampire transferred Morgan to his arms and Nicholas turned, walking upstairs toward the master bedroom without a word.

Christophe shook his head and followed. “You missed a killer ball.”

“Don’t get cute, Christophe.” Nicholas’s words were little more than a growl as he walked toward the open double doors at the end of the hall.

“I’m not,” he insisted, still following as he rubbed the back of his neck, hoping to ease some of the tension. “Actual deaths were involved.”
 

Nicholas paused and looked at Christophe for a moment before he laid Morgan carefully on the bed.
She’s going to be pissed that I didn’t clean her up first.
I’ll just remind her that it’s not her bed anyway.
Nicholas He grabbed the throw from the foot of the bed and placed it over her before leaning down to press a kiss on her forehead.
 

“She’s used her power tonight. She wouldn’t be so warm if she hadn’t.”
He turned back to Christophe, satisfied that Morgan would be fine for a while. “What happened, Christophe?”
 

The younger vampire raked both hands along the side of his head, turned and started back down the hall. “I think I need a drink first.”

Nicholas caught up with him, “You sound like Marcus.”

“The Old Man’s got a few things right.” The pair walked in silence down the stairs and into the formal sitting room.
 

Nicholas hovered near the door, watching as Christophe stepped behind the bar. He waited, shifting weight from one foot to the other and back again until the younger vampire had poured himself a drink and began sipping it while leaning on the smooth mahogany bar.

Unable to wait any longer, Nicholas said, “Talk to me. I need to know what happened. She’s exhausted and covered in blood.”

Christophe tossed back the remainder of his drink and poured a second one. “There was an attack at the ball. Some kind of poison in the champagne for the midnight toast.” Christophe shook his head. “Everyone who drank it is either ill, dying, or dead.”

Nicholas tensed, he stalked forward, a calculated look on his face. “If everyone who drank the champagne is ill, dying, or dead… how come you aren’t?” Nicholas rocked back on his heels. “And while you’re at it, what the hell happened to my wife?”

“We didn’t drink the toast.” Christophe shook his head, still not believing how close they came. “I saw something that no one else did. I’m not explaining this right. Since it was a costume ball, the atmosphere was surreal, and I don’t mean just the guests and their costumes.” He took a sip of his drink and closed his eyes, remembering. “Early in the evening I noticed that the servers were all wearing identical masks. Normally, I would have chalked it up to my Blood Brother being his usual flamboyant self, but there was something weird about it.”

“Define weird.” Nicholas perched on one of the bar stools and poured himself a drink.
 

“The masks had no mouths, or noses, but there was a design over the right side. As Zachary was offering his toast, I realized that the design was a rose. A black rose.”
 

Nicholas froze, his drink halfway to his lips. He set the glass down and turned his gaze on Christophe. “A Black Rose?”
 

Christophe frowned. “Yes. When I realized what it was, I remembered something I’d heard recently… rumors that fly around The Dracul from time to time.”

Nicholas shook himself and stared at the drink in his hand. “You’ve heard rumors about The Order of the Black Rose?”

“That’s the name I’ve heard, not often, but a time or two. So mister big bad Assassin, answer me this… what the fuck is The Order of the Black Rose? And why does it have you spooked?”

“The Order is supposed to be a myth.” Nicholas wiped a hand across his forehead. “They
were
a group of humans who would do anything within their power to rid the entire world of our kind. Their members didn’t care what methods they used. To them, the ends justified the means. I even heard they had driven a vampire to madness and turned him loose on the area where they believed the Council to be holed up.”