Guardian's Joy #3 (17 page)

JJ had the good grace to look contrite.
“Shame on me for judging a book by its cover.” She looked around
the kitchen. “Do I smell coffee?”

“Sure do. Let me get you a cup. Not as good
as Grace’s, though it’s a helluva lot better than Manon’s.” He
pulled two mugs from the cupboard. “How do you take it?”

“Any way it comes. Black is fine, thanks.”
She waited until she had the mug in her hands before she spoke
again. “I have questions, Uncle Otto, and I don’t want to cause
trouble, but I think you’re the one that’ll have the best
answers.”

Otto nodded. “Whatever I can do to help.”

“Why isn’t anyone worried about the two
Paenitentia women who were killed turning vampire?”

“There’s never been a female vampire. Only
men turn and it most likely has to do with the original curse. You
know about that, right?”

“Yeah. The Daughters couldn’t wait to tell me
about it. Is there a way other than violent death that you can be
turned?”

“I’ve never heard of one. Of course there
were always myths, old wives tales.” He smiled. “My mother had a
whole list. Don’t eat chokeberries. Eat the leaves of dandelion,
never the root. There were dozens of them. None of them were true,
though. I should know. I tried most of them.” He chuckled. “Some
tasted like shit and some of them made me sick, but none of them
turned me.”

JJ laughed and shook her head. “I gather you
weren’t a mama’s boy, huh? So what’s happening with our guy? Do you
think it’s like you and Canaan? Someone who loves him is protecting
him?”

Otto ran his hand over his mouth, pinching
his lower lip. His sigh was deep and long. “I suppose it could be,
but something about this doesn’t feel right. Where do they have him
locked up and how does he keep escaping? How are they getting him
back? Does he come back on his own or do they track him down?
Again, how?” He shook his head and sighed again.

“None of us have that much experience with
turning. Most of us who’ve turned vampire are killed within days.
When Canaan found me, I didn’t know who I was or who he was. He was
bigger than me, stronger than me and I almost turned him. Twice. It
was almost a year before I could talk. Two before Canaan could
bring me a supply of blood without my ripping into him. After four
years, I could function, but I still couldn’t be trusted around
humans. All it would have taken was a paper cut.”

“Canaan found you bagged blood.”

“Still does, but now I take it daily instead
of all at once and that’s not happening here. Canaan checked out
every source in the city. This guy’s drinking fresh and those few
kills wouldn’t be enough. It’s not like the old days.” When he saw
JJ raise her eyes in question, he explained.

“Years ago, there were families who procured
blood victims for the turned. The downside of being the mate of a
wealthy man was serving him live meals if he turned and the family
decided to keep him. It was rare and risky and usually had more to
do with inheritance than love.”

“Like Dracula?” JJ asked and then felt
foolish for bringing up the myth. To her surprise, Otto nodded.

“Vlad the Destroyer, the most famous among
us. He had a host of victims and he functioned. Like me.”

JJ looked around the cheerful kitchen in the
lovingly restored Victorian home and snorted a laugh. “Hardly like
you, Uncle Otto. Even in this neighborhood, someone would have
noticed all those heads on pikes.”

After a few more minutes of small talk, she
thanked him for his time and donned her coat for the walk back
across the alley to the House of Guardians. It was snowing again
and the paths the twins dug between the houses were already half
full. She smiled and scuffed her feet, kicking up the powdery fluff
until she was surrounded by a cloud of pure white.

The sun would be rising soon and the city
would awaken. At this moment, however, it was so quiet you could
almost hear the snow fall and the only light was the soft golden
glow from the fixture over Otto’s door. A dark alley in this
section of town should make her tense and alert, but the wintery
night had transformed the place into a shimmering wonderland of
crystal and gold and all she felt was safety and peace. It was
strange how comfortable she felt here, how the cold inside her
seemed to thaw a bit. Of all the places she’d lived in her life,
this one felt most like home.

JJ climbed the stairs to the House, but
instead of entering, she turned right up another three stairs to
the wide deck that spanned the full width of the two connected
houses. The snow here was deeper, almost to the tops of her boots,
but she was willing to risk wet legs and frozen feet for a few more
minutes of this unexpected serenity. She walked to the rail and
leaned against it, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. She
laughed and opened her mouth to catch the falling flakes on her
tongue.

Her eyes snapped open when she felt something
nudge her hand. It was the little tawny cat from her house across
town. For as much as she’d tried to chase it away, she almost cried
with relief when she saw it sitting on the rail. Damn this House
and its tears.

“It is you, isn’t it?” she whispered, “Did
Dov and Col find you or did you find me on your own.” It was a
ridiculous thought, she knew, but wouldn’t it fit perfectly with
all the other strange happenings these last few days had brought?
She unzipped her jacket and tucked the cat inside where it settled
comfortably and began to purr.

Off in the distance, church bells tolled, the
sound echoing through the stillness of the snowy night. She was
reminded of a song she hadn’t thought of since she was a child.
Softly, so as not to disturb the quietude of the moment, JJ began
to sing.

Chapter 17

Maximillian hurled the poker at the closing
door and then swore at the gouge it left behind. He went to the
small, well stocked bar in the corner of his home office and poured
himself a drink.

The Chief Constable had just left after
giving his report on the latest death. As if the Director needed to
hear it. He knew who the young woman was. He’d chosen her name at
random from a short list of those with brothers who bore the red
tear of a potential Guardian. It made him sick that he had been
forced to choose, but what could he do?

What began as a simple plan to replace the
Guardians with a force under his control had escalated into a
nightmare. If it was left to him, they would have continued on with
his original plan to destroy Lord Canaan through financial ruin and
the censure of the Ruling Council. With the Nonveniae involved,
however, the decision was no longer his. Salvador ad Primus, a man
Maximillian had always considered a friend and confidant made that
abundantly clear.

He and Salvador met socially, years ago, and
found they had much in common. They both believed in the
superiority of the Race over humans and shared a disappointment
with the Ruling Council’s satisfaction in the status quo. Salvador
introduced him to an organization that felt the same way. They
called themselves the Nonveniae.

They lured the young Maximillian in with
promises of wealth and power. They had connections everywhere and
were as good as their word. They kept in touch, out of friendly
concern, and if they asked him now and again to use his growing
influence on behalf of another member, what of it? These were
like-minded people who saw the unfairness of taking a backseat to
humans in the running of the world.

It was the same with the money he
occasionally funneled here or there on the Nonveniae’s behalf. It
wasn’t strictly legal, but no one was hurt except those who could
afford it. He was extremely careful and occasional losses in the
market were expected by those who invested heavily. He suffered
some losses himself, though the profits from his dealings on behalf
of the Nonveniae more than made up for them.

Maximillian’s most recent contributions to
the cause came from Canaan ad Simeon’s House of Guardians;
donations that would never be questioned or missed from a source
that was a past enemy of the Nonveniae. It served both his personal
needs and the needs of the cause and he took pleasure in the
knowledge that the Guardians were funding the very organization
that would someday replace them.

Everything had gone smoothly for years until,
on a strictly social visit, Maximillian mentioned the research
being done in the Sanctuary’s labs. Salvador’s suggestion that they
use that research to develop a security force under the Sanctuary’s
control seemed the ideal solution to the problems caused by the
area’s House of Guardians. Being in the security business himself,
Captain ad Primus’ further suggestion of being placed in charge of
the project made perfect sense.

Now, Maximillian had no choice but to do as
he was told. The very people who had engineered his success now had
the power to destroy him. And none of it was his fault. None of
this would have happened if that damned House had continued to play
by the Council’s time honored rules.

Yes, this was Canaan ad Simeon’s fault, pure
and simple. The Lord Guardian was an affront to the traditions and
decency of all Paenitentia everywhere. He’d spit in the face of the
Council’s authority by ignoring their edicts. He’d defied the
traditions of a thousand years by going his own way. He’d kept his
friend and mentor alive after being turned even though the man was
already old and well past his usefulness. He’d invited a Daughter
of Man, no better than a harlot, into his bed and into his House.
Adding insult to injury, he’d not only mated the bitch, but allowed
her to bring in others like her.

He recruited new members without thought or
purpose; an arrogant European gigolo without family or name who’d
brought additional shame to the Race by mating with another
Daughter; the son of an international banker, said banker being
adamantly opposed to his heir joining the ranks and let’s not
forget his twin nephews who had not yet undergone their initiation,
but who nevertheless came part and parcel with the House. They were
proof positive of all the negatives nepotism entailed.

Yes, they were a bad lot, but the most
insidious of the band was the one who used his computer cartoons to
corrupt the youth of Moonlight Sanctuary. They were captivated by
these games and considered the heroes of these fictions as gods.
Why, he’d seen younglings of nine playing at being Guardians of the
Race when they should have been attending to their more practical
studies. It was reported that some of the older ones were actually
drawing a tiny teardrop on their chests with red pen in mimicry of
the real marking.

Even the young females were caught wide-eyed
in the snare. They oohed and aahed and cooed over some misguided
romanticized images of some over-muscled barbarians. And just look
at where it all led; young people flocking to the city in search of
music halls and discos and whatever other inappropriate venues they
could find.

Maximillian laid the blame for this current
situation squarely on the shoulders of Bernardo ad Tormeo,
Guardian, computer geek and corrupter of youth.

It wasn’t as if the blemish of their betrayal
was confined solely to their House. Oh no, the stain had seeped
into his domain as well. As Director of Moonlight Sanctuary, the
largest gathering of members in the area, he was not only
responsible for those within its confines but those without as
well. This whole district fell under the auspices of his office and
what would it look like to those above him if he couldn’t keep a
simple House of Guardians under control.

He knew how these things worked. Blame would
be applied to the easiest target regardless of innocence or guilt.
He could almost feel the concentric circles growing on his back.
Canaan ad Simeon and his band of corrupt mercenaries must be
brought down.

Callista, his betrothed, wanted the Liege
Lord disgraced for whatever petty offence the Guardian had
committed against her. Maximillian wanted the man and his House
destroyed.

*****

Nardo sat on the edge of the long leather
sofa with his knees braced on the metal and glass coffee table. His
elbows rested on his knees and his fingers gripped the sides of his
head. He snarled in frustration, felt his face grow hard and his
fangs descend and he snarled again. He couldn’t control his fucking
rage any more that he could control the nightmare that had struck
their city and their House. He couldn’t get the picture of the dead
girl’s face out of his mind.

They found her exactly where Canaan said they
would with three young men huddled at the mouth of the alley
smoking and trying to look brave. Her brother was a few feet in,
crumpled in a heap of misery at her side. Nico pulled him away,
wrapped his arm around the young man’s shoulders and led him back
to his friends who were given strict orders to keep him there until
someone from the Sanctuary arrived.

Her lips had pulled back into a grimace like
some macabre smile, her mouth coated with blood as if some over
ardent lover had smeared her lipstick with his kiss. A matching
slash of red lined her throat where vicious fangs had ripped out
the jugular. At first glance, it appeared she’d been drained, but a
closer inspection revealed the blood pooling beneath her, soaking
into her padded winter coat and leaching into the fur collar and
cuffs so that her white coat was trimmed in red. The remainder was
absorbed by her sweater, torn open from neck to hem, and her long
wool skirt. It had been yanked to her waist to expose what was left
of her tiny pink panties and torn tights. Someone, probably the
brother, had tried to cover the evidence without success. The poor
child had been raped.

She was, as Canaan’s call had claimed, a
Paenitentia and she couldn’t have been more than eighteen years
old. As near as they could determine, she’d been angry when her
older brother refused to take her with him to a party and had
somehow followed him, though how she got this far away from
Moonlight Sanctuary without transportation was still a mystery.