Iron and Blood (16 page)

Renate returned to the table, and poured a few ounces of bright green liquor into the reservoir glasses, and then placed the silver absinthe spoon over the top of each glass. She arranged a sugar cube in the center of each spoon, and let the crystal decanter drizzle the ice water over the sugar cube and into the absinthe. When the chilled water mingled with the bright green liquor, it created a milky louche. Renate spoke words Nicki did not quite catch over the mixture, and the liquid took on a faint, green glow as if it were filled with trapped fireflies. Then Renate removed the spoons and sugar cubes and gave Nicki her drink.

Renate seated herself on the couch and Nicki sat beside her. They sat in silence as they sipped their drinks, and when they were finished, Renate took Nicki’s hand.

“What if Priscilla—”

“Priscilla is familiar with my visions,” Renate replied. “She won’t interfere.”

Nicki was accustomed to the anise taste of absinthe. It was a potent drink, and the wormwood that was part of its distillation added a growing otherworldliness to her perception, as if everything had taken on a faint glow. So far, it was nothing beyond what she had felt on many a night out on the town with her bohemian friends back in Paris.

Nicki closed her eyes and leaned back, focusing her attention inward. She felt a tug, and it was as though she had been pulled through a curtained doorway into a place that existed somewhere very different from their cozy parlor.

In this in-between place, Nicki felt Renate’s presence, and everything came into focus. Nicki hung back as Renate stepped away. The space around them was black, depthless. “Show me,” Renate said, spreading her arms wide and letting her head fall back.

Images began to swirl around them. It felt to Nicki like being in the center of a zoetrope, surrounded by spinning, flickering images. The scenes blurred, although Nicki caught glimpses now and again that made sense. Thomas Desmet, writing in a leather-bound book, seated at his desk, appeared and then faded. In its place, a hazy image of a man dressed in a
ż
upan
and
delia
with a fur-trimmed hat and riding boots came into focus. The garb was old, perhaps medieval, Nicki thought, and Slavic… maybe Russian? This man had coal-black hair and bushy eyebrows over dark, piercing eyes and a carefully trimmed beard and moustache. In his arms, he cradled an elaborately-bound leather book. The man was partly turned away from them, as if hiding what he carried, but then he turned to face Renate, and his gaze met hers, as if to convey a warning.

The image blurred and faded. Another man appeared, dressed in present-day clothing. His dark hair was a little longer than the modern style, and his black eyes were haunted. He looked to Renate beseechingly and reached out a hand as if he wanted her to draw him from the abyss. Mist swirled around him, and the image vanished.

The darkness grew cold, and for the first time, Nicki felt dread. The air was heavy with the smell of moss and freshly turned dirt, and beneath the loam was the scent of decay. Red eyes peered through the darkness, and Nicki caught her breath and took a step back. A horrible screech filled the air.

The eyes grew closer, bright with the hunt. Nicki could make out a form in the gloom, the faint outline of a bent old woman in a long dress with a scarf tied over her head. The eyes seemed to bore into Nicki’s soul, and a wave of overwhelming despair welled up from somewhere inside. Grief, for Thomas’s death. Sadness for a host of disappointments. So much sorrow…

“Enough!” Renate’s voice drowned out the monster’s screech. She stood between Nicki and the red-eyed shadow, holding up what looked like a polished stone with a hole in the middle. “You have no power here!”

The screech became a howl of rage. The red eyes fixed on Renate, and the shadow surged forward.

“
Zostac
!” Renate shouted, and the red eyes narrowed, but the shadow came no closer. She shouted a longer command in a language Nicki did not recognize, and the shadow-thing drew back.

Renate took a step back. “Hold on,” she said, never taking her gaze off the red eyes.

Nicki tightened her hold on Renate’s hand. The darkness swirled like a cyclone, and for a moment, Renate and Nicki stood at the center of a powerful storm. Then, nothing.

Nicki’s eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring at the ceiling in Renate’s parlor. She pressed her palms against the brocade couch to assure herself that she was back safely. The sofa was reassuringly solid, and Nicki relaxed with a sharp exhale. “What was that nightmare thing?”

“The Night Hag,” Renate replied. “
Nocnitsa
, the Poles call her. And unfortunately, she’s not a nightmare. She’s real.” Renate rose from the couch and rang the bell pull. “Priscilla will bring us some more tea. I think we could both use some.”

“That’s the last time I drink absinthe,” Nicki said.

Renate chuckled. “I told you: unless you drink it with me, it’s just another cocktail. I’d hate to put a crimp in your social life.”

Priscilla brought them a steaming pot of tea and two porcelain cups, along with cream, sugar and a plate of sandwiches. Renate watched as Nicki put a few extra cubes into her tea and took two of the small sandwiches.

“You feel drained,” Renate observed.

Nicki gulped her tea and nodded. “I’m so hungry, I think I could eat all these sandwiches and ask for seconds!”

Renate nodded. “That’s what the Night Hag does. She drains your life, your energy, and ultimately, your blood. She’s the worst sort of vampire, a being that exists only to kill.”

“I thought Andreas…”

Renate’s eyes flashed. “Andreas is an immortal, but he is not anything like the Night Hag. Yes, he is a vampire. But he has a mind, and he chooses how to use his power.”

Nicki held up a hand. “Please, I meant no offense.” Nicki paused. “Those men I saw—did you see them too?”

Renate nodded. “One dressed like a Cossack, and the other man?” Nicki nodded. “From the clothing, I would say the first was Polish or Russian. The clothing looks like paintings I’ve seen from the 1600s. As for the other man, I know him. Karl Jasinski. He’s one of us.”

“A vampire?”

Renate laughed. “No… but he is a witch, and one of our coven.”

Nicki leaned forward. “Jake gave me a list of names, some from the most recent shipments Brand and Desmet handled, others from a paper he found in Uncle Thomas’s desk. Karl Jasinski’s name was on that list. So was that word you called the Night Hag—
Nocnitsa
.” She pulled the copy from her purse and showed it to Renate.

“That’s interesting,” Renate said. “I recognize some of these names. They’re either witches, like Jasinski, or connected to the practice in some way.” She frowned, thinking. “Do you know what Jasinski shipped? And when?”

Nicki shook her head. “Rick and George are going to go over the records after the funeral. Do you know where we can find Jasinski?”

“They call him the Witch of Pulawski Way,” Renate replied. “At least, that’s where he has his shop.” She frowned, concerned. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him around lately.”

“Maybe he realizes things have gotten dangerous,” Nicki said. “Does he have family in the area? There are bound to be plenty of Jasinskis in New Pittsburgh.”

Renate smiled. “That’s his ‘practice’ name, not his real name. Jasinski means ‘one who works with ash trees’. The ash is a sacred, magical tree.”

“Oh,” Nicki said. “Then what’s his real name?”

Renate shook her head. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t expect to know. Names have power. It’s not wise to tell people outside your most intimate circle your true name. Knowing your true name gives a person power over you.”

Nicki met her gaze. “So I’m guessing that Thalberg isn’t your true name, or Andreas’s either.”

“You would be correct.”

“Why did we see Uncle Thomas in the vision?” Nicki asked.

Renate looked thoughtful. “I don’t know, but it’s likely that the images have some relationship to each other. If we figure out the connection, it might tell us who killed Thomas—and why they’re still after Jake and Rick.”

After a little light conversation and profuse thanks, Renate began to walk Nicki out when a persistent knocking came at the front door. Renate closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, she looked uneasy.

“Wait in here,” she said to Nicki, steering her into a parlor. “Don’t make any noise, and don’t come out until I get you.” With that, she shut the door just as Nicki saw Priscilla bustling up from the entrance to the house.

“Ma’am, there’s a man here to see you, and he refuses to go away.” Priscilla’s voice carried.

Nicki pressed her ear against the door. She heard Renate’s footsteps, then the door opening. “You aren’t welcome here,” Renate greeted the newcomer icily.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” It was clear from the stranger’s mocking tone that he did not expect an invitation. “I came to do you the courtesy of delivering a message from Mr. Veles.” His voice had a heavy Eastern European accent.

“Nothing from your master comes into this house until it’s been cleansed,” Renate said, distaste clear in her voice. “Put it on the step. I’ll deal with it.”

“As you wish.” The man’s tone held a note of dark amusement that made Nicki grit her teeth.

“Now I’d like to return the favor and give you a message for your master,” Renate continued. “Tell him that if he was involved in Thomas Desmet’s death, there will be a reckoning.”

Harsh laughter sounded. “You and Andreas have always thought so highly of yourselves. Perhaps you will be shown how mistaken you are.”

The door slammed shut. Nicki moved quickly to the window, hoping to gain a glimpse of the stranger. He was a short, stooped man with dark hair. The messenger stopped, as if he knew he was being watched, and turned, looking directly to where Nicki stood concealed behind the curtain. An unpleasant smile touched his lips before he walked briskly toward the carriage waiting at the curb.

Nicki barely got back to her spot near the door before Renate opened it and motioned for Nicki to follow her back to the sitting room. “You should wait here for a while, to make sure he’s really gone,” she cautioned, ringing Priscilla for more tea.

“Who was that?” Nicki asked.

“One of Drogo Veles’s lackeys,” Renate replied uneasily. “Anytime Veles or his people show up, it means trouble. He’s a dark witch, and he’s got no compunctions about who gets hurt when he wants something.”

“Do you really think he was involved in Uncle Thomas’s murder?” Nicki asked, giving a nervous glance toward the window.

“Andreas does,” Renate replied. “Or at least, Andreas believes Veles’s magic had something to do with it. But the question is: why?”

“What message did he send you?” Nicki asked, curiosity trumping good manners.

Renate removed a sealed parchment from her pocket. “I made certain to check it for magical traps and cleanse it before I brought it into the house.” The wax seal had been snapped, but the paper was still folded.

“Was it dangerous?” Nicki leaned forward to peer at the message as if it might spring up and bite her.

“Anything from Veles carries a taint,” Renate said with a sniff. “He’s not to be trusted. Fortunately, the message wasn’t cursed, but it’s best not to take chances. That’s why I used magic to break the seal outside the house wardings, and I contained the energies.” She smiled. “The front step is spelled to work as a holding area, if need be. Makes it handy to defuse things like this.”

“Open it!” Nicki insisted, anxious to see what was inside.

Renate raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, Nicki! You did hear about that unfortunately curious cat, didn’t you?”

“Piffle. I’m not worried. Now hurry up!”

Chuckling at Nicki’s interest, Renate unfolded the parchment. Despite the fact that Renate had used her considerable magic to deactivate any dangerous sorcery, Nicki still drew back in her seat as the paper crackled open.

Anger flashed in Renate’s eyes as she read the message. “‘Mind your business, and you won’t get hurt.’” With a curse, she balled up the paper; when she opened her hand, the parchment had turned to ashes.

“The nerve of that man!” Renate exclaimed. “What an arrogant ass! He’s no older in the craft than Andreas, and rumor has it he’s a pretender to the titles he claims. It’s a good thing Drogo Veles didn’t deliver this in person. I’d have been tempted to shrivel his… ego.”

At that, Nicki nearly snorted her tea. But there was nothing funny about the threat, or about Veles himself. “He has to mean the matter of Uncle Thomas’s death. Unless you have other business with him?”

Renate shook her head. “We go out of our way not to have any ‘business’ with Drogo Veles whatsoever. And I strongly doubt Karl Jasinski did, either—not willingly, anyhow.”

“Do you think he’s a threat to Jake and Aunt Catherine?”

Renate set her cup aside, dusted off the ashes from her hand into the saucer, and let out a long breath.

“Frankly? Yes, I do. Veles is ruthless, and he’s used to getting what he wants. Most people in the magical community go well out of their way to avoid crossing him. Andreas is one of the few who could probably duel him and win—if Veles didn’t cheat, which is unlikely.” Renate’s tone had an edge of bitterness. “There are stories about how he’s eliminated enemies. They might have been exaggerated, but I doubt it. He’s very dangerous.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Nicki asked, raising her chin.

“We?”

Nicki gave her a look of pure stubbornness. “Yes. We. I’ve been chased and shot at, nearly blown out of the sky. And Thomas was my favorite uncle.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve been known to harbor a grudge. Bad habit, but I’m not giving it up now.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Renate chuckled. “I admire your courage. But please, leave Veles up to Andreas and me. I think Jake and Rick will need your help with the other, mortal, conspirators.”

“I’m very good at research,” Nicki countered. “And spying. Jake and Rick don’t need me all the time.”

Renate shook her head. “I’m serious, Nicki. Veles is a very dangerous witch. Other witches, even powerful ones, fear him. It’s going to take a witch of Andreas’s caliber to challenge him, and even then, Andreas will need to be careful. Please, let us handle him.”