To Curse the Darkness (12 page)

Chapter Nine

San Francisco

Julie's hopes for a quiet conversation with her brother were dashed when she arrived at the warehouse to find a party in full swing. She glanced around the crowded space, surprised by how changed the place seemed. She was wondering how best to find Marc, when Nighthawk bounced up to greet her—rather like a large and exuberant puppy.

“Julie! Hi. I didn't expect to see
you
here tonight. Is everything all right? Did you want to eat? I can line something up for you if you're hungry.”

“No, thank you.” She couldn't help but notice that Nighthawk seemed different too. On her last visit here, he'd been cranky and rude. He'd tried to throw her out. Tonight, it was easier to see why Marc kept him around. He seemed almost endearing “I ate earlier. I'm just here to talk to Marc. Do you know where I can find him?”

“Marc?” Nighthawk's face fell. “No. I, uh, thought you knew? He's still out of town.”

“He's not here?” Julie couldn't hide her disappointment.

“Did you try his cell phone?” Nighthawk suggested helpfully. “I'm sure he has it with him.”

“I did try. He's got it turned off.” Not that she'd really wanted to talk to her brother on the phone anyway. She was sure everything would be fine, but just in case it wasn't, she felt she ought to let him know. And that was not the kind of last message you'd want to leave on anyone's voicemail.

“He turned his phone off?” Nighthawk said in alarm. “Shit, that's no good. How's anyone s'posed to get in touch with him?”

Julie shrugged. She was pretty sure Nighthawk wasn't thinking about her need to reach Marc anymore; he'd moved on to worrying about himself. “Look, maybe I can leave him a note? And then you can have him call me when he gets back?”

“Sure. You could do that. Just go on up to his office and— Wait. Hold up.” He waved at someone behind her. “Hey, Heather, c'mere a minute.”

Julie turned and watched as a young-looking girl approached them warily. “What's up?”

“You still have a key to the boss's office, don't you?”

“Yeah.” Heather's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So?”

“So this is Marc's sister. Julie.”

“I know who she is.” Heather studied Julie critically before adding, “I've seen you before.”

“Yeah, that's great,” Nighthawk said, butting in before Julie could fashion a response. “So listen, she wants to leave the boss a note, okay? Can you take her upstairs to his office and see that she gets everything she needs?”

Heather shrugged disinterestedly. “I guess.”

A few minutes later, Julie was struggling to put her thoughts on paper while Heather flitted about the room, fiddling with everything in sight.

“Are you always this restless?” Julie snapped at her.

Heather sighed. “Not usually. I just don't like it when Marc's away.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Julie nodded, recalling how hard it had been when she and Marc had been left on their own, after Conrad and Damian had returned to San Francisco without them. Those first few months had been really tough. She'd felt like a bird with nowhere to perch, desperate for the chance to settle somewhere and rest her wings, but unable to do so. The feeling sucked. “But, hey, at least you have the others, right? You have each other?” Having Marc to lean on had been the only thing that had gotten Julie through those days. She was pretty sure her brother had felt the same way about her.

“It's not the same.”

“No, I know. It really isn't. But at least it's something.” Julie sighed. She knew her brother was never moving back into the mansion. She'd known it for days. But talking to Heather really cinched it for her. They could never go back to the way they'd been, and that was still depressing as hell. “Does he go away often?”

Heather shrugged. “No. The only other time was when he went with you. But he's been gone for
days
this time. What if he doesn't come back…ever?”

“He'll be back,” Julie assured her. “That's one thing you should know about Marc. You can always count on him to be there for you if you need him.” Julie sighed a little as she thought about that. Maybe there was a message there for her, as well. Perhaps the fact that Marc wasn't here for her right now was a sign she really didn't need him after all? Maybe the universe was trying to tell her that it was time she learned to stand on her own two feet. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she picked up her pen and began to write.

* * * * *

Nighthawk was just coming off his lunch break when Heather approached him, wearing an unusually pensive expression. Immediately, he felt a roiling in his gut, one that had nothing to do with the quality of the meal he'd just consumed, or even the unsettling information about Marc's phone. Something was up, and it wasn't anything good.

“What's going on?” he asked cautiously.

Heather frowned. “Who's Georgia?” She sounded vaguely troubled—but not nearly as troubled as Nighthawk felt upon hearing that name.

“Okay, who the hell have you been talking to? Where'd you hear about her?” It was only a few days since his last run-in with the crazy
Invitus
chick. The memory of her fangs slicing into his flesh was still far too sickeningly vivid. If it hadn't been for Julie…

“I didn't talk to anyone. Her name's in the letter Julie wrote to Marc.”

“It is, huh?” The bad feeling in his gut increased exponentially. “And how would you know that?”

“Uh-uh. No way, dude. I asked you first. Who is she?”

“She's a very scary lady, okay? That's all you need to know. And you wanna stay real far away from her—got it? Now, quit stalling. How do you know what's in Julie's letter? Did she tell you what she wrote?”

“No, she didn't tell me anything. I opened it up and read it after she left.”

“Are you crazy?” Nighthawk glared. “Don't you know better than that? You don't read the boss's private mail. He is
not
gonna be happy when he finds out what you did.”

“Well, he's not gonna be happy anyway, is he?” Heather pulled a folded-up envelope out of the pocket of her jeans and thrust it at him. “Read it yourself if you don't believe me. I don't know what it's all about, exactly, but I know bad news when I read it. I think we oughta do something.”

Nighthawk stared at the envelope. “Crap. How bad is it?”

“Hella bad.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning that as soon as I read it, I tried giving Marc a call.”

“And? What did he say?”

Heather crossed her arms and stared at him defiantly. But it was just for show. Nighthawk could sense her nervousness. “Well?”

“He didn't say anything. He's got his phone turned off. Was he supposed to do that?”

“No, he sure as hell wasn't.” Nighthawk stared at the envelope, trying to decide what to do. Read the letter, don't read the letter—either way he was bound to be screwed. Muttering angrily, he pulled the letter out of the envelope, unfolded it and started to read. Right from the start he knew Heather had been correct. They were in big, big trouble.

Dear Marc,

First of all, don't freak out, okay? I'm sure everything will be just fine, but in case something goes wrong, I wanted to let you know what's been happening.

I guess it all started on that trip we took down the coast. I found out some stuff about our mom while we were away, and about us as well. I guess maybe I should have told you about it sooner, but I didn't think you'd believe me. Ironic, isn't it? Because according to Damian you already knew most of it anyway.

I brought back a picture. Get Conrad to show it to you if I'm not around. You also might want to talk to Linda—the woman at the gift shop. You know which one I'm talking about. She could probably tell you more about Mom than anyone. I didn't tell C&D where to find her—and don't you tell them either! As soon as the subject came up, they started acting all extra fangy. You know how they get sometimes.

Anyway, things have been a little crazy since you've been gone. Hawk can fill you in on most of that. Thanks for sending him to keep an eye on things, by the way. That was a good call. He really saved the day—and maybe my neck as well!

I understand better now why you felt you had to move out of the mansion. Your home is here now—I get that. I'm not saying I like it, but in case anything happens it's important to me that you know I understand. Oh, and don't blame Hawk if anything does happen. He did what you asked him to do, and he saved my butt once already. As far as he knows, everything's under control now and Conrad's gonna take care of everything from here on out. So whatever goes down, it's not on him. Okay?

Here's some of what Hawk knows: He knows that Georgia is sick with something called the blood plague. I don't know if you know what that is, but it's bad. He knows she tried to kill me because she thought I was sick with it too. Before you freak out about that, you should know that I'm okay. I'm not sick. Apparently that's one of the perks of being what we are—or at least that seems to be the case. And I guess I don't need to tell you that you need to destroy this letter when you're finished reading it since the whole “what we are” thing is still supposed to be a secret.

Here's the part Hawk doesn't know. I'm going to try to save Georgia. I know you're not going to like that idea, and it might not even work anyway, but I have to try. Conrad keeps saying he has to kill her—'cause there's no cure and it's hopeless, and all that stuff—but I can't let him do that. You'll have to talk to him if you want to know why that is. It's a long story and it's much too complicated to explain here.

I really wish I could have talked to you about all of this ahead of time, rather than having to tell you in a letter, but you're away and Georgia's running out of time…so it is what it is, I guess.

I don't even know why I'm bothering to write it all down. I'm sure everything will turn out fine. Probably by the time you read this, it'll all be over and I can tell you about it in person. But just in case things don't work out that way, I thought you should know. I love you, bro, and I hope you find your girl. Take care of yourself and I'll talk to you later.

Love, Julie

p.s. Speaking of talking to people, I still think you and Conrad need to sit down for a chat. Promise me you'll at least think about it, okay?

Chapter Ten

Domus Hera Noctis (the Dungeons of The Night Queen)

Early Tenth Century

“Who is that?” Lavinia asked, indicating the warrior standing in the center of the blood-soaked arena, howling in triumph and rage. As a rule, she didn't pay much attention to the majority of her slaves. She only chose the most promising to turn, but she knew better than to get too attached. Even the best of them didn't last very long. Once she'd given them life, she tended to lose interest. Newly fledged vampires were so weak, it was easy to forget about them unless they distinguished themselves in some fashion. This one, for example, had just piqued her interest.

She'd just finished watching him dispatch his third opponent—the third since she'd started watching, that is. He'd been bloodied when she arrived. It had been clear that he had already been fighting for some time at that point. Even now, however, he showed no signs of tiring. Very interesting indeed.

Her overseer consulted his records. “That would be Quintano, Your Majesty.”

“Quintano?” The name sparked a faint recollection, not totally pleasant or totally recent. “Ah, yes. Now I remember. A most tiresome creature. I thought he'd be dead by now. He's not still refusing to eat, is he?”

“No, Your Majesty. I understand he's been much more cooperative since his last beating. The guards report he's actually been quite eager of late, practically pouncing on his meals as soon as they're presented to him.”

“Excellent. You are all to be commended for your work with him. He may turn out to be an asset, after all.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Does Your Majesty wish him to be put back in his cell now, to preserve his strength?”

“Not at all. Why would I wish to coddle him? Let us see what he's capable of. Arm him with two swords this time, and set him against three opponents at once.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

As her servant scurried off to do her bidding, Lavinia lounged comfortably in her chair and watched as Quintano continued to prowl restlessly around the ring, hurling curses at the spectators and screaming for the guards to send in another opponent. “I may have found a new favorite,” she observed, smiling playfully at her companion. “That should concern you. For it may mean
your
days are numbered.”

“I'd be more concerned if this so-called favorite were less likely to die in the next ten minutes,” her current consort replied. He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Really, my sweet, it would be a lot easier for me to keep your army functioning at the level you desire if you didn't keep killing off anyone who shows the least potential. Do you even know if he can wield two swords at once? Not many can, you know. You have to be trained for it.”

Lavinia snatched her hand away. “I cannot imagine how you formed the idea that ‘making your job easier' was of any concern to me. Likewise, it matters
not
what yon creature can do. Lessons must be learned. Either he will meet my expectations, or he will die.” She was speaking not just of Quintano now. Her lover had overstepped his bounds. She had not given him permission to touch her—or to address her with so little respect. A lesson was in order there too.

In the arena, Quintano tested his weapons and sized up his opponents. Lavinia smiled at the cold expression on his face, the detachment in his gaze, the total lack of either fear or pity. “Besides, the uncertainty is what makes it so exciting.”

For the next few minutes the air was filled with all the delightful sounds of battle—the clang of steel on steel, grunts of exertion and cries of pain cut off midstream. Her only complaint with Quintano's performance was that he did not toy with his opponents or taunt them, but that was easy to forgive. The joy he so obviously took in killing them more than made up for it.

“Marvelous.” She sighed in approval. “How wonderfully vicious he is, don't you agree?”

Her lover shrugged in reluctant agreement. “He's vicious enough. But brutality is not everything in battle. His fighting style is crude. He lacks finesse.”

“Hmm. You may have a point.” She pretended to consider it for a moment. “Very well, you've convinced me. Go down there now and show us how it should be done.”

“Y-Your Majesty?” Her lover blanched. “I-I don't think I understood you. If you wish me to train him, to work with him, I'm sure I could help him improve his skills, but I—”

“No,” she interrupted, silencing him with a look. “You
don't
understand. I did not say I wished for you to train him; I said I wished for you to fight him. To the death, Captain. Now. It's not a request.” She clapped her hands and called for her guards. “Please escort the captain to the arena. And tell the weapons master I would like to see this battle conducted with maces. A crude weapon and one I too rarely see employed here. Also send my overseer to me. I would have a word with him.”

* * * * *

“You wished to see me, Your Majesty?” Lavinia's overseer inquired, re-entering her private box just as the battle began.

“Sit,” she ordered shortly. “And don't interrupt. I want to watch this.”

It quickly became apparent her former lover had been only partially correct in his assessment of Quintano's skills. He was undoubtedly crude and brutal, but he was not totally lacking in finesse after all. He dodged blows with exceptional grace and speed, and clearly knew how to use his adversary's momentum against him.

The one quality he did seem lacking in was mercy, but Lavinia hardly counted that as a flaw She watched with approval as he bludgeoned his opponent thoroughly, selectively targeting his arms, legs and ribs until he could neither stand nor fight. Once the man was down, Quintano stood over him and began to enthusiastically bash in his head.

He was still at it when Lavinia got to her feet. “Very well. I have seen enough,” she announced as she shook out her skirts.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” her overseer replied, eyeing her warily.

“I will obviously need to have a new captain of the guard appointed. We can't let the post stand empty. Do see if you can't pick someone with a little more intelligence this time around.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Her overseer nodded toward the arena. “And the other? Do you wish me to arrange another match for him?”

“I don't believe that will be necessary. He's seen enough combat for one night.” She cast another quick glance at Quintano and smiled. “Besides, he has cost me a lover. I don't think it fair that I should be made to suffer on that account. Have him bathed and dressed and brought to my bedchamber. I'm curious to see what else he's capable of.”