Victoria Nelson - Blood Lines Part 17

"Is it because of how you feel about Mike?"

"Celluci?" Vicki snorted. "Don't be a fool. Mike Celluci is my best friend and, yes, I love him. But I don't love him and I don'tlove you."

"Don't you? Not either of us? Or both of us?"

Both of them...?

"I'm not asking you to choose, Vicki. I'm not even asking you to admit the way you feel." Henry stood and twitched the cloak back over his shoulders. "I just thought you should know that I love you."

It almost hurt to breathe, everything felt so tight. "I know. I've known since last Thursday. Here." She touched herself lightly on the chest. "You gave yourself to me completely, with no strings. If that's not love, it's a d.a.m.ned close approximation." She got to her feet, moved a careful distance away, then turned to face him. "I can't do that. I come with too many strings. If I cut them all, I'll-I'll fall apart."

He spread his hands. "I'm not demanding a commitment. I just wanted to tell you while I could."

"You have an eternity, Henry."

"The dream of the sun..."

"You told me you've almost gotten used to it." If the effects had gotten stronger and he hadn't told her, she was going to wring his neck.

"I'm sure Damocles got used to the sword, but it's still only a matter of time."

"Time! Jesus Christ, look at the time! That party started half an hour ago. We'd better get moving." Vicki grabbed up her bag and headed for the door.

Henry arrived long before she did, teetering between anger and amus.e.m.e.nt at her sudden change of subject as he blocked the exit with a swirl of satin. "We?"

"Yeah, we. I'll be waiting in the car as backup."

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I will. Get out of the way."

"Vicki, in case you've forgotten, it's dark out there and you can't see anything." "So?" Her brows drew down and her tone grew heated. "I can hear. I can smell. I can sit in the f.u.c.king car for hours and not do anything. But I'm coming with you. You are not trained in this sort of thing."

"I am nottrained in this sort of thing?" Henry repeated slowly. "For hundreds of years I have fit myself into society, been the unseen hunter in their midst." As he spoke, he allowed the civilized mask to slip.

"And youdare to tell me I am not trained in this sort of thing."

Vicki wet her lips, unable to look away, unable to move away. She thought she'd become used to what Henry was; she realized, now, she seldom saw it. A trickle of sweat ran down her side and she suddenly, desperately, had to go to the bathroom.Right. Vampire . I keep forgetting. Half of her mind wanted to run like h.e.l.l and the other half wanted to kick his feet out from under him and beat him to the floor.Oh, for Chrissakes, Vicki, get your G.o.dd.a.m.ned hormones under control .

"All right," her voice shook only a little, "you've had more training than I could ever hope to have. Your point. But I 'm still going to go with you and wait in the car." She managed to raise a cautionary hand as he opened his mouth. "Anddon't tell me it's too dangerous," she warned. "I won't face anything tonight that's more dangerous than what I'm facing right now."

Henry blinked, then started to laugh. After four hundred and fifty years, he could recognize when he'd been outmaneuvered.

"This is good. This is very good." He looked out into the room filled with powerful men and women and in his mind's eyes saw them bowing before the altar of Akhekh, giving their power and those it commanded into the hands of his G.o.d.

George Zottie bowed his head, pleased that his master was pleased.

"I will move amongst them for a time. You may introduce me as you see fit. Later, when they hold thoughts of me and I can touch their ka, you will bring them to the room I have prepared, so I may speak with them one at a time."

Henry had no need to use any persuasion to get into the Solicitor General's large house on Summerside Drive nor did he expect to have to use much to stay. Arrival at this type of party implied the right to attend. He nodded at the young man who opened the door and swept past him toward the greatest concentration of sound. Servants did not require an explanation, something modern society tended to forget.

The huge formal living,'dining room had been decorated in subdued Halloween. Black and orange candles glowed in a pair of antique silver candelabra, the table had been covered by a brilliant orange cloth, the flowers both in vases and in the large centerpiece were black roses and the wine gla.s.ses were black crystal-Henry a.s.sumed the wine had not been colored orange. Even the waiters, who moved gracefully among the crowd with trays of canapes or drinks, wore orange and black plaid c.u.mmerbunds and ties.

He took a gla.s.s of mineral water, smiled in a way that set the server's pulse pounding, and moved further into the room. Many of the women wore floor-length gowns from a variety of periods and just for an instant he saw his father's court at Windsor, the palace of the Sun King at Versailles, the Prince Regent's ballroom in Brighton. Smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the front of his jacket, he wondered if perhaps he shouldn't have taken the opportunity to indulge in the peac.o.c.k colors this age normally denied to men. The costumes on the men ranged from flamboyant to minor variations on street wear-unless the brown tweed suit stood for something or someone Henry didn't recognize. Two additional vampires glared at each other across the broad shoulders of a Keystone Cop. Having joined their various police departments before the height requirements had been relaxed, all the police present were large, usually tall and burly both. A couple, after years of patrolling a desk, had added an insulating layer of fat. The politicians scattered throughout the crowd were easily spotted by their lack of functional bulk.

Henry was not only the shortest man in the room, by some inches, but he also appeared to be the youngest. Neither mattered. These were people who recognized power, height and age came a distant second.

"h.e.l.lo, I'm Sue Zottie."

The Solicitor General's wife was a tiny woman with luminous dark eyes, and a coil of chestnut hair piled regally upon her head. Her dark green velvet Tudor gown added majesty to what had been labeled more than once in society pages as a quiet beauty. Instinct took over and Henry raised the offered hand to his lips. She didn't seem to mind.

"Henry Fitzroy."

"Have-have we met before?"

He smiled and her breathing grew a little ragged. "No, we haven't."

"Oh." She meant to ask him what police force he was with or if, perhaps, he was a junior member of her husband's staff, but the questions got lost in his eyes. "George is in the library with Mr. Tawfik, if you need to speak with him. The two of them have been in there for most of the evening."

"Thank you."

She'd never felt quite so completely thanked before and walked away wondering why George had never invited that lovely young man over for dinner.

Henry took a sip of his mineral water. Tawfik. His quarry, it seemed, was in the library.

It was cold in the car with the window open, but sightless, Vicki couldn't afford to block off her other senses. The wind smelled of woodsmoke and decaying leaves and expensive perfume-she supposed the latter was endemic to the neighborhood-and brought her the noise of distant traffic; a door, fairly close, opening and closing; a phone, either very close or beside an open window, demanding to be answered; a late trick-or-treater imploring his mother to cover just one more block. Two teenaged girls, too old for candy, reviewed the day as they walked down the other side of the street. As her eyes got steadily worse, her hearing seemed to be getting better-or maybe she just had to pay more attention to what she heard.

Vicki had no doubt that based on sound alone, she'd be able to pick these girls out of a lineup. One pair of flats, one pair of heels; the soft shirk, shirk of polyester sleeves rubbing against the body of a polyester jacket; the almost musical chime of tiny, metal bangles, chiming in counterpoint so they each must be wearing a set. One sounded as if she had a mouth full of gum, the other as if she had a mouth full of braces. "... and like she was just pressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s up against him."

"You mean she was pressing her padding up against him."

"No!"

"Uh-huh, and then she has the nerve to say she really lovesBradley ..."

And what do you children know about love? Vicki wondered, as they moved out of earshot.Henry Fitzroy, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of Henry VIII, the Duke of Richmond, says he loves me. What do you think of that ? She sighed.What do I think of that ?

She dragged her fingernail against the vents in the dashboard of the BMW, then sighed again.Okay, so he's afraid of dying, I can understand that. When you've lived in darkness for over four hundred years and then start dreaming about daylight ... A sudden thought struck her.Jesus, maybe he's afraid of dying tonight. Maybe he thinks he can't deal with the mummy . She fumbled for the door handle but stopped herself before she actually got the door open.Don't be ridiculous, Vicki. He's a vampire, a predator, a proven survivor. A friend. And he loves me .

And I'm going to drag up that G.o.dd.a.m.ned non sequitur every G.o.dd.a.m.ned time I think about him from now on. She raised her eyes to the heavens she couldn't see. First Celluci and his wanting to have a "talk" and now Henry and his declarations. It isn't enough we have a mummy rampaging around the city? Do I need this?

It's just like a man to want to complicate a perfectly good relationship.

Sliding down on the leather seat until her head was even with the lower edge of the window, she closed her eyes and settled down to wait. But only because there wasn't anything else she could do.

With the lights in the hall turned down to a dim orange glow-extending the Halloween motif out of the actual party area-the curve of the stairs threw a pool of deep shadow just outside the library door.

Shrouded by the pocket of darkness, Henry wrapped himself in his cloak and leaned back against the raw silk wallpaper to consider his next move.

According to Sue Zottie, the Solicitor General and Mr. Tawfik were in the library-but he could sense three lives on the other side of the wall and there was nothing to suggest that any of the three had just broken free after millennia of confinement. All three hearts beat to the same rhythm and...

No. To anidentical rhythm.

The hair rose on the back of Henry's neck as he pressed himself farther away from the light. Hearts did not beat so completely in sync by accident. He had, in fact, heard it happen only once before, in 1537 when, faint and dizzy with loss of blood, he had pressed his mouth to the wound in Christina's breast and drunk, conscious of nothing save the heat of her touch and the painful throbbing of his heart in time with hers.

What was happening in that room?

For the first time, Henry felt a faint unease at the thought of actually facing the creature who had been so long entombed. The time of change had been the most powerful, all encompa.s.sing experience in his life, not only in the seventeen years before but in the four hundred and fifty-three years since, and if themummy could call that kind of power to its control...

"You think you're up to this wizard-priest?" Celluci had asked.

His answer had been scornful. "I am not without resources."

He had defeated wizards in the past, relying on strength and speed and force of will, but they had followed rules he recognized and had not come with their own dark G.o.d.

"You think you're up to this wizard-priest?"

The voice of memory had grown sarcastic and Henry's brows drew down. He certainly wasn't going to give Celluci the pleasure of seeing him give up without a fight.

The three hearts paused, then two began again in tandem and one beat to a rhythm all its own.

He had to get into that library. Perhaps through the gardens...

Then the single heartbeat approached the door and Henry froze. The k.n.o.b turned, the door opened, and a woman with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair stepped out into the hall. Henry recognized the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Ontario from a recent newspaper photograph although the picture had not managed to capture either her very obvious self-a.s.surance or her sense of humor. The cavalier costume she wore suited both.

As Henry watched, she brushed the feather in her hat against the floor in a credible bow and said, "You'll have my complete support in this, George. Mr. Tawfik. I'll see you both at the ceremony and I'll tell Inspector Cantree you want to see him now." Then, grinning, she replaced the hat and headed down the hall toward the party. She didn't appear to be enchanted.

There were now only two heartbeats sounding in the library-Tawfik's and the Solicitor General's-and they sounded as one. Through the open door, Henry heard a low voice ask thoughtfully, "And what is Inspector Frank Can-tree like?"

"He won't be easy to convince."

"Good. We prefer, my lord and I, to work with the strong; they last longer."

"Cantree believes that independence yields greater results than conformity."

"Does he now."

"They say he's incorruptible."

"That in itself can be used."

Used for what? Henry wondered. There was something in the tone that reminded Henry of his father.

He didn't find that at all comforting. His father had been a cruel and Machiavellian prince who could play tennis with a courtier in the morning and have him executed for treason before sunset. Still motionless, he frowned as he watched a large man in a pirate costume walk down the hall on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, carrying himself as though he were perpetually ready for a fight, his expression just to one side of suspicious. Bearing and att.i.tude both said "Cop" so strongly that Henry doubted the man had ever beenof any use undercover.

The newcomer paused in the doorway, one beefy hand dropping to the pommel of the plastic cutla.s.s that hung at his hip. Instinct seemed to be warning him of a threat within the room and his tone was carefully, aggressively neutral. "Mr. Zottie? You wanted to speak with me?"

"Ah, Inspector Cantree. Please, come in."

As Cantree stepped over the threshold, Henry raced forward, letting the heavy folds of the cape slip from his shoulders to the floor. Over short distances, he could move almost fester than mortal eyes could register but not while dragging meters of fabric behind him. Sliding between the burly Inspector and the door, he sped shadow silent into the room, along a book-covered wall, and behind a floor-to-ceiling barrier of heavy curtain.

Convenient, he thought, his back pressed against gla.s.s, his feet turned to either side so as not to protrude, his entire body motionless again. Over the sound of three heartbeats, he heard the door close, the hardwood floor contract beneath the Inspector's weight, but no hue and cry. His entry had gone unnoticed.

He felt something. It brushed against his ka with all the innocent strength of a desert storm, almost dragging him from the light trance he'd been maintaining for most of the evening. Before he could begin to react, the barrier wards, set up more from old habit than perceived necessity, diverted the touch and only by lowering them could he hope to find it again.

For an instant, he weighed what he did tonight against such tantalizing potential and, regretfully, left the wards in place. His lord perceived this evening as the initial gathering of a core of acolytes-which it was, in addition to an initial gathering of a more secular power-and his lord would not look kindly upon personal indulgences during such a time.

The touch had been undirected, accidental, therefore it would have to wait.

But the glorious memory of it lingered in the back of his mind and he vowed it would not have to wait long.

"Inspector Frank Cantree, Mr. Anwar Tawfik."

Henry slid the curtains apart a centimeter, movement masked by the quiet sound of flesh touching flesh.

"Please take a seat, Inspector. Mr. Tawfik has a proposal that I think you'll find very interesting."

He watched the Inspector lower himself onto an expensive leather sofa and saw Solicitor General Zottie move across the room to stand beside a wing chair, its high back barely a meter from his hiding place, completely hiding Anwar Tawfik from Henry's line of sight.

This is beginning to feel like some cheap horror movie, Henry mused,where the creature rises out of the chair to face the camera at the end of the scene. I guess I wait for my cue . He'd make his move after Cantree left the room and before another high ranking official took the Inspector's place.

Zottie was merely mortal and could be quickly dealt with. As for the mummy-if Tawfik was the mummy-it had proven itself to be a taker of innocent lives. Henry didn't particularly care what its reasons were. The time for it to die was millennia past. From where he stood, he could see Cantree's gaze flicking constantly over the room, observing, noting, remembering. It was apparently a habit all police officers acquired, for Henry had seen both Vicki and Celluci perform variations on the theme.

Then Tawfik began to talk, his voice low and intense. To Henry it sounded like law and order generalities, but obviously Cantree heard something more. The movement of his gaze began to slow until it locked on the man-on the creature-in the chair. Certain words began to be repeated and after each the Inspector nodded and his expression grew blank. A rivulet of sweat-the library was at least ten degrees warmer than the rest of the house-ran unnoticed down his face.

Unease danced icy fingers along Henry's spine as Tawfik's cadence grew more and more hypnotic and the key words occurred more and more frequently. It was magic, Henry could sense that, however much it looked like something less arcane, but magic completely outside his understanding. A working for good or evil he could have sensed, but this was neither. It just was.

When all three hearts beat to an identical rhythm, Tawfik paused, then said, "His ka is open.

"Frank Cantree. Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"From this moment on, your primary concern is to obey me. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"You will protect my interests above all else. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"You will protect me. Do you understand?"

"Yes." But this time after the single syllable of a.s.sent, Cantree's mouth continued to work.

"What is it?"

Although independent movement should have been impossible under the conditions of the spell, Cantree's lips curled slightly as he answered. "There is someone standing behind the curtains behind your chair."