Blacker than Black (7 page)

He fiddles with the key, long fingers flipping it incessantly. Finally he extends the ring to me. “Two copies, one for each of you.”

“Why are you doing this?” I really want to know. Chi-thieves on display for the benefit of his distinguished guests? I can’t buy that, unless he’s that desperate to save face.

His yellow gaze widens, flicks over my features as if trying to read what I’m not saying. Then he relaxes and smiles away the question as he leans in toward me. “I have my reasons.”

When I frown, the vampire reaches out and propels me past him with a hand planted on my back. “A vague question permits a vague answer, wouldn’t you say?” He whispers in my ear from behind, his breath against my skin triggering a shudder.

I move away from him, his hand, and into the apartment. Infuriating vampire, playing with me like that. Never mind that his point is valid.

The living space offers Jhez a myriad of new points of focus for her cleaning . . . hobby . . . obsession. I don’t see her, so she must be off poking into corners. I drop my duffel next to the plate glass coffee table and explore the couch, sitting down in the center of the brown velvet creation and bouncing to test its pliancy.

Garthelle stands there watching me, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Do you find it acceptable?” His voice carries a thread of amusement. It tangles in my nerve endings, confusing, disorienting.

I stop bouncing, feeling a blush crawl up my neck. “It’s a nice place.” The couch isn’t as luxurious as the black one he has, which superimposes itself into my vision for a glitched moment, but it will tolerate our abuse well enough. I sit back, closing my eyes to focus on centering my chi. It’s the best way to ward off those . . . hallucinations. Energy-memories.

When the couch sinks down to my left, I drape my forearms over my face to avoid further distraction. Persistent vamp that he is, Garthelle won’t keep his eyes off me; I feel them, an intangible caress, trailing over me.

With an exasperated sigh, I lower my arms and sit up. “Don’t you have more pressing matters to occupy you?” A coup d’état to diffuse somewhere, perhaps? “When are your guests arriving?”

He angles toward me, draping an arm along the back of the couch. His hand is inches away, and the faint scent of incense floats across the narrowing distance between us. The memories send a thread of tension through me.

“They will begin arriving this evening. There was a slight shift in the itinerary, and I won’t be available to either of you as I intended. So I’m here now.”

“I see.” I don’t see. I don’t understand at all. My brain, feeding on the olfactory stimulation, is becoming increasingly muddled. Where’s Jhez? Surely the flat isn’t so large that it would take this long to choose a bedroom and toss her duffel on the floor. Hell, mine didn’t even make it that far.

Tension radiates from Garthelle, an assault crashing against my aura. He leans in toward me, fingers reaching up to rest on my chin. The pressure of his touch is insistent, forcing my gaze to meet his.

“I feel it too.” His voice is husky, strained, his brow furrowed. “If it’s any consolation, it’s ten times more difficult for me to fight against.” Yellow eyes dart frantically over my face. He must see, or sense, something of my suspicions or disbelief, because his mouth twists into a grimace. “You think I did this? You, the chi-thief. You’ve met your match, and you blame
me
for it?”

“I didn’t do this.” I can’t stand the accusation and recrimination in his tone. My voice is hoarse, but I’ve little idea why. Fear? Or that shot of lust, like liquor in my coffee? “Whatever I took from you, it didn’t cause this. Whatever this is.” I have no idea what’s going on. I feel trapped, unable to break away from his gaze. Strangely lacking in motivation. Lethargic. “I’ve been pulling that stunt for some time. I’m sure of my methods.” Yellow eyes widen yet again. That’s twice now I’ve caught him unprepared.
Never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to.
When he only continues to stare at me in silence, I gain a little backbone. “The only variable here is you.”

His attention drifts to my lips. I don’t know why he’s looking at my mouth, but just witnessing the diversion makes me shudder. Enough already. I jerk my chin from his hand and stare at the far wall, resisting the impulse to pay him any mind. Just because he’s elitist doesn’t mean I have to stand for it.

Jhez saves me. Her presence gives Garthelle something else to focus on, and he manages to regain a semblance of control.

“You two are going to receive a rather crude introduction to
lyche
society tomorrow evening.”

My sister perches on the arm of a lounge chair across the room and studies him. I can tell she’s not too impressed. “That’s our first assignment, then?”

He nods. “You’ll have a day to settle in. This evening is purely business.”

“How long is this entertainment of guests going to last?”

“A week at most.”

“After which we’ll be permitted to return home?”

“No.” Garthelle sighs with a note of what feels like exasperation. Watching him from the corner of my eye, I see him glance my way. He keeps his attention fixed on my twin, though. “It’s not so simple a matter as that. The duration of my need for your assistance will be partially determined by how much I can discover in the short time these individuals are in my residence.”

Oddly enough, I find myself trying to imagine a dozen or more vampires crammed into the—albeit substantive—living space in Garthelle’s flat. It’s such a cozy prospect. Not. Thirteen vampires, sitting in a circle, doped up on chi and looking like ventriloquist puppets. Marionettes of the morbid variety. Oh, the dances I could make them do. If I dared. A bark of laughter escapes me before I can even think to stop it.

They both stare at me. Jhez gives me the look she uses when she catches me ogling a random man on the street—a hybrid form of scandalized amusement. Garthelle just observes, unreadable.

 “What kind of information are you looking for?” I clear my throat and try to get serious. With him sitting next to me on the couch, it’s difficult. His proximity suffuses me with this strange sense of gratification. I feel lightheaded, unfocused. And weird. I don’t want to trust him, at least not until the hair he ripped out grows back.

“The political kind. The personal kind. Connections, however tenuous, between various individuals.” He shifts on the couch and I suddenly want nothing more than to get away from him. “It’s difficult for me to explain . . .”

He trails off as I stand up abruptly and relocate to the lounge chair Jhez is perched on. My sister drapes an arm around my shoulders and gives me a reassuring squeeze.

Garthelle clears his throat and continues. “. . . Precisely what is important, since both of you are wholly unfamiliar with the nature of
lyche
society.” His yellow gaze flicks over me, piercing, before settling safely back on Jhez. “Alliances take many forms. So do the demonstrations of relationships. For instance, only individuals who share a certain level of trust would deign to feed in close proximity. Mostly because of the vulnerability that comes with energy thrall. Sometimes that demonstration of trust is used as a means of forging a bond or alliance. It is akin to swearing an oath.”

“The strength of energy thrall varies depending on the level of feeding,” Jhez says, glancing down to share a look with me.

“So the less they feed in a given setting, the lower the level of implicit trust.” It makes sense that way, so hopefully I have it right. “Are we tracking properly?” Jhez and I turn to Garthelle expectantly, and he nods. “What else?”

“None of my guests will be traveling alone. They always have an entourage in tow. Lesser family relations, however distant. Their own collection of Nightwalkers as well. Observing with whom they share their resources is a good way to gauge the nature of their relationships. Sometimes lesser family members will be traded—gifted servitude for a predetermined period of time. Similar to apprenticeship, if you will.”

“So the only persons we’ll be offered to are those you possess an existing relationship with?” I fold my arms and tug on my bottom lip. “That feels self-defeating.”

The vampire shakes his head. “As host, I’m extended certain gratuities. And a level of diplomacy is required of me. In other words, I’m expected to provide unbiased entertainment to everyone. The two of you will have ample opportunity to observe each guest at least once.”

Lovely. I’m looking forward to it. I glance up at Jhez, who blows a soft sigh, arching her eyebrows.

I know that expression all too well. She’s looking forward to this even more than I am.

As it turns out, I was wrong in my assumption that Garthelle would entertain his guests at his flat. His formal residence is a massive stone construct on private grounds, crouching on a hillside overlooking the heart of the metropolis. It brings to mind pictures of castles in my childhood storybooks. No soaring spires piercing the sky or anything like that, but the embattlements are there.

As the limousine breaks through the tree line and crawls up the sinuous drive, the structure presents an imposing profile. It feels like a stone dragon nestled into the side of the earth, one who could at any moment decide to rouse from its nap, uncoil, and take to the sky. Perhaps that’s why, as I step out of the vehicle and wait for Jhez to join me, I feel compelled to whisper.

“Did you know this place was even here?” I hiss the question in her ear when she stops at my side to stare at the stone behemoth.

When she nods, I stare at her in disbelief. She turns to me, the beginnings of a frown tugging at her lips. “Only vaguely, but I remember references to
Dragulhaven
from . . .” Her sentence trails off and Jhez turns her gaze back to the building towering before us. “Years ago.”

Though I’ve no notion of what she’s alluding to, her tone doesn’t do anything pleasant for my nerves. With a quavering sigh, I grab her hand and give it a squeeze before heading for the entry. Jhez doesn’t resist, but there’s a distinct lack of willingness in her demeanor. Makes two of us. Guess I just have more guts than her. Or a weaker sense of self-preservation.

Polished heavy wooden doors groan faintly as they swing inward at our approach. A gust of air from within wafts past, carrying traces of incense, spices, strains of instrumental music, and muted voices.

The foyer’s sole source of light is a chandelier suspended from the domed ceiling, and the fixture threatens to overwhelm the castle’s architectural design. Obviously, whoever was responsible for the decor didn’t carry it out with the intention of historically accurate restoration. While certainly noteworthy, the chandelier is nothing short of gaudy.

A blatant pronouncement of the wealth in residence.
Here there be dragons.

It doesn’t bode well for the décor in the rest of
Dragulhaven
, and I find it difficult to believe Garthelle is the responsible party. Every time I try, I end up with energy-memories of his black flat flashing along my nerve endings, flooding my senses. Of course, the residual incense in the air may very well be triggering them.

Though my knowledge of him is shallow at best, he doesn’t strike me as the gaudy sort. That chandelier? Not him. I want to think better of him than that. Despite the fact that he’s dangerous—or perhaps because of it?—I find myself attracted to him. It’s just simple lust, I’m sure. The intrigue of the unknown.

I lean toward Jhez so my words don’t echo through the vaulted chamber. “I wonder who else lives here?”

The corner of her mouth curls up in a smirk, but before she can respond, the staccato rap of footsteps on the marble floors announces someone’s approach. The corresponding thrum of the energy in my veins names it Garthelle. Like the faint tingling one feels as blood floods back in to circulate through a numbed limb. Perhaps that’s the only reason why I feel this inappropriate attraction. The lack of pain associated with his presence; to my body, he’s a drug.

When he appears through one of the archways on the far side of the chamber, he halts. An uneasy silence ensues. I don’t look at him. Instead, I make a deliberate study of the scrollwork edging the domed ceiling.