Dancing Dragon (32 page)

It was the best I could do.

“You know what I am.” I didn't need to reconfirm what I already knew, but drawing out the exchange made the news more worthwhile. I had to make him think what I offered as payment was enough for the information I wanted in exchange. Sometimes smoke and mirrors were useful when dealing with the ghouls.

He nodded. “The Prophesied.”

“Yes. You'd think that would be enough, wouldn't you?” I didn't wait for an answer. “I am also a
mœðr
.”

He looked momentarily surprised. He obviously knew what a
mœðr
was. He cocked his head at me and said, “But you are more.”

I kept the surprise off my face, holding fast to my blank, neutral show-the-vampires-only-a-mask face as hard as I could.

“What makes you say that?” I asked, calmly. I wasn't calm though. Geoff gave me a little creepy feeling between my shoulder blades. I think he played by slightly different rules than Pete. I wasn't sure, but Geoff was not to be taken lightly. That I did know.

“The word is the Imp Prince would give anythin' to have you back. Anythin' at all. If you were just a
mœðr
he would be interested, but not desperate. He smacks of desperation to me.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked smug. His thick eyebrows rising in pleasure at the response he was getting from his deductions.

“Has he bargained with you?” I asked, a little desperate myself. Michel's hand came to rest on my thigh under the table, reassuring and restraining at the same time.

“Now, no self-respectin' ghoul would divulge their sources would they?”

It didn't take a degree in philosophy to figure it out. Geoff was playing both sides and even if he did have information on where
Citysider
was, it wasn't the only reason why he called us here tonight. I let myself sink into the black nothingness and
sought
out all the vampires in the area. There were none nearby and I couldn't
seek
fey, so if  Lutin was near, I couldn't tell. Michel had said at least ten ghouls, more than enough to hold us if need be.

We need to get out of here
,
I sent the thought to Michel.

I know
,
he replied in my mind then added,
we cannot leave until the exchange of information has been given. Tell him everything and demand to know where your Nosferatin is.

Michel was right. Even a double crossing ghoul couldn't let this exchange not be completed. If there was any chance of us getting out of here without the ghouls getting physical, we'd need to complete the exchange of info first.

“I'm Lutin's
elska,
”
I said without preamble, truly fingering my stake now, not just using it as a calming influence, but preparing to use it in earnest. “Where is
Citysider?
” I asked.

“Now isn' tha' a pretty thing. No wonder he is keen to have you back.” He slipped a piece of paper across the the table towards me. I took it and glanced at an address in south London; Croydon, then folded it and shoved it in my pocket.

“We're even?” I asked, preparing to stand and leave.

“You're abou' to become a popular piece of property, Nosferatin. I suggest you 'ave more at your back than 'im.” He pointed a thumb carelessly at Michel. “Tha' is on the house, 'cause Pete likes you.”

Hot piece of property all because I was an
elska
? I couldn't figure it out and right now was not the time to expend mental energy on a puzzle. I nodded at Geoff and both Michel and I stood to go. Then I remembered the message. Part of me wondered if asking for the message was wise right now, but my curiosity has always been one of my greatest downfalls. I just couldn't leave without knowing.

“You had a message for me?” I asked, then hastily added, “On the house too.”

The ghoul assessed me with those muddy brown eyes of his and ran a hand through his hair. “Pete has taugh' you well, luv. Yeah, I got a message for ya. Now let me see, it goes like this,” - he rubbed his chin while remembering the exact words - “
Ligh' and Dark are intertwined. Never to be parted. Dark will call to our kind. Ligh' has already started
”

“
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I asked, incredulously. I mean I had expected a message from
Citysider
, maybe a hint on how to battle the Fey. And with recent developments, I'd thought maybe a message from Lutin. A warning he was going to catch me any moment now, or something equally as droll. But, this?

“I only pass on the message, luv, if you wanna know more, like where I got it from, then it will cost ya.”

I was done bartering with this ghoul. “We're even,” I said and turned my back on him and walked across the pub.

The door was stiff so Michel had to help me budge it. All those beer fumes soaking into the wood making it expand probably. We finally got it open and I couldn't have got across that threshold and out into the night any faster if I had tried. Anywhere would be better than back inside that pub.

Only to revise that sentiment when I looked up and found a certain Fey Prince waiting for us outside, leaning casually against our car.

So, it had been a trap then.

I quickly did another scan of vampire
Sanguis Vitam
in the air, but as before, there were no hidden vampires nearby. The door behind us was pulled shut with effort from the other side and the distinct sound of a deadbolt sliding home followed. The ghouls were washing their hands of us, which was a relief. Lutin on his own was trouble enough without throwing vampires and ghouls into the mix.

Michel positioned himself in front of me, a natural protective stance. But, I still managed to spy Lutin from behind Michel's tall frame and then shuffled a little further to get a better view.

“No Master of the City to protect tonight, Lutin?” I asked, then Michel stepped further in front of me to block my line of sight.

I forced myself not to show anger at his protective instincts. Lutin did have a tendency to influence me with a smile or a look, so maybe it wasn't such a bad idea that Michel stood between us after all.

“
Elska
, he has fed tonight, as I believe you are aware and therefore I am free to roam as I will. My duty to him complete for another evening. I thought it time to call on the
bjóða
. What say you, vampire, will you honour your challenge?” Lutin asked, his voice only slightly melodious. Not enough to be using his fey magic to influence, I don't think, but enough to make you relax, when you knew you shouldn't be.

I wasn't sure if Michel was up to a challenge, even though I didn't know what that challenge would be. I could only imagine it would require some show of force and Michel was still recovering from de-staking Avery. I really was starting to regret that little impulsive episode, despite it feeling damn good to have got the better of the Dark vampire at the time. Consequences. Consequences. Consequences. Bugger.

“What had you in mind, imp?” Michel asked, for all the world appearing at ease and more than ready to take on a horde of fey with pleasure.

Lutin pushed off from his lean against the Rover and walked a few steps closer, Michel showed no sign of alarm. He didn't stiffen or move, no fluctuation in his
Sanguis Vitam
and from what I could tell, there was also no change to the shade of his eyes. Half of this challenge was going to be posturing, I guessed. Like a Nosferatin:
Never show fear.

“The right to claim a woman as mate has been a common reason for discord among men for centuries, vampire. Perhaps a centuries old duel would be appropriate.” Lutin paused and threw his arms wide and his head back and gazed up into the night sky. I'm not sure what he saw there, with London's ambient glow the stars are hard to discern. “I find myself in the mood of amusement this night. I miss my home and am growing impatient for my kind's company. Lucinda would make a nice substitute for my longing for home, don't you think?” His head snapped down and he smirked at Michel.

Michel didn't answer straight away, but I noticed a muscle twitching in his jaw, visible from where I stood, but maybe not from where Lutin was. After only a few moments of silence, Michel flexed his hand and a Svante sword appeared in his grasp. I had no idea where the sword had come from, how Michel had concealed it, or called it to him, but it was solid and real and glinting in the lights of the now very deserted street.

“Old style duels should be fought with old style rules, Prince of
Ljósálfar
. No magic, no power other then the strength our human counterparts would rely on. We stand as man to man,” Michel said, shedding his jacket and removing his tie.

I took both articles of clothing from him, but he didn't look me in the eyes, his attention was all for the Fey. He may be asking for no magic, but I doubted Michel trusted Lutin not to break the rules.

“How delightful,” Lutin answered, seeming quite enchanted with idea of restricting himself to human strength only. “
Elska
dear, be sure not to intervene, it would only forfeit your kindred from the
bjóða,
” he added, flashing me a smile. I quickly glanced away, but there had been no hint of fey influence attached to that look. Just pure male.

Can you trust him?
I couldn't help it, I had to ask Michel, throwing him the thought.

As far as the bjóða is concerned, yes. The rules are set, if he or I use magic of any kind, we will be forfeit to the other,
came his soft reply, laced with warmth and trust. He was letting me know I could trust him to get this done and he was also telling me he trusted me not to intervene.

I knew Michel was familiar with how to wield a sword. I had seem him fight with other vampires in actual battles, but also with Erika. He had called Erika his
Sword
. She was an expert with the Svante, she taught me, she probably taught Michel too, although the thought of someone - who was younger than him and less powerful - teaching Michel was hard to fathom.

Still, although I knew from first hand knowledge how competent Michel was with a sword, I couldn't help the nerves that fluttered in my stomach as I watched Lutin pull a sword from an invisible sheath at his side. It was beautiful. Unlike Michel's, which was a traditional looking Svante sword with a rudimentary copper encased hilt and slightly curved cross bar. Lutin's sword had a brightly decorated hilt. A spectacular combination of blues, greens, reds and yellows in geometric designs and ribbons and swirls. Similar to my
Sigillum
surprisingly.

The shades acted like a prism, casting colours like a rainbow around the street when they caught the lights overhead. But the silver of the hilt was what really caught the eye. It was impossible to look away from the glint it caused and the more I focused on that handle, the more I wanted to touch it. I found myself sliding out from behind Michel and taking a step towards that magical shine. I would have sold my soul to feel that haft.

Michel's hand came down on my shoulder, halting my advance towards Lutin.

“
She is susceptible to fey silver, vampire. It calls to her, as if she were already one of our own.” Lutin rolled his sleeve up. He was wearing a loose, untucked deep blue shirt and pale denim jeans, with slightly scuffed black leather boots on his feet. For all the casual dress, he did look gorgeous. His bracelet shone in the lights of the street and I pulled against Michel's hand. “This will be hers one day, vampire. How do you think she will fare once she possesses our silver? There will be no escape for her then. Do you still believe she is not my
elska
?”

Michel turned me to face him and whispered in my mind,
Lower your shields, ma douce. You must not let him give you fey silver. Once gifted it will call to your soul for eternity. The Fey have controlled many over the years with the gift of silver. He would own you, as the silver would own you.

And then he sent a series of images of silver items coveted by mankind through the years. The 1804 U.S. Silver dollar. The Depeyester 1779 Silver Bowl. A Macedonian Hoplite 4
th
Century Silver Shield. The “Ides of March” Denarius 42BC Coin. The images flickered across my mind in quick succession; trophies, plates, bowls, coins, jewellery. All of it well known and collectable. The thought that humans - Norms - were seeking these items out in auction houses and black market sales and once possessed, would continue to crave more and more fey silver relics, was astounding. Did it mean that the Fey who forged the item, or owned it before it was let loose in our world, would
own
that human when the portals opened?

I didn't hesitate, I let my shields down and felt Michel's influence rush in. It was over in a second, then quickly he sent the thought,
Raise them!
I did, slamming them home and sealing them with every conceivable measure I could think of to keep them firm and true. The speed was obviously to prevent Lutin from using the opportunity to access my mind. Not that he needed my shields to be down, he still managed to make me do things without even trying, but obviously Michel felt his additional shielding in my mind would work. I hoped so, I didn't want to be
owned
by a piece of fey silver, let alone Lutin.

I looked up into Michel's eyes, his were a mixture of amethyst and indigo, with flashes of magenta here and there. His fingers came up and brushed my cheeks.

“It won't last forever, but you will be free of the silver's influence tonight,” he whispered, although Lutin could probably still hear every word.

Lutin chuckled in the background. “You are simply no fun, vampire. She will wear my silver, mark my words.”

“I am tiring of your
words,
imp. Let us duel.” Michel turned away from me and readied his sword. Lutin matched his stance with an unaffected manner. He looked like he was out for a stroll under the moon, not about to battle a vampire for the right to have me as his mate.

Once they both faced each other there were no more words spoken, they simply started to fight. Portobello Road had felt deserted before, now it was eerily quiet too. I'm not sure if the ghouls had placed a ward on the street, or Lutin had. Michel certainly hadn't had time, but not a soul entered the section of the long and usually busy road we were on. The sounds of metal on metal rang out in the night air, which seemed so much heavier than it usually would have.

I thrust my hands deep into my jacket pockets in an effort to not be tempted to use my silver knife on Lutin, or blast a shot of Light towards the fairy. I bit my bottom lip and chanted in my head,
don't interfere, don't interfere, don't interfere.
It was no good, I was practically climbing out of my skin with the desire and need to help Michel.

Not that he needed it yet. He was beautiful to watch in the stillness of the street. A parry, followed by a thrust, then a quick few movements of his feet, to avoid Lutin's counter attack. He danced around the Imp Prince with style, but also purpose. There was no elaborate foot work meant to impress, every movement had intent, a goal to achieve. He was economical in his actions, but each step, each thrust, each parry, brought a successful result.

Lutin on the other hand was more of a showman and spent too long trying to distract with dance-like movements and fancy foot work. He wasn't clumsy, far from it, he flitted from spot to spot like a butterfly; beautifully, prettily and chaotically. The unknown was all he had going for him against Michel though, the artistry of his steps was lost on the vampire. But Lutin's unpredictability was a challenge.

Twice Lutin managed to land a blow, slicing Michel's arm, then chest, with the tip of his very sharp fey sword, purely because Michel had not been able to anticipate where Lutin would next be. The gashes had drawn blood and although they didn't hinder Michel, they were dripping and would in time be a problem I was sure, because they also were healing slowly. Maybe helping Avery had taken more of a toll than I realised.

I held my breath and concentrated on the injuries the Fey Prince had received at Michel's hand. They were more numerous, but they were healing much faster. Each gash, each scrape, was healing quickly and from the look of it, easily before my eyes. So far, it looked like Lutin had the upper hand, but Michel is five hundred years old. Experienced in swordsmanship and quite capable of using every asset he had to win. His character alone would not let Lutin have an easy go of it, but the vampires' number one mantra,
survive at all costs
, was also part of Michel's DNA.

Some ten minutes had passed and both Lutin and Michel were holding their own. If I hadn't have had my heart in my throat watching my kindred battle, I would have appreciated the glorious sight before me. They were so evenly matched. Michel's skill perhaps slightly better, but Lutin made up for the deficit with style. It was a dance of sorts, intricate, intimate and deadly. The metal of their blades catching the lights of the street lamps and casting spectacular flashes of white around the space we were in. Many times I had to close my eyes from the brightness of the blades in the lights or risk momentary blindness.

It was truly beautiful, but it was taking too long. Without magic to aid them they were simply too closely matched. I could only hope that Michel's desire to protect me would be deeper than Lutin's desire to have me as his
elska
. Lutin had barely known me for a week. Michel was my joined kindred Nosferatu, we were Bonded, shared
Sigillum
and considered husband and wife. We may have been through a lot lately, but we always came back to each other, no matter what. Michel would dig deeper than Lutin, I told myself. Michel would win.

But as the minutes turned into an hour, then two hours passed and then the sun began to creep over the horizon and lighten the darkness around us, I began to have doubts. Lutin still looked so fresh, bloodied, but still healing. Whereas Michel was losing ground fast. His cuts and gashes had become numerous, too many to count and still slowly healing. Blood soaked his once white shirt and although harder to see in his near black trousers, they were clinging to his muscled legs, as though heavily wet, soaking. I knew it was all blood, some sweat too no doubt, but mainly blood. His blood.

He was pale and the Michel from a few hours ago, the one who had sat on the armchair in Samson's front room after aiding Avery, was back. Gaunt, tired around the eyes, almost too white to be alive. His lips were in a firm thin line, his eyes had bled all other colour save magenta, and I knew his desire to use his powers, his
Sanguis Vitam
, was almost too much to deny. A vampire must survive at all costs and right now he was denying himself the one tool in his arsenal which would end this, save him and take out his opponent once and for all.