Ghostland (32 page)

The Master nodded. “Several of my business investments have paid off. I want to bring in more workers.”

“How many more?”

“One hundred head.”

“Permanent?”

“Yes.”

“Single or with families?”

“There’s usually less trouble if they have families to worry about.”

“Your one hundred could easily swell to several hundred.” Draven steepled his fingers. “Which means you need housing for them.”

“Yes. I’d like to put them on Tempe, Kenin and Grandin, and offer them protection as part of their incentive package.”

“I can see your problem. All three of those streets border your territory and are controlled by the Tucci family. They’d consider your actions one step away from annexation of their property.”

“That’s why I’ve come to you with my petition.”

Draven’s gaze moved to Aisling and pinned her to the chair. “You must believe you’ve got something I’d consider very valuable. I’m skeptical. I don’t lack for female companionship, and I have little need to enter into potential alliances as a means of satisfying physical desire.”

“The girl’s a shamaness. She owes me a shaman’s task.”

Something flickered in Draven’s eyes. “You’re Aisling, the shamaness Bishop Routledge ordered brought to Oakland.”

She shivered under the intensity of Draven’s stare and the knowledge that he knew who she was. “Yes.” It came out little more than a whisper.

He continued to study her for long moments as her heart pounded furiously in her ears regardless of how hard she tried to quiet it. Finally he turned his attention back to Marcus’s master. “You offer me a fool’s bargain.”

“Not at all. It’s me who stands to lose something of value and gain nothing in return. If she’s successful in whatever task you set her to, then I would expect to gain housing and protection rights on Tempe, Kenin and Grandin for my one hundred head plus any dependants they choose to bring with them. If she fails, I’m out what she owes me.”

“Leave her. Have your man come for her before dawn. You’ll have your answer then.”

The Master stood and left the room. Aisling wet her lips. Marcus’s conversation as they’d entered the city earlier kept her quiet in Draven’s presence.

Without a word he rose from his chair and came around the desk like a lithe, predatory cat. He wore black trousers, and combined with the white shirt and the long hair pulled back and secured by a jeweled clasp, his appearance made her think of a sea pirate.

She stiffened when he cupped her chin. Shock bolted through her when he said, “Tell me your mother’s name.”

The thunder of her heart became a buzz of anticipation. The skills she used in the spiritlands slid into place. An answer given freely was lost forever. “Do I remind you of someone?” she countered.

Draven’s sensuous lips hinted at a smile. “Yes, you do, though I’ve only seen her a few times over the years. She doesn’t call this city home. You could be her twin . . . or her daughter. Give me a name and I’ll tell you if it’s familiar.”

“I don’t know one. I was left on a doorstep as a newborn.”

“Ah, it happens often, though not here in San Francisco.”

“This woman I remind you of, was she a shamaness?”

Draven rubbed his thumb over her cheek before he released her chin to lean against the edge of his desk. “I’ve heard rumors to that effect. If they’re to be believed, she was very gifted, perhaps too gifted. She chose a vampire’s long life over remaining human and one day returning permanently to the realm of souls.”

For a moment old hurts threatened to overwhelm Aisling. She’d been abandoned at the edge of dark, when the predators began stirring, when the sunlight had faded enough—she imagined now—for a vampire to rise and move unseen to the doorstep, knowing there were humans in the barn who’d soon be rushing for the safety of the house.

Your mother got away from him, or so they say. But that’s a story for another day.

John’s taunt in the ghostlands coiled around Aisling with the chill of the spirit winds to remind her of what she suspected her father was—demon. Had her mother discovered it too late? Been so horrified by what she’d done that she preferred to risk everything? In all the times Aisling had traveled to the ghostlands, she’d never encountered a vampire’s soul.

“How did you come to be in Thaddeus’s debt?” Draven asked, drawing Aisling’s thoughts back to the present.

She smiled at learning the Master’s name. “I needed information in the spiritlands and traded to get it.”

“You’ve been formally trained?”

“No.”

“But your gift must be strong or you wouldn’t have survived your night in the church. Other shamans have died there.”

Aisling shivered at the deadly coldness of his voice as well as the reminder. Since he hadn’t posed it as a question, she didn’t offer an answer.

“Do you know what task I would set you to?” he asked after a long interlude of silence.

“I . . . I can guess.” Her breathing grew shallow with the thought of witnessing the death of a human and the birth of a vampire, of being a part of it.

Draven straightened away from the desk abruptly, making her jerk in reaction. “Come with me.”

He didn’t look back to ensure she obeyed. But then he didn’t need to. Vampires were said to have incredible hearing and a keen sense of smell. He probably heard the way her heart raced, probably smelled her fear.

Draven led her upstairs, where even greater wealth was on display. Toward the end of the hallway, he stopped and rapped on a door before opening it and going inside.

“Nice of you to wait for me to say come in, Draven,” a male voice chided as Aisling followed Draven into the room.

“This is the shamaness from Oakland,” Draven said, ignoring the rebuke.

A bare-chested blond turned in his chair. His eyebrows went up in surprise when he saw Aisling. “She looks like—”

“I thought so, too. She owes Thaddeus a shaman’s service.”

The blond went completely still. “And he’s offered it to you?”

“In exchange for an intercession with the Tucci family. One that’s easy enough to accommodate.”

“Tonight?”

“She’s here for the night. I’m sure Thaddeus aimed high but will settle for low. I imagine he’s off arranging another deal in case this one doesn’t materialize.”

The blond’s attention returned to Aisling. Sea-green eyes and flowing hair gave him the appearance of a buccaneer, too. And even though he wasn’t vampire—yet—Aisling knew few women would be able to resist him.

Silence settled like a heavy taffy being pulled between the three of them. She resisted the urge to rub her palms against her dress, fought to keep the nervousness from escalating into unstoppable tremors.

Finally the blond said, “Well, I guess tonight is as good a night to die as any.” He glanced around the room before locking his eyes to Draven’s. “Here suits me.”

Aisling was acutely aware of unspoken words between the two men, though she had no idea what they were. After a long pause, Draven said, “Here it’ll be. I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes while I arrange for a guard and escort.”

He closed the door behind him. The blond stood and met Aisling in the middle of the room. He took her hand in his. “Under the circumstances, I’d say we should introduce ourselves. I’m Ryker.”

“Aisling.”

“Tell me you’ve done this kind of thing before, Aisling.”

“No.”

“Oh well, I’ve always enjoyed firsts.” His eyes danced and his smile was infectious.

“The woman I resemble—”

“Can’t be named in your presence at this time or Draven would have done it. He’s a law unto himself, in case you haven’t guessed; otherwise you wouldn’t know of her existence at all. Are you familiar with the term
omerta
? The old Mafia families used it.”

“It was a code of silence, wasn’t it?”

“And loyalty. You’d do well to remember that vampires are extremely fond of the concept of
omerta
.” Sea-green eyes grew serious. “Whatever happens here tonight, Aisling, don’t speak of it.”

Worry and sadness knotted her stomach as she looked up into Ryker’s handsome face and imagined it drained of color, still and lifeless in death. “Why do you want this?”

“My reasons are my own.”

“But the risk—”

“Is acceptable to me.”

The smile returned to his eyes. “The thought of me being a vampire doesn’t terrify you at all. It’s the thought of my human death that has your heart racing and your eyes clouding with concern. Am I right?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I want this, Aisling. I don’t have any doubt Draven’s blood is strong enough to kick-start my heart, but if it were as simple as that then there’d be a lot more vampires.” Ryker’s knuckles brushed her cheek. “Even on such short notice and having only just met you, my gut tells me I’m lucky Thaddeus wanted something from Draven.”

Ryker’s hand fell away. He stepped back as Draven entered the room. The vampire’s gaze flicked to Aisling then back to Ryker. A dark eyebrow lifted. “Ready to start?”

“Ready,” Ryker said. His eyes found Aisling’s and filled with mischief. “I’ve always imagined I’d end up dying in bed, though not necessarily my own. Can you do whatever you need to do there?”

Heat rushed to her face. She laughed despite the cold, heavy fear that rushed to settle in her chest.

“Yes,” Aisling said, following him to a bed large enough to hold three or four people, then coloring further when Draven removed his shirt and joined them on the mattress.

With a casualness that spoke volumes, Draven opened a night-stand drawer and removed a knife. “Insurance,” he said, slicing his wrist deeply enough to draw blood.

“You
do
care.” Ryker mocked her, leaning down to press his lips to Draven’s wrist.

The men didn’t touch otherwise, and Draven’s expression gave no clue to his thoughts. But Aisling found the sight of them together arousing. She found the act itself erotic, deeply intimate.

Courtesy demanded she turn her head, but she couldn’t look away, couldn’t keep her gaze from dropping to the fronts of their pants as the men sat next to each other, cross-legged, one knee nearly touching. She closed her eyes then, tried to close her ears to the soft sound of Ryker drawing Draven’s blood into his body. She concentrated instead on what would come next. On what would be required of her next.

Her hand crept up to the pouch containing her fetishes. She quieted her mind and let memory guide her.

There’d been a child once, when she was a child herself. He’d fallen into a canal before he knew how to swim. His uncle pulled him out and forced the water from his lungs. He pressed on the boy’s chest until his heart beat on its own, but the boy didn’t regain consciousness.

They came to Geneva because a doctor was too expensive and they feared the worst. Geneva took Aisling with her.

Aziel wore the body of a cat in those days. He’d guided her through the gray mists of the spiritlands to a hill overlooking a playground. The boy was there, giggling wildly as his father pushed him on the swing while his mother pulled food from a wicker picnic basket and placed it on a blanket spread out on the grass.

You can call the boy to you, there’s still time,
Aziel told her, words in her mind rather than a voice.
They can’t keep him from answering if you do.
But Aisling shook her head. She’d been young enough then to fantasize about being reunited with her mother and father, as if she’d somehow been lost instead of abandoned.

He’s happy to be with his parents.

Is that what you want to tell his uncle and aunt?

Yes.

And that’s what she’d done, only realizing later—after the happy images from the ghostland were replaced by the stricken, haunted expressions of the boy’s aunt and uncle—that by her choice she’d left them to finish what the water had been kept from doing.

The mattress shifted beneath Aisling. She opened her eyes to find Ryker lying down. Draven knelt beside him, the knife still in his hand. Both of them were looking at her, waiting for her.

There’d be no circle, not with a death required. She crawled to Ryker’s opposite side and took his hand in hers, wove her fingers through his.

“When Ryker returns, he’ll be in the grip of bloodlust,” Draven said, radiating complete confidence, as if there were no doubt about the outcome. “Leave the room immediately. There’s an escort waiting outside the door to take you to your quarters. Remain there until Thaddeus’s servant arrives before dawn to take you home. You’re ready?”

The tightness in Aisling’s throat made speech impossible. She barely had time to nod before there was a flash of silver and a sharp cry of pain as Draven drove the knife through Ryker’s chest and pierced his heart.

She was jerked into the spiritlands with the same abruptness as when Elena forced the Ghost trip on her. Only the gray fog immediately parted to reveal a dock, a sailboat swarming with partially dressed men and women.

“Ryker!” they yelled, in unison and apart. “You’re here! Come on!”

Ryker’s laugh poured over Aisling, carefree and happy. He seemed unaware of their interlocked hands as he hurried toward the boat, dragging her with him.

For an instant she wavered, let him draw closer to his friends. He was almost to the dock before a sense of urgency made her dig her heels in and say his name.

Ryker faltered. She called him again and he started to turn away from his friends.

A woman on the boat shed her wrap to reveal tanned skin and a model’s body. An equally gorgeous man moved to her side and slid his arm around her bare waist. “Come on, Ryker! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what it’s like. Sail with us.”

This time Ryker’s laugh was masculine and appreciative. “How can I say no?”

He jerked Aisling forward with renewed determination to reach the boat. “What about Draven?” Aisling said, desperate to get his attention as they reached the wood of the dock. “Draven’s waiting for you. He’s expecting you to come back to him.”