King's Gambit (16 page)

Dorian swung his noodle-y legs back and forth, polished black dress shoes never once touching the floor below, and stared back at me with his wide, unsettling eyes. There was a bashful smile on his face that made him look almost like a normal human boy. He didn’t reply, though, and his graveyard silence chased away any sense of normalcy he may have portrayed.

He seemed to be wearing the same thing each time I saw him: a long sleeved white dress shirt, a fancy vest, formal black shorts, knee high socks, and dress shoes. There wasn’t even a variation in the coloring, which conjured to mind an unsettling image of a closet filled with rows of the exact same clothing. I absentmindedly wondered if he switched to a short sleeved shirt in the summer as my gaze drifted around the room, trying to ignore the way Dorian’s eyes seemed to follow my every micro movement.

The discomfort was too much to ignore for long, so I gave up avoiding eye contact like we were in a men’s bathroom and tried to strike up a conversation again. “So… How old are you?”

Dorian tilted his head, his smile still in place and his legs still swinging.

“Did you ever meet Zhen? She didn’t blink, either.”

At least he understood what I was saying, because he blinked as I finished the sentence.

“You’re funny, then. Good to know.”

He blinked twice.

“Now you’re just messing with me.”

His smile widened as he left his seat to sit next to me. His eyes didn’t leave me the entire time and he continued to peer up at me even after he took his new seat.

My heart rate sped up, but still I tried to hold his gaze. “…Are you going to kill me?”

“I imagine he wouldn’t have much luck if he tried,” Elise said, essentially floating to the loveseat across from me. “Good evening, Morgan.”

“G-good evening.” I pried my eyes away from Dorian, but couldn’t help glancing back at him every few seconds.

“I’d assure you he doesn’t bite,” she said, “but I’ve found that
not
to be the case. I wouldn’t worry, however. He seems to be quite fond of you.”

I looked at him from the corner of my eye, and despite the fact that he shouldn’t have been able to see my action, his smile widened. “…Good to know. Were the clothes any help?”

“They revealed Zhen’s ghoul was indeed the assassin from that night. From the amount of vampiric blood mixed with hers, I’d say she’s been in the former–” Elise’s voice raised at the word and the corner of her lips quirked up “–magical advisor’s service for about eighty years.”

“Are you eighty?” I asked Dorian.

He blinked.

“That wasn’t a denial,” I told him.

“He is not.” Elise sat back and crossed her legs. “We’ve established that Zhen was behind the attack on Monsieur Franklin, though we don’t know why.”

I smiled. “The use of ‘we’ implies you’re warming up to me.”

She looked to Dorian. “I don’t suppose you’d bite her for me?”

Dorian didn’t blink this time, but he did start swinging his legs again.

“Marvelous,” she said flatly. “With the way the king’s parliament is dying off, perhaps Monsieur Castinus needn’t have contacted you at all.”

“Aw, but then we never would have met. Also, I’m the one who killed Zhen, remember?”

“We would have met when the king introduced us,” she said, ignoring my other point. “It would have happened eventually.”

“This is more meet cute.”

“It’s really not.”

“Who do you agree with?” I whispered to Dorian.

This time, there was a hint of teeth in his smile.

“Do you know anything about the rest of the assassins?” I asked. “What about the others living in Zhen’s estate?”

“From what I saw earlier this evening,” she said, her nose wrinkling (Khalil was telling the truth, it seemed), “most of them fled when the fire broke out. I traced a few of the magical signatures, but without any backup or a reason to hunt them down, I didn’t follow them far. And since I don’t have samples of the other assassins’ blood–” she gave me a pointed look “–separating their ‘scent’ from the others’ is impossible. At least you cut off the head of the snake.”

“Small victories,” I said, slumping back in my seat. Dorian looked at me before imitating the action. Aw, I was starting to like the kid. He was still creepy, but now he was cute, too. I wonder if I should be worried about how easy I am. “I beefed up the wards in my home, so Alex should be safe from potential retaliation. As long as he doesn’t go outside. Crap, I should’ve strapped him to the bed.”

“Monsieur Campbell is a skilled hunter,
non
? He should be able to take care of himself.”

“He’s hurt.”

“As are you.”

“I’m…me. Does Khalil have wards in his home?” I asked in a sad attempt to change the subject.

“Yes, I set them up. Monsieur Castinus’ as well,” Elise said. “Now, your mission–”

“Should you choose to accept it–”

“No,” she said immediately, hazel eyes narrowed. “Allison Rollins’ blood is still required. Though at this point you may as well just kill her, too.”

“I see Dorian gets his sense of humor from you.”

Miraculously, the little boy nodded.

Before anything more could be said, my phone vibrated in my pocket as a loud ringing sounded from the other room. From my many years of being a hunter, and an admittedly obsessive TV viewer, I could tell you that simultaneous phone calls were never good.

“You want to answer this?” I asked Dorian, waving my phone at him.

Another blink. I can’t believe I ever wanted him to start doing that.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Miss Maxwell,” a female voice said. “I’m calling on behalf of King Virsinia. Your presence is required at an emergency gathering in twenty minutes.”

Brow furrowed, I looked at Dorian as if he held all the answers. “May I ask what this is regarding?”

“The king is concerned for the safety of some of the more affluent members of our society, and as the hunter assigned to this borough, your presence is paramount.”

“Where?”

“The Queen’s Hotel on 9
^th
Street, meeting room three. Good evening, Miss Maxwell.”

“Bye…” I said as Elise returned. “Emergency meeting?”

She nodded. “Queen’s Hotel. It seems these deaths have put the king on edge.”

“It’s like he’s afraid what he did to Marcus is going to happen to him,” I said. “Did you know Flavius’ last name is Virsinia?”

“I did.”

“It’s nice.”

“I’m sure.”

I stood up. “We’re back to this again?”

“Evidently.”

“You like me more than you let on.” At her silence, I let out a triumphant sound. “I knew it.”

“Answer your phone,” she said, frowning as she looked down at the glowing screen.

“Only because you’re my bestest buddy,” I said, my grin widening at her glare. “Hello?”

“Maxwell?” a deep voice with a thick Russian accent panted out. “Morgan Maxwell?”

With all the heavy breathing, I would have discounted this for a perv call, but a heavy breather wouldn’t have known my name. Hopefully. “Who is this?”

“Koskov. Sergei Koskov,” he whispered hurriedly. “Marcus told you of me, yes?”

Sergei was Marcus’ inside man. “Yes.”

“Good. Listen to me, these deaths: Franklin, Zhen, and the others – those ‘random’ killings in the feeding areas – they’re all connected.”

“I’m aware Zhen sent assassins after Franklin.”

“No,” he hissed. “Not just that. The other killings, too. It’s how Flavius took control. I tried to call Marcus, but he isn’t answering. We need to meet. Now. Before the official gathering. Down the street from the hotel.”

“Why–”

“Please! It’s very important, and I don’t trust this connection–” A violent crack, followed by a gurgle, trickled through the speakers. “You? What are you–”

“Sergei?” I called. “Hello?”

Another crack, footsteps, rustling, and more footsteps.

Then, silence.

13

I felt like I was in the middle of an Agatha Christie novel, sandwiched between Elise and a large man with the face of a mastiff as we sat around the circular conference table. The words “who dunnit?” raced around my mind while I looked around the room. Flavius was sitting at what became the head of the table by virtue of his presence. Allison Rollins, his supposed lover, was to his right, her hair so startlingly straight I was shocked it moved at all. The seat on her other side and the two by Flavius’ were empty to highlight the fact three members of parliament were now gone.

Sergei was definitely dead, then. Despite the horror movie phone call, I still held hope he may be okay. A naïve part of me said he could still be alive somewhere dying a slow, painful death in some dark corner – which spoke volumes about how fucked up I was.

A few dozen people were sitting around the perimeter of the room, forming an audience around our table. I guess sitting with the big boys meant I was actually important, but it was hard to feel good about that when it felt like the word “MURDERER” was painted on my forehead.

Once everyone had gathered, Flavius stood up and hung his head in what I’m sure someone would believe was sadness. “I’m afraid the event that has gathered us here tonight is a sad one. As you may have heard, Robert Franklin was taken from us. A tragedy, to be sure. Now, I have received news that Mistress Zhen Zhu-Li has perished, her estate razed to the ground. Along with my most trusted arcane advisor, several of her protégés were also caught in the blaze. At this time, it is unclear whether this was an unfortunate accident or a purposeful act of terrorism. However, we do have someone…”

The rest of his words bled into white noise. Dude really loved to hear himself talk. Old news, but the reminder hit me like a monster truck. It almost made me miss Dorian’s serial killer silence.

Well, when in Bored-ville, zone out until the talking man notices you aren’t paying attention – or something like that. The big guy next to me was a stranger, his heavily wrinkled face due more to weight than age. It was set in a firm mask of calm indifference incongruous with his rough biker look. Bald with piercings obscuring most of his ears, he looked like he’d be more at home in a bar than some stuffy boardroom. I guess I would, too, with my leather jacket and boots.

His very presence seemed to personally offend Allison, who was sitting directly across from him in her pristine white Chanel suit. Though that could also be a reaction to me. Or Elise. Or the painting behind us. Was there even a painting behind us? I wanted to turn around, but that’d be rude. Look at me, sitting with a bunch of murderers and backstabbers, worrying about manners.

Flavius’ lips were moving, so he was still speaking. I tried to tune back into the monologue, but only managed to glean a few false platitudes before losing interest again. It’s funny how when a bunch of vampires are draining humans dry, it’s normal. But kill two ostensibly evil politicians, and everyone and their grandmother is expected to pay attention.

Maybe “funny” isn’t the word.

“…Sergei…”

My head snapped up at the name, and everyone shot me a side-eyed glance before turning back to Flavius. Unfortunately, sitting with a bunch of creatures with super-hearing meant I couldn’t lean over and ask Elise what he’d said.

“I’ll be taking questions now.”

Whispers flooded the room, some questions, others frenzied conspiracy theories, and others still panicked murmurings, but none clearly spoken or directed at the king. Finally, the gruff man next to me spoke up.

“Have you got any suspects at all, sir?”

I pursed my lips to hide a smirk. He may have phrased it politely, but his tone made it clear he held no respect for Flavius. Elise’s face was passive, but the glance she threw mastiff-man told me she hadn’t missed the snub.

“We are looking into a few people, yes,” said Flavius.

“Bullshit,” a voice from behind us spat out.

Crap.

A man – boy, really – stood up. Dark hair, narrow brown eyes…He was almost an exact copy of Julia. Brother? Twin? It didn’t matter, he was trouble either way. He stomped over to us and jabbed a finger in my direction.

“She did it. I was there. I
told
you this. Why the hell are you standing here acting like you have no idea who the killer is? She was even there when Franklin or whatever was killed. She’s behind everything! Probably killed the other guy, too.”

I’d bet money you were there when Franklin was killed, too, you little shit.
I glared at him, wishing he’d been the one I stabbed that night. The audience’s whispering came back in full force, the hushed words almost a scream. Accusations and wonderings about why a human was even here ran rampant.

“Regardless of Mademoiselle Maxwell’s presence at Monsieur Franklin’s death, or your claim of her presence at–” Elise pursed her lips “–Mistress Zhen’s abode at the time of the fire, I can assure you she was not behind the attack on Monsieur Koskov.”

The boy sneered. “And who the fuck are you?”

“I, young man,” Elise said in a voice that could freeze fire, “am the woman she was with at the time of death.”

“And what were you two doing together?” Allison asked, pencil thin brow arched obscenely high.

“Elise was helping me set up some extra wards,” I said. “And for what it’s worth, I’m not the one trying to kill your people.” I did kill one without trying to, though. Wording really was everything.