Laws of the Blood 4: Deceptions: Deceptions (25 page)

“No doubt.”

“Maybe they’re the only ones around.”

“I doubt that.”

“Me too. Besides, even if one of them killed the other one, that’s still one vampire too many.”

“I quite agree.”

“Guess we have to find and somehow kill her.”

Bentencourt could barely contain his pleasure. From what Grace said, his plan had worked exactly as he’d set it up. Olympias had killed Lora. He would now make sure that the rest of the area’s vampires were outraged at the violation of Lora’s rights, and at her vicious murder.
Bravo, Lora, you’ve served your purpose. Time for Grace to serve hers.

“If I were to find a way to physically observe vampires, would you and your colleagues be interested in joining me?”

Grace didn’t look happy, but she slowly nodded. “We do have to do something. I know that. I was all gung-ho about it at first. But the more I think about facing vampires—”

“You won’t have to face them alone.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll observe them, figure out how to kill them, then develop a safe strategy for destroying them.”

“Find out where they sleep in the daytime, you mean? Attack them when they’re helpless?”

“Precisely.”

“Couldn’t we trace them down by Wal—astral projection?”

“I certainly think you should try that method. I’m going to try looking for their waking whereabouts. I’ll call you if anything turns up.”

“Me too.”

“I’m afraid I can’t talk any more right now,” he apologized. Bentencourt stood. He took Grace’s hand and helped her rise, then he gave her a quick, reassuring hug. “All will be well,” he promised. “Remember, we are the good guys.”

She smiled. “Right. Thanks for the help.”

He nodded, and she turned to make her way through the growing lunch crowd. He remained expectantly standing, his gaze on the door. While he watched her go, he called one of the numbers on his cell phone’s speed dial, but once again got no answer from Sara Czerny. He left a message, then decided to call Sara’s assistant, Gerry, after his next meeting. He’d let the slave run his errands.
It’s about time I stopped doing all the work,
Bentencourt decided.

A moment after Grace exited, his fellow companions entered. Dark, lovely Gavivi looked as elegant as ever. Cassandra looked even more strung out than she had at their last meeting a few days before. She slammed the door hard behind her as if to emphasize her mood. Bentencourt almost sighed wearily at the thought of how difficult getting his points across to the blood-hungry companion was going to be. Patience, he told himself. There wasn’t much time, and he had to be convincing.

“I think,” he said, once he had his fellow companions settled and a rare steak and bottle of whiskey in front of Cassandra, “that the time has come for us to do what we can to help bring those we love into the modern world. Even more importantly, we need to do what we can to help them against that bitch Olympias. Olympias is a threat to our lovers, to our nests. I’ve discovered so much that is going on that she’s kept hidden from us.” Gavivi
looked skeptical, but interested. Cassandra glared at him fiercely. He wasn’t sure whether he was getting through to her, but he put all his power into telling her, “You need to make a kill. There is a group of mortals that are a danger to the nests. With your help . . .” He flicked a glance at Gavivi before he went on. “With your help—when you tell your lovers what I’m about to tell you—all the nests of the city will Hunt tonight.”

“The nests are meeting to discuss moving,” Gavivi pointed out.

“They need to discuss much more,” Bentencourt told the other companion. “There’s very real danger from the so-called Enforcer. She can be stopped. We can keep our homes. We can keep our lovers safe. One vampire has already died.” He felt how that knowledge shook them. He spoke to them slowly, drawing them in with all the intensity at his command. “Help me,” he pleaded with the companions. “And no one we love will die.”

If ever there was a time when Sara wanted to roll over in bed, nudge her lover, and ask, “You awake?” this was it. Only, it was the middle of the day, so of course he wasn’t awake, leaving her to think deep, worried thoughts all by herself. Things could be worse, she knew, and would be, later. At least for now her body was sated and her blood sang with the new power and joy of belonging and being complete. And there was a roof over her head. She’d managed to persuade Andrew to check into a hotel rather than share their first night as lovers in a sleeping bag in Rock Creek Park. Considering that there might not be a second night as lovers if Olympias was really pissed off about Andrew’s presumption and Sara’s betrayal, Sara wanted to make the most of the moment.

The sex had been glorious, the sharing of blood indescribable, and there had been room service, champagne, and clean sheets in a suite that had a balcony with a view of the well-lit cathedral up on its rounded hilltop.
There had been talk as well, though she hadn’t let Andrew talk about their future together. Even in the throes of passion, Sara had a pretty good handle on the numerous ways she and her vampire lover might not have a future.

Even now, staring at the ceiling and being nudged by guilt and the call of responsibility, Sara didn’t regret a moment of what had happened. Even if Olympias decided to tear her limb from limb, she’d die happy—screaming, but happy. She was a companion. More than that, she’d made the choice. She loved Andrew, and had loved him before his fangs sank into her flesh, before he’d opened his own flesh and offered his sacred blood for her to drink her fill. There had been no rape, no unwilling possession. This was pure. This was perfect.

“This is maudlin and disgusting,” she said, propping herself up on an elbow to look down on the sweet face of her sleeping lover. “But you’re not awake to hear or see me, so I’m going to gloat and wallow for as long as I like.” She bent down and kissed his lips, then his throat, and further down his bare chest. That he didn’t respond didn’t make the worship any less gratifying for her. She loved him, and knew he knew it. But even she could not kiss a sleeping statue for very long, no matter how perfect Andrew’s body was.

Eventually Sara got up and took a shower. She meant to come back to bed when she was done, to cuddle up beside Andrew and sleep the day away in anticipation of their lovemaking when night finally came. Habit, however, overrode intentions, at least to the extent that she pulled her cellular phone out of her pants pocket and stood looking at it for a while, fighting the impulse to call home and at least leave a message for Olympias when her mistress woke up.

Which would be a stupid thing to do, wouldn’t it? Would it? Should she face her mistress, or run away with Andrew? Should she rely on Andrew to handle it? She should, shouldn’t she? He was the master, she was the
companion. He would protect her and make everything all right, wouldn’t he? Her heart told her yes, but her heart was pumping his blood and the magic that made her his; of course her heart couldn’t help but say stupid things like that. Sara’s head told her it was up to her to do something to save them both. But what?

Maybe she should call Olympias. Maybe she should at least check her messages. She finished dressing, went out on the balcony, and listened to her messages. There were four. Two from Bentencourt, two from Gerry. “Gerry,” she murmured, staring off into the distance, seeing the cathedral in the near distance. Maybe he was there now, waiting for her. Would she ever go back there to meet with the other slaves under the Space Window again? She’d miss it. She’d hated being a slave, but she’d
liked
her job. Andrew offered her love, a future if they lived to see it, but hooking up with him certainly screwed her career.

Maybe not. Maybe if she just talked to Olympias . . .

“Maybe I should just commit suicide . . .” Her mistress was going to be so pissed. Vampires were territorial, possessive.

And Olympias had betrayed her, lied to her. Sara was hurt and furious at the Enforcer. A part of her wanted to forget about Olympias and get on with her new life. A small part of her wanted to somehow return to that life, to make some kind of peace and accommodation with her old mistress. A part of her still loved Olympias, though she tried to beat that part down to merely liking her boss.

Whatever her tangled up feelings, Sara knew she had to do something, and before Andrew woke up, did the manly, chivalrous thing, and made the decision for her. She hoped she was doing the right thing, put her faith in Gerry’s gung-ho belief in the necessity of changing vampire culture, and dialed his number.

T
HERE HADN’T BEEN any problem with the hospital when Falconer decided to leave after he woke up. He told the police detective he didn’t remember anything that had happened. He was glad the police took an interest, if only because it meant the military that ran the Walker Project would lay low for security’s sake and wait for him to brief them after the cops lost interest in the case. The policeman told him they thought his attacker had been a burglar with a vicious dog. He’d agreed that made the most sense, then he got dressed and checked himself out.

No one said, you’re a seriously injured man in need of care and observation. Instead they’d given him some pain pills and sent him on his way. He figured the staff was happy not to have to deal with the insurance hassles of even one more night of Falconer’s taking up a hospital bed. He was glad they’d taken him to a civilian hospital rather than a military one, which might not have been so easy to get out of.

He took a cab home, and the first thing he did when he got there was get a beer out of the fridge. Then he
ripped the yellow crime scene tape off his office doorway, went into the wrecked, bloodstained room, sat down, washed down a couple of the pain pills with the beer, and tried to figure out what was real and what he’d imagined. He even tried coming up with a few logical explanations.

Looking around, all Falconer could think for a while was,
This is very weird
.

Possibly it was the combination of alcohol and pills, and possibly it was because traditional logic didn’t make any sense, but it didn’t take him long to come to the conclusion that it was the weird stuff that was real. Reality was that his dad was a vampire, his girlfriend was something sort of like a vampire—only
more
so—and he was a psychic loon who ran a government secret psychic loon shop. What he needed was another beer.

“Sort of girlfriend,” he muttered as he went back to the kitchen.

She’d saved him twice, and they had slept together, and she’d invaded his mind on at least two occasions. Did that mean they were going steady? Had he thanked Olympias for the times she’d saved him? Should he be grateful or offended because she hadn’t bitten him? Should he be packing his bags and getting out of town now that he knew that the woman he was attracted to was a vampire? Was she attracted to him, or was he being unsophisticated and sloppily romantic when she had some pragmatic scheme in mind? They’d talked a lot, but what did he really know?

He knew his dad was a vampire.

Was that true?

Falconer took the second beer into the living room, where he had to put it down before he picked up a silver-framed photo of his parents. Mom was dead, Dad was the living dead. “What a family,” he murmured.

He remembered the good-looking man in the picture, but really hadn’t thought about him in years. He never saw any resemblance to Andrew Falconer when he
looked in the mirror, hadn’t inherited even a tiny bit of the man’s musical talent. He hadn’t listened to the recordings since he was a kid, but he remembered that the man had been quite a musician. Mom said so. Mom said that his father had loved them and must be dead because he’d disappeared, and Andrew wouldn’t disappear without saying good-bye. Falconer had never believed in her wishful thinking, but now he began to believe she’d been right all along.

Sometime today, sitting in a coffee shop inside his own head, he’d felt a powerful surge of anger at the mention of his father. Right now he wasn’t angry, confused and curious, but not angry.

Then again, maybe he ought to be angry—for his mother, and for the father that had been made into a vampire against his will. Maybe his father needed him. Maybe that was why he’d seen him—if the vampire he’d seen had been his father. Falconer studied the old photo closely. Was this man also the vampire he’d seen?

Had Olympias told him the truth about anything?

Even with the pain pills, his broken wrist still hurt. He didn’t notice the cuts and bruises so much, but the wrist was bad. He put down the photo and picked up the beer. Whether it helped numb anything or not, it felt cold and good going down.

He needed to do something. Maybe he should find the man in the photo. Maybe, but all he wanted to do was be with Olympias. “I need to talk to her.” It was an excuse made to an empty room. It disturbed him that he was reduced to talking to himself. It was bad enough he was a loon. There was no reason to become an eccentric one. He did need to talk to the vampire queen. She was a threat to his people and his project. To hell with the project, it was the people he cared about. His loons.

Maybe if he reported all he knew to his superiors . . .

And he knew exactly, what? Olympias had implied the existence of all sorts of ‘supramortal’ critters during their interior dialogue. He’d never seen any evidence that there
was anything weirder in the world than extremely psychic humans until a few days ago, and he’d been involved in the loon corps for over a decade. Training told him he should report the existence of these supramortals, that their existence could pose a threat . . . but Olympias seemed to think it was the mortals that posed the greatest threat.