Let Them Eat Stake: A Vampire Chef Novel (35 page)

Could Trudy not know about the different…call them tolerances? After all, she wasn’t a topflight witch, like Brendan and the Maddoxes.

Or
maybe she didn’t expect me to know two antidotes would be required. She could be pulling a fast one. But why? Didn’t she want to undo Adrienne’s spell? She had certainly seemed shocked enough about it. On the other hand, they had been friends and allies for a long time. What if she’d cracked and told Adrienne what was going on? What if what she was holding wasn’t an antidote? What if it was poison?

Couldn’t be. Adrienne Alden wouldn’t poison her own daughter.

But she might poison her daughter’s fiancé. Because if vampires were immune to the magics that worked on humans, humans might just be immune to the magics that worked on vampires. That had been one of our big theories last night, hadn’t it? That Adrienne Alden would kill Gabriel when she was ready. And here was a way to commit a murder without getting her hands messy. She could give the murder weapon to the stupid chef who had gotten into the middle of her family’s business and who was most unwisely dating an important member of the clan.

Oh.
I closed my hand around the bottle.
Shit.

I didn’t tell Brendan about the bottle Trudy gave me. Maybe I should have, but I figured what with trying to deal with his grandfather, he had enough on his plate for one day. We’d all get through tonight, and I’d tell him in the morning. I sealed the bottle up in a Ziploc bag and tucked it deep in the bottom of my purse.

Then I pulled on my big-girl panties and called Elaine. I got her voice mail. I left a message. I cleaned the kitchen, called Elaine again, and again got her voice mail. I went grocery shopping and checked my e-mail. I called Marie to find out how the
quinciñera
was shaping up and whether she had everything she needed. Then I checked the FlashNews gossip about Oscar’s death. My name remained blessedly way, way down on the bottom, and the links and threads to the old news about last year were already fraying.

I called Elaine again.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me,” I told her voice mail. “I don’t blame you. There’s just one thing.” And I told her about the impending
Times
review.

There were a couple of abrupt clicks. “You had better be serious about this,” said Elaine.

“Cross my heart,” I told her. I did not hope to die. Considering what was coming tonight, there’d be too much genuine opportunity for that after sunset.

The silence on Elaine’s side spoke volumes, mostly about being at the very tiny crisply burnt end of her patience with her most troublesome, poorest paying client.

“I know, I know,” I said. “Just…please don’t quit yet, okay?”

“I’ll think about it.” She answered with enough heat to give me hope. It was when she went frosty that I really had to watch out.

She hung up. I hung up and faced my empty apartment. It had just gone on four, still way too early to head out for Nightlife. Except I had nothing left to do but hang around and think about that bottle in the bottom of my purse and wonder what else I was getting myself into. This was a nonstarter. So, I grabbed my stuff and headed out.

Mel, as I had suspected, had loved the idea of his great marble and gilt hall being used for a sting operation against some bad-guy vamps. I swore him to secrecy, of course, but I strongly suspected he had called up three talk hosts and at least two reality show producers while he was in his office getting me the spare keys. So, I spent the day at Nightlife, with those keys in my purse, waiting for sunset and immersing myself in all the paperwork that did not deal with bookkeeping. There was a surprising amount of it, mostly involving scheduling and ordering. We were heading into vacation season, and I had to work the puzzle of keeping my place up and running and yet give my people their much needed time off.

I’d just gotten the last two weeks in June mostly worked out when my phone rang. I checked the number, saw it was Brendan, and answered immediately.

“How’s it going there, Charlotte?” Brendan’s voice sounded strained. Or maybe it was too carefully casual.

“Waiting to set up the sting,” I told him as I felt my eyes narrow. “What’s up?”

“I have Trudy here with me. She’s in a bad way. Seems Deanna’d gotten word that her family’s done some extra interfering with her and Gabriel. She started questioning Trudy, and Trudy spilled the beans.”

My narrowed eyes clamped shut and squeezed tight. I pictured Deanna with her fireball in her hand and static electricity crackling in her eyes. “This is not good.”

“No,” agreed Brendan. But there was no relaxation in his voice. He was trying to tell me something, something important. I could hear it, but I couldn’t understand it. “Deanna knows you’ve got the antidote, and she wants you to bring it over to the house tonight. Have you got it?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Okay, look, I know you’ve got this…thing going down, and I’ve got to go calm down Grandfather. God knows what he’s heard. Can you meet me tonight at the Aldens’ house? And…” He hesitated. “You might want to bring Chet with you.”

Yeah, and a small army. Because something was going badly wrong over there. My hand tightened around my phone, and it took all my strength not to demand what was happening. If Brendan had Trudy beside him, there was only so much he could say without getting her suspicious.

“Okay,” I told him slowly. “It’ll be late, after the…thing. And…don’t say anything yet.” I dropped my voice and actively thanked heaven for my association with Linus O’Grady. “If you want me to call the cops, or just not show up at the Aldens’ tonight, Brendan, just say okay right now. That’s all.”

“No, it’s all right,” he said. I should have been relieved, but something inside me refused to let go.

“There’s something else you ought to know.” And I told
him how Trudy had only given me one bottle of antidote. “We still good?”

He took his time answering. “Should be. But I’ll tell you the whole story when you get out there.”

I didn’t like it. Something was wrong. I did trust Brendan, but I also trusted my own sense of trouble. There was, however, nothing at all I could think to do. “Call me if anything changes,” I said.

“You too. ‘Bye.”

I said good-bye and stuck the phone in my pocket.

“Right. Okay,” I breathed to my empty kitchen. “Boyfriend being enigmatic and vampire sting on deck. This is definitely going to be one of those fun nights.”

I’ll give Henri Renault this: he was punctual. At nine o’clock, the phone rang, and I opened Carriger Hall’s front door. We’d decided to use the front lobby because there was a view of the street. I was betting that the possibility of a passing pedestrian witness would slow down any murderous impulses not held in check by the presence of my undead bodyguards.

At first glance, though, I would have sworn I’d never before seen the nightblood waiting outside. At second glance, I knew why I’d found all that jewelry in Gabriel’s shoe box.

The vampire who stepped into the echoing gold and marble hall wore khakis and a yellow polo shirt. The only bling on him was a heavy, gold wrist watch. His hair was cut in a flattop, and he smelled of Ivory Soap and truffles.

In addition to making him look thoroughly modern, the new style took about twenty years off his physical age. His lack of height helped. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought I was looking at a relatively new vampire, who’d been maybe seventeen or eighteen when he was turned.

Henri Renault wasn’t disguised; he’d taken the disguise off and left it with his blood child.

“Oh, you’re good,” I breathed as I stood back to let him in.

“So I tried to tell you, my dear.” Henri moved close, looking up into my eyes, but I nodded toward the sweeping staircase. Henri turned to see both Anatole and Chet standing a couple steps up, giving him matching hard looks. You could have used the cold between them as a blast chiller.

Proving he wasn’t all that stupid, Henri instantly dropped the flirtation. I wondered if he’d told Gabriel he was going on the run first, or had just left the gold in the bedroom for him to find. Or had Gabriel, under the influence of Adrienne’s love potion, told his sire it was time to get out of Dodge? Whichever it had been, here and now, Renault walked warily forward, glancing this way and that. But it was just the four of us. I’d sent Chet and Anatole around in search of the hall when we got there to make sure.

“Renault,” said Anatole by way of greeting.

“Sevarin. Monsieur Caine.”

I shoved my hands into my pockets to find my phone and my spray bottle, but otherwise I held still.
I will stay in the background,
I told myself with every ounce of strength I had.
I will let Anatole do the talking. And if Renault so much as looks at me sideways, I will get him right between the beady little vamp eyes.

Anatole evidently sensed my impatience and walked down the last couple of steps to come level with Henri. “Well, Renault, it is your play,” he said. “Have you brought the item, or are we simply supposed to trust you and move straight to negotiations?”

“You sound as if you’ve done this before, Sevarin.” Renault oozed smugness. I glanced at Chet. My brother shook his head.

“I have, and with far more powerful and frightening creatures than you,” replied Anatole. “Charlotte, remind
me to tell you about the time I spent in Chicago…but that is for another night. For now, Renault, you can tell us what you want.”

“
Bien.
I want only what I have always wanted—the Arall.”

“But you said you have it.”

“I do. However, I am not a fool, Sevarin. You are not buying the Arall for your own sake. Your lady here has asked you to help retrieve it, and you have agreed. It matters not a bit to me, as long as we can reach an equitable price.”

You know all that chefly self-discipline I’ve talked about? It deserted me right then and there. “Wait a minute,” I said, loud enough to raise a hollow echo from the marble walls around us. “You went through all the trouble to steal the…thing from the Aldens, and you expect me to believe you don’t care if Anatole’s going to give it right back?”

Anatole turned toward me. I could feel him wondering how this little interruption was working with my agreement to let him do the talking. I was wondering that myself.

Henri shrugged. “The world has very much changed, and”—he glanced down at his polo and khakis, and I felt the twinge of regret—“I find I must as well. My sons…well…alas, poor Gabriel so betrayed. And Jacques, he courts change and the love he has found in this city is not for the glamor and the game such as I tried to teach him.”

Chet opened his mouth. I shook my head hard, and he closed it again. “Kids these days,” I said.

“Just so.” Henri sighed. “As a result, I am left to make my lonely way in a world that is in so many ways more dangerous than the one I am accustomed to. My recent experiences with the Aldens have shown me it is time to retire as an adventurer. But I must have money. So, I must have something to sell. The information I had hoped would serve…” He shrugged. “What is the saying about best laid plans?
Enfin.
So, instead, there is the Arall and the question of who will offer the best price for it. I personally am interested in how much Sevarin will pay to discomfort his old enemy.” He looked at Anatole expectantly.

“You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?” I said.

“I do try to be thorough.”

Yes. Yes you do.
I felt my forehead bunching up as I tried to keep my thoughts from showing on my face. It wasn’t going to work, but my forehead tried anyway.
You’re debating the merits of selling the Arall versus keeping it for yourself as if you’ve been having this argument for a while. But who would you have been arguing with? And if you were on the side of keeping it for yourself, who was on the side of selling it to…who? Who would pay a lot of money for a surefire antivamp weapon? Let me rephrase. Who wouldn’t pay a lot of money for a surefire antivamp weapon?

But, of course, if you were a vampire, you might not see the money as being worth it. You might pretend to go along, all the while scheming how to keep the Arall for yourself.

But a double cross required a patron. That patron had to want the Arall, either to keep, or to sell to the highest bidder. Scott Alden might want to do it, especially if Scott had gotten involved in one of the recent spate of banking disasters like so many other high-flying money managers. Karina Alden might want to do it, if her own very exclusive business had taken a hit from the whims of fashion or the bad economy or both. Lloyd Maddox might want to do it to very, very quietly get around centuries of family tradition, and really take the fight to the nightbloods.

Scott, Karina, and Lloyd. Which of them are you double-crossing here, Henri?

Anatole gestured impatiently. “I need to see what you have, Renault. Then we will discuss price.”

“
Bien sûr
. And I must know you are capable of meeting my
price. As I am about to enter retirement, I am afraid it will be high.”