Overbite (16 page)

. . . or the little boy she’d seen in her dream every night, whose life had been so filled with love and light. How could that boy have become someone filled with so much darkness . . . ?

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t you see, Lucien? If what you’re saying about David is true, that’s exactly the reason I
have
to stay, to try to keep it from happening again to someone else.”

She laid a hand upon his face.

“And I don’t believe you,” she said, “when you say what you’ve become is better than human. I know you, and I know there’s still a part of you—the best, most important part—that
is
human . . . if by human you mean good. And that’s the part of you I love. Don’t try to deny that part of you, Lucien. Because I think that might be the message of my dream. Denying that part of you could be what was making you so . . .”

“So what?” he demanded, his eyes glittering dangerously.

She swallowed. She’d wanted to say that she thought it could be what had been making him so sick the night before.

But he didn’t seem sick at all now. So she must be wrong.

“Nothing. I really think you need to go now, Lucien. Protect yourself. Not me. I’m not the one they want. You are. Your staying here is what’s putting me in danger. If you really loved me, and really wanted to protect me, you’d go. I’m not just saying that because I love you and want to keep you safe. I’m saying it because I know it’s true. I know if you stay, it’s not going to end well for anyone.
I know it
.”

Because she did. She knew it the way she’d known she and Alaric should never have left Abraham in Freewell. The way she’d known from the day she’d met him that David was going to die young. The way she’d known every time she’d ever looked at that painting of Joan of Arc that, much as she admired it, something equally bad was probably going to happen to her.

And now it was.

Because instead of releasing her, Lucien’s arms tightened around her. His eyes flared a bright, deep vermilion.

Then he bent and scooped her into his arms.

“Lucien,” she said, panicking. “Wait . . . What are you doing? No. Don’t—”

She felt his feet begin to leave the floor, and she screamed, flinging her arms around his neck in terror as he headed directly for the skylight above their heads.

That’s when the elevator doors opened with a
ding,
and Alaric Wulf came striding out into the gallery.

“Meena,” he said, “I thought I told you not to move.”

Then he pulled out the sword he kept strapped in a scabbard beneath the back of his tuxedo jacket.

Chapter Twenty-three

L
ucien could simply have ignored the fact that Alaric Wulf was rushing at him with a sword. A few more feet, and he would have reached the skylight, which he intended to crash through—protecting Meena with his body, so she would not be harmed—to the roof.

But the sword was a taunt he could not resist, especially after the cross.

Meena had not admitted that Wulf had given the necklace to her. But Lucien didn’t see who else could have. She certainly hadn’t bought it for herself.

And the thick modern solidity of the gleaming metal cross fairly screamed that it had been chosen by a vampire hunter of Gaulish descent.

“Come down here,” Wulf called to him, “and fight like a man. Or have you been depending on those demonic tricks of yours for so long, you’ve forgotten what the word
man
means?”

Lucien dropped back to the floor. It had been months since he’d last felt this strong. He wasn’t sure whether it was due to Meena’s proximity or to the Mannette. Maybe its waters were finally starting to have the kind of effect he’d been hoping for.

In any case, he felt invincible, like there wasn’t anything—or anyone—on earth that could keep him from getting what he wanted. Not this time. Certainly not Alaric Wulf.

“I already spared your life once, Wulf,” he said, in a warning tone. “Don’t try me again.”

Wulf raised his eyebrows. “Are you referring to the time you collapsed a building on top of me, then set it on fire? Because actually, it didn’t seem like you were sparing me much of anything, considering the fact that I only survived because the tourniquet your girlfriend applied kept me from bleeding to death.”

“Don’t call me that,” Meena said as she attempted to free herself from Lucien’s embrace by pounding on his chest. But she might as well have been pounding on a wall.

“What?” Wulf asked. “Girlfriend? But you two seem to be getting along so well.”

Lucien shrugged. “You’re right,” he said. “I should have killed you. I’m ready to rectify that now, though.”

“Good. So why don’t you release her so we can get busy?”

“I’m afraid that . . .” Lucien winced as Meena burned him with the necklace, although he didn’t think she’d done it on purpose, or even realized it had happened. If she had, he was sure she’d have burned him more. He kept one arm anchored around her waist, regardless. “Much as I’d like to, I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

Wulf lowered the sword. “Seriously? Meena, are you listening? This is the man you’ve chosen to be with. He’s using you as a human shield.”

“No, he’s not,” Meena grunted. She elbowed Lucien in the throat, to no avail. “He knows if he lets me go, I’ll run.”

Lucien didn’t comment on this remark, just looked at Wulf. “You understand that there’s someone working from inside your organization who was willing to allow her to be killed, just to get at me,” he said.

“What is he talking about?” Wulf asked Meena.

“It’s true,” Meena said. “The book that Mary Lou stole is the one from my dream. It belonged to Lucien’s mother. Someone planted it in the show to try to lure Lucien here so he could be caught.”

“Oh, well, good thing that didn’t work,” Wulf said sarcastically.

Lucien looked at him with distaste. Not having killed Alaric Wulf when he’d had the chance was quickly turning into his biggest regret. “Meena says there have been murders. I have not committed any. Someone else is doing this, and trying to make it look like it was me so that idiots like you would believe it.”

“Oh yes,” Wulf said, the sarcasm in his voice deepening. “You’re a very innocent man. You certainly look like one right now. Most innocent men take hostages.”

“They’ve already used her once to try to get to me,” Lucien said, his rage quickening. “Has it ever occurred to you that now you’re the one being used?”

Wulf raised his sword again. “I don’t care,” he said. “I only care about seeing you dead.”

Lucien smiled to himself. Wulf had just made things very, very easy for him.

It was possible that Meena was right. Maybe there
was
a little bit of humanity remaining in him. And maybe it was that humanity that had made him spare Wulf’s life the last time they’d met.

But it didn’t matter. That little bit of humanity would soon be gone, if the Mannette did its work.

And so, in a minute, would Wulf.

And Meena couldn’t even be angry with him for it, because Lucien could say he was only defending himself. Wulf had just threatened him.

“Fine,” Lucien said. “If allowing you the chance to kill me will satisfy you, I’m happy to oblige.” More than happy. Nothing would give him greater pleasure.

“What?”

Meena looked terrified. Lucien had loosened his hold so that he could defend himself against Wulf . . . so suddenly that she had stumbled, and fallen to her knees.

Now she’d climbed back to her feet and stood between the two men, two bright spots of color on her cheeks, her dark eyes seeming to blaze.

“No,” she said. Her voice was shaking. “
No.
No one is killing anyone. Not anymore. We’re going to figure this thing out together, without killing, like normal rational people.”

Lucien almost smiled. She still didn’t understand who he was now . . . what he’d become.

Neither did Wulf, or he would not have been so foolhardy as to ask for this fight.

“Meena,” Alaric said, impatient. “Get out of the way.”

“No,”
she said again. “The killing has got to stop. Do you hear me? It’s wrong.
The killing has got to stop.
”

At that exact moment, the skylight burst above their heads.

Lucien realized right away what was happening, and was angry with himself for once again allowing a human weakness—jealousy of Wulf—to distract him. If he had simply ignored him, all of this might have been avoided.

Now men—all dressed in black—came soaring down from the gaping opening in the ceiling on rappelling wires. Shards of glass and metal crashed down, the fragments weaving in and around what looked like a great metallic spiderweb.

Lucien dove to protect Meena from the debris, but he wasn’t quick enough. Other men, also dressed in black, some carrying crossbows, had appeared from the sides of the room, and pulled her quickly away. They had done the same thing to Alaric Wulf, who was nevertheless fighting them, and trying to cut through the bits of spiderweb that he could reach with his sword.

Alaric Wulf, clearly, had known nothing of the trap. If Lucien hadn’t been so furious himself, he’d have laughed at the idea of Wulf cutting the massive metal web with his sword.

But he had more pressing concerns. The web had been shot directly at him, and covered him completely. And it was made of heavy links of silver, a substance that not only felt uncomfortable to his skin, but burned it with more than usual intensity, as well. It took him a moment to realize why.

Holy water. They had soaked the silver chain in holy water.

“Hold him,” he could hear someone shouting. He thought the voice sounded familiar. “Hold him down!”

Before he had a chance to see if he could recognize the face belonging to the voice, something sharp struck his skin. He looked down and saw that it was a dart. A tranquilizer dart.

If it weren’t for the searing pain from the silver and the holy water, he would have smiled a little. It was amusing that they thought they could sedate him with a tranquilizer dart.

He knew without a doubt that Alaric Wulf was not in charge of this operation. He would never have employed such a stupid weapon against a vampire. Especially the son of Dracula.

He thought about letting them take him, just so that he could see who was behind this ham-handed and amateurish attempt to capture him.

But then he heard a sound that made him forget everything else: Meena Harper’s scream.

And he knew that he was needed elsewhere.

So he turned himself into mist and drifted up through the openings between the silver links, then toward the skylight and off into the night sky.

Chapter Twenty-four

T
he sight of Lucien floating away through the skylight threw the people holding Meena captive into a frenzy.

But it was a great relief to her, even angry as she was at Lucien for what he’d tried to do to her. It served the Palatine right that he’d gotten away. How could they have done something so stupid as try to throw a net over him, even one made of silver? This never would have happened if Abraham had still been in charge.

But when she whirled around to tell this to whoever it was who had cuffed her—whom she’d already kicked several times. Why was she being handcuffed?—she was shocked—more than shocked—to see that it was Father Henrique.

“So sorry,” he said, apparently referring to the handcuffs. “I’ll be happy to take these off just as soon as you tell us where he’s gone.”

He’d removed his white surplice. Beneath it he wore one of the sleek black uniforms all the rest of the unit were wearing, complete with a small gold emblem above the right breast of a knight on a horse, slaying a dragon—Saint George, the patron saint of the Palatine.

Meena was so overcome with rage, she replied by attempting to give Father Henrique another kick. But a female Palatine officer she’d never met before stopped her.

Father Henrique shook his head ruefully.

“You are hardly behaving like the professional I understood you to be, Miss Harper,” he said. “But if that’s how you choose to conduct yourself, so be it.” He shrugged and waved his hand. The female officer began to shove Meena toward the elevator.

“Oh,” Meena said, with a sneer to Father Henrique as she went past him, “and
you’re
such a professional, I suppose. I thought you were transferred here to lead the parish of St. George’s, but apparently it was because you’re such an expert on the Lamir. Which Lucien
isn’t
. Didn’t you know he can turn into mist? Because everyone else here knew that.”

To her surprise, just as the elevator doors were about to close, Father Henrique stepped into the car with her, gesturing for the female guard to step out. She did so. When the doors slid shut again, it was only Meena and Father Henrique in the elevator. She eyed him uneasily, wondering what she’d just gotten herself into.

“I do not think you understand the gravity of the situation, Meena,” he said, hitting the down button. “It is vitally imperative that Lucien Antonescu be captured.”

His English was a
lot
better now than it had been during his television interview with Genevieve Fox, as well as when he’d been talking to her and Father Bernard and Sister Gertrude . . . both of whom, Meena had noticed, were conspicuously absent from this operation.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Meena asked. “But I don’t see how handcuffing
me
is helping the situation—”

Father Henrique leaned over her. He was quite a bit taller than she was.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t been consorting with him,” he said. “You were seen with him last night. You’ve helped create this situation. From what I understand, you’re the one who dreamed about it—the book—and put in the request for it. I imagine you even
told
him about it. And now he has it. You can’t even begin to conceive of what you’ve done. You’ve basically unleashed in him powers he never even knew he had. Now he’ll be unstoppable.”

Meena, shaken, looked up at him. “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about. That wasn’t in my dream. That wasn’t what I dreamed about at
all
.”

“I told you before,” he said, “that it isn’t an ordinary devotional. And now that it’s fallen into his hands, there is no telling what he’ll do. So if you know where he is, you had better tell us, or you will basically be responsible for undoing everything—everything—we’ve worked so hard to achieve.”

The elevator doors slid open, and he took her arm.

“But of course,” he said, guiding her out into the hallway and toward a back exit, where a number of other guards were waiting, “it’s up to you.”

It was at this point that she’d heard Alaric shout, “Don’t tell that bastard anything, Meena!” before his voice was stifled by the slamming of a car door. They’d stuffed him into a waiting van, which immediately drove off. Another van was idling behind it . . . for Meena, as it turned out.

Meena’s heart had begun to thump with fear. She had no idea what Father Henrique was talking about, or what was about to happen to her. This was the Palatine, after all, a
secret
unit of the Vatican. No one even knew it existed. They could do whatever they wanted to her, she realized, and not be held accountable.

Not that she really believed anything Lucien had been saying earlier, about how it had been her employer who’d sent David after her. That was absurd. The Palatine didn’t keep vampires captive to infect innocent civilians, then turn them loose into the population just to lure their number one target out into the open . . .

Did they?

“S-sorry,” Meena said, looking up at Father Henrique. “But I really don’t know where Lucien is.”

Actually, this wasn’t entirely true. Mary Lou had said something about a cave. But she wasn’t about to share that information. Not just because of what Alaric had shouted. But because in her heart, she didn’t believe the priest was telling the truth.

Father Henrique’s expression hardened.

“I see,” he’d said. “May I give you a word of advice, Miss Harper? Choose your boyfriends with better care. Nothing good ever seems to end up happening to them. And I’d hate to have to say the same about Alaric Wulf someday.”

Meena blinked. Had he really just made a threat against Alaric? She wasn’t entirely sure since, a second later, he smiled at her, as charmingly as he’d smiled at Genevieve Fox on TV.

“I’ll see you back at headquarters,” he said.

Then he strolled off, leaving her to be hauled, openmouthed in shock, into the waiting van.

She was almost sure they were going to drive her straight to the river to shoot her, then shove her—along with Alaric—into the dark waters.

But of course they didn’t. They took her straight to Palatine headquarters at St. Bernadette’s, which ought to have been comforting, but wasn’t. She didn’t see the van into which they’d shoved Alaric, nor could she hear his voice in the hallway. After what Father Henrique had said about him, she had begun to get a very bad feeling. Whether or not Lucien was correct about there being some kind of conspiracy within the Palatine, there was obviously no love lost between Alaric and Father Henrique.

And now Father Henrique appeared to have been promoted to a position of some power. Not that she thought he’d abuse that power . . . but what had he meant about not wanting something bad to happen to Alaric? Had he meant that without Meena’s help, something bad would happen to him? It must surely have been that. Because everyone had seen Lucien intending to do bad things to Alaric (but only because Alaric had been trying to help her).

Surely the priest hadn’t meant that he himself intended to do bad things to Alaric. Because when Meena pictured Alaric in her head, she didn’t get the feeling that he was in any danger . . . at least, not of the mortal kind. But she had no idea where he was. She herself was locked in the school’s old nurse’s office, clearly used in the past for isolating contagious children from the rest of the student population. There was absolutely no way out.

And—should anyone happen to be thinking of rescuing her—absolutely no way in either, save the door. And that was locked.

But evidently no one was thinking of rescuing her, since, as the hours crept by, the knob on the door never moved.

The building was, of course, as thoroughly demon-proofed as Meena’s home, so Lucien couldn’t have gotten in if he’d wanted to.

Which she had to admit was a bit of a relief, after the way he’d been acting during those last few minutes in the museum. Sorry as she’d felt for him when she’d seen the smoke rising from his skin as a result of its contact with the holy water, she still couldn’t believe what he’d tried to do to her. He had been acting like someone she didn’t even know. What had he been thinking, trying to kidnap her like that?

Meena had plenty of time to wonder. Left alone in the nurse’s office for hours, she had nothing else to do. They’d removed her handcuffs, but taken her cell phone away. Eventually, she must have fallen into an exhausted, troubled sleep on the examination table, since the next thing she knew, she was being shaken awake.

“No!” she cried. “I don’t know! I swear I don’t know where he is!”

“That,” Father Henrique said, drawing a chair close to the examination table, “is unfortunate. I was hoping you might have given our recent discussion some thought, and changed your mind.”

Meena, blinking, shook her head.

“No,” she said. “And you can’t keep me here. I demand to be released. Where’s Alaric?”

“Actually,” Father Henrique said, “I have every right to keep you here. You are withholding valuable evidence we need in our pursuit of the most wanted criminal in the world . . . perhaps in the history of the world. But I’m not here to fight with you. I’m actually on your side, believe it or not.”

Meena said, “I don’t believe it. If you were on my side, you wouldn’t have locked me in this room.”

“It’s for your own safety,” Father Henrique said. “You do realize that Lucien Antonescu was going to try to turn you tonight, don’t you?”

Meena glared at him. “He would never do that,” she said. Although, actually, he had tried it before. But they’d discussed it, and agreed he wasn’t to do so again. Had he changed his mind? She refused to believe it. And even if he had, how would Father Henrique know? “Not without my permission.”

“That’s exactly what I was trying to tell you,” Father Henrique said. “He has the book now. Things are different.
He’s
different. With that book in his possession, Lucien Antonescu will become invincible. Compared to his father . . . well, that would be like comparing a baby to a charging bull. That book will make him the most powerful being the world has ever known. Perhaps
. . . all
-powerful.”

Meena stared at him. There was nothing evil about the book she’d seen in her dreams. There hadn’t been anything evil about the book she’d seen in the museum either.

Although she’d definitely seen a change in Lucien.

That change, however, had come
before
he’d gotten his hands on the book.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” she said finally. “I thought Lucien already
was
all-powerful. Isn’t that what
prince of darkness
means? How much more powerful—or evil—can he possibly get?”

Father Henrique shook his head. “I’m sure you’ve heard,” he said, “of the horrors Lucien’s father inflicted upon his own people. The tens of thousands of men, women, and children he had impaled, alive, for no other reason than to intimidate his enemies.
That
is what I am talking about.”

Meena, already tired and confused, could not even begin to reconcile this image with the one she had in her head—and heart—of Lucien. It was not possible.

“If letting this book fall into Lucien’s hands could cause this,” Meena said, “then why on earth did the Vatican allow it out of Rome in the first place?”

Father Henrique’s expression darkened.

“Not everyone believes as strongly as I do that such a little book could contain so much strength over the dark lord. Obviously they believe he wants it back, because it belonged to his mother, and they were willing to use it as bait to lure him out . . . but they never realized the ramifications of allowing it to fall into his hands. I know
you
believe, Meena. Because I can see it in your face. Otherwise you never would have dreamed of it. You know of its power over him . . .
you
believe. And you can stop what’s about to happen . . . by just telling us where he is.” Father Henrique looked sad. “Believe me, Meena, I know how painful it can be sometimes to do the right thing, as opposed to the easy thing. But I’ve learned over the years, the greater good is more important than our own selfish needs. And if you truly wish to help him, you’ll tell me where he is.”

Meena sighed.

“You’re right,” she said.

Father Henrique’s face brightened. “I am?”

“About the book,” she said. “I do believe it’s more important than anyone else seems to believe. But you’re wrong about Lucien. He’s not evil.”

Father Henrique’s face fell. “Miss Harper—” he began.

“I have faith in him. Even if no one else does,” Meena said. “He’ll do the right thing. Now, where’s Alaric?”

Father Henrique stared down at her with the angriest expression Meena had ever seen on the face of a man who had pledged his life to the service of others. It seemed to take him some time before he was able to calm himself down enough to say simply, “Good night, Miss Harper.”

Then he walked from the room, locking the door behind him.

Even though she disliked him intensely, Meena found herself feeling a little sorry for Father Henrique. He had obviously been thrust into a position for which he was both ill-qualified and ill-suited. She wondered who’d recommended him for this promotion, and if whoever it was was going to get fired. They deserved to be.

Yet a little after dawn, the door opened, and Dr. Fiske, Alaric’s therapist, came in, announcing with an apologetic smile that he’d been appointed temporary head of human resources in Abraham Holtzman’s absence.

He hadn’t come to torture or kill her, or even ask her where Lucien was. Instead, he only came to present her with a letter.

A letter of termination of employment.

Meena, not Father Henrique, was the one who was fired.

Dr. Fiske had her read the letter over carefully to make sure she understood it, and asked her to sign it to verify receipt.

Then he gave her back her purse and cell phone and said that a car was waiting to take her home.

Meena, dazed, hopped down from the examination table. This was worse than being tortured in a way, because it was so mundane after what she’d been expecting.