She Dies at the End (November Snow #1) (21 page)

“A Christmas execution,” November muttered.  “How festive.”

From what November heard through the grape vine the following evening, Savita and William hadn’t been able to get much more useful information from Ben after she had gone to bed.  Luka had been too smart to trust a pawn so likely to get caught with any really useful secrets.  The only helpful thing about Ben was that he could identify Luka as his employer, so William now had corroboration from a vampire for what November had learned in vision.  Ben was, at least for now, refusing the deal Lord William had offered to spare his life in return for testimony.

Lord William then pinned his hopes for useful intelligence on Texas, but here he was again disappointed.  The Lord of Texas was a proud man and refused William’s offer of help after being informed of the threat against him.  Savita was sent under the authority of the crown, but by the time she arrived to examine the suspect, Texas had already made a hash of things.  The bomber had been easy enough to identify with the details that November had provided.  They had found the explosive vest in his apartment, and he had admitted his guilt as soon as he was caught.

Unfortunately, the methods that Lord Milton favored for attempting to garner additional information were such that the kid was fifty percent dead and one hundred percent mental by the time the telepath arrived in Austin.  All they got from him was that he was working for Luka’s cause and that Agnes had delivered the explosives, which of course, they already knew.

The would-be bomber, who went by the name Moss, was in no condition to be able to offer evidence to help persuade the Assembly of Lords to take action against the Lord of Arizona.  Lord William could be sure of support from the half-dozen or so leaders who had been bombed, along with some of their allies, but that left an awful lot of lords who had no particular liking for William or the King, and no particular reason to take sides against Luka.  There were many who considered the king’s hold on the throne to be weak and saw more risk in angering Luka than in angering the crown.  The situation was, as Savita put it, a right mess.

The other piece of fallout from the Texas debacle became clear a few days later, when November awoke screaming from a vision of Agnes’ untimely demise.  Exactly how Luka had figured out that November was mining a strand of Agnes’ hair did not become clear until much later.  The result, however, was that when the Texas plot failed so spectacularly, Luka felt the need to relieve himself of a liability.  He seemed to regret the necessity.

He killed her quickly, surprising Agnes during an innocuous conversation.  She didn’t even have time to be frightened before the stake was through her chest.  Her face barely had the chance to register surprise at the fountain of blood before it and every other part of her turned to ash.  “I’m sorry,” Luka said to her remains.  “I had no choice.”

Pine was at November’s side even before she fully came around.  It wasn’t the first time he’d come running after a particularly strong vision had roused a cry.  As November explained what she had seen, she reached into her pillowcase, pulling free the envelope she kept pinned tightly to her pillow.  She opened it to find only ash where the hair had been.  Pine shook his head gravely.  “Our lord will be heartbroken,” he said soberly.  “As if he needed any more reason to hate Arizona.”

“How do I tell him?” November asked forlornly.

“He already knows,” Pine said.  “He would have felt her go, even in his sleep.  The connection between a vampire and his children is very strong, nearly as strong as that between a fairy and his offspring.  He will probably have questions about the details of her death.”

November nodded. “Do you think he will blame me?” she asked quietly.  “If I weren’t using her hair, then Luka wouldn’t have killed her.”

“Of course not,” Pine replied.  “You were doing it on his behalf.  He’ll blame Luka, and Philemon, and mostly, he’ll blame himself.”

***

Lord William looked his age when he appeared in the doorway of the music room looking for November.  It was one of her favorite places to hide out when she wasn’t working.  She liked to sit at the piano and listen to the various past players as they practiced and performed.  Often she would quietly sing and hum along.  Zinnia had taken over her guitar lessons from Ben, and she tried to find time to practice each day.  She found it soothing in the same way studying quieted her mind.

“I’m so sorry,” she said right away, saddened at the sight of his grief-stricken face.

“Thank you,” he replied, sitting down beside her on the piano bench.  He started picking at the keys.  “Tell me all of it,” he commanded, staring at the piano.

“There isn’t much to tell.  They were having a conversation, and he surprised her.  The stake was in her chest and she was gone before she even knew what was happening.  He told her he was sorry.”

“Not sorry enough.  At least not yet,” he growled.  After a breath, his voice far less fierce, he added, “He didn’t torture her for a traitor, then.  That’s a bit of a relief.”  He relaxed a little.  He had been imagining terrible things.

“No, he didn’t think she leaked anything.  He must have found out about the hair.  He knew she hadn’t betrayed him deliberately, but he couldn’t run the risk of my seeing more of his plans through her,” she replied.  Lord William nodded in agreement.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, William sunk into grief and November knowing that nothing she could say would make it any better.  Finally he left her alone at the piano and hid away to grieve in private.  Em could still see him, though, sitting in his resting place, weeping tears of blood without making a sound, utterly alone.

***

For a few days after William’s daughter’s death, the house was quiet, but soon the place was bustling with preparations for the king’s holiday visit, which would quickly be upon them.  Rose was the general of a small army who rendered the entire building and grounds even more lovely than usual.  Tasteful and expensive Christmas décor abounded, and the residents of the house concentrated on staying out of Rose’s way lest they get drafted into some project or another.

As the arrival of the court drew near, the beautification effort expanded to include members of the household, both living and dead.  A trio of beautiful employees from Neiman Marcus arrived with dresses, gowns, jewelry, and shoes to try on November as she was still confined to the grounds.  It was a strange experience, parading before strangers in designer clothes as they fluttered around her.  It was made palatable only by the presence of Zinnia, who ordered her not to look at any price tags and defended November's decisions against the sometimes differing opinions of the fashionistas.   Then there were the hairdresser and the aesthetician. Those two at least were educational, as they took the time to teach November and Zinnia how to do their own hair and makeup once they had finished trimming and styling and plucking and waxing their victims.

One evening, November was walking in the garden when she came upon Lord William, who was enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet.  She decided to take the chance to bring up a touchy subject that had been on her mind for weeks.  “May I ask you something, Governor?” she asked as she approached him.

“Of course,” he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement at her formality.

“Do you think maybe you should bring your wife home?” she asked tentatively.  He raised an eyebrow.  She soldiered on.  “It seems like the secret of her survival is out, and you’d probably both be happier with her around. This has been a difficult time, and it’s probably just going to get worse, so it might be good for you to have her support.”  She paused before awkwardly adding, “Of course, it’s none of my business so I’m just going to go now . . .”  She started to slide away.

His voice stopped her.  “You are an odd one,” he said.  “Most women would not want their rival to be around.”

“She’s not my rival,” November replied honestly.  “No offence, my lord, but I don’t want you anymore.”  And with that, she walked away, grinning, and didn't look back.

November spent some of her time during this quiet before the storm visiting Ben in the dungeon.  She supposed that she should just ignore the fact that he was down there.  She knew he didn’t really deserve her kindness given what he had been prepared to do to her.  Nevertheless, she knew what it was like to be locked up and all alone.  She kept having nightmares about her own such experiences, and spending a few minutes each day talking to him from outside the door seemed to make them go away.  She justified these visits by saying she was trying to see if she could persuade him to turn on Luka and to see if he would set off some useful visions.  Zinnia was angry at her the first time she went, but the fairy relented when November relayed their former friend’s apology for framing Zinnia.  Apparently, that particular tactic had been his master’s idea.

The girls both began to feel a little bit sorry for him.  They saw a confused child of whom Luka had taken advantage.  The rest of the house, on the other hand, seemed to be looking forward to his execution.  The prisoner was kept half starving, permitted to feed only on rodents and cold animal blood.  It occurred to November that her visits might well be only an additional torment, like dangling food just outside the reach of a starving animal, but when she asked him if she should stop coming, he begged her to continue.  Her pleas with him to be more cooperative didn’t seem to be very effective, unfortunately, and her gift showed her nothing more of use.  She wasn’t sure if his silence was motivated by loyalty to Luka’s cause, hatred of William, fear of his master, despair, or some combination thereof.

The night November met her maker for the first time was cold and dry and smelled of wood smoke from thousands of fire places, spare-the-air day be damned.  About two hours after sunset, the limousines began to arrive, and the household of the Lord Governor of California took their places to welcome the members of the court.  November was the only human present and was placed at the far end of the receiving line, next to Zinnia.  All were attired in business chic.  Neither November nor Zinnia recognized themselves in their sober pencil skirts and silk blouses.  “I feel like we’re dressed up as lawyers for Halloween,” the fairy joked on their way down the stairs.

November was grateful for the levity.  She was growing increasingly anxious about meeting the man who would one day place her in the ground.  What she’d heard about him from Zinnia was not terribly reassuring.  In his younger days, he had been an extremely successful as well as merciless general in several wars.  Since the queen’s death, he was rarely known to crack a smile.  His preferred source of blood was prostitutes, and he never saw the same one for more than a week before wiping her mind clean and sending her on her way with buckets of cash.  The members of the court were said to be always jostling for position in the king’s favor and for their cut of the wealth the royal businesses generated, primarily from the casinos the king owned.  “The one you have to watch out for, I hear, is the Grocer,” the fairy had mentioned.

At November’s questioning look, Zinnia had explained.  “Her name is Lilith.  She runs the household, sort of like Rose times a thousand and minus any morals.  She acts as hostess for the court in the absence of a queen, and she is on the king’s council of advisers.  She keeps the court supplied with people for everyone to feed on when they don’t have time to hunt, so they call her the Grocer.  She is ruthless, and she enjoys her power and her closeness to the throne.  We should steer clear of her as much as possible.”

With a stomach full of butterflies, November waited for the front door to open.  She had been briefed on court etiquette but was terrified that she’d make a mistake.  Zinnia told her to just watch everyone else and she’d be fine.  At some signal her human ears failed to perceive, the waiting men knelt and the ladies sank into deep curtsies, and November followed suit.

The only one to stay still was Lady Esther, recently returned from exile, who simply bowed her head.  She sat ramrod straight in her wheelchair, looking stunning even with a blanket draped over her half-missing legs.  Lord William had taken November’s suggestion and had brought his wife home in time for Christmas.  He seemed much less tightly wound with her in the house, and his wife seemed quite taken with November.  Esther knew the whole story of November’s pseudo-romance with her husband and complimented her for breaking it off so decisively.  “Good on you, young one.  He certainly had it coming,” she had said with a twinkle in her eye.  “You’d think men would get smarter after a few centuries, but no.  They just get better at apologizing.”

After a few moments, a deep voice commanded impatiently, “That’s enough of that,” and the company rose and looked up at their king.

Ilyn Zykov was tall and slender, dressed all in black, in a suit that probably cost as much as a car.  His hair was also black, with a liberal smattering of grey.  His features were oddly handsome in a sharp way; his face was rendered more interesting by the scar under one eye.  He was fair, but November could not quite guess where his people had come from, all those centuries ago.  He looked like he'd been a young man when he'd died.  His eyes, however, betrayed his years.

He clasped William in a manly hug before sweeping Savita into his arms, spinning her around with her feet off the floor.  Seeing his daughter almost managed to make him smile.  Esther, too, brought a bit of happiness to his features, but no one else rated more than a nod.  He worked his way down the line, followed by his courtiers.

As the creature who would end her life drew closer, November began to choke in an embarrassingly obvious manner.  Zinnia grabbed her arm and eased her to the ground as she realized that her friend was falling into a vision.  November tasted soil; she felt as though her mouth and nose were full of earth.  She could see nothing; her vision turned black as pitch as she struggled for breath.  She felt a hand squeezing her own, and the panic was instantly replaced by calm.