Storm (The Storm Chronicles Book 6) (9 page)

She hurried up the steps and pushed through the door, only to be stopped by a short blonde woman in a diaphanous white gown. She stood barefoot on the marble as if oblivious to the cold.

“Hello, Branwen.”

“Hi, Dominique. Where is Mom?” Sable asked.

Dominique’s face was as cold and impassive as the statue behind her. “The Mistress is preparing for court. She asked that you dress and await her in the ballroom. You can change in your room.”

Sable frowned. “I have a room?”

Dominique turned and lead the way toward the stairs. “Of course. You always have, though it wasn’t common knowledge.”

“How did sis not notice that? Some detective,” Sable said with a smirk.

Dominique paused. “She did notice. And she was told it belonged to another sibling, of which you both have many.”

Sable snorted. “Mom lied. Like she always does.”

“We all did, Branwen. To protect you. You seem to think this was all for her benefit. It was not,” Dominique said.

Sable stopped. “Of course it was. Ravenel grew up with Mom and Dad by her side while I grew up with that psychopath Caderyn with only Francois to watch over me unless Mom deigned to visit.”

Dominique spun and there was fire in her eyes. “Yes, Ravenel grew up here, with her mother and father. And she had most of her childhood ripped away. You had friends, played sports, went to the best school, yes?”

“What, sis didn’t have friends? What a loser.”

Dominique moved so fast Sable never saw the slap coming, she just felt the sting and heard the ringing in her ears.

“Raven didn’t get the chance!” Dominique roared. “Raven was trained to be Fürstin, in spite of her father’s efforts. While you were out getting drunk and arrested when you were fourteen, Raven was learning the Totentanz. When you were attending hockey games in Boston, Raven was learning to fight!”

Sable felt her anger boiling. “I was trained as well, Dominique. I learned the Totentanz, learned to fight, better than her.”

Dominique shook her head. “You egotistical brat! You really have no idea, do you?”

“I know Raven has what should be rightfully mine!” Sable screamed.

She reached for Dominique’s throat and was stopped by a sword pointed at her heart. She stopped and glared at the newcomer, a vampire she didn’t know. He was short, perhaps a little over five feet tall, and dressed in black leather that could only be described as androgynous, from his tight leather pants to the blouse that resembled that of a Victorian doll. His face was heavily altered with cosmetics, but his soulpatch beard belied his gender.

“You must be Branwen,” he said.

“I must be, I am the only one unfortunate enough to have my sister’s face,” Sable snapped.

She wanted to reach out and snap his neck, but the sword gave her pause. Rarely had she seen anyone move so fast.

“I am your brother, Thaddeus Michael Arthfael Tempeste Von Strohm. Most everyone calls me Thad,” he said.

“Great. Pleased to meet you, can you put the sword down, now?” Sable asked.

Thad shook his head. “Not yet. You see, you were about to attack the head of the household and Mother’s partner. That is a no-no, and you wouldn’t dare try such a thing had you been through the training your sister has.”

Sable clenched her fist and weighed her chances of drawing her revolver before he pierced her heart with the blade. The odds were not in her favor. “Fine. Swell, I’m not as good as my sister, happy?”

Thad frowned and lowered the blade. “No one has said that, Branwen. To the contrary, you are both unique and special women. What Dominique is trying to convey is that your hatred and jealousy of your sister is misplaced.”

Like hell.

Sable opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Dominique.

“Thaddeus speaks the truth, Branwen. Ravenel was not separated from you by her choice, nor was she somehow treated better than you. She was given her father’s name and made Fürstin for one simple reason. To protect you.”

Sable blinked and felt her anger melt away. “What do you mean?”

Thad sheathed his sword and looked unhappy. “Raven was the bait while you grew up anonymous. She drew the ire of Strohm and his followers while you were blessed with a relatively normal life as Du Guerre’s ward. At least until Mason showed up on your doorstep.”

Sable felt like the rug was being pulled out from under her. Du Guerre had always led her to believe that she was the one protecting Ravenel. She shook her head and glared at Dominique.

“I don’t believe you. If she was the bait, how did she survive?”

“If you were the bait, how did you?” Thaddeus shot back.

“Enough!”

Valentina stood on the stairs above dressed in a flowing gown of red leather and black lace, Her hair trailed down her back in an obsidian curtain and a rapier was sheathed at her neat waist. Sable tried to meet her gaze and found she couldn’t. Valentina was vibrating with fury. Sable watched as Valentina swept down the stairs and moved between Dominique and Thad. Valentina’s eyes flared blue and she glared at them.

“Dominique, Thaddeus, it is not your place to discuss this with Branwen,” she said.

Thad bowed. “Apologies, Mother.”

Dominique did not follow suit. “Branwen needs to know the truth, my wife. Until she understands, she is a danger to herself and the house.”

Valentina arched an eyebrow. “You speak out of turn, my familiar.”

Dominique lowered her eyes. “That may be so, mi’lady, but I am not in error.”

Valentina turned to Sable. “This is neither the time nor place to discuss this, Branwen. But they speak truly. The intention was to protect you, the rest can be saved for another time. Get changed, I have need of you beside me at Court.”

“Fine, Mom. But we will finish this discussion, and soon” Sable said.

Thad smirked. “Won’t that be a barrel of laughs?”

“Come with me, Branwen. I will assist you.”

Sable followed Dominique up the spiral staircase to the third floor, where a balcony overlooked the grand hall below. Doors of antique wood led into separate chambers and it was to one of these that she was led. Dominique unlocked the door with a key from the ring around her wrist and pushed open the door.

“This is your room, as it has been since birth. It was, of course, updated to reflect your chambers in Boston,” Dominique said.

Sable looked down the hall to another room that seemed to be calling her name. She could feel it as if it were her own room, a place she’d loved. “That’s Raven’s room, isn’t it?”

Dominique nodded. “It is, though she hasn’t stayed with us in almost two years. The staff keeps it clean and ready for when she comes home.”

“May I see?” Sable asked.

“Perhaps later. We must get you ready. Please?”

Sable slipped past Dominique into the chamber beyond. It was indeed similar to the room she’d grown up in. The walls were decorated with posters of such bands as Metallica, Judas Priest and Disturbed mixed with photographs of her with Francois, Didi and of course, her father, taken all over the world. The furniture was new, but similar in design to the contemporary king-size bed and black lacquer she preferred. The family antiques were too stuffy. A black leather dress matched with stiletto heels hung from a hanger beside the sunken tub at the far end of the room. Sable picked it up and held it to her. It would be difficult to move in were it not for the hip-high slit. It was beautiful and had gone out of style in 1865.

“You’ve got to be kidding! Raven wears this?”

Dominique closed the door and smiled. “It is not hers, but yes, it is the garb of a Fürstin.”

Sable felt the old anger in her stomach. She’d been told all her life about the position of Fürstin and how it was not hers.

“I am not Fürstin,” she said.

Dominique started the bath water. “No, you are not. Like Pandora, you are acting in Raven’s absence. The Mistress expects you to dress befitting your place in the family.”

Sable tossed the dress aside. “I don’t have a place in this family, of that I’m certain.”

Dominque straightened and Sable could read the genuine astonishment in her eyes. “Of course you do!”

Dominque stepped close and looked up at her. “Branwen, that is what we have been trying to tell you. You are part of this family, so much so your mother did what she could to protect you as a child. To let you be normal.”

She turned away and added a cup of something to the water that made the room smell like vanilla.

“The position of Fürstin is only coveted by those who do not know what it requires. When you can, ask your sister if she enjoys the position. I daresay the answer is no. Come, off with those clothes and into the bath, quickly!”

Sable was confused. She’d always thought that her sister lived a spoiled lifestyle with perks she didn’t have, now here were people who should know telling her that wasn’t the case. There was little evidence to either, but maybe she had been wrong. Maybe Raven hadn’t been any happier than she had.

Sable undressed and slipped into the bath, letting the warm water spill over her while she thought and Dominque shampooed her hair. Now that was a luxury she could get used to!

CHAPTER SEVEN

The North Atlantic, Aboard Crescent Star: Time Unknown

Raven frowned at the man next to her. He was dressed in a
Crescent Star
uniform with black pants, white shirt, white military-style jacket with Navy markings all topped by a white sailor’s hat. He also had Levac’s ever-present five o-clock shadow, intelligent eyes and mop of hair. But Raven knew by scent that he was not Rupert Levac. She pulled away from his hand and glared at him.

“What are you?”

Levac tucked his hat under his arm. “Ensign Rupert Levac, at your service, ma’am. Can I help you? She’s a big ship and you look a little lost.”

Raven shook her head. “You aren’t Rupert. So let’s try again: What are you and where is Aspen Kincaid?”

Levac extended a hand and reached for her. “Ma’am, I am Ensign Levac, I just want to help, let’s get you to your room—”

Raven grabbed his hand and pulled him into an arm-bar that left her behind him with his head pointed at the floor. “You are no such thing. Tell me where Aspen is or I will pull your arm out of the socket!”

The creature laughed, a dark, angry sound that could never have come from Rupert Levac’s mouth. His skin rippled and stretched like taffy until he was free, then he turned to face her. The skin of his face was flowing away, melting to reveal a sharp-toothed maw and insectile eyes. It raised its claws and Raven squeezed the shotgun’s trigger. The Levac-thing’s head exploded in a spray of goo; the second shot ripped through its chest and sent it spinning into the wall where it vanished, leaving nothing but a red smear. In the echo of the blast Raven heard a hellish voice intone “
hic non morietur
!”

The sounds died away, leaving Raven alone in the corridor. One by one features and lights faded and she turned to see the corridor as it was in present day; dirty, dingy and streaked with blood. As the last of the flickering lights faded, the doll the little girl had been holding dropped to the floor. Raven knelt beside it; though it looked new, it smelled of death, age and decay, something no parent would ever want their child to hold. She considered picking it up, but thought better of it. She instead added two fresh shells to the shotgun and strode to the next section, where she could see lights sputtering fitfully in the damp. From ahead there was a sound, a repeated squeal followed by a thump and Raven approached, weapon ready. She rounded the corner and saw that the door to the next section was swinging in the wind and rain was pouring through the gap, mixing with the blood on the floor and making it a thin, pinkish trail on the stained carpet. Raven squatted and sniffed at the blood. It wasn’t Aspen’s, but it was fresher than most of the ship, perhaps from one of her team.

Raven straightened and pushed through the broken door and out onto the deck. To her left was a series of numbered doors, all painted white and flecked with spatters of blood, while to the right were windows that overlooked the ocean. Most of the windows were broken inward, with strands of flesh and what looked like feathers stuck to the broken shards. Beyond them, a storm raged; lightning flashed and rain fell with such fury that the ocean looked as if it was boiling.

In the middle of the room were the carcasses of several feathered creatures of a kind Raven had never seen before. She bent to examine the nearest one and found it had been roasted from the outside. It’s feathers were charred to a crisp and its over-sized eyes had exploded from the heat.

Aspen

Only her flame spell or a flamethrower could do damage like that, and Raven would bet on Aspen over the flamethrower.

She stepped past the ruined carcass and stared down the corridor wondering if the team had taken solace in one of the staterooms or continued aft. She walked past scattered ash and more dead creatures then caught a faint scent, a scent she both hated and loved. She looked down and saw a spatter of fresh blood near the wall. A trail of drops led down the hallway toward another arch.

Raven didn’t need to taste it to know whose blood it was. It was Aspen’s. Raven would have staked her life on it. She started following the trail and reached for her earpiece.

“Francois, do you read?” she asked.

“I am here, Ravenel,” he said a beat later.

For once, Raven found his presence comforting. “I found a blood trail. It’s dry, but I’m positive it’s Aspen’s. She can’t be far, where are you?”

“Above the ship. The weather has gotten dangerous, but we are still here. How long to find her?”

Raven was about to answer when she heard a strange cry from outside. She turned to see more of the creatures, birdlike things with black wings and wickedly curving tails. Their eyes were blood red, their beaks black and serrated, like knives. The closest opened its mouth and emitted a cry, like the scream of a frightened child. Raven felt the cry wash over her and knew if she hadn’t been a dhampyr, it would have chilled her to the bone.

“I’ll call you back,” Raven said.

As one, the creatures rose and attacked, flapping toward her like death on silent wings. Raven raised the shotgun and flicked it from single shot to burst fire. When the creatures were close enough she squeezed the trigger and the high-powered weapon bucked in her hands, sending a chain of silver, lead and holy oak into the creatures. The first six exploded in a rain of black ash that fell around her. A beat later the weapon clicked empty. Raven dropped it and rolled out of the way of the remaining three, who dogged her heels as she ran back the way she’d come. She leapt through the doorway and felt their claws rake at the back of her vest, tearing at the thick Kevlar. Then they were past and she was on her knees, Automag in hand. She aimed and squeezed three shots in succession and two of the creatures dropped, shedding ash and feathers. The third rounded the corner and Raven heard it’s cry again. The sound shattered the light fixture nearby, covering Raven in bits of broken glass, but she didn’t move. The creatures were snake-quick and smarter than they looked. The glass in her hair and eyes could wait.

The creature reappeared a moment later, beak and tail poised. It glided around the corner and came straight toward her. Raven sighted down her pistol’s barrel and squeezed. The monster’s head exploded, sending blood and ash flying. It crashed into the ground and slid to a stop inches from Raven, who looked at it in distaste. The fresh dead smelled worse than the ones Aspen had fried.

Raven stood and moved back onto the rain-swept deck. The storm outside was worsening, the sky had grown darker and the lightning was almost constant, making the ocean outside look like a selection of still photographs rather than a wind-raked sea.

She paused to collected the shotgun and replace its magazine with a fresh one from her vest, then contact Du Guerre, who answered immediately.

“Have you found them?” he asked.

Raven could hear the Osprey’s engines over the com; they sounded labored and weak.

“No. I was attacked by some kind of bird things with scorpion tails. Just loaded the last magazine into the Saiga,” Raven said.

“They are called screamwings, I thought they were extinct. Ravenel, it is impossible to pick you up in this weather and we are burning excess fuel to stay close. I am ordering the Osprey above the storm to conserve fuel. I will return every hour,” Du Guerre said.

Raven slung the shotgun and began to reload her pistol. “Dammit, Francois! You can’t just leave us here!”

“I assure you, I am not. I have calculated the closest land to our current location and will stay until you are safe or we are at minimum fuel. I’m sorry I am not beside you, Ravenel.”

Raven walked to the window and looked out. There was no sign of the Osprey, but she could hear the engines roaring. “You’re always sorry. Don’t let me down again, Francois.”

“I will be here. Next contact in fifty-seven minutes. Du Guerre out.”

The sound of the engines got louder and then moved away. Raven didn’t wait to see if they came back. She unslung the shotgun and walked across the water and blood-slick deck to the next section. A companionway led down into darkness and she could smell Aspen’s blood, a faint scent carried from somewhere below. Her weapon’s tactical light cut through the gloom and she started down the steps. At the bottom she found the deck half-filled with water coming from above and sloshing out through windows in the port side. Pieces of wood, bits of paper and long, stringy pieces of flesh floated on top, like the scum beneath a pier. Here and there furniture rose through the lapping water and Raven realized this had once been some kind of library or reading room, now nothing but moldy paper, ruined leather chairs and broken shelves.

She stepped into the water and sank until it was over her knees. She hated the sensation of the cold water against her, but ignored it, instead standing still until she was used to the sensation. After a moment she started across the chamber, hoping to catch Aspen’s scent, though she knew it would be difficult to track through the deep, scummy water.

The library was roughly rectangular, with walls paneled in dark wood, crystal chandeliers that had long since stopped working and a central bar that had once served cigars and alcoholic beverages to first class passengers, but now sat silent and dead. There was no sign of any bodies or Aspen’s team, but Raven felt certain they had come this way. If they had holed up in one of the staterooms, they would have heard the shotgun blasts and come to investigate.

Raven turned and waded through the water, her weapon ready. The light reflected off of old framed photographs and brass fixtures, making the shadows on the water dance. She rounded the bar and climbed a short flight of steps that brought her out of the water and into a paneled corridor. As with the first class deck, one side consisted of a series of numbered doors that lead to the standard or “second class” staterooms while the opposite side was open to the ocean. Old deck chairs lay scattered like toys on the wide deck along with remnants of wicker tables, broken glass and rotting towels. On the wall between two of the staterooms was the word “
Deditio
” written in thick, red letters of blood so dark it could only have come from the human heart. It was accompanied by Aspen’s unmistakable scent. Raven crossed to the painting and touched a finger to the blood, which was just beginning to dry into a sticky mass. Raven shook her head in denial and backed away.

“No. She’s not dead, I’m going to find her.”

“Oh, but she is, little one. You’ve seen and smelled her heart’s blood. She is dead.”

Raven turned and wasn’t surprised to see her mother standing a few feet away. Valentina was clad in a black leather gown that both hid her body and accentuated her curves. It was so tight it looked as if she’d been sewn into the garment. Her black hair was braided and trailed down her back, where it almost touched the floor.

“For crying out loud,” Raven muttered.

“What is wrong, my childe?” Valentina asked.

“You. You are not my mother, has this seriously ever worked on anyone?” Raven asked.

The faux-Valentina extended a hand. “I don’t know what you mean. Come, daughter, we must get you ready.”

Raven sighed. “Look, I know you aren’t my mother. Whatever you are, you reached into my head and pulled out a memory to try and freak me out. My mother wore that dress ten years ago and she never wears the same thing twice. It’s hard on the wallet and the Italian bovine population. So drop the crap. Where is my familiar?”

Faux-Valentina took another step and smiled widely. Pain lanced through Raven’s head and she fell to one knee. Her vision darkened and she growled in pain and anger, calling on her vampire side. She could feel blood pounding in her ears, her heart thudding and she fought to stand. She was rising when the faux Valentina touched her, one hand running down her face with a painful electric sensation. Raven looked into its beautiful blue eyes and the world began to spin. She felt like she was falling, and she was. She felt her knees hit the deck and tried to catch herself with her hands, but it was too late. She fell…

II

Raven sat up and stared around herself. Gone was the pitching, foul-smelling deck of
Crescent Star
, replaced with a room it took her a moment to recognize. The Spice Girls looked down at her from the poster beside her bed, next to Billy Idol and AC/DC. Across the room, Humphry Bogart tipped his hat and looked for the Maltese Falcon and Elvis was All Shook Up.

Raven lay on a queen-size four-poster bed with a thick white duvet and black satin sheets, which was arranged between a pair of antique bedtables with flickering gas lamps accompanied by the distant rumble of thunder. She listened and knew where she was. It was her room in Tempeste Manor as it had been when she was in High School, fifteen years ago.

She stood and moved to the window, and it was then that she caught her reflection. She was dressed in black; black schoolgirl skirt, black net stockings, black tank top and black jacket over her father’s pistol. Her red hair was pulled into a thick ponytail laced with black leather strips and almost a dozen rings hung from her ears. It was the clothing she’d worn to her father’s funeral. Not the official one, the one by his grave, but the one for Court, attended by the cream of vampire society.