Such a painting would be the pride of any collection.
He had three Turners in this house alone.
With a hand that twitched in anticipation, he took hold of the lower right-hand corner of the gilt frame and pulled the seascape from the wall. The safe behind it fit the precise dimensions of the painting and was inset into the lath and plaster. After twisting the combination on the dial, there was a subtle shifting that was barely audible, giving no hint that each of the six retracting pins was thick as a forearm.
The safe opened without a sound and an interior light came on, illuminating a twelve-cubic-foot space stacked with thin leather jewelry cases, bound bundles of hundred-dollar bills, and documents in folders.
Montrag brought over a needlepointed stepping stool and got up on its flowered back. Reaching far into the safe, going behind all the real estate deeds and stock certificates, he took out a strongbox and then put the safe and the painting back as they had been. With a feeling of excitement and possibility, he carried the metal box over to the desk and got the key from the lower left-hand drawers secret compartment.
His father had taught him the combination of the safe and shown him the location of the hiding place, and when Montrag had sons, he would pass down the knowledge to them. That was how one made sure things of value were not lost. Father to son.
The lid of the strongbox did not open with the same well-calibrated, well-lubricated slide the safe did. This one came wide with a squeak, the hinges protesting the disturbance of their rest and reluctantly revealing what lay within its metal belly.
They were still there. Thank the Virgin Scribe they were still there.
As Montrag reached inside, he thought, So relatively worthless, these pages, valued by themselves at a fraction of a penny. The ink held within their fibers was worth but a penny, as well. And yet for what they spelled out, they were invaluable.
Without them he was at mortal risk.
He took out one of the two documents and it didnt matter which he removed, as they were identical. Between careful fingers, he held the vampire equivalent of an affidavit, a three-page, handwritten, signed-in-blood dissertation concerning an event that had happened twenty-four years ago. The notarized signature on the third page was sloppy, a scrawl in brown that was barely legible.
But then, it had been made by a dying man.
Rehvenges father, Rempoon.
The documents laid the ugly truth all out in the Old Language: Rehvenges mothers abduction by the symphaths, his conception and birth, her escape and later marriage to Rempoon, an aristocrat. The last paragraph was as damning as everything else:
Upon my honor, and the honor of mine blooded ancestors and decedents, verily on this night did mine stepson, Rehvenge, fall upon me and cause to be rendered unto my body mortal wounds through the application of his bare hands upon my flesh. He did so with malice aforethought, having lured me into my study with the object of provoking an argument. I was unarmed. Following my injuries, he did go about the study and prepare the room for to appear to have been invaded by intruders from without. Verily, he did leave me upon the floor for deaths cold hand to capture my corporeal form, and he did depart from the premises. I was roused briefly by my dear friend Rehm, who had come to visit for the purpose of business discussions.
I am not expected to live. My stepson has killed me. This is my final confession on earth as an embodied spirit. May the Scribe Virgin carry me unto the Fade with her grace and all alacrity.
As Montrags father had later explained it, Rempoon had gotten it mostly right. Rehm had come on business and found not only an empty house, but the bloody body of his partner-and had done what any reasonable male would have: Hed rifled through the study himself. Operating under the assumption Rempoon was dead, hed set about trying to find the papers on the business so that Rempoons fractional interest would stay out of his estate and Rehm would own the going concern outright.
Having succeeded in his quest, Rehm had been on his way to the door when Rempoon had shown a sign of life, a name leaving his cracked lips.
Rehm had been comfortable being an opportunist, but falling into the roll of accomplice to murder went too far. Hed called for the doctor, and in the time it took Havers to arrive, the mumblings of a dying male had spelled out a shocking tale, one worth even more than the company. Thinking quickly, Rehm had documented the story and the stunning confession about Rehvenges true nature and had Rempoon sign the pages-thus turning them into a legal document.
The male had then lapsed into unconsciousness and been dead when Havers had arrived.
Rehm had taken both the business papers and the affidavits with him when hed left and been touted as a valiant hero for trying to rescue the dying male.
In the aftermath, the utility of the confession had been obvious, but the wisdom of putting such information in play was less clear. Tangling with a symphath was dangerous, as Rempoons spilled blood had attested. Ever the intellectual, Rehm had sat on the information and sat on ituntil it was too late to do anything with it.
By law, you had to turn a symphath in, and Rehm had the kind of proof that met the threshold for reporting someone. However, in considering his options for so long, he found himself in the dicey position of arguably protecting Rehvenges identity. If hed come forward twenty-four or forty-eight hours later? Fine. But one week? Two weeks? A month?
Too late. Rather than squander the asset completely, Rehm had told Montrag about the affidavits, and the son had understood the fathers mistake. There had been nothing that could be done in the short run, and only one scenario where it was still worth anything-and that had come to pass over the summer. Rehm had been killed in the raids and the son had inherited everything, including the documents.
Montrag couldnt be blamed for his fathers choice not to reveal what was known. All he had to do was state that hed stumbled upon the papers in his fathers things, and in turning them and Rehv in, he was just doing what he was supposed to.
It would never come out that hed known about them all along.
And nobody would ever believe that Rehv hadnt been the one whod decided to kill Wrath. He was, after all, a symphath, and nothing they said could be trusted. More to the point, his hand was either going to be on the trigger, or if he just ordered the murder of the king, he was the leahdyre of the council and in the position to profit from the death the most. Which was precisely why Montrag had had the male elevated into the role.
Rehvenge would do the deed with the king, and then Montrag would go to the council and prostrate himself before his colleagues. He would say that he didnt find the papers until he had properly moved into the Connecticut house a month after both the raids and after Rehv had been made leahdyre. He would swear that as soon as he found them he reached out to the king and revealed the nature of the issue over the phone-but Wrath had forced his silence because of the compromising position it put the Brother Zsadist in: After all, the Brother was mated to Rehvenges sister, and that would make her related to a symphath.
Wrath, of course, could say nothing to the contrary after he was dead, and more to the point, the king was disliked already for the way he had ignored the glymeras constructive criticism. The council was primed to embrace another fault of his, real or manufactured.
It was intricate maneuvering, but it was going to work, because with the king gone, the remnants of the council would be the first place the race would go looking for the murderer, and Rehv, a symphath, was the perfect scapegoat: Of course a symphath would do such a thing! And Montrag would help the motive assumption along by testifying that Rehv had come to see him before the murder and talked with bizarre conviction about change of an unprecedented variety. In addition, crime scenes were never completely clean. Undoubtedly, there would be things left behind that would tie Rehv to the death, whether because it was actually there or because everyone would be looking for exactly that kind of evidence.
When Rehv fingered Montrag? No one would believe him, primarily because he was a symphath, but also because, in the tradition of his father, Montrag had always cultivated a reputation for thoughtfulness and trustworthiness in his business dealings and social conduct. As far as his fellow members of the council knew, he was above reproach, incapable of deception, a male of worth from impeccable bloodlines. None of them had a clue that he and his father had double-crossed many a partner or associate or blood relation-because they had been careful to choose the ones they preyed upon so that appearances were maintained.
The result? Rehv would be brought up on charges of treason, arrested, and either put to death according to vampire law or deported to the symphath colony, where he would be killed for being a half-breed.
Either outcome was acceptable.
It was all set, which was why Montrag had called his closest friend just now.
Taking the affidavit, he folded it in on itself, and slid it into a thick, creamy envelope. Drawing a page of his personalized stationery from an embossed leather box, he penned a quick missive to the male who he would tap as his second in command, and cemented the stage for Rehvenges fall. In the note, he explained that, as theyd discussed over the phone, this was what he had found in his fathers private papers-and if the document was validated, he was concerned for the future of the council.
Naturally, the thing would be verified by the law office of his colleague. And by the time it was, Wrath would be dead and Rehv poised for blame.
Montrag lit a stick of red wax, dripped some of it on the envelopes flap, and sealed the affidavit in. On the front, he wrote the males name, and in the Old Language spelled out HAND DELIVERY ONLY; then he closed up and locked the metal box, tucking it under his desk, and returning the key to its safe place in the secret drawer.
A button on the phone summoned the butler, who took the envelope and immediately headed off to complete the task of getting it into the correct hands.
Satisfied, Montrag took the lockbox over to the wall safe, pivoted the painting outward, put his fathers combination to use, and returned the remaining affidavit to its home: Keeping one copy for himself was only prudent, a safeguard in the event something happened to the document that was on its way across the border into Rhode Island.
As he eased the Turner back into place, the landscape spoke to him as always, and for a moment, he allowed himself to step out of the bedlam he was creating with purpose and seep into the peaceful, lovely sea. The breeze would be warm, he thought.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, how he missed the summer during these cold months, but then, it was contrast that enlivened the heart. Without the cold of winter, one would not truly appreciate the sultry nights of July and August.
He pictured where he would be in six months when a full solstice moon rose oer Caldwells sprawling city. Come June, he would be king, an elected and respected monarch. If only his father had been alive to see-
Montrag coughed. Breathed in with a hiccup. Felt something wet on his hand.
He looked down. Blood was all over the front of his white shirt.
Opening his mouth to shout in alarm, he tried to draw in a deep breath, but there was only a gurgling sound-
His hands snapped up to his neck and found a geyser jumping free of his exposed carotid artery. Wheeling around, he saw a female standing before him with a mans haircut and black leathers. The knife in her hand had a red blade, and her face was a calm mask of detached disinterest.
Montrag fell to his knees before her and then pitched over to his right, his hands still trying to keep his lifeblood in his body and not all over his fathers Aubusson.
He was still alive when she rolled him over, took out a rounded tool made of ebony, and knelt down to him.
As an assassin, Xhexs job performance was measured in two dimensions. First, did she get her target? Self-explanatory. Second, was it a clean kill? Meaning, was there no collateral damage in the form of other deaths to protect herself, her identity, and/or the identity of the individual who had tasked her with the job.
In this case, the first was going to be a snap, given the way Montrags artery was doing the drainpipe. The second was still open to question, so she needed to work fast. She took the lys out of her leathers, bent over to the bastard, and didnt waste more than a nanosecond watching his eyes roll around.
She grabbed his chin and forced his face to hers. Look at me. Look at me.
His wild stare shot to hers, and when it did, she brought the lys forward. You know why Im here and who sent me. Its not Wrath.
Montrag clearly had enough air still going to his brain, because his lips mouthed, Rehvenge, in horror, before those eyeballs of his started rolling again.
She let go of his chin and slapped him hard. Pay attention, asshole. Look at me.
With their stares locked and her grip back on his jaw, she peeled the upper and lower lids of his left eye even wider. Look at me.
As she took the lys and pressed it into the socket at the corner near his nose, she reached into his brain and triggered all sorts of memories. Ahinteresting. Hed been a conniving fucker for real, specializing in screwing people about money.
Montrags hands slapped into the rug and dug in hard as he gurgled his way through a scream. The eyeball came out of the skull like a scoop of honeydew off its rind, as perfectly round and clean as youd want. The right eye was just the same, and she put both of them in a lined velvet pouch as Montrags arms and legs jerked and flopped on his expensive rug, his lips peeling back such that every single one of his teeth including his molars showed.
Xhex left him to his sloppy death, walking right out of the French door behind the desk and dematerializing to the maple shed first cased the place from the day before. She waited there for about twenty minutes and then watched as a doggen entered the study, saw the body, and dropped the silver tray she was carrying.
As the teapot and the china bounced, Xhex cocked her phone open, hit send, and put the thing to her ear. When Rehvs deep voice answered she said, Its done and theyve found him. Kill was clean and Im bringing you the souvenir. ETA ten minutes.
Well-done, Rehv said in a husky voice. Well-fucking-done.
TWENTY-THREE
Wrath frowned as he spoke into his cell phone. Now? You want me to come upstate now?
Rehvs voice was all about the Im-not-fucking-around. This has to be done in person, and Im immobile.
Across the study, Vishous, who had been about to report on the work hed been doing tracking those crates of guns, mouthed, What the fuck?
Which was exactly what Wrath was thinking. A symphath calls you two hours before dawn and asks you to come upstate because he has something he needs to give you. Yeah, okay, the bastard was Bellas brother, but his nature was what it was and sure as shit, the something was not a fruit basket.
Wrath, this is important, the guy said.
Okay, Im coming right now. Wrath clipped his phone shut and looked at Vishous. Im-
Phurys out hunting tonight. You cant go there alone.
The Chosen are in the house. And had been staying off and on at Rehvs Great Camp since Phury had taken the reins as Primale.
Not exactly the kind of protection I had in mind.
I can handle myself, fuck you very much.
V crossed his arms over his chest, his diamond eyes flashing. Are we going now? Or after you waste time trying to change my mind?
Fine. Whatever. Ill meet you in the foyer in five.
As they left the study together, V said, About those guns? Im still working on the trace. Right now, Ive got nothing, but you know me. That aint going to last, true. I dont care if the serial numbers are scrubbed, Im going to find out where the hell they got them.
Confidence is high, my brother. Confidence is very high.
After they were fully armed, the two of them traveled in a loose dance of molecules up north, zeroing in on Rehvs Great Camp in the Adirondacks and materializing on the shores of a quiet lake. Up ahead, the house was a huge rambler of a Victorian, shingled and diamond paned, with cedar-post porches on both stories.
Lot of corners. Lot of shadows. And a lot of those windows looked like eyes.
The mansion was spooky enough on its own, but with it surrounded by a force field of the symphath equivalent of mhis, a guy could credibly believe that Freddy, Jason, Michael Myers, and that redneck crew with all the chain saws lived inside: All around the place, dread was an intangible fence made of mental barbed wire, and even Wrath, who knew what was doing, was glad to get on the other side of the barrier.
As he forced his eyes to focus better, Trez, one of Rehvs personal guard, opened the double doors on the porch that faced the lake and raised his palm in greeting.
Wrath and V walked up the frosty, crunchy lawn and though they kept their weapons holstered, V took the glove off his glowing right hand. Trez was the kind of male you respected, and not just because he was a Shadow. The Moor had the muscled body of a fighter and the smart stare of a strategist, and his allegiance was to Rehv and Rehv only. To protect the guy? Trez would level a city block in the blink of an eye.
So how you doing, big man, Wrath said he mounted the porch steps.
Trez came forward and they clapped palms. Im solid. You?
Tight as always. Wrath knocked the guy in the shoulder. Hey, you ever want a real job, come soldier with us.
Im happy where I am, but thanks. The Moor grinned and turned to V, his dark eyes flicking down to Vs exposed hand. No offense, but Im not shaking that thing.
Wise of you, Vishous said as he offered his lefty. You understand, though.
Abso, and Id do the same for Rehv. Trez led the way to the doors. Hes in his bedroom waiting for you.
He sick? Wrath asked as they entered the house.
You want anything to drink? Eat? Trez said as they headed to the right.
As the question remained unanswered, Wrath glanced at V. Were okay, thanks.
The place was decorated right out of Victoria and Alberts back pocket, with heavy Empire furniture and garnet and gold everywhere. True to the Victorian periods affection for collection, each room had a different theme to it. One sitting parlor was full of antique clocks ticking away, from grandfathers to brass windups to pocket watches in display cases. Another had shells and coral and centuries-old driftwood. In the library, there were stunning Oriental vases and platters, and the dining room was kitted out in medieval icons.
Im surprised there arent more Chosen here, Wrath said as they went through empty room after empty room.
The first Tuesday of the month, Rehv has to come up. He makes the females a little nervous, so most of them go back over to the Other Side. Selena and Cormia always stay, though. There was no small measure of pride in his voice as he tacked on, Theyre very strong, those two.
They took a grand set of stairs up to the second floor and went down a long hall to a pair of carved doors that positively screamed master of the house.
Trez paused. Listen, he is a little ill, okay. Nothing contagious. Its justI want you both to be prepared. Weve given him everything he needs and hes going to be fine.
As Trez knocked and opened both doors, Wrath frowned, his vision sharpening on its own as his instincts pricked.
In the midst of a carved bed, Rehvenge was lying still as a corpse, a red velvet duvet pulled up to his chin and sable folds draped over his body. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow, his skin pasty and tinged with yellow. His close-cropped mohawk was the only thing that looked remotely normalthat and the fact that standing at his right hand was Xhex, that half-breed symphath female who looked like she performed castrations for fun and profit.
Rehvs eyes opened, and the amethyst color was dulled to a murky bruised purple. Its the king.
Sup.
Trez shut the doors, parking it to the side and not in the middle to block the way as a measure of respect. I already offered them libations and eats.
Thanks, Trez. Rehv grimaced and made a move to push himself off the pillows. When he just sagged, Xhex leaned in to help him, and he shot her a glare that smacked of dont-even-think-about-it. Which she ignored.
After he was settled upright, he pulled the duvet up to his neck, covering the red stars tatted on his chest. So I have something for you, Wrath.
Oh, yeah?
Rehv nodded at Xhex, who reached into the leather jacket she was wearing. The instant she moved, Vs gun muzzle flipped up quick as a blink, aimed square at the females heart.
You want to slow that roll? she snapped to V.
Not in the slightest. Sorry. V sounded about as sorry as a wrecking ball in midswing.
Okay, lets just relax, Wrath said, and inclined his head toward Xhex. Go ahead.
The female pulled free a velvet bag and tossed it in Wraths direction. As it came at him, he heard the soft whistle of its flight and caught the thing not by sight, but by sound.
Inside were two pale blue eyes.
So, I had an interesting meeting last night, Rehv drawled.
Wrath looked at the symphath. Whose blank stare do I have in my palm.
Montrag, son of Rehm. He came to me and asked me to kill you. You got deep enemies in the glymera, my friend, and Montrags only one of them. I dont know who else was in on the plot, but I wasnt taking any chances at finding out before we took action.
Wrath put the eyes back in the bag and closed his fist around them. When were they going to do it.
At the council meeting, the night after tomorrow.
Son of a bitch.
V put his gun away and crossed his arms over his chest. You know, I despise those motherfuckers.
Speaking to the choir, Rehv said before refocusing on Wrath. I didnt come to you before I solved the problem because Im kind of sweet on the idea of the king owing me something.
Wrath had to laugh. Sin-eater.
You know it.
Wrath jogged the bag in his hand. When did this happen?
About a half hour ago, Xhex answered. I didnt clean up after myself.
Well, theyll certainly get the message. And Im still going to that meeting.
You sure thats wise? Rehv said. Whoever else is behind this will not come to me again, because they know where my loyalties appear to lie. But that doesnt mean they wont find someone else.
So let them, Wrath said. Im down with mortal combat. He glanced at Xhex. Montrag implicate anyone?
I slit his throat from ear to ear. Talk was tough.
Wrath smiled and glanced at V. You know, its kind of a surprise you two dont get along better.
Not really, they said at the same time.
I can postpone the council meeting, Rehv murmured. If you want to do recon yourself to see who else was involved.
Nope. If they had balls of any size, theyd have tried to kill me themselves, not get you to do it. So one of two things is going to happen. Since they dont know whether Montrag outted them before he became visually impaired, theyre either going to go into hiding, because thats what cowards do, or theyre going to shift the blame to someone else. So the meeting goes on.
Rehv smiled darkly, the symphath in him obvious. As you wish.
I want an honest answer from you, though, Wrath said.
Whats the question.
For real, did you think about killing me? When he asked.
Rehv was a silent for a bit. Then he slowly nodded. Yeah, I did. But like I said, you owe me now, and given mycircumstances of birth, as it werethats far more valuable than what any smarmy-ass aristocrat can do for me.
Wrath nodded once. Thats logic I can respect.
Plus, lets face it-Rehv smiled again-my sisters married into the family.
That she has, symphath. That she has.
After Ehlena put the ambulance in the garage, she went across the parking lot and down into the clinic. She needed to get her things from her locker, but that wasnt what was driving her. Usually at this time of night, Havers would be doing charts in his office, and that was where she headed. When she came up to his door, she took her scrunchie out, smoothed back her hair, and tightly knotted it at the base of her neck. Her coat was still on, but even though it hadnt been that expensive, it was made of black wool and looked tailored, so she figured she looked okay.
She knocked on the jamb, and when a cultured voice called out, she went in. Haverss former office had been a splendid old-world study, filled with antiques and leather-bound books. Now that they were at this new clinic, his private workspace was no different from anyone elses: white walls, linoleum floor, stainless-steel desk, black rolling chair.
Ehlena, he said as he glanced up from the charts he was reviewing. How fare you?
Stephan is where he belongs-
My dear, I had no idea you knew him. Catya told me.
Idid. But maybe she shouldnt have mentioned that to the female.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, why didnt you say?
Because I wanted to honor him.
Havers removed his tortoiseshell glasses and rubbed his eyes. Alas, that is something I can understand. Still, I wish I had known. Dealing with the dead is never easy, but it is especially hard if they are of personal acquaintance.
Catya has given me the rest of the shift off-
Yes, I told her to. You have had a long night.
Well, thank you. Before I leave, though, I want to ask you about another patient.
Havers put his glasses back on. Of course. Which one?
Rehvenge. He came in last evening.
So I recall. Is he having some difficulty with his medications?
Did you by any chance see his arm?
Arm?
The infection in the veins on the right side.
The races physician pushed his tortoiseshell glasses up on his nose. He didnt indicate that his arm was giving him bother. If he wants to come back in and see me, Ill be happy to look at it. But as you know, I cant prescribe anything without examining him.
Ehlena opened her mouth to argue when another nurse poked her head in. Doctor? the female said. Your patient is ready in exam room four.
Thank you. Havers looked back at Ehlena. Now do go home and have a rest.
Yes, Doctor.
She ducked out of his office and watched the races physician hurry off and disappear around the corner.
Rehvenge wasnt coming back in here to see Havers. No way. One, hed sounded too sick to, and two, hed already proven he was a hardheaded idiot when hed deliberately hidden that infection from the doctor.
Stupid. Male.
And she was stupid as well, considering what was banging around in her head.
Generally speaking, ethics were never a problem for her: Doing the right thing didnt require thought or a negotiation of principles or a cost-and-benefit calculation. For example, it would be wrong to go into the clinics supply of penicillin and lift, oh, say, eighty five-hundred-milligram tablets.
Especially if you were giving those tablets to a patient who had not been seen by the doctor for the ailment being treated.
That would just be wrong. All the way around.
The right thing would be to call the patient and persuade him to come into the clinic and get seen by the doctor, and if he wouldnt get his ass in gear? Then that was that.
Yup, not a lot of complications there.
Ehlena headed for the pharmacy.
She decided to leave it up to fate. And what do you know, it was cigarette-break time. The little BE RIGHT BACK clock read three forty-five.
She checked her watch. Three thirty-three.
Unlatching the counter door, she went into the pharmacy, beelined for the penicillin jugs, and shook out those eighty five-hundred-milligram tablets into the pocket of her uniform-exactly what had been prescribed for a patient with a similar issue three nights ago.
Rehvenge was not going to come back to the clinic anytime soon. So she would bring what he needed to him.
She told herself that she was helping a patient and that was the most important thing. Hell, she was probably saving his life. She also pointed out to her conscience that this was not OxyContin or Valium or morphine. As far as she was aware, no one had ever crushed up some cillin and snorted it for a high.