A Dark Heart (6 page)

Brightlingsea ran fingers through his too-long hair, betraying his
weariness. Elijah wondered again what could
possibly
exhaust an immortal.
"Not exactly. I've been ... out of the country for the past six months. I
only discovered the papers were missing a few days ago. I've traced them as far
as London, but the trail has grown cold. I don't know this city like you do,
Inspector. You are my best hope of finding them."

"So you admit you need me.
That
must have hurt coming out of
your mouth, Your Grace."

"Again, you've no idea," the Duke said dryly.

"If this happened six months ago, and London is still standing,
perhaps the thief doesn't realize what he stole."

"That's doubtful. A small fortune in rubies was also in that safe,
and the thief didn't touch it. He took only the papers. He knew what he was
looking for."

"Who knew of these papers?"

"None but myself and a handful of assistants."

"That's it, then. Likely one of them is responsible."

The Duke gave him a dark look. "I'm afraid there will be no help
from that quarter. I came home to find all of my assistants murdered."

The hair on the back of his neck rose at this news. "That is not
good."

Brightlingsea shrugged, as if he were not terribly disturbed – as
if this sort of thing happened to him frequently – which it probably did,
considering who he was. "No it's not. But you’re right. Likely one of them
was responsible for revealing my work, and the location of the safe. Torture
will
do that to a man. I am convinced that whoever took the plans knows what the
device is ... and knows what it can do. But constructing the device is another
matter. Its components are rare, and the number of people capable of making any
sense of those blueprints is even rarer. It would take months, under the best
conditions, to build it, and even then, it is not fully developed yet. I'm
still working on the damn thing."

"Then what is there to worry about, if it doesn't work anyway?"

"I doubt the bastards who took it realize this. If they attempt to
use the device as it is presented in those blueprints, I fear its destructive
potential."

"Bloody brilliant," he muttered.  "Surely you've some
idea who's behind this."

"Yes."

And that was all the Duke said, followed by a long silence.

"I take it you're not going to tell me. Which means it's another
damn Elder," he said flatly.

When Brightlingsea just clenched his jaw stubbornly, Elijah shook his
head and started for the door. "No bloody way do I want to get involved in
Council politics. I have no wish to die quite yet. I've my own affairs to tend
to before I cock up my toes."

"I could kill you where you stand right now," the Duke growled.
"You're alive on sufferance only."

Elijah just laughed bitterly and turned back to the Duke, prepared to rip
the sword out of his cane if he needed to. "I'd like to see you bloody
try, mate. I don't fight like a gentleman, and I've got nothing to lose. I told
you, I have my own business to take care of, and no time for yours."

"You'll make time," the Duke said softly, still sitting on the
edge of the desk, as if he wasn't a second away from snapping. But he was.
Elijah knew a fellow predator when he saw one.

"For the love of..." Rowan began in exasperation, stepping in
between them, hands raised. "Both of you need to calm down. No more talk
of chopping heads off, please. I just had my luncheon."

"I'm not interested, Rowan. I don't owe the Elders anything,"
he growled.

"You need to
become
interested, Elijah. And Gabriel," he
said, turning to the Duke, "you need to take the giant pole out of your
arse and tell Elijah what is truly going on here."

The Duke looked affronted at the very thought.

Rowan rolled his eyes at his cousin. "Fine.
I
shall tell him.”
He turned back to Elijah “There is a war coming."

If Rowan expected his dramatic revelation to sway Elijah, he was in for a
rude awakening. "When is there not?" Elijah countered in his most
disinterested tone.

"This war shall put the Crimea to shame, Elijah. The Elder Council
has finally split apart. Stieg Ehrengard has managed to turn half the Council
to his side,” Rowan continued in an insistent tone.

"They were always on his side," Brightlingsea muttered, unable
to remain silent any longer. "We just did not realize it. That was how
Ehrengard managed to avoid execution after the War. They were all in his pocket
this whole time."

"Now the split is official," Rowan continued. "Ehrengard's
allies have made their position clear. Their goal is to take a more active role
in world affairs, against the old Council laws."

"That's a kind way of saying they want to rule the world,"
Brightlingsea finished dryly.

"I thought you lot already did," Elijah retorted.

"We have always been bound by a code of benign interference,” Rowan
countered – splitting hairs, in Elijah’s opinion. “But, as the Crimea
proved, Ehrengard wants to topple governments. And the more chaos he causes,
the more blood he sheds, the better."

“If Ehrengard manages to construct this device and use it, he’ll be
nearly invincible, Inspector,” the Duke finished.

Bloody hell.
"How did this bloke ever become an Elder in the
first place?" Elijah wondered out loud. "I mean, didn't you have to
pass some sort of knightly test before you received your magic hearts? To cull
the psychopaths and whatnot?" he asked dryly.

"Ehrengard was rich. Extremely rich," Brightlingsea said.

Oh, for the love of God.
"The sacred, holier-than-thou
Council of Elders, with their unbreakable laws and knightly code, and you could
buy your way in?" he said incredulously.

Rowan shrugged. "Leonardo had to eat. And Ehrengard wasn't
always
such a bastard."

"
I'm
a bastard.
He's
a mass murdering
psychopath," Elijah interjected, feeling it was important to emphasize the
difference. No matter how far he sank in life, he could never match Ehrengard's
level of depravity. It was one of the few consolations he had left: that he was
not as bad as the murderous lunatic who’d massacred millions of people.

"Gaining immortality affected each of us differently,” Rowan said. “It
destroyed what little humanity Ehrengard had."

Elijah sighed wearily. "As much as I'm enjoying this little history
lesson, I still don't see why I should care. So the Elder Council is split.
Not
my problem. As far as I'm concerned, you lot can destroy each other. The world
would be a better place."

"You
really
don't mince your words, do you, Elijah?"
Rowan said with a frown.

The Duke actually laughed, but without any humor. "The sad thing is
I agree with him," he said. "The world
would
be a better place
without us."

"Gabriel, what happened in the Crimea was not your fault,"
Rowan said quietly.

For the first time in their acquaintance, Elijah saw a true emotion pass
over the Duke's expression. Anguish. So deep and horrible that just witnessing
it made Elijah's heart sink. He recognized that look. He saw it in the mirror
every day.

"
How
was it not my fault? What part of it was not because of
me? Millions had to die before he was defeated. Half the Continent is still a
wasteland because of what I did. I broke the bloody world," Brightlingsea
replied in a near whisper. "But I
will
fix it. And I won't let Ehrengard
do this to me again, take what is mine and twist it into a nightmare."

Elijah didn't know how to respond to the Duke's rather impassioned
declaration, but he'd be damned if he sympathized with Brightlingsea. "So
let me see if I have everything straight. You believe Ehrengard is behind the
theft, and he means to use the device in some elaborate scheme to take over the
world. But you've no idea where or when or even
if
it is ever going to
happen.”

“Essentially,” the Duke admitted.

Elijah shook his head. “This seems like an exercise in futility. And you
forget I won't be around long enough to care one way or another."

"Just do a little digging, Elijah, for God's sake," Rowan bit
out in exasperation. "It's not like we're asking you to fly to the bloody
moon. And besides, Brightlingsea will owe you a favor. Won't you, Gabriel?"
Rowan asked, poking the Duke in the side with an elbow.

The Duke scowled at his cousin.

At this, Elijah immediately started to care about Brightlingsea's problem
just a little bit more. He
was
a guttersnipe at heart, who knew the
value of a favor owed, especially from a man like Brightlingsea. "Any favor
I want?"

The muscles in Brightlingsea's jaw twitched. At last he managed a terse,
"Any favor," as if he was in severe physical pain.

Elijah smirked. "And I have your word on that, as a man of honor?
Any favor I want, if I find your damned blueprints and stop London from being
blown to high heaven."

"Yes, damn you!" the Duke muttered.

He waited a long moment, pretending to ponder it over, before he said,
"I'll think about it," with a nonchalant shrug. Inwardly he was
smiling for the first time in quite a while. He was perversely enjoying himself.

Both Rowan and the Duke growled at him.

"While you're
thinking
about it, could you at least look into
any recent jewel thefts?" the Duke said in exasperation. "They might
be connected."

Elijah stiffened, his satisfaction fading as his attention was well and
truly caught.
This
couldn't be a coincidence. "How so?"

"As I told you, the components needed for this device are very rare.
The engine is built upon a matrix of crystalline carbon. A great deal of it
would be needed."

Bloody nobs and their bloody vocabulary. "Crystalline carbon?"

"Diamonds," Rowan explained.

Precisely what the Gentleman had been targeting for months now. Elijah
started to have a terrible suspicion that the Duke's business and his own
vendetta were going to inconveniently intersect.

But he did not betray his growing unease. He wasn’t about to involve the
Duke in his secrets.

"Fine. I will look into it," he said with unfeigned reluctance.
"And
you
will owe me a favor."

"
If
you find the papers," the Duke added, "and the
bastards who took them."

Elijah started to say something scathing in reply, but the words
strangled in his throat because his damned blood had begun to sing. That was
the only word he'd ever settled on to describe the half-bliss, half-pain he
felt when he was within a hundred meters of Lady Christiana. It was as if every
vein and artery in his body had been electrified, all of the molecules of his
blood bouncing against the walls of their prison like the barmiest inmates in
Bedlam. His body recognized its maker, yearned for her, and he could do nothing
to control his reaction.

Lady Christiana had returned. Early. And if the growing vibration in his
blood was any indication, she was nearly at the front door of the vast
residence, perhaps even inside by now.

He turned away from Rowan and the Duke as he felt his fangs involuntarily
begin to descend, cutting his gums to hell.

“Hell and damnation,” he bit out, wiping away the blood pouring down his
lips.

"What's wrong, Elijah?" Rowan demanded.

"I'm late for a meeting at the Yard," he muttered, forcing
himself not to run out of the room.

"We're not done here," Brightlingsea called to him.

He didn't dare turn back around. Brightlingsea was liable to take his
head for his obvious and inexplicable loss of control – or worse, guess
the reason why. "I've a date with a needle, Your Grace," he said,
which was true enough. He needed a dose of morphine quickly. "Unless you
trust me to walk the streets without it."

"Not now, you're too far gone,” the Duke muttered, his dreadfully
perceptive eyes boring into Elijah’s retreating back with dangerous intensity.

"Then we're done. I'll look into your problem and be in touch,"
he said, before slipping out of the door, praying they didn't follow him.
Praying he could escape out a back entrance before he had to see
her
.

He should have known he'd not be so lucky, though how he could have so
grossly misjudged her proximity was troubling. His preternatural senses were
beginning to fail him in the most unfortunate ways. He cursed under his breath
as he caught sight of her approaching down the long corridor, her scent –
so pure and perfect, like country roses in a misty rain – bombarding him.
And her blood smelled loveliest of all.

She was all beauty, at least on the surface, dressed in an elaborate
green velvet travelling dress, her golden, gleaming hair escaping in wisps from
its moorings, hovering just at the level his lips would be, if he stood near
enough and tilted his head just so.
The London
Post-Dispatch
had once
called her The Most Beautiful Woman in London. And as far as he knew, she still
held the crown. Green eyed, delicate-featured, with what novels called
alabaster skin, she looked nearly the same as she'd looked when she was
seventeen. Frozen in time. His Ana. Yet not his at all.

If his blood had been singing before, now it was belting out a damned
Wagnerian opera. He didn't even bother to hide his eyes and fangs. She needed a
good reminder of the monster she'd created, if only to make her keep her distance.
And a shameful part of him
wanted
to make her suffer, just a little,
even after all this time.

Her eyes widened a little when she saw him, and a look of joy passed over
her expressive features, making his heart leap in his chest. But the joy was quickly
chased away by a look of grim concern. He couldn't quite blame her. She'd not
seen him in nearly a year, not since she'd shown up at Sasha Romanov's
townhouse with a gunshot wound through her side. He'd nearly succumbed to
temptation and betrayed their illicit bond to Brightlingsea by pouncing on her
that day. Her leaking blood had tempted him as he'd never been tempted. He'd
known he could never trust himself around her again, so he’d avoided her at all
costs.