Blood Rock (59 page)

“Maybe if I play their game,” I said, “but not if I play
my
game by
their
rules.”

“The deal is the same,” Nyissa said, eyes wide, fingers gripping the poker so hard her knuckles had turned white. “You can have my protection for a drop of blood and a quarter.”

I was back in the limo again, asking a favor of the House Beyond Sleep. But this time, the tables were turned. I was calm and
Nyissa
was terrified.

Nyissa didn’t want to help at all. As Philip had predicted, Transomnia had skipped town shortly after Philip had called him. The Stone Rose Sanctuary was once again hers. But Arcturus had convinced her she had to do her part in the larger battle—to help free Saffron and Darkrose.

“It is a token of the, of the
traditional
toll of blood and money,” Nyissa said thickly, “an amount of blood too small to object to, and an amount of money too small to count as consideration under the laws of Georgia.”

“I’m not sure you’ve got the law right on that last one,” I said wryly.

“There is a thin line between vampire dominatrix and outright whore,” Nyissa said, “but I like to keep it drawn. So a token toll is all I demand for my clients to claim protection.”

I stared at her, twisting the poker in her hands. She was scared out of her wits. Then I reached forward and put my hand on her knee to comfort her, as she had on mine … when we were last in the limo headed towards a confrontation. This was getting to be a habit.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said. “And I’m not asking you to physically defend me.”

“You’re asking me to walk between the Gentry and
Vlad the Destroyer
,” she said. “The Gentry is unpredictable. You don’t know what they’re capable of. The Destroyer is all too predictable. You have
no idea
how powerful he is. He’s slain entire armies.”

“He’s not so bad, he’s … ”
Cinnamon’s math teacher
. But could I say that? Was that betraying the privacy of a man who could slay armies? “He’s, well, he’s not so bad, but that’s not the point. I’m not asking you to fight for me. I’m asking you to give me legitimacy. Weapons won’t save Darkrose. I want to walk into that room with something far more powerful: an idea. The idea that someone not in that room, an unknown quantity in power and capabilities, cares about the outcome. The idea that a fellow vampire lord has authorized me to speak for him.”

“But,” Nyissa said, “Transomnia is not here.”

“They don’t need to know Transomnia has skipped town,” I said. “And we’re not going to tell them the House Beyond Sleep is three vampires in rural Georgia missing their lord. You are the second of a great house, their emissary, and have every right to take this stand.”

Nyissa stared at me. Then she said, “Take out a quarter.”

I dug in my pocket, found one, held it up.

“Lick it clean,” she commanded.

“Ew,” I said. “That’s gross, it’s money, you don’t know whose hands—”

Her mouth quirked up. “Do it,” she commanded. While I did, she pulled out an ornate finger ring spike and slipped it on. “Now hold out the quarter, and extend your other hand.”

I held the quarter out in my right palm, then extended my left. She pricked my left index finger with her metal claw, then guided the welling drop of blood atop the quarter. Then she gripped my right hand softly, took the quarter from my palm, and slipped it into her mouth.

I disliked that image, a twisted communion. That was a bit much, even for a lapsed churchgoer like me. But, for the purposes of the magic, my religious discomfort didn’t matter. When the blood touched her tongue I felt a tingle shiver up my whole body, and then Nyissa released my hand, falling back into the seat in bliss. After a moment, she sat up, took the quarter, and slid it into her bosom.

“I have tasted your blood, felt your aura.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll know if anyone spoils me,” I said.

“More importantly, an experienced vampire will know we are linked,” she said. “When I present you, I may touch you to emphasize that. That may be a bit gauche since you just lost your boyfriend, but it will help sell it. Please don’t be offended.”

“It’s all right,” I said distantly, as the limo started to slow down.

“We’re almost here. Damnit. If they try to sway your mind, squint, like down to slits,” Nyissa said. “It sounds cheesy, but your retinas are part of your brain. Vampires hypnotize people through their eyes by extending their aura, establishing a brain-to-brain link … ”

“I love it when you talk science to me,” I said, and the limo stopped. We were in one of the oldest neighborhoods in Atlanta: Grant Park, not a stone’s throw from the Park proper, a tree-lined valley that held Zoo Atlanta and the Cyclorama. Here, one side of the street was lined with houses over a century old; the other was dominated by a looming fortlike building built after Sherman took Atlanta. “Grant Park was a guess on my part. You’re sure this is it?”

“Based on what you saw, and what I know of the Gentry, this is where you were taken,” Nyissa said, peering out the window. “Besides, did not your lover in the DEI confirm it?”

“Philip is my friend, not my lover. Hell, I’m not even certain he’s my friend,” I said, “and just because the other end of my call to Vladimir ended up in this area it doesn’t mean anything. It wouldn’t surprise me to find an empty room with a signal repeater.”

“No,” Nyissa said. She was trembling. “I have not taken you to an abandoned warehouse. This is the Gentry’s stronghold. We shouldn’t even be here; the Gentry does not like to be approached. In the olden days vampires were staked for merely showing up uninvited.”

“And this is their stronghold, guarded by Scara,” I said. I stared off into the distance, thinking. Then something on the other side of the street drew my attention. At first I couldn’t put my finger on it … and then it hit me: one of the old mansions was a bit too shuttered, and had several black vans parked in front of it. Something was tickling my brain, a bit of Civil War trivia I’d learned from Michael Bell. “But maybe there’s another way. Vladimir gained entry, somehow, through a point relatively undefended—and I think I know just where that is.”

Nyissa followed my glance. “What are you suggesting?”

“Some of the generals who moved into Atlanta after the Civil War built houses with underground passages, crossing the street,” I said, struggling to remember what Michael had told me, years ago. “Vladimir came in from a side entrance. I’m betting he used that as his entrance to the stronghold. When we left, he was still standing there—it was his exit. If we enter that way, we can avoid fighting our way through armed guards just to deliver my report.”

“You
really
think there’s a back entrance over here?” she asked dubiously.

“Worst case scenario,” I said, “it’s not, and we apologize for waking someone up early.”

“Or late,” Nyissa said, drawing up the hood of her cloak. “It’s almost dawn.”

“I take it you’re not on the Saffron diet,” I said. “Oh, hell. Let’s do this.”

We got out of the limo and approached the house. The black vans looked all too familiar, but I’d had enough jumbled encounters with black vans and boots flying in my face that I didn’t trust my memory. But when we stepped up to the porch, the front lock was busted.

“Now, that’s blatant,” I said. “I expected Vladimir would have more subtlety.”

“Maybe he was in a hurry,” Nyissa said. “Or maybe this home is being burgled.”

“Then the two of us get to play superhero,” I said. “Either way, I think you’re up.”

Nyissa glanced at me from beneath her hood. Then she rang the bell.

A spinsterly old black woman came to the door—but not half-asleep in her bathrobe, or irritated. Instead she was alert, in haute couture, and wary. She looked
almost
perfectly made up, but her hair was a touch disheveled, and she had a bruise on her forehead. “Yes?”

“I apologize for waking you,” Nyissa said carefully. “I am the Lady Nyissa of the House Beyond Sleep, and this is my client, Dakota Frost.”

“I know who she is,” she said, glaring at me. “And you know you did not wake me.”

“Ah,” Nyissa said. “Then you know we would like passage to see Sir Leopold.”

“Go to hell,” the woman said. “After what your wolf did to my poor boys.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” I said, spreading my hands, “but it’s almost dawn, and it’s like an armed camp down there. I’d like to deliver my report while he’s still awake, and I don’t have time to negotiate my way in through the front. We would like to use the tunnel, please.”

“You bitch,” she said, staring between the two of us. Then she opened the door. “You know I can’t stop you. I can’t even call to warn him, with what your wolf did to my phone.”

We entered into a picture book from the Atlanta History Tour. Victorian furniture was decorated with art deco lights. Yellowed pictures climbed horsehair plaster walls. An ancient violin leaned against a Victrola phonograph. And a corridor jetted forward into the house, right through its center, towards a parlor in the back where I could see stairs up—and down.

But we didn’t get that far. A dark-suited security guard was standing by one of the corridor doors, openly holding a crossbow. He saw us—he had clearly been watching the door the whole time the woman had been speaking—and he touched his finger to his ear and murmured.

“Oh, hell,” I said, glaring at the older black woman, who was smiling viciously. “Figures that the unguarded back door was a trap.”

The low voices speaking in the room behind him stopped—and then the door burst open, and the Lady Scara stomped out towards us, two guards on her heels. “Well, well,” Scara said, baring her fangs in an equally vicious smile. “Look who we’ve caught sneaking in, trying to mount a rescue. Dakota Frost—”

“My client is not here to mount a rescue,” Nyissa said clearly.

Scara scowled and stomped up to Nyissa. “And who the hell are you?”

“I am the Lady Nyissa, Second of the House Beyond Sleep,” Nyissa said imperiously, twirling her poker. I have to admit, when she was on, she was good. There wasn’t the slightest crack in her act. “My client, Dakota Frost, is here on behalf of Lord Transomnia to—”

Scara moved with a blur, seizing Nyissa behind the neck and forcing her to her knees. Nyissa jerked and twisted and swung the poker, but Scara effortlessly batted it away, gouging a chunk out of the horsehair plaster walls.

Both the guards behind her moved forward instinctively, but Scara snarled at them—then reached out, seized one of their crossbows, and jammed it against Nyissa’s chin. She angled the crossbow downward, shoving Nyissa’s mouth open, breaking one of her fangs.

—

“You talk too much,” Scara said—and fired the crossbow into Nyissa’s mouth.

Blood splattered everywhere. Nyissa fell to the carpet, jaw forced wide open by the end of the silver crossbow bolt protruding from her mouth. She flailed, and I had a horrific image of the bolt jutting out of the bottom of her mouth and into her voicebox.

“Oh my God,” cried the woman, running back into the house. “She shot an ambassador!”

Scara looked at me, then threw the crossbow down and smiled. “Looks like you are going to need a new protector,” she hissed. “What toll shall I make you pay?”

She stepped towards me, eyes glowing, sending a prickling sensation rippling through my skin. I flinched in fear, drawing up my energies, but I could tell that I’d lost too much ink. My shield would be useless. Her hand reached out—

And then Lord Iadimus was standing between us, straightening his suit. It was like a magic trick. One moment she was advancing on me, the next he was standing there, Scara flinching back. The prickling sensation disappeared, replaced by icy cold emptiness.

“What is going on here?” Iadimus demanded. No one answered, and after a moment he knelt and examined Nyissa, on her back on the floor, choking to death on her own blood. He tilted her head up, then hissed. He gently rolled her over onto her side.

“Who is this vampire?” Iadimus asked.

“She called herself Nyissa,” Scara said contemptuously. “Frost’s protector—”

“Don’t task me, Lady Scara,” Iadimus said sharply, examining the bolt. “Miss Frost, does the Lady Nyissa have guards?”

“A driver, waiting in the limo,” I said.

“Guards, request the presence of her driver,” Iadimus said, withdrawing a white handkerchief from his suit pocket. “I want her attended by her own people.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the guards said.

“Lady Nyissa,” Iadimus said gently. “I am going to remove the quarrel.”

“What are you doing?” I hissed. “Call a doctor—”

“No time. The quarrel is silver,” Iadimus said quietly. “It is killing her. Removing it will hurt, and perhaps damage her, but she will have a chance to heal. Lady, are you ready?”

Nyissa’s head moved slightly. Perhaps it was a nod. Then Iadimus wrapped the end of the bolt in his handkerchief, got a good grip, and pulled it out in one swift motion. A new spray of blood splashed out along the floor, followed by a horrible sucking sound as Nyissa fought for air. But even as she flailed, I could see the blood flow stopping, see her begin to recover.

“Get her to a bed,” Iadimus said, standing, letting the guards move in. “Get her blood, as soon as she’s able. Find her fang, put it in warm milk, and call my dentist.”

Then he turned on Scara.

“How dare you, Lady Scara,” Iadimus said, oh so mildly—and a terrible coldness began to spread through the room. I swallowed, and backed up against the wall.

“She was impudent,” Scara said defiantly. “Thinking she could offer protection—”

“You
staked
a fellow
vampire,
” Iadimus roared. I, the guards, even Nyissa flinched from that ice cold rage, and Scara’s face sagged in fear as the larger, taller vampire towered over her. “You assaulted her under truce! You staked her without trial!”

Scara twitched. “I—I—”

“Go back to the Council Chamber or die where you stand.”

Scara hesitated only a moment, then turned and quickly retreated down the corridor.

Iadimus stood there, perfectly still—then abruptly was standing right before me, elbow extended. “
Lady
Frost,” he said stiffly. “My apologies for my colleague’s boorish behavior. I should like the honor of escorting you to court under my protection.”

“Thank you, Lord Iadimus,” I said cautiously. “Do—do I have to pay another toll?”

Iadimus glared down at the patch of blood on the carpet. “Enough blood has been shed,” he said curtly. “Consider me … the Lady Nyissa’s stand-in, while she is indisposed.”

I took his arm, swallowing. “Thank you.”

“We shall take the tunnel,” he said stiffly.

I followed him in through the long narrow passage cutting straight through the center of the house. It was like walking through a museum, with thousands of ancient artifacts and pictures arranged beneath high cove ceilings. In one room, the glass was shattered, bullet holes marred the hair plaster, and behind a piano was a pool of blood. Vladimir had not been subtle.