Authors: Michele Drier
“Yes, we thought that. He was grabbed by some Slavic type and told he had to follow a couple of young women, then get us to buy the pictures.”
I closed my eyes. Now Paris, too? This had to be the Huszars’ doing, but what were they doing? I told him that he needed to talk to Jean-Louis immediately then hung up and paced.
Things were heating up. Jean-Louis had said this would be war, but I hadn’t seen many signs of if. Well, maybe I didn’t know what to look for. I’d always thought that the attacks on me were the only symptom of the struggle, but the Huszars had been hard at work. Turning young woman who could be our camera fodder. Kidnapping and threatening our photographers.
After the meeting at the castle, I had a better picture of what the Kandeskys were planning and understood some ways I could help, but those squat, hairy guys too big for their suits made me nervous. And if they were grabbing one of our paparazzi off the streets of Paris, they could be anywhere.
As my brain was racing like a hamster in a wheel, Vladmir tapped on the door.
“Taras is here. Are you ready?”
Ready? Oh, rats, another thing slipped my mind. We were supposed to go to a reception for the principal Kirov Ballet dancers. Throwing money at the arts was an accepted way for the publicity-shy oligarchs to give and get kudos, so the undercover social schedule was full and Taras had done a great job of making sure SNAP was on all the guest lists. The party-givers were still a little shy of random paparazzi and press coverage, but in a controlled environment, felt comfortable enough to talk to us.
I pulled out a taffeta number—courtesy of Jazz and the Neiman-Marcus shopper—grabbed some heels (take that, Jean-Louis), did a remake of my hair and face and was ready. Even without Elise, I was getting better and faster at this quick-change routine. Tonight was colder so I snatched a fur. It bothered my SoCal anti-fur, PETA sensibilities, but here it was both warmth and camouflage. Without a fur, I would have stood out in this crowd.
I put in a fast call to Jean-Louis and left a message where I was going, when and with whom. And yes, I had my demons with me, both inside and out.
Tonight’s gala was a replay of last night. Did these people ever get tired of seeing one another? Well, this wasn’t just in Kiev, although the A-list group here was smaller, this closed-circle approach was the same everywhere. And that’s how we made money, following around the see-and-be-seen crowd whose membership fluctuated only slightly.
Taras introduced me to several more people, air-kissed some of the women from last night, handed me a flute of Cristel and worked the room like a pro. I talked to two couples, both of whom had “vacation” homes in the U.S. and spoke solid if accented English. They were quietly thrilled that SNAP was going to start coverage of their part of the world, but wouldn’t want the constant attention that American celebs or European royalty suffered.
No worries, I wasn’t sure that these people would be interesting to the rest of the world.
What was I thinking? Of course they would. Our readers and watchers around the globe would salivate at an interview with someone who paid $100 million for a house! These were probably the anonymous bidders who paid six and seven figure prices at Sotheby’s for paintings and object d’arts. My time with the Kandeskys had dulled my edge. Now I was one of the people we covered. I wore those designer gowns. I rode in limos. I had bodyguards.
I mentally slapped myself and was shifting back to coverage mode when a sudden current ran through the crowd. People edged away from the door and I could see a man coming into the room. He was not terribly tall, just under 6 feet, had a shock of white hair, glacier-blue eyes and wore a beautifully-cut dinner suit. But he was also the whitest person I’d ever seen. No, not white, translucent. If he’d had any blood, you would have seen it coursing through his veins. The man next to me whispered “Leonid!”
So, this was the resident Huszar. He was followed by an entourage. Three pale, pale women dressed in varying shades of red with sables trailing on the floor and two bodyguards, shortish, darkish, largish men, poured into their suits. Slavs? Chechens? Shapeshifters? It didn’t matter, they were trouble.
As he came across the floor, the crowd fell back so that, by the time he reached me, we were isolated, as separate as if we were the spotlight dance.
He smiled, not showing his fangs, and said, “Hello, you’re Maxmillia Gwenoch. I am Leonid.”
A sigh went through the guests, as though they all let their breath out at once.
Leonid turned to the women. “Let me introduce you. This is Natasha, Anna and Olga. Say hello to Ms. Gwenoch from SNAP, girls.”
The “girls” all nodded; their “hellos” were indistinguishable.
“We heard you are looking for some new talent for your enterprise here.” Leonid had a slight lisp. “We wanted to make sure that our girls were among the contenders. Didn’t we, girls?” He turned to them and they nodded again.
This was just too weird. Did Leonid lisp because he’d spent years, centuries hissing at his prey? Were the “girls” regulars, donors, or were they women who’d been turned by the Huszars?
I was so astounded by Leonid and his circus that I didn’t see Jean-Louis and Nikoly, but suddenly Jean-Louis’ voice filled the silence.
“Hello, Leonid, I thought you’d been recalled. Isn’t Matthais looking for you?”
Now the crowd sucked in a breath. Wow, what was going on here? Did everybody know that these were vampires? And from rival families?
“Well, Jean-Louis, and I see you have Nikoly with you. Did the Baron let you out to play?”
Nikoly’s silky voice cut in. “Leonid, this is a festive event. We’ve all come to meet and welcome the wonderful dancers from Kirov. Let’s, for tonight, put on our civilized manners. Who are these lovely ladies?” and he turned to the “girls”. They became more animated with another vamp, so I decided they were probably donors, vampire wanna-be’s, roadies. They all smiled, not enough to see fangs if they were there, and introduced themselves.
Tension eased and the sound level rose as people started chewing over the scene they’d just seen. They darted glances towards us, maybe hoping for some more fireworks?
Jean-Louis took my arm. “Shall we go?” He started to make a path through the crowd but I pulled my arm away.
“I need to find Taras. He was going to introduce me to more people.”
Sudden chill. Oops, I guess that wasn’t a suggestion. My mother always told me
“Ladies don’t make scenes. They wait until they’re in private to stab someone.”
Wait until I get this man in private!
“Taras will be told we had to leave. He can call you tomorrow.”
Well, OK, then. I headed towards the door, leaving Jean-Louis to trail along behind me. It was good for SNAP that neither of us wanted a public showdown
Vladmir opened the door to the waiting limo, Jean-Louis practically pushed me in then fell on top of me, Vladmir crammed himself into the front seat and we all but peeled out of there. I was slammed back again the seat and fumbling for my seatbelt when Jean-Louis gave an order in Hungarian. He turned to me, said “Don’t bother with that, just get on the floor” and shoved my head down as the limo made a sharp right. All I could see from the floor was dark, no streetlights, just looming buildings. We made a sudden left, the brakes squealed and we plowed to a stop.
Jean-Louis was using Vladmir’s communicator, Vassily and the driver were checking the magazines in their Sig Sauers and Vladmir was coiling some fine, thin wire that glowed. I took Jean-Louis’ order and tucked myself further into the floor well, wrapping my head in my arms and trying to stop the sudden shaking.
What was going on? Jean-Louis, Nikoly and Leonid were talking in veiled threats, but it hadn’t sounded like an overt declaration. Vampire-speak wasn’t a language I read well. It seemed I missed a lot of undertone. Then things happened.
I couldn’t see, but I could hear the communicating window sliding up, car doors slamming open and deep, powerful animal growls. I was alone, cocooned in the back of the armored limo, trapped but safe.
I heard some muted pops, not even as loud as a kid’s BB gun, some wordless yelling and a strange snaky, hissing sound. The limo rocked as heavy rounds hit it, but nothing penetrated my cave and gradually the shots stopped.
There was a minute of quiet, then a powerful engine started and the limo was sideswiped with a ripping, crunching blow that sounded like the inside of a steel mill, all screeching, tearing metal lit by showers of sparks that seared my eyelids. Then only the sound of a large vehicle leaving.
Was I trapped for good in a demolished car? Were the demons dead? Where was Jean-Louis?
Chapter Eighteen
The hand that ripped the crushed door open belonged to somebody very,
very
strong. So strong that I wasn’t about to look. If the Huszars had me, well, I’d just as soon not know until I had to.
Then the hand took my arm in a grip I knew would leave bruises and an accented voice said, “Are you alright?”
Vladmir. It was Vladmir grabbing me, then reaching in and lifting me from the cave that had become a death trap.
Once out and being carried by him, there was enough moonlight that I could see we’d ended up in a dead-end lot criss-crossed by unused rail sidings, meaning this had been the heart of factories during Kiev’s earlier heyday. It also meant that nobody was around.
Vladmir set me down. My gown was in sad shape from my cowering on the floor and I was barefoot. He reached back into the wreck and rummaged around until he found my fur, wrapping it around me to slow the shivering. He handed me my shoes with a shrug and I saw that the strap on one broke off. Well, at least the soles would keep my feet off the asphalt that was littered with glass, nails, bits of sharp metal and loads of tetanus germs.
“Where’s Jean-Louis?” I managed, my jaw clenching from cold and fear.
“He and Nikoly are following Leonid.”
“I didn’t even see another car. Are they hurt?”
“I can’t tell you. Jean-Louis will tell you when they come back. Come, sit in the front seat, it’s not so damaged.”
And so I sat in the front seat of a smashed limo in an abandoned factory yard of a former Soviet Republic in the cold and dark. I’d really come far in my career.
Vladmir’s communicator crackled, he answered in a rush of Hungarian and turned to me. “Jean-Louis is on his way back.”
He was alive. That meant I could yell at him for not telling me what was going on.
Another Mercedes limo pulled up, this one white but still driven by a demon, and Nikoly and Jean-Louis got out. My anger melted away as I saw Nikoly’s left arm hanging, almost swinging free, and his suit and shirt streaked with blood.
“What happened?” I was stammering.
“You probably heard most of it.” Jean-Louis sounded tired, wrung out with the hangover of adrenaline. “I knew they were following us, planning an attack. I didn’t think they’d try ramming us. That’s why we went after them. That’s a new tactic and I want to find out when they learned it. But now,” he turned to Nikoly, “we have to get him home and have someone look at him. I think he has silver poisoning as well as the wound. Come on.”
He got me in the back, Vladmir in the front, gave brief instructions to the demon driving and we headed out of town. At the house, a largish estate in the outskirts, the door was opened by a demon who picked Nikoly up and took him off to get tended to.
“I need to know all that happened, but first I’d like a glass of wine.” Jean-Louis nodded and led me into a sitting room, motioning at a servant, who came back shortly with a tray and glasses.
He waved the demon away and poured white wine for me and Bull’s Blood for himself.
“When I saw Leonid talking to you, with those women in tow, I knew he was pushing the envelope. My suspicion is that he thinks he can gain control over you if most of the talent and celebs we feature are his creatures. If he provides the content, he’ll be able to manipulate you.”
“Who were those women? They acted like they’d been drugged.”
“We think they’re donors. At least they start out as donors. And they’re probably drugged. The word we’ve heard is that the Huszars are recruiting young women with the promise that if they’re chosen, they’ll have eternal life and eternal fame. Well, for the ones they turn, yes, eternal life. But fame? No. Once they get turned, they’ll find out what the Huszars really are. They’ll be no more than slaves. And of course, as we’ve found out, you can’t have eternal fame. Somebody will remember you and wonder why you haven’t aged. And all of that is the beginning step of their attempt to take us over.”
Even with the background I’d learned, I hadn’t jumped to the conclusion that they wanted to take over the Kandeskys. The Baron and family were just too entrenched, too educated, too sophisticated.
“You hadn’t thought that far.” I got a faint lift at the corners of his mouth and his eyes lost some of the haunted look.
Damn, would I never be able to keep my thoughts and emotions under check so these vampires couldn’t read me?
“No, I hadn’t. I thought they just wanted me so they could compete. When you said ‘war’ I didn’t think it meant to the end of us all.”
He laid back in the chair and stretched his legs out. It wasn’t late, but he’d, we’d, had a lot tonight. I was close to exhaustion, and he was showing signs of weariness. I went over to him and touched his arm. He grabbed me around the waist, pulled me into his lap and buried his face in my hair.
“You are so soft,” he said against my ear. “When you first started, when all this business with the Huszars started, I thought I could just handle this with diplomacy, talk, maybe a few bribes. The game changed so fast, I’m not keeping up. And now, because of you, I’m afraid of losing more, so I can’t show how vulnerable I am.”
A knock at the door, Jean-Louis said, “Come,” and a middle-aged man with a doctor’s coat over his suit came in with Vladmir tagging behind.