3 Blood Lines (23 page)

Caroline. Vicki recognized the name. While Henry was no more her exclusive possession than she was his, she couldn’t help but feel . . . well, smug. She not only shared Henry’s bed, which the other woman no longer did, but she shared the mysteries of Henry’s nature, which the other woman never had.

“Unfortunately, I have plans for tonight, but thank you for asking. Yes. Perhaps. No, I’ll call you.”

As he hung up the phone, Vicki shook her head. “You know, of course, that there’s a special circle in hell for those people who make promises to call, then don’t.”

“They’ll probably run out of room long before my time.” Henry’s voice trailed off.
And then again, maybe not.
While he continued to dream of the sun, every dawn might be his last. For the first time, he looked beyond the possibility of his death to all the things it would leave undone. He stood quietly for a moment, hand resting lightly on the phone, then came to a decision.

Vicki watched him curiously as he came around and knelt, capturing her hands, opera cloak pooling around his legs. While she had no objection to having handsome men at her feet, she had an uneasy feeling that the situation was about to get uncomfortable.

“You’re right, I’m not going to call,” he began. “But I think you need to know why. I can feed from a chance encounter with a stranger and not feel I’m betraying anything, but when I feed from Caroline I feel I’m betraying you both. Her, because I can give her so little of what I am and you because I have given you all of me.”

Suddenly more frightened than smug, Vicki tried to pull her hands free. “Don’t . . .”

Henry let them go but stayed where he was. “Why not? Tomorrow’s dawn might be the one I’ve been waiting for.”

“Well, it isn’t!”

“You don’t know that.” At this moment, his death had become less important than what he had to say. “What will it change if I say it?”

“Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.” She took a deep breath and wished the light were dimmer, so she couldn’t see his face so clearly. So he couldn’t see hers. “Henry, I can sleep with you. I can feed you. I can be your friend and your guardian, but I can’t . . .”

“Love me? Don’t you?”

Did she?

“Is it because of how you feel about Mike?”

“Celluci?” Vicki snorted. “Don’t be a fool. Mike Celluci is my best friend and, yes, I love him. But I don’t
love
him and I don’t
love
you.”

“Don’t you? Not either of us? Or both of us?”

Both of them . . . ?

“I’m not asking you to choose, Vicki. I’m not even asking you to admit the way you feel.” Henry stood and twitched the cloak back over his shoulders. “I just thought you should know that I love you.”

It almost hurt to breathe, everything felt so tight. “I know. I’ve known since last Thursday. Here.” She touched herself lightly on the chest. “You gave yourself to me completely, with no strings. If that’s not love, it’s a damned close approximation.” She got to her feet, moved a careful distance away, then turned to face him. “I can’t do that. I come with too many strings. If I cut them all, I’ll—I’ll fall apart.”

He spread his hands. “I’m not demanding a commitment. I just wanted to tell you while I could.”

“You have an eternity, Henry.”

“The dream of the sun . . .”

“You told me you’ve almost gotten used to it.” If the effects had gotten stronger and he hadn’t told her, she was going to wring his neck.

“I’m sure Damocles got used to the sword, but it’s still only a matter of time. ”

“Time! Jesus Christ, look at the time! That party started half an hour ago. We’d better get moving.” Vicki grabbed up her bag and headed for the door.

Henry arrived long before she did, teetering between anger and amusement at her sudden change of subject as he blocked the exit with a swirl of satin. “We?”

“Yeah, we. I’ll be waiting in the car as backup.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will. Get out of the way.”

“Vicki, in case you’ve forgotten, it’s dark out there and you can’t see anything.”

“So?” Her brows drew down and her tone grew heated. “I can hear. I can smell. I can sit in the fucking car for hours and not do anything. But I’m coming with you.
You
are not trained in this sort of thing.”

“I am not
trained
in this sort of thing?” Henry repeated slowly. “For hundreds of years I have fit myself into society, been the unseen hunter in their midst.” As he spoke, he allowed the civilized mask to slip. “And you
dare
to tell me I am not trained in this sort of thing.”

Vicki wet her lips, unable to look away, unable to move away. She thought she’d become used to what Henry was; she realized, now, she seldom saw it. A trickle of sweat ran down her side and she suddenly, desperately, had to go to the bathroom.
Right. Vampire. I keep forgetting.
Half of her mind wanted to run like hell and the other half wanted to kick his feet out from under him and beat him to the floor.
Oh, for Chrissakes, Vicki, get your goddamned hormones under control.

“All right,” her voice shook only a little, “you’ve had more training than I could ever hope to have. Your point. But I’m still going to go with you and wait in the car.” She managed to raise a cautionary hand as he opened his mouth. “And
don’t
tell me it’s too dangerous,” she warned. “I won’t face anything tonight that’s more dangerous than what I’m facing right now.”

Henry blinked, then started to laugh. After four hundred and fifty years, he could recognize when he’d been outmaneuvered.

 

“This is good. This is very good.” He looked out into the room filled with powerful men and women and in his mind’s eyes saw them bowing before the altar of Akhekh, giving their power and those it commanded into the hands of his god.

George Zottie bowed his head, pleased that his master was pleased.

“I will move amongst them for a time. You may introduce me as you see fit. Later, when they hold thoughts of me and I can touch their ka, you will bring them to the room I have prepared, so I may speak with them one at a time.”

 

Henry had no need to use any persuasion to get into the Solicitor General’s large house on Summerside Drive nor did he expect to have to use much to stay. Arrival at this type of party implied the right to attend. He nodded at the young man who opened the door and swept past him toward the greatest concentration of sound. Servants did not require an explanation, something modern society tended to forget.

The huge formal living/dining room had been decorated in subdued Halloween. Black and orange candles glowed in a pair of antique silver candelabra, the table had been covered by a brilliant orange cloth, the flowers both in vases and in the large centerpiece were black roses and the wine glasses were black crystal—Henry assumed the wine had not been colored orange. Even the waiters, who moved gracefully among the crowd with trays of canapes or drinks, wore orange and black plaid cummerbunds and ties.

He took a glass of mineral water, smiled in a way that set the server’s pulse pounding, and moved further into the room. Many of the women wore floor-length gowns from a variety of periods and just for an instant he saw his father’s court at Windsor, the palace of the Sun King at Versailles, the Prince Regent’s ballroom in Brighton. Smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the front of his jacket, he wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have taken the opportunity to indulge in the peacock colors this age normally denied to men.

The costumes on the men ranged from flamboyant to minor variations on street wear—unless the brown tweed suit stood for something or someone Henry didn’t recognize. Two additional vampires glared at each other across the broad shoulders of a Keystone Cop. Having joined their various police departments before the height requirements had been relaxed, all the police present were large, usually tall and burly both. A couple, after years of patrolling a desk, had added an insulating layer of fat. The politicians scattered throughout the crowd were easily spotted by their lack of functional bulk.

Henry was not only the shortest man in the room, by some inches, but he also appeared to be the youngest. Neither mattered. These were people who recognized power, height and age came a distant second.

“Hello, I’m Sue Zottie.”

The Solicitor General’s wife was a tiny woman with luminous dark eyes, and a coil of chestnut hair piled regally upon her head. Her dark green velvet Tudor gown added majesty to what had been labeled more than once in society pages as a quiet beauty. Instinct took over and Henry raised the offered hand to his lips. She didn’t seem to mind.

“Henry Fitzroy.”

“Have—have we met before?”

He smiled and her breathing grew a little ragged. “No, we haven’t.”

“Oh.” She meant to ask him what police force he was with or if, perhaps, he was a junior member of her husband’s staff, but the questions got lost in his eyes. “George is in the library with Mr. Tawfik, if you need to speak with him. The two of them have been in there for most of the evening.”

“Thank you.”

She’d never felt quite so completely thanked before and walked away wondering why George had never invited that lovely young man over for dinner.

Henry took a sip of his mineral water. Tawfik. His quarry, it seemed, was in the library.

 

It was cold in the car with the window open, but sightless, Vicki couldn’t afford to block off her other senses. The wind smelled of woodsmoke and decaying leaves and expensive perfume—she supposed the latter was endemic to the neighborhood—and brought her the noise of distant traffic; a door, fairly close, opening and closing; a phone, either very close or beside an open window, demanding to be answered; a late trick-or-treater imploring his mother to cover just one more block. Two teenaged girls, too old for candy, reviewed the day as they walked down the other side of the street. As her eyes got steadily worse, her hearing seemed to be getting better—or maybe she just had to pay more attention to what she heard.

Vicki had no doubt that based on sound alone, she’d be able to pick these girls out of a lineup. One pair of flats, one pair of heels; the soft shirk, shirk of polyester sleeves rubbing against the body of a polyester jacket; the almost musical chime of tiny, metal bangles, chiming in counterpoint so they each must be wearing a set. One sounded as if she had a mouth full of gum, the other as if she had a mouth full of braces.

“. . . and like she was just pressing her breasts up against him.”

“You mean she was pressing her padding up against him.”

“No!”

“Uh-huh, and then she has the nerve to say she really loves
Bradley . . .”

And what do you children know about love?
Vicki wondered, as they moved out of earshot.
Henry Fitzroy, the bastard son of Henry VIII, the Duke of Richmond, says he loves me. What do you think of that?
She sighed.
What do I think of that?

She dragged her fingernail against the vents in the dashboard of the BMW, then sighed again.
Okay, so he’s afraid of dying, I can understand that. When you’ve lived in darkness for over four hundred years and then start dreaming about daylight . . .
A sudden thought struck her.
Jesus, maybe he’s afraid of dying tonight. Maybe he thinks he can’t deal with the mummy.
She fumbled for the door handle but stopped herself before she actually got the door open.
Don’t be ridiculous, Vicki. He’s a vampire, a predator, a proven survivor. A friend. And he loves me.

And I’m going to drag up that goddamned non sequitur every goddamned time I think about him from now on.
She raised her eyes to the heavens she couldn’t see.
First Celluci and his wanting to have a “talk” and now Henry and his declarations. It isn’t enough we have a mummy rampaging around the city? Do I need this?

Sliding down on the leather seat until her head was even with the lower edge of the window, she closed her eyes and settled down to wait. But only because there wasn’t anything else she could do.

 

With the lights in the hall turned down to a dim orange glow—extending the Halloween motif out of the actual party area—the curve of the stairs threw a pool of deep shadow just outside the library door. Shrouded by the pocket of darkness, Henry wrapped himself in his cloak and leaned back against the raw silk wallpaper to consider his next move.

According to Sue Zottie, the Solicitor General and Mr. Tawfik were in the library—but he could sense three lives on the other side of the wall and there was nothing to suggest that any of the three had just broken free after millennia of confinement. All three hearts beat to the same rhythm and. . .

No. To an
identical
rhythm.

The hair rose on the back of Henry’s neck as he pressed himself farther away from the light. Hearts did not beat so completely in sync by accident. He had, in fact, heard it happen only once before, in 1537 when, faint and dizzy with loss of blood, he had pressed his mouth to the wound in Christina’s breast and drunk, conscious of nothing save the heat of her touch and the painful throbbing of his heart in time with hers.

What was happening in that room?

For the first time, Henry felt a faint unease at the thought of actually facing the creature who had been so long entombed. The time of change had been the most powerful, all encompassing experience in his life, not only in the seventeen years before but in the four hundred and fifty-three years since, and if the mummy could call that kind of power to its control . . .

“You think you’re up to this wizard-priest?”
Celluci had asked.

His answer had been scornful.
“I am not without resources.”

He had defeated wizards in the past, relying on strength and speed and force of will, but they had followed rules he recognized and had not come with their own dark god.