Blood Spirits (50 page)

Tania flashed a grin. “Theresa would love an excuse to climb on the roof.”

 

The snow was still falling on Monday, but when we looked out, we all told each other that it wasn't coming down quite as hard as it had been.

By mid-morning, I actually began to believe it, because—faint, but there—were the houses across the street. Grayish and indistinct, but there.

Not half an hour after I made that observation a white-dusted figure labored up the street, which was waist-high in snow, to drop off the newspaper delivery.

Everyone pounced on a copy. Usually the family shared a single copy, leaving the rest out for the patrons. But I was the only patron, and Madam didn't even expect any. The household vanished into the back, and I sat down by the window, alone in the dining room, and opened the paper.

So what's the first thing that met my eyes?

I flung the paper away as if it had bitten me, but then I picked it up again. I had to know the worst. More, I had to figure out the agenda behind the articles, if I could.

There was an article about the accident site. The most often quoted source was Dr. Kandras's report describing the remains of a young woman around age thirty, with strands of pale hair caught in the broken branches of a tree.

“Gotcha,” I thought, hot triumph burning through me. There is no sweeter sight than a view from the pinnacle of moral superiority. Liar—caught in the act!

Except . . . the quotations were from the twenty-second. Nobody had spoken with him recently. What if the bones he found really were a female's, but someone got to them after he saw them, and they were swapped for Marzio's?

What if . . . what if.

Impatiently, I shut down the eternal grind of questions, and turned to the rest of the front page. There was Dr. Kandras's report, another from the Vigilzhi who climbed down to the accident site. They were so circumspect that every other word was the Dobreni equivalent of “alleged,” whenever there wasn't a more straightforward “we do not have that information at this time.” The von Mecklundburgs had been interviewed (“Is not a second to our motion an admission of guilt? We only ask for justice,” Robert trumpeted from
his
pinnacle) as had the Bishop (“We will investigate every witness, corroborate every fact”). The article ended, perhaps intentionally, with no comment from Alec, but following that were his office's plans for the forwarding of various projects.

The news shifted to local stuff, reports of the previous week's festivities and a strictly formal, respectful report on Ruli's funeral. I was scanning rapidly through that when another snow-dappled figure lumbered through the door, pausing in the vestibule to shed the worst of the white. What emerged was a worn Vigilzhi greatcoat, with no collar tabs or shoulder markings, meaning a low rank. His hat was pulled down over his ears and his muffler wrapped up nearly to the hat brim.

I began to refold the paper, remembering that the locals often read the paper when they came in for meals or a drink. The Vigilzhi messenger had already slipped from my notice until he paused by the counter and looked around. Something in the line of that coat, the way he moved....

I dropped the paper—he raised a gloved hand and yanked down the muffler to reveal a familiar square-cut chin, and the curve of mouth that had first entranced me six months before.

“Alec?” I breathed.

He pushed the hat up slightly, his eyes rueful with laughter. “I didn't think I could get away with it. But I had to try.”

“Uh.”
Think!
“Come on up to my room. Nobody's out here. Yet.”

Here we were, two adults—one of them the most powerful person in the country—sneaking upstairs like teenagers when Mom and Dad aren't looking. I certainly felt that way, and from the quick look he cast behind the counter before we headed up the stairs, he was feeling the same.

I shut us into my room, and let out my breath with a sigh. Alec looked around, and I said, feeling self-consciously warm, “Um, want to take off that coat?”

He set the hat on the little table and slowly began to unwind the muffler. Desire beat between us, intense and vital. “I had to see you,” he said, then gave a small, breathless laugh. “This is probably a bad idea.”

“No. It's a
good
idea. I was sitting here feeling every jab in today's paper, and trying to figure out how to cross the city to find you.” I hesitated, my longing to throw my arms around him so strong it had become a physical emptiness that hurt. But his stance, the slight question in his eyes, the hand half-raised in mute appeal, and I remembered:
Ruli is probably alive
.

The guy was still married. When last we'd been alone together, he was a widower, ready to face heavy time as a murderer. Now?

I wrenched my gaze away, hooked my foot around the little chair, and plopped down. “Have a seat,” I said, striving for casual, though it hurt not to touch him.

“The paper,” he repeated, as if trying to remember what a paper was. He looked around again, this time apparently seeing the room, and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. “I haven't seen the paper yet. I was over at HQ early, and . . .” He lifted a shoulder. “Bad?”

“Yes. No. Could have been worse. I get the sense that the journalists are definitely not in anyone's pocket. What news do you have?”

“Robert von Mecklundburg is recovering. When he woke up he corroborated what you told Nat.”

“So he doesn't blame me?”

“No. Said you tried to defend him with a prop sword. That's the good news.”

“That reminds me, if you get a suspect, check his arm, and it definitely was a he. Tall. And I smelled guy sweat. He'll have a bruise right here.” I smacked my arm just above my elbow. Then the last part of what he said sank in. “There's bad news?”

“There was an attempt on the Ridotskis.”

“What happened?”

“Someone iced their driveway the night of the ball.”

“How do you do that? Oh, put water over it when the temperature is dropping?”

“Correct. That storm was just moving in, or they might have seen the danger. Whoever did it iced the top half of their drive, so the sleigh lost friction, slid all the way down, and turned over.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Beka. She broke three ribs cushioning her mother's fall. The Prime Minister is badly bruised. The animals were unhurt, at least.”

“That is so creepy.”

“I've got the Vigilzhi spread far too thin, guarding them and everyone else. We're going to have to redesign the patrol routes. That's where I—”

“Should be,” I finished, and though I knew it was wrong, I could not resist the pull from chair to the bed to sit beside him. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

“I've watched the windows for three days.”

“Me, too. I don't know anything about snow, but I figured that if I couldn't see the buildings across the street, going out might be a bad idea.”

He nodded. “The entire city shuts down during blizzards, by law. Too often the weather clears, and we find someone frozen twenty feet from their door.” His weight shifted, and we were touching, shoulder to shoulder as he glanced around. “You like staying here? It can't be convenient. Or is it the company? You are comfortable among them?”

I was about to say,
I'm used to ordinary citizens
. Which was true. My end of Santa Monica was only a bike ride from Beverly Hills, but it may as well have been on another continent. But before I could claim to be Ms. Everywoman, I thought about that bathroom reserved just for me, and the “Mademoiselle Dsaret” attention, and I made a face. “They make me comfortable, and I really like them.”

His arm drifted up my back to close around my shoulders; his voice was low, warmed by a smile that I felt and heard more than saw. I shivered, and leaned into him as he murmured, “I had to tell you in person how much it meant to me, the things you said at the opera house ball.”

“That you're not a murderer? Is anyone going to listen to any of it at that hearing on Tuesday?”

“There's only one piece of evidence that we can introduce, because it can be proved: those bones in Ruli's sarcophagus.”

“Right.” I sighed. “Alec, I want so badly to kiss you, but . . . when Ruli gets back—if she gets back, and I hope she does—if she's okay with us hooking up, because I get it about the political stuff . . .”

“When Ruli gets back, the three of us will have a chance to talk.” He drew in a deep breath. “I was going to say ‘the four of us,' but Marzio . . .” He shook his head. “I wish I knew where Ruli was. I hope she's alive. There are going to be a lot of questions asked at Tuesday's hearing. Honoré is going to be there, and no one will be wearing charms if we have to strip them down. People are very angry. Not just with me, anymore.”

“Have you told anyone about the bones?”

“I've left that to Dmitros. He's doing his best to investigate, but as I said, the Vigilzhi are stretched to the max. There are more rumors about vampires around. Missing animals. So far no missing people, but the reports have increased, and they have a lot in common: old charms smashed or missing, shadows crossing windows, shadowy places on streets, and local animals going wild.”

“Okay, that's really creepy.”

“And did I mention someone's been searching my things? Not just at the Palace. Ysvorod House as well. Even the cubby over at the council building, though anyone who knows anything about how our government works would know there is nothing remotely personal or secret kept there.”

“Are you being guarded?”

“No. Better those men be used for other purposes. My mood is so vile I might even welcome a confrontation.” He shifted slightly, using his free hand to dig into one of the pockets of his long coat. He pulled out a pistol.

“Ick,” I exclaimed, jumping to my feet in instinctive recoil. “But if it keeps you safe . . .”

He slid it back into his pocket, and I was going to sit down again, but he got slowly to his feet. “Dmitros is probably waiting for me. And I took the street car. One nice thing about this weather is the anonymity.”

“That goes for the killer, too, unfortunately,” I said as I rubbed my damp palms down the sides of my jeans. “Um. Can we do something together, like a normal date, or is that a bad idea?”

“We'll do something tomorrow,” he promised. “After the hearing. It feels so good to talk to you, and . . .” He left it hanging, and looked at the window.

I knew exactly what that self-control cost him. As I debated the risks of grabbing him and kissing him, he lifted his thumb and caressed the single dimple in my cheek. I leaned into his touch, without meaning to. He leaned down, and his lips replaced his thumb, so softly, and I couldn't bear it any more. My lips met his, and we twisted together in a long, devouring kiss, and there was the heat and the fire, and I wanted nothing more than to fall on the bed and
burn
.

Somewhere remained a spark of sanity. We both broke it off at the same time. “I'd better get out of here.” His voice was gravelly. He cleared his throat.

Silently I handed him the muffler, which he flung around his neck and lower face. He jammed on the hat.

“I'll see if the coast is clear,” I said, moving to the door.

“We've got to find you another place to live,” he muttered as I peered out.

No one was in the hallway—of course, as mine was the only room occupied at the moment. But downstairs, Madam was bustling around the dining area, putting out fresh tablecloths in hopes of walk-in custom.

Alec and I exchanged looks; the laughter was back. I ran downstairs and asked Madam about the evening's menu, positioning myself so that she faced me, with her back to the stairway.

I could see Tania and Teresa behind the counter, stacking dishes, but that couldn't be helped. Alec flipped a hand at them and walked out with a quiet step as Madam talked on. I nodded at everything without hearing any of it, and breathed with relief when the door shut on Alec.

When Madam turned away, the girls looked at me. I mouthed the word “Messenger.” I hated lying to them, but it seemed necessary.

As I went back upstairs, I thought: If I stay in Dobrenica any longer, maybe it's time to see about finding a place.

 

This time, the nightmares set in about midnight. Car crashes, being burned alive—oh, that was only the start. After an eternity of gasping, clammy wake-ups, I gave up trying to sleep. I took a hot bath, which relaxed my body but left me wide awake. So I dug through my clothes for something that would be practical for climbing out on the roof. Some tights, my boots, my jeans, and three layers of cotton shirt with one of the new soft wool sweater-tops over it should make an okay roof-sitting outfit.

When I was done, I looked out the window. The sky was brilliant with stars, promising a good view of the solar eclipse in a few hours, if weather didn't come boiling over the mountains. I spotted a faint rectangle of golden light painted on the snow-blanketed terrace below: Someone else was up.

I let myself out of the room, moving noiselessly to the head of the stairs, in case the wakeful one was a senior member of the family, maybe in their p.j.s and expecting privacy.

Tania emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of hot chocolate cups. Theresa appeared a moment later, her silky black hair loose down her skinny back instead of in the ubiquitous braids. She was followed by her friend Miriam. All three wore chenille bathrobes of the sort I vaguely remembered Gran having worn ages ago. I'd loved rubbing my fingers up and down her sleeve.