Bond of Fire (34 page)

Close up, Celeste’s scent was even more disquieting, despite her custom-blended perfume.

“Can you forgive me for not having told you? I was so afraid when the French captured me that I lost my head and made a deal.” Celeste’s eyes were enormous. Tears began to well up. “After the war, I didn’t know if you were still alive or how to reach you. I was so embarrassed about what I’d done that when some of my friends decided to come here, I joined them.”

She blinked away the threatening moisture and smiled tentatively.

Hélène’s heart turned over as it always had for her little sister.

“Can you ever forgive me, Hélène? I’m so sorry for disappointing you.” Celeste gulped, and tears left silver tracks down her face, badly smudging her makeup.

The poor darling!

“Yes, of course, I forgive you, Celeste. What’s important is that we’re together now.” They embraced again, sniffling.

“Papa and
Maman
would be so happy to see us like this,” Hélène chuckled when they broke apart. Celeste shot her a quick glance but said nothing, simply handed her a tissue.

She wouldn’t reminisce about family?

Hélène moved to distract them both. “You look beautiful. Valentino, isn’t it? And your jewelry is magnificent.”

Celeste immediately preened, as Hélène had known she would at any compliment to her attire, and the slight chill in the atmosphere disappeared. “Thank you. And Vera Wang’s severity suits your style quite well.”

Hélène would have preferred to hear it described as simplicity, but whatever. At least they were on friendly terms again.

“Would you care for some wine? Or something stronger? If you’re hungry, I can have one of my men bring a
vampiro
or two up. Or a
prosaico
if you’d prefer.”

“Wine please. I’m not hungry at the moment; I’d rather spend time with you.” And she’d much rather do her own hunting than drink what came out of Bacchus’s Temple.

“Well, let me know when you want a snack.” Celeste shrugged, seeming as French as when they’d left Sainte-Pazanne. “There are plenty of men here, and they’ll let you do anything you want.”

Poor darling, didn’t she know the give and take between lovers anymore? She’d once enjoyed that with her Raoul.

Hélène sat down on the sofa, choosing the end closest to the chair clearly designated as the throne.

Celeste handed her a flute of Cristal champagne and seated herself in the massive piece of furniture, accepting its embrace as her due. “To family and the future!” she toasted, lifting her glass high so that bubbles danced in the chandeliers’ glow.

“To family!” Hélène echoed. They touched glasses, and the resulting chime rang through the old room, setting off echoes. Crystals danced softly in answer, flashing gently in the old mirrors.

She sipped her champagne, enjoying its predictably high quality.

“How was Texas?” Celeste’s voice was silky soft.

Oh dear. Two centuries of experience as a spy had taught Hélène both how to recognize danger and how to control her response.

“Hot.” Hélène chose her words carefully. “It’s a nonstop flight from London to Dallas, you know.”

“And the Texas
vampiros
?” Celeste probed.

“Don Rafael was polite enough to give me safe passage for a week, as is customary, although I didn’t stay that long.” Hélène met her sister’s eyes guilelessly. She was thankful for her slightly older age as a
vampira
, which made it easier to conceal any dissemblance. “Everyone in London is talking about the war, you know.”

“English? Bah!” Celeste dismissed them with an angry wave and tossed back the rest of her drink. She refilled it to the brim quickly, making Hélène blink at the casual treatment of a very fine, highly expensive vintage.

Still, Celeste had displayed a slight vulnerability, and Hélène took advantage of it.

“Well, do you want the English mocking American manners? ‘Oh, those colonials are having another feud. They’re so childish they can’t stop fighting, y’know,’” she mocked, adopting an overly stylized upper-crust English accent.

“They wouldn’t!”

“What do you think the latest Mayfair gossip is?” Hélène raised an eyebrow and sipped her champagne.

Celeste’s face turned a mottled red. She flung herself to her feet and began to pace.

Hélène watched her for a few moments before she twisted the knife a little farther. “Not to mention the Champs-Élysées.”

“Paris…” Celeste hissed, anger and anguish mingled equally in her voice. “Damn.”

She beat her hands on a narrow, marble-topped table, making its golden vases dance. She spun to face her sister, bracing herself against the table’s ebony like a lioness about to charge.

Hélène instinctively came to her feet, setting her glass down. If she’d had a gun close by, it would have been under her hand. Or Jean-Marie, her
cónyuge
, would have stood guard at her back.

“Well, the namby-pambies in London and Paris can kiss my ass after I hold Texas and I’m the richest
patrona
in America.”

“Celeste…”

“No, you listen to me! I’m the
patrona
of New Orleans, and what I say, goes. It’s war to the death between me and Texas.” An absolute monarch’s fixed determination glared from her eyes, vowing destruction to anyone who challenged her.

Hélène bent her head, unwilling to openly agree to a war. Besides, she’d at least made Celeste rethink its merits. She could work later to widen that opening.

“You’re welcome to stay with me, dearest sister.” Celeste’s voice was softer now, almost cooing sweet. “We can talk about old times and the future.”

“Thank you,” Hélène said and beamed. This had to work. Somehow.

Rafael’s office was crowded tonight, with emotions as much as people. His knight’s sword hung over the mantel, as a reminder of duty and honor, while his desk hid its high-tech capabilities. Comfortable chairs and a long sofa offered plenty of seating near the round table or facing the wall of windows.

Jean-Marie finished summarizing the other
patrones’
recent messages and took a sip of coffee, stalling in response to his intuition’s harsh demand. He’d been feeding on companionship, not lust, since Hélène had walked out. Thin sustenance, especially when taken rarely. Working had been a far better distraction, given the increasingly long list of deaths.

The omnipresent knot in the pit of his stomach tightened yet again. Dammit, when he thought of Hélène being in New Orleans, living under the same roof as Celeste…

He yanked his thoughts away from that nightmare and scanned the room again, instinctively checking the only woman present.

Doña
Grania was here, her first time at a council meeting. Amazing.

She was clearheaded enough to attend, thanks to drawing on Rafael’s sanity through their
conyugal
bond. She’d passed through
La Lujuria
remarkably fast, the time when a young
cachorra
thought of nothing but blood and emotion. Like Rafael’s other
hijos
, Jean-Marie found himself treating her with almost more respect than he gave his
creador
.

Ethan seemed to be unduly tense at odd times, often after he’d gone into Austin. Jean-Marie hadn’t had a chance to ask him about it privately.

Luis was getting too damn old to still be a
compañero
, at almost two centuries. Jean-Marie hadn’t yet spotted a gray hair in the other’s glossy black hair. But he knew very well both he and Rafael inspected their old friend at every chance. If they lost Luis to old age before he could be given
El Abrazo
…

Gray Wolf and Caleb seemed uncomfortable with each other, almost unduly polite.
Please, God, let them not be fighting about Gray Wolf’s refusal to permit Rafael to become Caleb’s
creador. Texas needed every pair of
cónyuges
it could get.

Lars slipped in like a ghost and took a seat at the back, sending a chill running down Jean-Marie’s spine. He would only have left his post if they needed to plan for the worst possible news.

“We have learned Madame Celeste is gathering all of her commanderies at Rosemeade in two days,” Jean-Marie announced flatly, restarting the briefing—and waited for the eruption.

The room broke out into a buzz. Rafael pounded his seat. Ethan’s hands tightened convulsively, as if reaching for his revolvers. Luis came to his feet, pulling out his smartphone. Gray Wolf snarled something in his native tongue.

“True?” Rafael asked Lars.

“Yes. Most of her
mesnaderos
will probably stay in New Orleans, though.”

“Even so, the commanderies form an invading army who outnumber us,” Gray Wolf growled, drumming his fingers.

“What about Devol and the
bandolerismo
?” Ethan snapped. “They’re here in Texas, causing trouble now. They’re undoubtedly planning to help the New Orleans army.”

“I couldn’t find out how to contact Devol and the
bandolerismo
, even after I broke into Madame Celeste’s comms center in New Orleans.” Lars shrugged, harsh grooves of frustration cut beside his mouth.

“Do we know their destination?” Rafael snapped.

“No,” Jean-Marie answered, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Memphis rumor says Madame Celeste will decide after the commanderies are together and she talks to Devol.”

An unhappy silence fell.

“Crap,” Caleb said, summing up the situation. “Pardon my French, ma’am.”

“That’s quite all right, Dr. Jones.” Grania—or Dr. O’Malley—exchanged nods with him.

“We’ll have to destroy the commanderies before they reach us. That’s too many men for us to fight here, especially when we don’t know where they’re going.” Rafael started to plan. “Rosemeade’s the only possible target.”

“An impregnable fortress surrounded by an impassable swamp and hundreds of square miles of terrified
prosaicos
, who’d report a suspicious firefly,” Ethan agreed enthusiastically. He’d always wanted to be the one who finally took down the near-legendary torture capital.

“It will have to be a small party,” Jean-Marie cautioned. “It’s all we can get through on the ground.”

“I’ll be your sniper.” Lars lifted a pair of fingers up.

Which guaranteed the bullets would arrive on target.

“I’ll be observer and getaway driver,” Jean-Marie volunteered. It would be a relief to get out of Texas with its memories of Hélène—and keep an eye on Lars.

Rafael assessed his two volunteers and relaxed slightly. They knew how to work together well.

So why did Jean-Marie’s eyes turn so frozen when he spoke?
Grania asked.

What? Dammit, you’re right.

“I’m the team commander, of course,” Ethan added before Rafael could chase down Jean-Marie’s problem.

“If you decide to also raid Madame Celeste’s operations in New Orleans, call on the Dallas commandery for support,” Rafael snapped, handling the immediate issues. “The Houston commandery has their hands full with the floods from that tropical depression. Remember only the interstate is still open all the way through to New Orleans.”

Ethan nodded, his face abstracted.

“Gray Wolf, you’ll form a fast reaction force here in Texas,” Rafael continued.

“Yes, sir. I’ll use the
mesnaderos
and Waco as its basis.”

“Good. Luis, you’ll muster the daytime version. We’ll probably need to bring the
comitiva
in on this.”

Luis nodded shortly.

Hell, he’d roust all of Texas if he had to. Any other weapons Madame Celeste might have? Hmm…

Grania shot a sideways glance at him but said nothing, either vocally or mind-to-mind.

“What about Madame d’Agelet? Do we know where she is?” Rafael asked.

Jean-Marie’s eyes closed briefly. Grania disengaged herself from Rafael and began to inspect his desk.

“Madame d’Agelet entered Madame Celeste’s headquarters tonight and hasn’t been seen since,” Texas’s chief spy reported in clipped, emotionless tones.

“In that case, we’ll have to assume she’ll be at Madame Celeste’s side and plan accordingly,” Rafael ordered and went to the windows for room to think.

Hélène d’Agelet was both a firestarter—and Jean-Marie’s
cónyuge
. Should he order her killed as a danger to his men, now she’d gone over to her sister’s side? Or saved, since his eldest
hijo
adored her? Both options were equally impossible.

A muscle throbbed in Jean-Marie’s jaw.

“Do you have any, ah, comments, Jean-Marie?” Rafael asked, testing the waters.

“Madame d’Agelet is my
cónyuge
,” his eldest
hijo
announced harshly. “The
conyugal
bond disappeared when I told her Madame Celeste, her sister, needed to die.”

Rafael froze, fierce pain barreling into his gut. Hélène and Celeste were sisters—yet he was prepared to kill Celeste, to protect his family?

If Rafael ever lost Grania for a similar reason, his life would stop. Had he helped force Jean-Marie into this appalling predicament? If Hélène d’Agelet had been able to stay in Texas, would affairs have ended differently?

The room was utterly silent. Gray Wolf’s mouth was firmly compressed, his hands tightly linked with Caleb’s. Ethan’s head was held high, his nostrils flared like a stallion ready to fight.

My sympathies, mi hijo,
Rafael said finally, unable to find a way through his whirling thoughts.

Thank you.
Jean-Marie inclined his head, his blue eyes clouded now, almost gray. “If you’ll excuse me, we need to start planning immediately.”

He bowed and left the room, Ethan and Lars following close on his heels. The others murmured curt farewells and disappeared.

Grania stretched, her expression pensive. She delicately nudged Rafael’s sword with her fingertip, returning it to perfect alignment with the stone mantelpiece.

“What are you thinking?” Rafael queried.

She turned to face him, her eyes contemplative blue pools. “Two days ago, who did Jean-Marie ask to bring into our family?”