Dead Rising (13 page)

Roman lifted his hands in surrender. “I get it. You don’t want to be a Knight. What
do
you want to be, Ari?”

That was the question I still hadn’t found the answer to. I liked living in Baltimore, liked my coffee shop job, but these last few days of researching for the vampires had taught me that I needed more than that. What that
more
was, I hadn’t figured out yet.

What I
had
figured out was that it was time for me to change the topic before my eldest sibling started channeling my mother. “Hey, do you have any idea what LARP is? I’m supposed to wear armor to one and I’m wondering whether to grab the plate or the chain mail.”

Success. Roman shook his head, clearly intrigued. “I’ve never heard of a LARP. Maybe you should bring both sets, just in case.”

Ugh. That was a lot of weight to be lugging around. “Maybe chain mail and just knees and elbows?”

Roman pursed his lips. “I’m a fan of full plate, especially since you don’t know what you’ll be encountering.”

That was going to be pretty hot in August, but my brother was right. He was a Guardian like Mom and Athena. When you were in charge of defending the Temple, it paid to be cautious. Not that anything had attacked in over a century, but it was best to be prepared for anything. Kind of like the Boy Scouts.

Before I could respond, we were interrupted by the arrival of the rest of my clan. The whisky flowed, sandwiches were consumed, and before the untouched pot of tea had a chance to get cold, we were all drifting off with excuses of checking e-mail, escorting the kids out to see the puppies, or taking a nap before dinner. I snuck into the library, grabbing the decanter of whisky on my way. This is how family time always went. Frantic togetherness activities in the morning the first day quickly devolved into meals together and everyone off on their own toward evening.

I wasn’t alone in the library.

“’Bout time someone got here with more booze,” Great-grandma Essie shouted. “Solomon waters this one down, naughty boy. And it’s almost gone.”

I passed her the decanter, not surprised to see her swig it from the bottle. Whisky dribbled down her chin and onto her bright yellow shirt. “Where’s that hot piece of ass you brought home?”

Dad really needed to limit her internet usage. Hearing that sort of language from a coworker at the coffee shop was fine, hearing it from an elderly woman chugging whisky was disturbing.

“He’s a vampire, Gran. No one in this household is going to be enjoying that ‘hot piece of ass’.”

She eyed me in disappointment. “Just as well you’re not letting him climb on top of you. He’d bite you, and we all know how that would end. He could bite me all he wants. I’m almost dead anyway. It would be a lot more pleasant way to die than a heart attack in my sleep. That’s how Tarquin died, although he wasn’t sleeping. We were rocking the bed and all that excitement was too much for his old heart.”

Great-grandpa Tarquin
had
died of a heart attack, but it had been while having breakfast at IHOP, not sex with Essie. Although I’m sure he did plenty of the latter activity right up until he died.

“I’m not going to let Dario or any other vampire bite me, Gran.” Best to steer this conversation back to vampires before Essie started revealing the details of hers and Tarquin’s sex life.

“Good.” She took another swig of whisky. At this rate, liver failure was looking a more likely death for Essie than a heart attack. “Maybe when you’re old like me you can let him stuff your muffin, but not now. You’ve got things to do with your life. People depend on you. You’ve got to protect the Pilgrims on the Path as Tarquin always said.” She peered at me, her dark brown eyes intent. “You look like him, you know. Those cheekbones, that sexy mouth, that same determination in your eyes. You’re a great Knight.”

“I’m not a Knight. I haven’t taken my Oath.”

Essie made a dismissive noise, waving her hand for emphasis—the hand not holding the decanter of whisky.

“Oath-smoath. You’re a Knight. It’s here, my girl. Here.” She was grabbing her left boob, but I think she meant to be indicating her heart.

I smiled, trying to keep my expression as non-committal as possible. The feelings I’d had during my tea-time chat with Roman came back. I wasn’t a Knight, didn’t want to be a Knight
or
spend the rest of my life as a barista in a coffee shop—at least not full time. What was a woman with a degree in European History to do? Museum jobs were insanely competitive, and my knowledge was unusual in its specificity. Add in my prowess in swordsmanship, jousting, and illusion magic…

And I came up with a job at the Renaissance Fair. Which paid about as much as the coffee shop job and was only four months out of the year. Maybe these LARPing people had a paid position open?

“Pilgrims on the Path,” Essie repeated. Her voice softer, her head lolling to the side. “Someone has to keep them safe. Pilgrims on the Path.”

A light snore came from her, and I dove in to rescue the whisky before her tight grip loosened and it hit the floor. Booze safely on the table, I found a pillow and made my Great-grandmother more comfortable. She smiled in her sleep, and I left, hoping she was dreaming of younger times with her dashing husband by her side.

T
HERE WAS A
knock on my bedroom door. Before I could respond, it opened and Dario stepped in. I froze, not sure what my reaction to him would be, or his reaction to me. I had sort of thrown myself at him in a moment of low-blood-sugar drunkenness. He’d declined. And that was part of the embarrassment. It’s a woman thing.
Oh my God, I hit on a vampire
, and
I’m not attractive enough for him to even consider the offer
both were equally mortifying.

It was as if last night had never happened. That bland expression was back on his face.

“Whose monkey suit did you borrow,” I pointed at his tux.

“I believe this is your brother, Roman’s.” Dario straightened the sleeves. “He’s about my size. I found it hanging in the closet.”

I doubted anyone went into his room while he was in slumber. Mom must have delivered it last night, while we were in my bedroom. I bit back a smile, knowing she’d been imagining all sorts of naughty goings-on between me and Dario.

“Ready? I fear your mother’s icy glare if we are late to dinner.”

He wasn’t the only one. “Ready.”

It was a sacrilege to miss dinnertime growing up, and we all were expected to be clean and appropriately attired. Family Time warranted the ridiculously formal outfits, Mom’s attempt to compensate for the fact that her children were all grown and she only saw them every other month. I secretly loved it. The huge silver candelabras were all ablaze. Gold rimmed plates, crystal goblets, and solid silver were artfully set on the long table. My long dress brushed against my legs, every step a seductive caress. I was well aware with my hair done up that the long column of my neck, my shoulder, and the top half of my breasts were exposed. I felt the weight of the jewelry against my skin, the burn of Dario’s gaze as his eyes roamed. I felt sexy, powerful, privileged.

“Ma’am.” One of the staff extended a silver platter offering me a martini with an olive rolling about the bottom of the glass. I took it as if I were accepting the Holy Grail. This was ceremony, familiar and scripted. They knew what I drank and had it ready for me to take with a gloved hand. This could all be mine. It was my legacy. It was part of who I was.

But as much as I reveled in it, I missed my ratty apartment and the hiss of the espresso machines at the café.

The waiter took Dario’s drink order, and scurried away while I sipped my martini, my other hand resting on the crook of the vampire’s elbow. The bite of juniper melded with the bitterness of olive and tonic on my tongue.

“This is insanely over-the-top,” Dario muttered.

It was, but something in me bloomed with the pomp and circumstance, as if it were my right to have this. I remembered the little I knew about Dario’s history. Life in Haiti as a human, then what amounted to the exile of his
Balaj
, roaming north across America until settling in Baltimore. Did they have to oust another
Balaj
? How hard had those decades, possibly centuries, been? I looked at our priceless dinnerware, handed down through generations and felt a stab of shame.

“Enjoy it. Patrick makes a good martini.”

Mom and Dad arrived last, entering with great ceremony. I felt a swell of pride. Mom was turning sixty this year. She was beautiful with a slim, muscular body, her natural blond hair streaked with silver and just brushing her shoulders. The laugh lines at the corner of her eyes and the parenthesis that bracketed her upturned mouth were the only concessions to her age. She used to smile a lot when I was young. And laugh. I missed that.

Dad was a decade older, his black hair long gone. He was still in good figure, although I’d witnessed the broadening of his waist across the years and seen the shadows darken and sag beneath his eyes. I remembered his hands as he flipped the French toast, fine-boned and spotted.

When had my parents grown old? Was it just six months away that had brought this home to me? It was like a stab in the chest, this realization they wouldn’t live forever. Great-grandma Essie seemed to be on the road to rival Methuselah, but her children and grandchildren hadn’t been graced with such longevity. There was Dad, his two sisters and a cousin left out of Essie’s dozen grandchildren. My heart ached.

Dario grabbed my hand and gave it a quick squeeze, then left my side to approach my parents. I watched in horror, as if a friend had jumped into the lion’s den at the National Zoo. He spoke to the pair of them. They nodded stiffly, then Mom took his arm and walked alongside the vampire to her place at the table. I noted the little smile curling up one corner of her lips as well as the slight flush on her cheeks. Seemed that Essie and I weren’t the only ones who admired the attractive vampire.

I walked to Dad and he extended his arm, his grey eyes twinkling as they met mine. I looped my hand around his and leaned my cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent that had always meant love, approval, and security.

“I think your Mother has been seduced to the dark side,” he murmured.

I laughed. “One wrong move and his head will be rolling across the oriental rug.”

And it would. Dad was the only man who had ever swayed Mom into losing her warrior caution.

Dinner was a ceremony unto itself. Seven courses with non-confrontational conversation. As we rose, Roman’s wife, Hilda, took the children upstairs. Athena and Mom went for a moonlight walk in the gardens. My sister’s husband, Pietrus, took a quick look at Dad and I, then excused himself to smoke a cigar on the terrace. Dad poured us each a glass of port. I glanced at the mantle clock and knew it was time.

I touched Dario’s arm. “There are some books I need to peruse. With any luck, I can find what I need and we can be out of here and back in Baltimore before sunup. If not, I’ll work through the night, sleep tomorrow for a bit, then we can leave at sundown.”

His dark eyes bore into mine. It was unnerving, having someone stare directly at me for so long. “I’ll come with you.”

It took me a moment before I realized that he meant the vault. “These documents are for Templar eyes only. I’ll let you know as soon as I find something.”

“Unacceptable. I’ve received word that we must return tonight, and that I’m to assist you in any way necessary to ensure you have information for the Mistress when we return.”

Why was he suddenly so stiff, so antagonistic? I felt like the last few days we’d moved past that. Honestly, we’d always seemed to have something more than this cold, impersonal, business-like thing between us. From day one when I’d been sending him Bloody Marys and he’d sent back martinis filled with little plastic swords, we’d had a connection. What had happened over dinner to change that?

“Dario, there’s no need for this. Dad and I will go through the documents, and I promise I’ll let you know anything I find.”

Dad’s eyes went back and forth between the pair of us. “I’ll meet you at the vault, Solaria.” He bit back a smile as he left the room. I watched him leave, waited until the door closed, then turned to Dario.

The vampire set the untouched glass of port on the table. “Aria, there is more riding on this than you know. I need to review these documents with you.”

“What’s riding on this, Dario? You haven’t told me shit. I can’t violate the sanctity of Templar property without good reason, and you haven’t given me that good reason.”

He turned his head. “I cannot give you the reason. You need to trust me.”

For Pete’s sake. “And I cannot let you in the vault. You need to trust
me
.”

There was that standoff between the pair of us, tension you couldn’t cut with a two-handed sword.

“Let me help you, Solaria.”

His voice was like velvet and chocolate, like warm spiced wine on a cold snowy night. I fell into the dark promise in his eyes, felt the urge to reach out and run my fingers over the curve of his lips. But of all the magicks I’d played with in my life, illusion was my strength. And enchantment was but a sister to illusion.

Fine. If he was going to pull the seduction thing, then I would, too.

“I would love to, Dario,” I purred, pressing my hand against his chest and leaning in to brush my lips along his jaw. “If only you would allow me to help you first.”

I heard the snick of his fangs descending, felt the touch of his tongue on my neck. His hands encircled my waist, holding me ever so lightly. “Do not play with me, Aria.”

I stepped back, knowing that I was treading on dangerous ground. Knighthood or not, it was time to bring on my inner Templar. “Then don’t play with me. I agreed to research this symbol, to give information to the head of the
Balaj
. I’ve prioritized this request, giving it my every attention. And in return I get saddled with a vampire minder. And now my minder insists on entering a sacred space, viewing documents that are forbidden to his eyes.” I straightened, gritting my teeth. “I believe that both my patience and my hospitality have reached an end.”