Fury's Kiss (40 page)

“Nothing to eat?” Verrell gestured around expansively at the long rows of cabinets and the walk-in pantry and the two fridges wedged in between old stone countertops. “Zere is everything!”

“Blood sausage. Tripe. Freaking pâté, man.” Ray shook his head.

“And what ees wrong wiz zee pâté?”

“What is wrong? You take a duck, shove corn down its throat until it pukes, and call it cuisine?”

Verrell drew himself up. “You are zee Philistine,” he accused, pointing at whatever was in the pan. “And zat ees not food. Zat ees not even—” He caught sight of me standing in the doorway. “Ah, zere, you see? She ees up and nothing is ready!”

Ray looked over his shoulder, and waved a greasy spatula at me. “Ignore him. It’s almost done. Get some beer, will ya?”

He nodded at a couple of brown paper grocery bags on the counter, and I moseyed over to have a look. There was beer. Three different kinds. And snacks, most of which I didn’t think were long for this world if Verrell’s expression was anything to go by. Apparently, Slim Jims did not count as food, either. I tossed a brew at Ray and got one for myself, and sat down at a big wooden table, stomach rumbling.

“I’m introducing Verrell to the wonders of fried egg sandwiches,” Ray said, flipping one of the components onto a piece of buttered toast. He slapped some Velveeta and another slice of toast on top and squashed the whole ooey-gooey mess with his spatula in the frying pan for a minute. Then he slid it onto a plate and set the plate in front of me.

I took it a little warily, because I hadn’t known that Ray could cook. But it was perfect—the sandwich part
crisp and buttery and the yolk just a little runny with the white browned around the edges. I dug in.

“See?” Ray said to Verrell, looking smug.

“She ees starving. Eet ees not a fair test.”

“I think I’m gonna crumble some potato chips in the next one,” Ray said, eyes narrowing. Verrell squinted back. And then suddenly the brown bags of goodness were gone, the pudgy chef booking it out of the kitchen with one under each arm.

“You’re not gonna chase him down?” I asked a little wistfully. Because this was not a one-sandwich morning.

“Relax,” Ray told me, and pulled up the edge of a kitchen towel. “I got more.”

And sure enough, there was more faux cheese under there—but no potato chips. Too bad. It had sounded kind of intriguing.

Ray lost no time in getting to work on a replacement, and I went back to making room for it. So there wasn’t a lot of talking until he slid plate number two under my nose. And sat down opposite me with one of his own.

“So, your guys are here?” I asked, butter dripping down my chin.

Ray saw and grinned. “Yeah. Louis-Cesare said he didn’t mind, and they’re safer here, at least till I can get things worked out.”

“And where is Louis-Cesare?”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Getting his ass chewed, probably.”

“Why?”

He looked up, halfway through a bite. “Oh, man.”

“Oh, man what?”

“Oh, man, I knew you didn’t remember.”

“Remember
what
?”

“What happened after we came through the portal.” He looked at me in amazement. “You don’t, do you?”

No, and I was suddenly thinking that might be best. I didn’t usually get a description of one of my blackouts that made me happy. Or, actually, ever.

But Ray was already telling me.

“It was crazy. I was trying to hack the portal and Radu was rapid-fire guessing passwords, and I’m not sure which of us succeeded but I think maybe it was both. Or maybe that thing is just so damned powerful—I mean, did you
see
it on the other end?”

“No.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, anyway, it’s huge. And when we broke the seal it just flat out
grabbed
us—and not just us, but half the guys in the corridor.”

“It took the zombies, too?”

“Oh, yeah. Fire and all. And that damned master, you know, Marlowe’s guy?”

Frick. I nodded.

“Well, he just didn’t quit. He grabbed hold of you halfway through the portal and then we were tumbling around and Radu was trying to beat him off you but there wasn’t time and then all of us shot out the other end. And I mean
shot
, like we must have gone two, three dozen yards, fighting and yelling and rolling and smoking.” Ray waved a beer bottle around. “It was crazy!”

“I bet.”

“And I hit a wall and almost got my head stove in, and by the time I got back to my feet, people were pouring in from everywhere and you and that master zombie were going at it and your eyes had gone all glowy and you’d ripped his damned
arm
off and were beating him with it—”

“I did not.”

“Oh, yeah. You so did. Only it was more the fire that got him in the end. You round-kicked him and he hit the wall and kinda went
poof
, just crumbled—”

“And then that was it?” I asked—hopefully, because Ray’s expression was kind of looking like that hadn’t been it.

“Oh, hell no. I mean, it might’ve been, but you didn’t stop. You were completely freaking out—just attacking everybody.”

I stopped chewing, my appetite suddenly evaporating. “I went dhampir at the
consul’s
?”

“Oh yeah. Big-time. It took like a dozen of ’em to
hold you down and I didn’t know if even that was going to be enough. You kept throwing them off, and they were hitting the walls and flying into the air and—and you shoulda seen a few of their faces. It was priceless.”

Yeah. Priceless.

I got another beer. “But that ended it, right? I mean, when the guards arrived—”

“Oh, the guards weren’t doing shit,” he said dismissively. “They tried, but the only people getting anywhere were the upper-level masters who saw you chewing up the guards and started lending a hand. Only they were having problems, too. And I think a few people were starting to get worried, ’cause a couple drew weapons. And then Radu started yelling at them, and then Louis-Cesare ran in—”

“Why was he there?”

“I dunno. He said something later about wanting to talk to your father—maybe about Zheng. I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to ask him much, ’cause we came in different cars—”

“Came where?”

“Here. The estate he just bought. It’s like eight miles from the consul’s place, so it wasn’t a long—”

“But
why
are we here?”

“If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll get to that,” Ray said. “So he runs in, right? And this is where the crazy part starts, ’cause he begins helping you—”

“Helping me do what?”

“Attack the Senate guards.” Ray saw my expression and nodded. “Yeah. Like I said—crazy. And then people really started freaking out, like they were more worried about you two than the damned burning zombies that were still wandering around. And more were spurting out of the portal every minute until finally somebody wised up and shut it down, and then your father showed up—”

“Great.” So much for showing him how in control I was these days.

Or for getting rehired.

“And then he did something, I don’t know what, but
you passed out. That was about the time the consul came in and ordered you to be taken to Lord Mircea’s rooms—I guess he’s got a suite there or something—’cause of course they’re gonna want to question you about what happened at Central—”

“So why am I here and not there?” I asked, cutting him off. Because I really didn’t want any more details.

“’Cause Louis-Cesare told her no.”

I’d been halfway through a swallow, and almost choked. And then Verrell was back, clapping me heavily between the shoulder blades. Which would have been great, except the only thing I had stuck in my throat was surprise.

“What?” I finally managed to gasp.

“Yeah.” Ray nodded. “That was kind of everyone’s take on it.”

“Is he
crazy?
” I hissed. “He’s in enough trouble—”

Verrell made some kind of French sound, and went to get me some water. “He is Louis-Cesare de Bourbon,” he said, with a Gallic shrug.

“He is an idiot! He should have left me there!”

“He should have done no such thing. You were hurt, no?”

“He’s going to be hurt more!” The consul was a vindictive bitch, and that was on a good day. And if she’d just had her place trashed courtesy of us and the zombie brigade, it was fair to say that this wasn’t a good day. And even if she overlooked that, getting contradicted in her own house—

Goddamn it. Sometimes I thought the damned vamp had some kind of death wish.

Verrell made another of those sounds, the kind that defy translation. But this one sounded amused. “Zey need him.”

“They won’t always! And if he keeps this up—”

“And he was right. Zee atmosphere, it was driving you mad. Had you woken up zere, you might ’ave gone the crazy again. And ’ow could you rest and sleep and heal in zat place?”

“I’d have managed,” I said grimly.

“But why must you? He ’as beeg shoulders,” Verrell said, clasping mine, his hands gentle. “And you are so small, so delicate. I cannot believe what zey say—”

“Oh, believe it,” Ray said drily.

“I don’t need him fighting my battles for me,” I said, and shrugged him off.

The small chef looked sad. “But perhaps he needs.”

“What?”

He sighed and licked rosy lips. “I nevair say this, but…you know about zee
salope, non
?”

“What?”

“Zat witch, zat—
Christine.
” His expression looked like he’d just gotten in a side of beef crawling with maggots.

“I take it you didn’t like Christine?”

The chef made a fugue of gestures, rolling his eyes, shaking his head, waving his hands. Like he was having a small fit. “Like? Like?
Non!
We do not
like
. She was no good for heem. She use heem. For years and years and—” He made another noise. “But he feel the guilt, you comprehend? He think she need heem. And she let heem think this way, to bind heem to her. But there ees no help. She ees mad. She wants only to harm, and she hurt heem, so much—”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Do you not?” Verrell tilted his head. “But you must. He could not help her,
non
. No matter how much he tried. But you—”

Ray cleared his throat. “Uh, Verrell—”

I stared at the chef. “What are you saying?”

He beamed at me. “You are like her, you know. Pretty and petite and in trouble—”

Ray stood up. “Verrell!”

“—but not evil. He could not help Christine, but you—” Verrell nodded happily as the kitchen spun and the world came apart. “He can save you.”

“I don’t think they tailored this thing right,” Ray said, sliding me a look.

I didn’t answer. I was staring out the window of a shiny black car—I hadn’t even bothered to notice what kind—that was taking us back to the consul’s. Her people had called an hour or so ago, rescinding my reprieve and ordering me back. For that interrogation, I assumed, although I didn’t really care.

I didn’t care about much right now.

Which was probably why I’d let Louis-Cesare’s people dress me up like a French Barbie doll. And because it had been that or wear the damned bathrobe. And because I knew they weren’t doing it for me. They were so happy to help their beloved master with his latest hard-luck case that it had been almost pathetic.

Damn
, I thought. How bad had Christine had to be for a dhampir to look good?

“You, uh,” Ray said, and then he stopped in order to tug on the jacket of his sharp blue pinstripe. Which regardless of what he believed, fit him perfectly. Just like the gray Dior-esque skirted suit I was in, complete with black kid gloves. Because it might be August and hot as hell, but damn it, they matched the outfit.

It shouldn’t have surprised me. Of course Louis-Cesare had his own tailor. Of course he did.

“Um, so,” Ray said again, as beautiful Adirondack scenery passed outside the heavily tinted windows,
looking vaguely spotty because of the veil on my chic little hat.

Screw it. I took it off and tossed it on the seat, ignoring the disapproving look I got from the chauffeur. I’d just trashed the consul’s house while half naked and shoeless. I didn’t think a missing hat was going to scandalize anybody.

And I didn’t care if it did.

“You know, it’s like this,” Ray said.

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I should shut up. And I will—”

I laid my aching head back against the seat.

“Just as soon as I point out one thing.”

Of course.

“He’s a
cook
, all right? I mean, like he knows anything.”

“He’s a master. And he’s been with Louis-Cesare for years.”

“So? I’m a master, and I been with Cheung for years. And he never told me shit. And I doubt Louis-Cesare was having heart-to-hearts with the kitchen staff. The guy was probably just talking, you know? Like people do—”

“Like people who said they were going to shut up?”

“Fine. Be that way. But he’s stupid about you. And it’s not because he wants some kind of redemption for Christine.”

“You don’t get it. He thinks he killed her.”

“He
did
kill her, but only trying to save her. And if he hadn’t done anything, she’d have died anyway. Those damned dark mages had almost drained her dry.”

“Dark mages she’d have never met if Louis-Cesare hadn’t sent her to the guy who sold her to them.”

Ray narrowed his eyes. “Are you blaming him? ’Cause he couldn’t have known that. That mage was supposed to be legit—”

“I’m not blaming him,” I said wearily. “I’m telling you how he thinks.”

He’d tried to help Christine, a wandering, sick,
clueless witch that his vampires had stumbled across, by seeing that she was nursed back to health. And by then sending her to a supposedly upstanding mage for training and integration into the magical community. She had been born into a human family who viewed magic as being of the devil, and had afterward been raised in a convent, of all things. So she’d had zero help in learning to control her gifts.

He’d done all the right things, but somehow it had all gone to hell anyway. The mage had been desperate for money, and had sold her off to some nefarious types who had promptly drained her of all her magic and most of her life before Louis-Cesare tracked her down. And realized that there was only one way to save her.