No Man's Land (32 page)

Schooling his face to show nothing beyond bland interest, Kyle took the envelope and tossed it casually on his desk. “Thank you, Juan. I have this list of Virginia businesses that we should target in the Kincaid takeover. Please give them to Abigail and have her begin diverting funds for their take–over. Let’s run this one through Kings Green.”

Juan’s took on a decidedly green tinge. He extended a stack of papers toward Kyle, his hand shaking slightly.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but Kings Green was drained of its funds early this morning. So was Snyder and Sons, and Marwick. They were all stripped, and their corporate identities dissolved.”

“How. . .?” Kyle leafed through the papers in astonishment. Was this his father’s doing? “Where were the funds transferred? To the main Fournier account? To Rensalver Enterprises?”

“Abigail says they went to an offshore account, were transferred to a Swiss bank account then out again to an undisclosed location.”

Breathe. Breathe
. Kyle’s chest felt like someone had applied a giant vice to it. Those three companies held funds necessary for operation of three Fournier states. He’d need to go begging to his father for emergency cash or watch those businesses fold within the month. Was this another way to keep Kyle under his thumb? Such an involved series of transactions didn’t seem like his father, but the old man could have employed one of his close staff in the scheme. And now his father would not only get to see Kyle humble himself before him, but would get to berate him on his irresponsible loss of three companies.

“Okay. Let’s use Oakwood for the Virginia companies while I try and make sense of what happened with the other three.”

Juan was definitely green, and this time he shoved his shaking hands in his pants pockets before speaking.

“Oakwood no longer belongs to us. The articles of incorporation were somehow changed last night, and the entire business was acquired by a company called Alchemy. Abigail thinks they may be a foreign–owned company. Privately held, and no way to trace ownership. They’re managed through an offshore fund in Nassau.”

Kyle’s eyes drifted to the envelope on his desk, but he refused to open it in front of Juan. Everything was falling apart. Everything.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard any decision from the Kincaid Consort?”

Juan shook his head.

That wasn’t a good sign. After they’d pushed Kincaid back across the Virginia state line last night, she should be ready to accept his proposal. Her silence indicated the opposite.

“Then let’s prepare to move on the Kincaid lands tomorrow night. We’ll take Leesburg and the Northern Virginia cities.”

“Is that enough? I mean, without West Virginia, and with the loss of your revenue base in Maryland, will you have enough to hold that sliver of territory?”

“I’ll challenge Kincaid directly for the entire territory.” It was the quickest way to gain the territory, much faster than a protracted war or financial sabotage. Of course it meant he’d have to win against a vampire two thousand years his senior. He was a Born, with enhanced skills for his age, but that was still quite a gap.

Once again, Kyle glanced at the envelope from his father. This was probably his last chance for a long, long time, but he couldn’t let Juan see that. If Kyle showed any cracks in his confidence, he’d lose all his supporters. No one wanted to be on the losing side. It would be a risky gamble, but anything was better than cooling his heels in Manhattan for another century. Anything was better than failure, than looking like an inept fool in front of his entire family.

“I’ll make sure everything is in place, Sir.” Juan said, bowing as he left.

Sir. The change in title didn’t escape Kyle’s notice. This
would
probably be a failure, but he was hardly going to crawl back to New York with his tail between his legs. Might as well go out with a bang. At the very least, he’d give Kincaid a world of hurt, show him what the future held for him and his struggling territory. And if he succeeded — well, all the better. Miracles did sometimes occur. His own birth was proof of that.

The envelope taunted him from the desktop — he could resist no longer. It wasn’t his father’s usual missive — elegant embossed cardstock, nor was it the more ominous skin parchment. A plain, legal–sized, business envelope, such as one somebody would mail a bill payment or a collection notice in. The detached nature of it chilled him.

Grasping the brass letter opener lightly in one hand, Kyle sliced through the top of the envelope in one smooth motion. The inside was just as impersonal. No note, no letter, nothing to indicate the contents came from the Master at all. But Kyle knew, and a leaden resignation gripped his chest. Tomorrow night would be his last chance — a hail Mary seconds before the whistle. Upending the envelope, Kyle watched the paper inside slide onto his desk. An airline ticket — one way to France. General seating.

34

G
ood morning, sunshine! I brought you something.”

It wasn’t exactly morning, and Jaq’s “something” was a blood–covered vampire with a large knife protruding from his chest. A Kincaid vampire. Kelly wrinkled her nose in distaste. Noon was far too early to be dealing with this, but she could hardly tell Jaq to come back at sunset.

“A present? For me? How thoughtful. And I thought you only brought me deer bologna and liver. What’s next? Flowers? Candy?”

Jaq strode through the door, vampire clasped to her with one hand, the other firmly gripping the knife embedded in his chest. It was a bit to the left of his heart. Close though, from the panicked look on the man’s face. He was young — nearly as young as Kelly, with blue eyes that begged her for help. A Kincaid begging a Fournier, well former Fournier, for assistance. It would have been funny had it not been so stinking early in the day.

“He’s not the present; this is.” The werewolf wiggled a small envelope from between her fingers, clearly reluctant to let go of the vampire.

It was a thing of beauty — cream colored cardstock with her name in lovely ornate script. Kelly edged it out from between Jaq’s fingers, eying the vampire curiously. A messenger then, not an assassin at all.

“Mike caught him late morning, sneaking around the woods,” Jaq continued. “ When the guy begged for his life, saying he had an important note to deliver, Mike brought him back. He says it took great restraint on his part not to kill him. See? I told you he liked you.”

Kelly stared at the note, deciding to reserve judgment in the matter of Mike’s affections. The seal at the back of the envelope was in blood. The smell of it curled through her, and she wrinkled her nose in a combination of attraction and repulsion. If the vampire Jaq had dragged half a mile through the forest hadn’t reeked of Kincaid, she wouldn’t have believed it. She could see the Prince sending her a note, especially after last night, but Kincaid? Breaking the seal, Kelly pulled out the saffron–hued note inside.

“It’s an invitation,” she mused. “From Kincaid’s Consort.”

Jaq sniffed, wiggling the knife deeper in the vampire’s chest. He whimpered, eyes pleading at Kelly for mercy. “An invitation to what? Their annual Christmas party?”

“A meeting. What would the Consort want with me? She’s ancient, as old as the Master, probably. She’s also a Born and the foundation for Kincaid’s rule. Vampires like that don’t meet with an exiled, half–starved New.”

“So how about I kill this guy, then we pitch his body over the border with her embossed invitation stapled to his forehead?”

The vampire’s eyes grew wider. Kelly felt a bit sorry for him. He was just a messenger. Did the Consort expect him to come back alive? And what could the woman possibly want with her?

“No, I need him alive to deliver my response. I’m going to accept, and I don’t think a stapled note on a dead vampire is the message I want to send — at least for now.”

“Seriously?” Jaq wiggled the knife again, and the vampire let out a desperate whine. “Don’t you guys ever use cell phones? Or e–mail?”

“Oh like you werewolves? Even if the Consort did have one, which I strongly doubt, I lost my cell phone when my family beat the crap out of me back in the casino.”

****

Jaq had parked outside the gas station convenience store. Sleet coated the windshield and accumulated on the wipers. They looked like jagged teeth as they swept across the glass, clearing a narrow strip. They’d borrowed Mike’s truck. After spending the afternoon assisting in burial and vampire body disposal, neither had time to repair Jaq’s truck. Not that Kelly knew how.

“See, he likes you,” Jaq teased, indicating the truck with a sweep of her hand.

“He’s the only one then,” Kelly grumbled.

It had been a nightmare working side by side with the other werewolves. The polite ones just declined to speak to her; others treated her with open hostility, refusing to allow her to touch any of the werewolf or human dead. She found herself assigned to cleaning up dismembered vampire corpses and loading them in a truck for a mass grave. It made her ill to think it would please most of them to see her in the back of the truck with the dead.

“Think she’s arrived yet?” Jaq asked, nodding toward the entrance.

“Yes.”

The Consort’s aura flowed out through the parking lot and across the roadway like an ocean tide. Kelly had sensed it from a quarter mile away. Curiosity had initially prompted her to accept the invitation, but now she wondered if this could be a way out. The werewolves would never accept her. She’d burned all her bridges and now found herself terrified that no one would want her. Alone.

“Don’t run off with her, okay?”

Jaq was pretending to tease, but Kelly could see worry in the werewolf’s eyes. It soothed her panic. Those other werewolves didn’t matter. Jaq was family enough. Jaq, her human neighbors, and possibly Mike. Although she wasn’t sure if she could ever fully trust Mike.

“Not a chance.” Kelly took a breath and opened the car door. Icy rain hit her face and arm. “Guess I better get this over with.”

A few people milled around inside the store, paying for gas or selecting from the rows of snack foods. The Consort sat at one of the small tables beside a closed deli, staring intently at the contents of the Styrofoam cup before her.

“I’m honored by your request to meet with me, Born and Consort,” Kelly said, walking over to stand awkwardly in front of the woman. She could sense Jaq lurking outside the building, but no vampires besides the one before her. Kelly was well aware that one as old as the Consort didn’t really need back–up.

The woman’s eyes traveled over her, shining with curiosity. Kelly returned her scrutiny with a more respectful gaze. At first glance, the Consort appeared a tall, angular, stork of a woman, her hair an explosion of long dark wool from her scalp. Like the Master, though, this woman had no aspect of human appearance behind the careful illusion. Her long fingers slid around the coffee cup with their extra joints, tapping the Styrofoam with golden–colored claws. Her aura was smooth and heavy, almost comforting in its weight, so unlike the snap and sharp bite of the Master’s aura. Under the scent of Kincaid and another family, she smelled old — sweet, like dried decay.

The milky–white eyes lifted to meet Kelly’s. “Your friend remains outside?”

Crap. She’d smelled Jaq and somehow managed to figure out that they were together. Hopefully she’d not know what Jaq was from her scent.

“I hear you have been taken in by wolves, just like that Tarzan story, no? And now you come to me with a Nephilim companion. Quite interesting company. I’m impressed that you have managed to ally yourselves with what are usually considered enemies.”

She knew. She knew Jaq was a Nephilim. Kelly was speechless, her mind frantically worrying through the potential risk to her friend. Would the Consort blackmail her to keep the secret?

The woman waved her hand, as if shooing a fly. “No worries, little one. Those such as your friend used to be quite common, nine–thousand years ago. It’s a shame the angels killed the majority and drove the rest into hiding. Fascinating creatures. Intelligent, unpredictable, with a lovely capacity for violence. When I was a girl, we always gave them a respectful distance.”

That didn’t sound much like Jaq. She was smart and could get the job done when it came to killing, but her soft–hearted, loyal friend wasn’t one she’d describe as unpredictable or particularly fond of violence for its own sake. She’d deal with any threat to Jaq’s well–being later; right now it was time to get down to business.

“I’m Kelly Demir, formerly of the Fournier family. Why did you want to see me?” There. Direct and crossing the line into rudeness. This was becoming a habit in her dealings with older vampires. She quite enjoyed it.

The other vampire didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

“I am Monica Rasmuth, the Kincaid family Consort. You may sit,” Monica said, her tone friendly. “You may also partake of this odious beverage if you feel the need for self–inflicted torture.”

Kelly bit back a smile as she slid into the chair. She’d not expected humor. Kelly had pictured a snobby trophy wife who would make her wait for half the night then insult her and waste her time, not a tranquil yogi joking about the crappy coffee.

“And as to your rather blunt question, how could I not want to see the vampire who killed two of our skilled scouts then dumped them on our front porch, killing another in the process. At the time, I thought it was the young Fournier, but we were able to quickly trace it back to you. You kill our assassins, but are also seen fighting against your own family. Werewolves, Kelly? Was there no better choice? You turn against vampires for those …creatures?”

Kelly bit her lip. A lecture was not what she needed right now. “Those creatures helped me when no vampire would. We vampires have an agreement with them that West Virginia is theirs. I see no wrong in helping them defend what’s rightfully theirs against those who only want me dead.”

Monica chuckled, her illusion slipping as she revealed a smile of long, jagged fangs. “If that fool of a Fournier Prince had a brain in his head, he would have killed you last night. Although I’ll give the poor boy credit — he’s having a hard enough time keeping his father from packing him off to France.”