Sunrise(Pact Arcanum 2) (27 page)

The other woman nodded. “He is not one of us. His aura was white.”

“A Child of the Dawn.” The first woman hissed. “How dare he come here?”

The second smiled grimly. “For this, there will be payment in full.” She looked at her companion. “They will be leaving our territory in the morning. We must report this intrusion before he has a chance to escape.”

“Agreed.” The first woman scowled at the screaming teenagers around them. “Unfortunate to lose this opportunity.”

“There will be other concerts, sister.” The second woman turned away from the stage and headed into the crowd, toward the exits. Sighing, the first woman followed.

* * *

Nick lifted the guitar strap over his head and set the instrument down on its stand while Scott waved to the audience. Turning away, the Daywalker preceded his bandmate backstage, his spirits buoyed by the psychic energy of the crowd. When they reached their dressing room, Scott closed and locked the door behind them and they both collapsed in chairs.

“Damn,” said Nick, “if I had known fame would be this tiring, I would have never left my garage.”

Scott snorted. “How many years have we been doing this, just waiting for our careers to take off? Now we’ve finally arrived, and you’re complaining.”

“After five months of touring Europe, I’m ready to sleep for a week,” Nick confessed with a yawn.

Scott laughed. “Four more weeks, Nicholas. You can hold it together for that long.”

Leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, still high on the emotions of the audience, Nick said, “We wanted to be on top. Now that we are, they’ll have to drag me away from this before I give it up.”

“Point taken.”

“We’re free for the rest of the night until our flight to Dublin in the morning. You want to hit a club or two?”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Scott. “But let’s just get something to eat first. I’m starving.”

Nick opened his eyes and smirked at his best friend. “You’re always starving, Scotty. I swear you’re part vacuum cleaner.”

“Blow me, Nicholas.” Scott rolled his eyes.

“You wish, little man.”

Smothering his defensiveness about his height, Scott asked, “Any idea if there’s a restaurant around here that’s near any good clubs?”

Nick shrugged. “We could always ask the manager when we get back to the hotel.” He tugged his sweat-soaked shirt away from his chest. “I need a shower anyway, and I’d rather not use the crappy facilities in here.”

“Amen. Back to the hotel, then. Let’s see if the shadows can score us a place to eat while we get cleaned up.”

Nick smiled at the reference to their bodyguards, who had become fixtures in their lives since their tours started breaking records and their fans became more aggressive. The four guards never left the musicians’ sides in public. The Daywalker could easily have used magic to protect them both, but he needed to keep up appearances around Scott and to stay off the Court’s radar, so he limited his mystical protections to the minor spell that returned his hair to the pale blond color it had been before the Grace. He pulled out his phone and dialed his shadow.

The bodyguard picked up immediately. “Joey, here. You guys ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Nick said into the phone. “We’d like to head back to the hotel to get changed, then go out for dinner and maybe hit a few clubs afterward. Think you guys can put it together for us?”

“We’ll take care of it,” said Joey. “I’ll have the car brought around. Don will round up the info while you guys get ready.”

“Terrific. Thanks.” Nick slipped his phone back in his pocket. “All set.”

Scott nodded. “Ready to run the gauntlet, buddy?” he asked, with typical dry wit, as the screaming from beyond the dressing room door sounded again.

Nick unlocked the deadbolt and nodded to Scott. “On three.”

* * *

“So tell me,” said Scott, eyeing the pastry on Nick’s plate with distrust, “does steak and kidney pie actually have real kidneys in it?”

The restaurant had accommodated them in a private room, and while the meal wasn’t exactly top notch, it was tasty and filling. More than just a chance to eat, though, it allowed them the opportunity to talk.

Over the years, they’d fallen into a routine, each fulfilling their designated roles. Scott—older and more responsible—took the lead on most of the business aspects of their collaboration, dealing with their staff and backup musicians. He was also their public face, even though, as the keyboard player, he was predominantly in the background at their gigs. Nick refused to relinquish his privacy for more time in the public eye, despite his creative drive and ambition. Besides, the younger man had argued that Scott was better suited to the role, given his pleasant demeanor and ready sense of humor.

“I love the fans, but man, English food bites,” Nick mumbled through a mouthful of pie.

The other Journeyman grunted in agreement but continued to dig in to his food.

“I’ll be back in a sec.” Nick walked toward the door and his bodyguard pushed himself away from the wall to accompany him. “Aw, c’mon, Joey. I’m thirty-one years old. I can go to the bathroom by myself.”

“Not going to happen, Nick,” said the bodyguard with a grin.

“Tell you what, you clear out the bathroom then wait in the hall with Don to fend off any rabid fans.”

Joey looked at the other bodyguard, who shrugged. “All right.”

They exited with Nick, leaving the two other guards chatting. A minute later, the door opened again and three men entered. Two of them, both appearing to be in their early twenties, were dressed casually. The third was older, perhaps in his mid-thirties, and wore a tailored suit.

“Sorry, folks.” The two remaining bodyguards blocked their way. “This is a private party. You must be in the wrong room.”

The older man smiled. “No, I don’t think so.” The other two men fanned out behind him. “I have some business with this young gentleman.” He snapped his fingers.

The bodyguards shuddered, falling in an unconscious heap. Scott started in surprise and began to get up, but the two younger intruders instantly crossed the space between them in a blur of movement. Standing behind the Journeyman’s chair, they pressed him back into his seat.

“What the hell is going on here?” Scott asked as he struggled to budge the strong hands that gripped his shoulders.

The older man casually sat in Nick’s empty chair. “Mr. Phillips, allow me to introduce myself. I am Zachariah Consul Daviroquir. I thought that perhaps I could have a word with you before your friend returns.”

Scott tried again to pry the fingers off his shoulders, without success. “I don’t know who you think you are, but when I get loose…”

“I was hoping we could be civilized about this,” Zachariah said with a sigh, “but I suppose not.”

He inclined his head to his associates. The men holding Scott down reached into their jackets and withdrew wickedly sharp hunting knives. In a single concerted movement, they brought the blades to rest against the musician’s throat, lightly nicking his skin. A drop of blood welled up on Scott’s neck as the Journeyman froze in fear.

Zachariah wiped up the blood with his finger and licked it as Scott watched in shock.

“Interesting,” Zachariah said to himself. “This is unexpected.” He sat back in his borrowed chair. “No matter. I was hoping you could tell me exactly who your friend Nicholas really is. Would you care to enlighten me, or will I have to cut you a little?”

Scott swallowed. “Mr. … um … Daviroquir, was it?” He tried to be diplomatic. “Nick’s my best friend, but even I don’t understand what you’re asking. Is he in some kind of trouble?”

Zachariah tilted his head, examining Scott as if he were a performing dog. “He is in a great deal of trouble, Mr. Phillips. Now, I want to know his line and rank. Tell me and I might consider letting you live.”

Forgetting the knives at his throat, Scott glared at him angrily. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Zachariah’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward to glare at the musician. When Scott met his eyes, he heard a whisper of sound. After considering him for a long moment, Zachariah relaxed back into his chair. “Extraordinary. You don’t have any idea at all. Our research, admittedly hasty, led us to believe that he would have confided in you, of all people. Given your close quarters, he must have been quite careful to have prevented you from finding out his secret.”

Scott looked at him in confusion. “What secret?”

* * *

After he had finished in the restroom, Nick walked back to the dining room, his two bodyguards in tow. “Next time, I’m going by myself.”

Don smirked. “You go right on believing that, blondie.”

Nick snorted and then pushed open the door to the dining room. He walked inside and stopped dead at the scene in front of him. Two men stood behind Scott’s chair, each holding a knife to his best friend’s throat. A third man, dressed in a dark suit, sat in Nick’s chair and watched him with interest. The two other bodyguards lay in a heap on the floor. Immediately, Nick opened his vampire senses and realized that all three intruders were Nightwalkers.
Shit.

His bodyguards swore as they saw their unconscious comrades and took a single step toward the table before they collapsed next to the others.

“Ah, Mr. Jameson. Do come in.” The man in the suit stood to face Nick as the door closed quietly without anyone touching it. “I have so wanted to make your acquaintance.”

Nick looked at his bandmate, who sat stock still in terror. The Daywalker suppressed his panic, mindful of what he had learned of the Court from Luscian’s memories.
Scott is prey, as far as they’re concerned. If I show any concern for his wellbeing, they’ll just take it as a sign of weakness and kill him.
He strode confidently into the center of the room. Outwardly calm, he confronted the leader. “Well, here I am. What do you want?”

The Nightwalker smiled. “Mr. Jameson, I am Zachariah Consul Daviroquir. You have trespassed on House Daviroquir territory without leave, and we are here to demand restitution.” He moved to stand directly before Nick. “The Children of the Dawn are not welcome here. It was a mistake to think we wouldn’t find you.”

Nick frowned. “How
did
you find me? I always shield my aura in public.”

“Some members of our house were hunting at your concert today. Your shield slipped during the performance, and they realized what you were.”

“Careless.” He glanced back at Scott and sighed. “Tell you what: I’ll go with you willingly. You can present me to your Magister in person and I’ll talk to him directly. You don’t need Scott. Let him go.”

“You will be coming with us regardless, Mr. Jameson. But you’re correct. I don’t need him.” Zachariah grimaced. “I have tasted Mr. Phillips’ blood. I know what he is. He will be a powerful enemy. I’m afraid I can’t allow that to happen.” He looked over his shoulder. “Kill him.”

Nick made a sharp motion with his head, and Zachariah flew off his feet and crashed into the side wall. The Daywalker clapped his hands together, and a scarlet glow erupted from between his palms. The ruby light burst from his hands, forking as it went to catch the armed men in the middle of their chests. They staggered and cried out as the light spread over their bodies, consuming them both. Their knives clattered to the table, where Scott sat untouched in the center of an acrid cloud of settling ash. Scott scrambled to his feet and immediately moved to put the full length of the table between himself and Nick.

Zachariah leapt onto Nick’s back. Talons sprang from his fingertips and he clawed at Nick’s chest, staining the shredded fabric with blood. The Nightwalker’s eyes flashed scarlet, and his canine teeth lengthened into curved fangs that he plunged into the side of Nick’s neck.

Shouting obscenities, Nick bent away from the Nightwalker’s attack and slammed his elbow into Zachariah’s belly. Zachariah’s fangs ripped out of the musician’s neck in a spray of blood as he stumbled backward from the blow.

Snarling, Nick held out his right hand, clenched into a fist. A bar of black energy extended from it, gaining solidity until it formed a longsword with glowing indigo runes etched into the blade. Bright flames that mirrored the color of the runes licked down the blade. Nick raised the sword above his head, ready to strike.

Zachariah fell to his knees, his hands clasped in front of him, his gaze locked on the flaming black sword in Nick’s hand. “Forgive me, my Lord!”

Nick froze as Zachariah cowered before him. Then he lowered the sword to his side. Reaching up with his other hand, he fingered the gaping wound on his neck, which had already begun to close. He regarded the crimson stain on his fingertips for a moment, and then lifted his gaze to Zachariah, who was still kneeling on the floor. “You fed on my blood. You saw my sword. You know.”

Zachariah swallowed and a tear escaped his left eye to leave a trail of blood down his cheek. “When House Luscian fell and no successor came forward, we thought your bloodline extinct, Lord. We did not think to look among the Children of the Dawn.” His fangs retracted and his eyes faded to their former color. “Eldest, if we had known you still lived, we would never have interfered.”

“You’re wrong, Zachariah.” Nick extended the sword toward the kneeling man, the point level with the Nightwalker’s eyes. “I’m not him. Luscian is dead, and his bloodline
is
extinct, except for me.” Nick smiled, allowing his fangs to show in challenge. “I am Nicholas Magister Luscian, and I can’t just let you go running back to the Court of Shadows with what you know.”

Zachariah flinched, as if struck. “Mercy, Lord,” he pleaded. “I will say nothing.”

Nick unclenched his fist as the black sword faded from existence. Stepping forward in front of the other man, he said, “Get off your knees.”

Zachariah stood slowly. “You believe me?”

“I do.” Nick sighed. “Your kind still hold to their own standards of honor. You keep your word when given. I believe that you’ll protect my secret from the Court of Shadows. In that respect, I am willing to let you go.”