Sunset: Pact Arcanum: Book One (36 page)

She took another sip of wine, set her glass purposefully on the table, and leaned forward, propping her head on her hand. “Because I prefer the men of the younger set.”

Toby’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. That was certainly direct.”

Her contact lenses hiding the shifting color of her irises as her thirst sharpened, Isabeau’s expression turned lazily seductive. “As I said, what would be the point of concealing it?”

Toby smiled uncertainly, unused to being on this end of the predator–prey dynamic. The waitress returned, breaking the tension for a moment, and placed his drink in front of him. Lifting the glass, Toby said, “So, to an interesting evening.”

Isabeau clinked her glass against his. “To an interesting evening.”

As he pulled away, his hands shifted on the glass and, for a moment, his fingers brushed hers.

Sentinel.

She froze. All thoughts of a pleasant conquest before the kill were immediately forgotten.
He was a Sentinel.
As Toby brought his glass to his lips, she immediately closed down her aura, raised her psychic shields, and took a sip of wine to cover her fear. Then she ruthlessly ordered her thoughts. He couldn’t have detected her or he would never have let her close enough to identify him. Sentinel tactics would be to watch her from a distance and then track her to a safe location where he could eliminate her without witnesses. Steeling herself against her rising panic, she reached out and casually stroked his free hand. Toby watched her with interest, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Fire and Darkness!
His eyes were closed, his Gift still in the earliest stage of awakening. She had kindled him herself, she realized, cursing her own foolishness. If the Magister learned of her mistake, she would face the sunrise sooner rather than later. She had to dispose of him before he became a threat.

“Toby,” she said, “do you really want to hear this performance? Perhaps we could go for a walk instead, someplace more private.”

Toby flushed and gulped his drink. Feigning nonchalance, he said, “Sure, why not?” Placing a few bills on the table, he stood, grabbed his windbreaker from on the seat next to him, and said, “Lead the way.”

Isabeau focused her attention on the bodyguard as she stood, assessing how quickly she could kill him when the time came. Then she turned her attention back to Toby. He had slipped his jacket back on and was waiting, his scent sharpening with desire.

DEATH.

She stared at the blood-red rune in the center of the Luscian Seal of Protection that was pinned to his jacket. Abject terror exploded in her mind. The images, circulated more than a year ago to all of the world’s Nightwalker houses, sprang unbidden into her mind. His features had aged somewhat, just enough that she hadn’t recognized him. He shouldn’t have been here in Paris, not yet. According to the tour dates provided by the Triumvirate Ambassador, he was supposed to have been in Italy until the end of the week. His thoughts had been hidden by a psychic inhibitor, she realized numbly, incorporated into the seal itself.
Oh, the Magister will kill me personally, and it will be a hard and terrible death.

Toby stopped smiling when he noticed her expression. “Isabeau? What’s wrong?”

“Tobias Christopher Jameson,” she said softly, remembering the psychic beacon that had woken her from her rest more than six years ago, the thunder of Nick’s psychic voice as Luscian’s heir declared his existence. “The mortal brother of Soulkiller’s Bane.”

Toby’s face twisted with shock. He stepped back, away from her. Isabeau saw the turmoil of his emotions—his mind leaping forward in suspicion, realizing just how close he had come to death.

“Get away from me, Nightwalker,” he said coldly, his scent saturated with fright.

Behind her, she felt the bodyguard tense and leap to attack. She casually knocked him out with her mind and stood proudly before Toby. “I am Isabeau Consul Tervilant,” she said, her bearing regal. “And I am truly sorry, for the both of us.” Then she calmly walked past Toby to the door, stepped gracefully outside into the night air, and fled in a blur of motion.

Anchorpoint City, Grand Mesa, Colorado; The next day

Nick leaned forward intently as he marshaled his strategy. Finally, he moved his knight into position for the final attack.

Jeremy smirked and then immediately slid his queen across the board. “Checkmate.”

“What?” Nick scrutinized the board again. “Wait a minute. What the hell just happened?”

Jeremy grinned. “You lost.”

Scott snorted with laughter and then turned back to the football game he was watching on the virtual screen suspended over the coffee table.

Nick began setting the board up again, ignoring Scott, who continued watching the game and occasionally arguing over his shoulder with Jeremy about the merits of the two teams.

“Nicholas, your brother is attempting to contact you over the telephone exchange tap,” Rapier informed him.

“Put him through.” Nick twirled the white knight in his fingers. “Hey, little brother. How’s Milan?”

“I’m not in Milan; I’m in Paris.” Toby sounded tired. “The last venue canceled on us. I had a few days off, so I headed over here a little early.”

Nick shrugged, watching as Jeremy finished placing the pieces on the board. “Doing the tourist thing, are you?”

“I was, for a little while. Last night I went to a nightclub to see a band I’d heard about, and I met a woman there.”

“I hope you used protection,” Nick quipped.

“It didn’t go that far,” Toby said. “She ran out on me after she saw the seal.”

Immediately, Scott reached for the remote, switched off the screen, and stood next to Nick, who gripped the arms of his chair hard enough to make the wood splinter under his fingers.

“Toby,” said Scott, staring at Nick’s stricken expression, “are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. My eyes are open, and I am not afraid.”

Scrambling to his feet, Nick screamed wordlessly and then leaned forward, supporting his weight on the dining room table. He stood there for a moment—head bowed, arms shaking.

“Nick, I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.” Toby eventually spoke.

Snarling, Nick leaned back. With a scream of rage, he heaved the entire dining room table into the air. Crystal chess pieces became sparkling missiles. Dodging the heavy piece of furniture, Scott leaped out of the way as Jeremy crashed backward, spilling out of his chair. Spinning around, Nick screamed again and launched the table through the glass doors behind him and onto the balcony. Fragments of wood and flying glass ricocheted off the safety field that immediately formed over edge of the balcony and rained debris back into the apartment.

His fists clenched at his sides, his eyes tightly closed in the face of his searing rage, Nick stood stock still, his thoughts masked. The two Sentinels carefully rose to their feet, avoiding the shards of glass littered across the carpet. Neither spoke, acutely aware that the wrong word could provoke another explosion of violence.

“Toby, are you still there?” Nick’s voice shook with anger.

“I’m here.” Toby’s voice was resigned. “What should I do, Nick?”

“Hold the line, little brother. I’m coming to get you.” He turned his attention to his AI. “Rapier, trace this call to the source and get me transit coordinates for that location.”

“Trace in progress.”

“I’ll come with you,” offered Jeremy.

Nick turned to look at his lover, and his eyes lost their reddish gleam. “No, I need you to call our Ambassador to the Court.”

Jeremy showed no emotion. “For what?”

“Tell him I wish to address a Full Assembly in five days.” Nick’s eyes slitted in hatred. “I guarantee they’re going to want to talk to me, as well.”

“Trace complete,” said Rapier.

“You can hang up, Toby. I’ll be there in just a minute, and then we’ll get you home.”

“Okay.” Toby hesitated. “I’m sorry, Nick. I know you tried to protect me.”

“Don’t apologize.” Nick’s voice hardened. “None of this is your fault. The Nightwalkers will answer for all of it.” Turning to Scott as soon as he heard the click of his brother disconnecting, he said, “Rapier can jump us all the way to Paris using the Castle Night relay, but I’d like you to bring Toby back and get him started training for the Test of Reason.”

Scott frowned. “Wouldn’t you rather bring him home yourself?”

“I’d like to. But you remember what it was like those first couple of weeks. He’s not going to want to be around any vampires for a while, not even shielded.” He smiled bleakly. “Besides, I’m going to be busy for a few days before I speak to the Court.”

“Nick, what are you planning?”

Nick’s fangs showed sharp and white against the fullness of his lips. “I’m going to teach the Court of Shadows exactly what it costs to break their word to me.”

Paris, France

Toby dressed in the same clothes he had worn the night before and drew the curtains aside to watch the sunrise.
I am a Child of the Twilight,
he thought.
I hold the line against the darkness, from the setting of the sun until the dawning of a new day.
The enormity of what had happened crashed in on him, and he fell to his knees in despair.

Nick warned me. They all warned me, but I didn’t listen. Why didn’t I listen and stay home? I would still be human if I’d stayed home. I wasn’t willing to yield control of my life to this freaking curse.
But now … look where that’s gotten me
.
Cursed and alone
. He swallowed.
No, maybe not alone.
Climbing to his feet again, he stood quietly at the window, waiting.
Nick will know what to do. He always does.

A white glow flared in the center of the room, and Scott and Nick appeared. Scott opened his mouth to speak just as Nick turned around to face Toby. The brothers’ eyes met.

The spellform in Toby’s mind was automatic, invoked before he even finished lifting his hand to aim. But Nick was faster. Toby’s bolt of white fire glanced off Nick’s shield and reduced the bed to ash. Toby’s second attack fizzled out as Scott wrapped him in a containment spell, suppressing his powers. Nick’s containment spell followed, restricting Toby’s movements so he could little more than breathe.

Initially struggling to free himself, Toby suddenly went limp as the understanding of what he had just tried to do overcame him. His realization stripped away the Gift’s influence, and he again met Nick’s crimson eyes. “Nick—”

“They. Will. All. Pay.” Nick snarled each word. “Take care of him for me, Scotty. I’m counting on you.”

“I’ll keep him safe.”

“Then I have business to conduct with House Tervilant.” Nick growled and, whirling around, strode for the door.

Toby found his voice. “Nick, wait! I’m sorry!”

Pausing, Nick turned to his brother again. “It’s not your fault, Toby,” he said. Then he slammed open the door and stormed out.

Toby looked back to Scott. “Where is he going?”

Scott shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s off to start a massacre.”

T
HE
C
OURT OF
S
HADOWS

C
HAPTER 29

Place du Parvis de Notre Dame, Île de la Cité, Paris, France; Three days later

Nick stood quietly in the open square, looking up at the western facade of Notre Dame as the sun set behind him. As the sky darkened into late twilight, Nick partially unsheathed his aura. Just enough to make his presence immediately visible to the Nightwalker population of Paris, but not bright enough to attract the attention of Sentinels, unless they were specifically looking for him. Then he waited, idly counting the seconds until they came for him.

He had counted up to ninety before he noticed a subtle telepathic suggestion being broadcast through the square. It was elegant in its simplicity, persuading humans in the area to leave quickly and not look back. He had counted out two full minutes before the last human hurried from the square, and he was alone.

They came in twos and threes. Strolling unhurriedly down the streets around him, they slowly filled the square to surround him on all sides, although still giving him a wide berth. Then, as Nick’s count reached five minutes, the assembly of Nightwalkers parted. A stately pale woman with long, black, braided hair walked forward to stand before him.
Well beyond the reach of my sword
, he noted with approval.
They were right to be cautious.

“Nicholas Magister Luscian,” she said in English, “I am Monserrat Primogenitor Tervilant. What business brings you to Paris this evening?”

“Primogenitor Tervilant, I would have words with your Magister,” Nick said with cold formality.

She smiled politely. “This square is the geographic center of the city, my Lord, the point from which all distances in France are measured.”

Nick nodded. “I know. What of it?”