Lynn Viehl - Darkyn 1 - If Angels Burn (v1.1) (19 page)

He shook his head. “This is not a sickness. We have been cursed—”

“By God, yeah, I got that part. When you came to me in Chicago, you didn’t care if I remembered or not, or if I had told anyone about it.” Why should he? No one would believe it. “You wanted to check me out, find out why I was still alive.”

“Yes. No human has survived exposure to our blood in centuries. You are a miracle, Alexandra.”

“I think the curse and the miracle kind of cancel each other out, Mike.” Alex had no intention of being either, as long as she could keep her symptoms in remission. “Why didn’t you warn me about this that night you came to see me in Chicago?”

Cyprien made a noncommittal gesture. “I did not think at the time that you were infected, or that if you were, that you would believe what was happening to you.”

An unexpected pang made her touch the tip of her tongue to the two abscesses forming in the roof of her mouth. Inside them were her newly formed
dents acérées
.

Aka her fangs.

“I’ll never be able to practice medicine again.” She let a tiny amount of how she felt trickle into her voice. “You took that away from me, Cyprien. I helped you, I gave you back your face, and you ruined my life.”

“You are cursed like us, but you are still alive. We have long needed a healer among our kind.” Behind the contrite tone was something else. Arrogance. “You can even continue to help humans, if you wish.”

“By feeding on their blood?” She chuckled, but it was a bitter sound. “Terrific idea. I can see them lining up outside my new office in droves.”

“We do not harm them anymore.” His voice went all warm and friendly, as if they were going to be best buddies from here on out. “I will teach you our ways.”

Phillipe came up to her, and knelt down beside her chair. “
Vous ferez une belle chasseuse
, Alexandra.” He looked earnest and serious, the way a friend would.

For that reason, Alex decided not to kick his balls up into his sinus cavity. “What’s that mean?”

“He says you will make a beautiful hunter.”

“Hit the English books a little harder, Phil.” She thought of Bryan’s mother and Luisa’s attackers. If she let this thing run its course, would she be able to hunt them? Rip out their throats?

Never.

“Well, it’s been fun catching up, but I gotta go.” She got up and hobbled out.

Cyprien followed her. “We have a great deal more to discuss.”

“I’ve heard enough, thanks.”

He blocked her path to the front door. “You will need someone to help you, watch over you while you die your human death. I cannot permit you to go.”

She shook her head. The man had looks—thanks to her—and money, and a great house, and virtual immortality, but brains? A carrot had more. “I don’t need permission.”

“I made you what you are. You are my
sygkenis
.”

She frowned. “Does that give you some kind of creepy control over me, like in all the Drac movies?”

“No. It means that I made you.” Now he got the snotty look again. “You are my progeny. You will take an oath of loyalty to me, and obey me when I command you.”

He was serious. “Christ, you really believe that. Incredible. Step aside.”

He put his hand on her arm. “Alexandra, I do not care about the oath. I care about you. I want you here, with me.”

He said it with such warmth and sincerity that she almost believed him. The same way she almost believed in the Easter Bunny.

“Decapitation, right?” She drew the copper-coated scalpel she carried, and held the point to his throat, “Here’s how it will happen: I slice through your jugular and carotid. You’ll be able to fill La Fontaine with all the blood you’ll lose. While you’re bleeding out, I cut through the esophagus and the windpipe. No more breathing for you, but lots of choking. I keep sawing until I get through the muscles and assorted ganglia to the vertebrae at the base of your skull. The spinal cord’s a little tougher, but nothing I can’t handle.” She leaned in until their mouths were only a whisper apart. “Remember how fast I am, Mike. Take me, oh, minute, minute and a half, tops. You’ll be brain-dead in two and deceased in three. Think Phillipe can stop me?”

“He would kill you.” Cyprien appeared unmoved. “But you cannot do it. Not to me.”

“You might want to think that through again.” The smell of honeysuckle made her press the edge in, until Cyprien’s blood began trickling down the blade. He wrapped his long fingers around her wrist, but he didn’t try to force the blade away. “Tell Phil to take a walk.”

Cyprien looked past her. “Do as she says.”

The smell of honeysuckle faded, and Alex eased back on the knife.

“It’s simple, really. Don’t call. Don’t write. Don’t send anyone after me.” Slowly she lowered the blade and pushed him out of the way.

Cyprien stayed where he was and let her get to the door before he said, “You will come back to me, Alexandra.”

Yes, she would, if she survived this thing. She would come back here, and kill him.

G
oing to Ireland the day after Alexandra paid him a visit was unavoidable. Tremayne had issued an unprecedented, second summons to Michael, and had two of his guards deliver it in person. The guards allowed Michael no time to respond, prepare, or even pack a case. In thirty minutes they were on Richard’s private jet, and in six hours they arrived at Dundellan.

No one greeted him or met him at the door of the castle. Michael was ushered inside to the stateroom, another indication of how unhappy the high lord was. The stateroom was reserved for three things: settlements, punishments, and executions.

The guards left him alone, which meant it wasn’t an execution.

“You look well, Michael.”

“Thank you, Seigneur.” Since Cyprien could not return the compliment, he bowed toward the throne that sat shrouded, as Richard Tremayne did, in darkness.

“Something of a shock, considering that the last time I saw you your countenance resembled the inside of a haggis,” the high lord continued smoothly. “In fact, aside from some insignificant alterations, you look wholly yourself again. I am all over astonishment.”

He resisted the urge to touch his face, which he had yet to grow accustomed to. “I have been fortunate, my lord.”

“My dear Cyprien, we both know that you have neither luck nor divine intervention to thank for this.” Tremayne made a thoughtful sound. “Your human physician, on the other hand, appears to be on the order of a miracle worker.”

“Yes, my lord.” How had Tremayne learned about Alexandra Keller? Michael felt certain that Jaus had kept his silence; the suzerain had made his loyalties plain. None of Michael’s people would have said anything. “She is a plastic surgeon.”

“You should pay whatever she asks in fee. Why did you not answer my first summons?”

It had been eight weeks since Valentin had delivered it, but Michael had been distracted, both by Lucan and Alexandra. He could not tell Richard about the doctor’s slow transformation from human to Darkyn. Even now, he was not certain Alexandra would survive it.

“With Lucan in America,” Michael said, “I had to make arrangements to protect my
jardin
.”

“I suppose that is sensible. Lucan no longer serves me, so you should remain alert.”

Michael could not remember a time when the assassin pursued anything but Richard’s enemies. If Lucan evaded capture for a year and a day, then by Darkyn law he would no longer belong to Richard. “Has Lucan betrayed you?”

Tremayne let the silence stretch out, long enough to make Michael regret asking. “Let us say that in recognition of the years of his dedicated and valuable service, I am releasing Lucan from his oath to me.”

“That also removes him from your protection.”

“Yes, it does, but I would rather you not hunt down and kill him, if it can be avoided. Part of Lucan is still mine.” Flame flickered, and a red ember glowed. Not enough to light up Richard’s features, but enough to hint that they were better left in shadow. “Where is Dr. Keller?”

He knows her name
.

“In Chicago, my lord.” Michael hoped. Val’s men were trying to track her down.

“That is inconvenient.” Fragrant smoke curled in the air between them like snake ghosts. “You will have her brought back to New Orleans.”

“Yes, my lord.” Relief nearly made Michael sigh. If Richard had wanted Alexandra for his own purposes, he would have bypassed Michael and had her taken and transported directly to Dundellan. Richard never left his fortress. “May I ask why you summoned me here?”

“We have Kyn in desperate need of her particular talents.” Leather slid and creaked before a loud, sharp click snapped in the air. A servant moved into the room. “Prepare our guests for their journey.” He waited until the servant departed before he added, “Four members of the Durand family, to be exact. They were friends of yours, were they not?”

“They are.” Michael absorbed the shock, pushed it aside. “They were taken?”

“Several months ago, in Provence. Angelica is dead, and her brother missing. My people have done what they can, but the family remains in decidedly poor condition.” An animalistic shriek echoed in the outer corridor. “Thierry has gone quite mad.”

Thierry Durand had been Michael’s childhood friend, as had Gabriel Seran. Cyprien had served as groomsman when Thierry had taken vows with Gabriel’s sister, Angelica. They had been neighbors in Provence, the Durands, the Cypriens, and the Serans. The eldest sons had tussled and fought together as children, fostered with each other’s families, and ridden into war together. They had come home expecting celebration and instead found their people devastated by plague and famine. Yet not even death could separate Michael, Thierry, and Gabriel. They had risen to walk as Darkyn within days of each other.

“The Brethren did this?”

“Before he deserted, Lucan saw to them. All of them.” He said the last with annoyed pride. “You will take the Durands back to America, and have this surgeon of yours repair the damages. And you will discover who betrayed the Durands to the Brethren.”

“Is that wise, my lord?” He had never smuggled more than one or two Darkyn into the country at a time. Four would require special arrangements, particularly if they were wounded badly enough to require a surgeon’s care. Which they undoubtedly were, after being in Brethren custody. This was assuming he could convince Alexandra to operate on them. “Travel is difficult for us under ideal circumstances.”

“It cannot be helped. You know how the Brethren so enjoy using their cameras and computers. By now they have distributed photos and descriptions of the Durands through Europe. They will never again be safe on this side of the, Atlantic.” Richard rose from the throne. “If they survive, and are so inclined, they may join your
jardin
.”

Michael faced the high lord without flinching away from the sight of his distorted features and cruelly twisted body. Richard’s peculiar condition made him unique among the Darkyn. Michael was one of those trusted few who knew what had caused it. “There have been more changes with you.”

“Indeed, several.” Richard lifted what had once been his hand and studied it. “It moves at a leisurely pace, my personal curse, but make no mistake: it progresses.”

Michael wished he could express some hope, but he also knew why the condition was incurable.

“As I have no desire to see my evolution to its end, and I doubt I will be permitted to rule from hell, the throne could someday be yours. Certainly you would be my first choice to succeed me.”

Michael froze. “My lord, I am content to serve.”

“Always so politic. That is what drove Lucan to develop such a hatred of you, Michael. He never inspired the sort of trust or loyalty I have for you.” The high lord sounded almost amused before his rich, deep voice turned flinty. “You
will
serve me, Michael. In all things, you will do precisely what I command.”

“Yes, my lord.” He bowed.

“Now go and see to your friends.” Richard limped over to the hearth. “Send reports of their progress. Find out who betrayed them. Michael.” He waited until Cyprien glanced back at him. “Keep your clever leech in New Orleans. I dare say I will have need of her again.”

Pretty Kitty
.

Alex sat at the bar and pretended to sip the soda water she had ordered. Three stools down from her left, a couple of bus drivers, still in their city uniforms, were having a beer and watching
Monday Night Football
on the big color TV set anchored in one corner above the bar.

Pretty Kitty. Pretty Kitty
.

She had no business coming in this roach coach. She’d stopped here only to use the phone to call Leann Pollock, an old friend from the Peace Corps.

“My boss said I could dig through the archives, much as I want,” Leann told her when Alex had called. “He thinks there are too many doctoral theses on pandemic viruses, but your angle intrigued him.”

Alex had counted on that. Not too many people would even attempt to prove the existence of fourteenth-century viral mutations via DNA.

It was really outrageous luck that Alex’s old Peace Corps partner, Leann Pollock, had gone to work for the Centers for Disease Control. She felt a little guilty about inventing the thesis project in order to convince her friend to retrieve the information she needed from the CDC’s archives, but it was better than trying to break into the building and raid the records herself. “Thanks again for your help on this, Lee. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I’ll look up those old immunization records you wanted while I’m at it.” Leann chuckled. “Man, Ethiopia seems like a million years ago, doesn’t it?”

Just before Alex had said good-bye to Leann, she heard the first whisper of the words behind her eyes.

Pretty Kitty, Kitty, Kitty
.

Alex lifted her glass to her lips and casually let her gaze wander to the right. An older woman, straw haired and barfly thin, sat hunched over her fifth Black Velvet. Two stools down, almost tucked into the corner, a burly, bald man sat knocking back a row of tequila shots.