Blood Rights (4 page)

‘You want to know if the girl lives.’

‘Yes.’

‘Let me confer with the others and I shall return with an answer.’ Rennata pushed to her feet, leaning heavily on her cane.

As soon as she left the room, Tatiana closed her eyes and concentrated, listening, sensing, trying to eavesdrop as best her abilities would allow. The house was strangely quiet. At any given time there might be several hundred comarré here, and yet she heard nothing. No voices, no movement, no breathing. Not even a heartbeat. Still, she could sense she was not alone. She opened her eyes and studied the room’s opulent appointments. Crystal and silk, gilding and exotic woods, rare paintings and priceless sculptures. Comarré were well compensated for their services, that much was plain. Granted, blood from this house had been proven to be the best of the best and so these comarré demanded the highest price of all, but still the grandness of it gnawed at her cold heart.

For the donation of blood, they lived like nobility. Was what beat in their veins that special? Unfortunately, it was. The purity was unmatched. The power it gave was remarkable. The taste – her cheeks ached – was richer than the finest wine, more succulent than any ordinary mortal could ever be. And merely owning a comarré indicated a vampire’s wealth and status. She eased her grip on the chair and tried to remain calm. She was almost done here. Then she could return home. To her own comar. What had Rennata called him? David? Daniel?

‘Mistress Tatiana, we will grant you access this once.’

She stood and nodded. ‘Very kind of you.’

Rennata’s eyes flashed. ‘If you would follow me.’

The halls they traveled were dim, the adjoining doors closed. Occasionally, Tatiana picked up what might have been a heartbeat or distant pulse, but for the most part silence shrouded the house.

At last, they stopped before a simply carved door, no different from the multitude of others they’d passed.

Rennata unlocked it with a long, ornate key, then stepped out of the way. Tatiana twisted the knob and pushed the door open. It swung slowly, revealing a narrow cell, austerely furnished. The crest of Algernon’s house hung over the bed and a pair of diamond-crusted slippers sat beneath it, the only two indicators that the occupant had some means. She looked at Rennata. ‘This is typical?’

‘Yes. While a comarré’s true home remains in their house of origin, most of their possessions are kept in the quarters provided by their patrons. Where they spend the most time.’

Tatiana turned back to the room. Only if the girl were dead would no invitation be necessary to enter her room. If the girl was alive, Tatiana would be knocked back. Entering would not be impossible, but the consequences would be horrific. Fatal, if endured long enough. She straightened, stepped forward, and crossed the threshold with ease.

Rennata swallowed and exhaled a shuddering breath.

An angry mix of satisfaction and disappointment welled inside Tatiana as she twisted to face the madam. ‘The girl is dead then.’

‘So it appears.’ Rennata rubbed a knuckle against the corner of her eye.

The need for sleep pulled at the edges of Tatiana’s consciousness. Time to wrap this up before she went comatose where she stood. ‘Does the girl have any living family?’

‘We are all her family. No comarré knows her birth parents.’

Tatiana’s brow wrinkled as she fought the creeping fog of daysleep. ‘I am certain there was someone. A sister … or an aunt, perhaps … ’

‘Every comar and comarré of her age is a sibling. Every older comarré her aunt, every older comar her uncle.’

Tatiana’s frustration grew. ‘There was one. No longer with you.’

‘Not that we remember.’

‘Ah, yes, I forgot you have your own sort of anathema. Those who leave are never spoken of again, isn’t that right?’ She waved her hand through the air. ‘Stricken from all records, that sort of thing? While I completely understand the need to remove the weaker members of your family, this is vital information. I’m sure the council will find a way to get it out of you.’

Rennata’s jaw tightened for a split second. ‘There was an aunt. All record of her has been destroyed.’

Tatiana couldn’t help but smile at how easy that had been. ‘Very well. Lead me out. I’m ready to go.’ She’d have to send word to the Nothos, redirect them to search for the ring. They might balk at being used as a lost-and-found service, but not for long if they valued their undead lives.

When they reached the great hall, Tatiana strode past Rennata, stopping only at the front door. She stabbed a warning finger toward the woman. ‘Don’t touch that room. The council will undoubtedly wish to inspect it as well. Her death doesn’t make her innocent, only dead.’

Rennata bowed her head. ‘Yes, mistress.’

Tatiana pulled up her hood and slid her sunglasses into place before charging out and slamming the door. She skidded to a halt on the shaded side of the portico. Her driver was already out and
rushing toward her, umbrella at the ready to shield her from the sun’s killing rays.

‘Home, mistress?’ He lifted the broad stretch of silk above her as she stepped off the portico toward the car.

Secure in a wide circle of shadow, she nodded, too exhausted to say anything. Staying awake this long had been draining but very worthwhile. Her hand found the locket around her neck, her fingers smoothing across the single ruby on the locket’s front. The original was gone, this one the closest replica she’d been able to find.

Painful memories kept her focused. She kissed the locket and tucked it away. Things were going to be much easier once the ring was hers.

That fool girl.
Rennata slumped onto one of the window-front settees, peering through the sheers until Tatiana’s car wheeled away from the house and down the tree-lined drive. Finally. She stood, shoved her cane into the umbrella stand, and strode back to the great room. She clapped her hands. A trio of comarré came forth out of the shadows.

‘Put a few of Chrysabelle’s oldest robes in the closet of that spare room, perhaps add a few insignificant personal items to the dresser drawers, a book, a drawing, that sort of thing. If the council comes, they will inspect more thoroughly. The crest and slippers alone will not convince them.’

Saraphina nodded. ‘What of her suite?’

‘Leave it be. No one but us can touch it anyway.’

‘Yes, Madame.’ Saraphina and the other two bowed and headed off to the work at hand.

‘Jessika.’

The girl stopped. ‘Yes, Madame?’

‘Fetch me paper and pen and find me a messenger going to the Americas.’ Times like this she wished the comarré ignored the nobility’s edict that banned modern technology. She had to get word to Maris immediately. Tatiana’s history in dealing with those who crossed her was dark and bloody. Maris would understand. Chrysabelle could not be allowed to damage everything they’d worked so hard to establish. Maris had done the right thing once. Certainly she could be counted on to do it again.

H
esitating at the door to her aunt’s house, Chrysabelle checked over her shoulder. Nothing moved but the water bubbling from the three-tiered fountain at the center of the circular drive. Satisfied she hadn’t been followed, she punched in the alarm code to unlock the entry.

The cab had dropped her off two blocks from the bridge into the private gated community of Mephisto Island, then she’d run the rest of the way, swimming the canal beneath the guardhouse and scaling the perimeter wall surrounding her aunt’s estate without incident. Ever since the occurrence at the hellhole otherwise known as Puncture, it couldn’t hurt to be too careful.

If she never set foot in Paradise City again, that was fine with her. For a town with such a lovely name, that place was remarkably deficient in anything close to perfect bliss.

The door slid open. She zipped in and punched the button to lock it again. Must be after 2 a.m. Hopefully, she wouldn’t wake her aunt—

‘You’re all wet!’ Maris’s iBot wheelchair was in balance mode, putting her at eye level.

Chrysabelle jumped, her heart thudding. ‘I swam the canal.’

Maris’s brows rose.

‘Don’t look at me that way. I’ll do what I see fit to keep you safe. Anyway, I was trying to be quiet.’

‘You were, love. Sorry to startle you.’ Maris grinned. Velimai, her aunt’s assistant, wavered behind her. Velimai was a wysper fae. Wavering was the closest she came to standing still unless she was in solid form.

Chrysabelle sighed. ‘But I still woke you and Velimai.’ Velimai signed
yes.

Maris patted her side. ‘No, it’s this damn hip. Velimai, go on back to bed.’

Velimai signed
good night
and vanished into mist. Chrysabelle restrained a shudder. Wyspers were unstable creatures at best. The fae breed was small and wiry when not ethereal, light as a breeze and destructive as a hurricane. They could vocalize sounds but had no speech. Their screams were fatal to vampires, and clearly the reason her aunt employed one.

With the slightest twist of her upper body, Maris turned her iBot toward the kitchen. ‘Come on, you can tell me what happened over a cup of tea.’

‘Tea would be good.’ Chrysabelle kicked off her wet shoes and hung up her damp brocade jacket, then followed, her bare feet padding softly on the wood floors.

Maris flipped on the light. ‘I’ll put some whiskey in it.’

‘Maris, you know I can’t partake.’

‘You’re not bound by those rules anymore, my darling.’

‘Yes, I know, but adjusting to that will take some time.’ Just like not calling every vampire she ran into mistress or master. Not that she hoped to be running into any more. Chrysabelle went to sit, then thought better of it. ‘I’ll get the kettle.’

Maris waved her off. ‘Have a seat. This kitchen is set up for me, you’d just get in my way.’ She winked, then looked at her niece a little harder. ‘Didn’t go that well, I take it?’

Chrysabelle sank into a chair and leaned her arms on the table. ‘The man you sent me to talk to wasn’t there.’

Maris sighed as she took out two cups. ‘Jonas always has been a tricky one. You’ll have to go back tomorrow.’

‘No. I mean, I can’t. They … might have found me. I need to gather my things and go somewhere else.’

‘Already?’ Fear flickered over her aunt’s face for a brief moment, then vanished, hidden by a mask of determination just as her signum were hidden under a layer of foundation. ‘Don’t go yet. I’ll call Jonas. Make one more attempt. I didn’t want to do this over the phone, but I can’t see another way.’

‘He’s kine – I mean, human. I don’t know how you think he can help.’ Human
and
he employed a remnant, Nyssa. Her hybrid of wysper and shadeux fae had apparently rendered her mute. In the world of vampire nobility, remnants didn’t even register.

Maris tsked. ‘Jonas is a tremendous resource. You’ll see.’

Chrysabelle sighed. ‘I don’t want to put you in any more danger than I already have.’

‘My darling girl, you worry for nothing. I can take care of myself and you.’ Maris added a scoop of loose tea to the teapot, put the pot and a sterling silver flask of single malt on a tray with the cups, and wheeled it to the table. ‘You should know that this house is as secure as money can buy, and thanks to my time at Primoris Domus and my talent for turning some of those comarré secrets into Lapointe Cosmetics, that’s an ungodly sum of money.’

Chrysabelle stretched out her hands, studying the backs of
them – or rather the Lapointe foundation that still covered them. ‘That makeup certainly did the trick.’

Maris headed back for the whistling kettle. ‘Sometimes there are things about a woman best kept secret.’

‘Do you ever not cover yours?’

‘No. Never. I’ve put that life behind me. I don’t need to be reminded of it every time I look in the mirror.’

‘Sorry, I—’

Maris laughed softly. ‘My apologies. I didn’t mean to sound sharp. I just … I just don’t care to see them is all.’

Chrysabelle understood, a little. She knew Maris’s exit from comarré life had not been an easy one, knew that she’d chosen libertas, the comarré ritual of fighting for one’s freedom, but not the reason why Maris had nearly sacrificed her life to leave behind everything she’d ever known. Perhaps, like Chrysabelle, Maris had simply wanted more than a life of servitude. That was enough, wasn’t it?