Darkfire Kiss (12 page)

E
rik could have done without Rafferty screwing up, especially at this point. As much as he would have liked to aid his old friend, Erik had too important a mission to just abandon it and go to Rafferty’s side. He’d dispatched only Thorolf to the ancient
Pyr
’s firestorm. He hoped Rafferty would see that choice as a sign of Erik’s faith that Rafferty didn’t need any help to have a successful firestorm.

Erik wished he felt a little more sure of that outcome himself.

Thorolf, though, was more inclined to empty refrigerators than be of real help. He was a good fighter, but charming a mate was a different kind of battle.

But if Erik had sent all the
Pyr
, Rafferty would have taken that as a sign that Erik expected him to fail. Sloane would have been a good choice, but Erik needed him right where he was.

He kissed Eileen and Zoë farewell without another word. So much had been said already. He met Sloane’s gaze and shook his hand, knowing the other
Pyr
would do whatever was necessary to protect Erik’s mate and child, should it come to that.

“
With my life
,” Sloane vowed in old-speak.

A
Pyr
couldn’t ask more than that.

“Be careful,” Eileen said, and Erik cast her a rueful smile.

If he’d been careful, Erik wouldn’t have been beguiled in the first place. And he wouldn’t be heading out to confront the wily
Pyr
who had managed to beguile him. He had no idea what to expect from Lorenzo.

But times demanded that he had to ask this powerful
Pyr
for his aid in the battle against the
Slayers
.

Even if he expected to be denied.

Even if he feared for his own health.

He glanced to his daughter, Zoë, wondering whether she would cast some useful old-speak into his thoughts. She held his gaze unblinkingly, her eyes wide, her lashes thick and dark. He could feel nothing from her and it frightened him. Was he simply expecting too much too soon? The evidence that she would be the next Wyvern was thin. He’d been convinced of it, as was Rafferty, but several of the other
Pyr
had their doubts.

There was nothing he could do to hasten her development.

Erik left the hotel suite, welcoming the heat of the Nevada sun. It was early, but the air was hot already, unseasonably hot for this time of year. His sunglasses only slightly diminished the sun’s glare. He got into his Maserati sedan and wished yet again for his Lamborghini, which was safely back in Chicago. As much as he liked this car—and the room it had to carry his family—the Lamborghini was closer to his heart. The throb of its engine would have soothed him in a way this car never could.

But that was just a detail. He started the Maserati’s engine and let it idle until the air-conditioning started to work. Erik had no reason to hesitate. He knew the way to Lorenzo’s private compound in the desert, he had a full tank of gas, and he knew he was expected.

Still…

He put the car into gear with some impatience and backed out of the parking spot. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.

He wouldn’t think about jumping from the fat into the fire.

Not an hour later, Erik stood in a large room in the house within Lorenzo’s gated estate and awaited the other
Pyr
’s presence.

Actually, he wasn’t sure of the dimensions of the room. It seemed large, but that could have been an illusion. Its walls were covered with faceted mirrors, reflecting images from one another. Those reflections should have stayed at the perimeter of the room, but they didn’t.

There was something odd about the mirrors, or their positioning, something Erik couldn’t quite figure out. In this hall of mirrors, he could have been standing in the middle of a crowd of men who looked exactly like him. They were on his every side, some appearing to be close enough to touch, others a hundred yards away.

The visual effect disoriented him, even though he knew it was a trick. It made him doubt his perceptions. It was a telling reminder of Lorenzo’s current occupation as a stage magician, and it irritated Erik that the illusion worked so well, even on him.

One instant, he was alone in the midst of a crowd of his own reflections.

The next, there were two kinds of men in the room—he and Lorenzo, replicated over and over again.

How had Lorenzo entered the room?

“Good morning,” Lorenzo said, his voice as smooth and rich as ever. He smiled and stepped closer with leisurely confidence.

At least, Erik thought he stepped closer. Which was the real Lorenzo?

Erik chose an image of Lorenzo and spoke to it. “Good morning. You’re looking well.”

Lorenzo did look well. He was as tall and lithe as Erik recalled, his hair dark and curly. His eyes were hazel, a brownish green with a flick of gold, just as they had always been. The smile Erik remembered so well still curved Lorenzo’s lips. He’d never been able to decide whether Lorenzo was on the verge of laughter or not, much less what exactly was the source of his amusement. Lorenzo had his mother’s irreverence, as well as her lust for life and her fondness for luxury.

“This life suits me,” Lorenzo said easily. “I like the desert and the heat, especially after all those years in damp chill. I suppose it’s less congenial to you.”

His old friend’s easy manner made Erik more wary of his intent. He found himself standing stiffly, answering more curtly than had been his intention. “I like the turn of the seasons.”

“Ah yes. Traditional as always.” Lorenzo’s smile broadened. “Some things never do change.”

They eyed each other, the fact of Lorenzo’s beguiling of Erik hanging between them. It had been wrong—a violation of every rule or expectation of the
Pyr
—yet if Erik made an issue of it, he might not be able to persuade Lorenzo to aid him in the battle against the
Slayers
. He tried to assess the other
Pyr
’s mood, but Lorenzo only smiled, his thoughts hidden.

He seemed to enjoy Erik’s indecision.

“I came to ask for your help,” Erik said finally, but Lorenzo swept aside his words.

“I know why you came, what you will say, and what you want to say. We can cut this whole matter short. I won’t help you. I won’t join you. I won’t follow you.”

“But why not? This battle against the
Slayers
is key….”

“If so, it’s not important in the way that you think,” Lorenzo argued.

“What are you talking about? They want to destroy humans to save the earth. We need to defend the humans and stop the
Slayers
.”

“By destroying the
Slayers
?” Lorenzo asked.

“Yes. If need be.”

“And how exactly is that different from the
Slayers
’ quest to destroy the
Pyr
?”

“They are wrong! Their hearts are stained with darkness….”

Lorenzo lifted a hand, and Erik’s protest fell silent. “War does not create peace. It never does. Violence breeds only more violence.”

Erik appealed to him again. “They are close to being eradicated. We are on the cusp of success, and if I can muster every
Pyr…”

Lorenzo laughed. “And what happens when they are eradicated?”

“Then we live in peace.”

“No. We are by nature adversarial. If we have no foe, we will invent one.”

“I don’t believe that for an instant.”

“We will become our own worst enemies.” Lorenzo shrugged. “Or maybe humans will hunt us again, and, this time, succeed in exterminating us.”

“I don’t believe that,” Erik argued, although he had his doubts. It had happened before, after all. And there was that blog post from Melissa Smith. He knew there would be repercussions from that, and they might not be positive for the
Pyr
.

“Doubts?” Lorenzo asked. “I’m not surprised. We can’t exist in this world in the old way any longer, Erik. We have to adapt.”

“Adapt?” Erik eyed his old friend. “By becoming conjurors? You use your powers as a parlor trick, to beguile humans into believing the illusions you create.”

“It works beautifully, and to our mutual benefit. They are entertained, and I live in the style to which I have been accustomed. I find it much more congenial than warfare.”

“But each of us can be a target….”

“No. I won’t be targeted. They don’t realize where I am or what I am.”

“It could still happen. I found you.”

“My lair is not undefended.” He smiled again. “Do you really imagine you could attack me here and live to tell about it?”

Erik snatched at the reflection he’d been addressing, just to prove his point, only to have his hand slip through nothing.

“There is an advantage to living in a house of smoke and mirrors,” Lorenzo commented.

Erik pivoted, choosing another version of Lorenzo to address. Which one was real? Were any of them real? “What if you have a firestorm?”

He saw the glint of desire in Lorenzo’s eyes, flashing in a thousand eyes around him, before it was hidden. “I’ll call you if I need help.”

“But I need your help,” Erik appealed one last time. “I need every
Pyr
at my side….”

“Not so,” Lorenzo argued. “You let Quinn slip away for centuries.”

“I have to balance the needs of the individual against the needs of the group,” Erik said gruffly, feeling very much on the spot. There was something about Lorenzo’s voice, something melodic and persuasive about it, something that made Erik say more than would ever have been his own intent. “He needed time to grieve and to learn, so that he could become the Smith of the
Pyr
. I couldn’t have forced that role upon him sooner, and we had the time—at least I believed as much. I didn’t expect him to be able to disguise himself.”

“You didn’t expect to lose him.”

“No.” Erik was embarrassed that he had confessed so much. He knew that on some level, Lorenzo was beguiling him again. He turned his back on the other
Pyr
, only to be confronted by another knowing reflection of him.

“And what of Drake and his fellows?” Lorenzo asked. “Where are they?”

Erik was shocked to realize that he did not know. He couldn’t sense Drake or any of the Dragon’s Tooth Warriors. Not anymore. His eyes widened and Lorenzo chuckled.

“Some kind of leader, to lose an entire batallion.”

“You have no right…” Erik began, only to have the other
Pyr
interrupt him

“And what of Brandt?” Lorenzo asked softly.

“I owe you no explanation.”

“I think you do.”

Erik gritted his teeth, trying to hold back the words and failing to do so. “I know exactly where he is,” he said with impatience.

“Yet you do not collect him.”

“Not yet. It is too soon.” Erik frowned, and another confession slid over his lips. “I fear it will always be too soon for Brandt, although I hope for the day I have something to offer him in exchange.” He pivoted and chose another reflection, one that looked brighter than the others. “Stop this! You cannot force me to betray the
Pyr
!”

“Oh, but it seems that I can,” Lorenzo said with a thread of laughter in his tone.

“This is no joke! If I say too much, they will be in danger.”

“They are in danger anyway, given your record of leadership.”

“No!” It was a horrific implication, one Erik found dangerously compelling. Was he failing the
Pyr
?

“It’s the darkfire, you know,” Lorenzo said with confidence.

“There is no darkfire!”

“And you’re the one with foresight.” Lorenzo chuckled. “See? Darkfire challenges every expectation, just as foretold.” His voice dropped low. “What about the Cantor’s last charm? What will you do, Erik Sorensson, when the Sleeper awakens and demands his rightful due?”

What was the Cantor’s last charm? Who was the Sleeper? What was his due? Or was Lorenzo simply toying with him? “You are only entertaining yourself in disorienting me,” Erik charged. “Think of the others!”

Lorenzo laughed at the notion. “No more parlor tricks, then?”

“No!”

Lorenzo snapped his fingers and disappeared.

As cleanly as that.

There was no sign of him in the room. Erik turned in place, wondering how he had disappeared so quickly, and the lights subtly changed.

He was standing in a room, a room with walls covered in mirrors. They reflected him precisely as he would have expected, the images remaining around the perimeter, and leaving him alone in the center of the space. It was no trick.

But Lorenzo was gone.

“Did you summon the darkfire?” Erik shouted to the room.

There was no answer, although he thought he discerned a low laugh. Why? Because Lorenzo
had
summoned it? Or because he thought it funny that Erik could imagine his power to be so great?

A door opened behind Erik, the mirror latched to its back angling as it opened into the room. A servant stood there, his hand on the knob. “Mr. di Fiore asked me to show you out, sir.”

No illusions. Lorenzo was gone, and his answer was clear.

So be it.

Erik marched out of the room, through the foyer, and into the midday sun’s heat. He got into the car and glanced back once at the house. “
I ask you as a friend
,” he said in old-speak, making one last plea.

“
And I decline you as one
,” Lorenzo replied immediately.

Erik started the car and squealed the tires as he drove away. The gates opened automatically for him and closed behind his car with a resolute clang.

All he could see in his rearview mirror, though, was the cloud of dust raised by his departure.