Vanished (12 page)

“Hi,” I answered.

“Hey,” Quinton replied. “What’s up?”

“I’m on my way back. Edward’s sending a plane for me.”

Quinton was silent.

“Yeah,” I said, filling in his thoughts. “I don’t like that much, either.”

“Be careful, Harper.”

“I plan to. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything, like where this meeting he’s dragging me to is going to take place.”

“How much time do you have before the plane?”

“An hour or so . . .”

“All right then, I doubt it’s about me, but you should know before you go in that Edward is probably not my biggest fan right now.”

“He’s not your fan at the best of times. What happened?”

“Remember I said there’d been more vampire activity in the underground . . . ?”

“Yeah. And . . . ?”

“One of the vamps got a stunner.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know. And I’m not sure it’s one of mine. I mean, it looked odd, but it was slagged when I got to it, so that might account for why it looked funny.”

I marshaled a calming breath before saying, “Give me details. I need to know, in case Edward brings it up.”

“Well . . . I’ve been working on the ghost detector, right? So I was down in the underground with the ferret and the prototype, trying to measure changes wherever Chaos got excited and started doing that weird chasing-around thing she does. Last night the vampires were pretty quiet so I figured it was safe down there, but I heard one of the undergrounders freaking out, so I went that way. And you remember we wondered what happened if you electrocute a vampire with one of the stunners?”

“Yeah,” I replied. Quinton had speculated that at a higher voltage the device might be capable of taking a vampire out permanently, but he’d been reluctant to incur Edward’s wrath by trying it. “What happened?”

“They combust. Violently enough to suck the air out of a small room. It wasn’t a problem for the bloodsucker who used it, since they don’t need air, but I do. I thought I was next, but the discharge melted the device, and fangface wasn’t interested in hanging around after that. I passed out for a minute until the bastard opened the door and let the air back in. But here’s the freaky bit: There was no one else there. No undergrounder. Only the remains of the vamp who got shocked—they turn into piles of nasty, wet ash stuff that’s pretty disgusting. I think I was lured there so I’d be found with the burned bloodsucker.”

“You didn’t mention this last night.”

“You said you didn’t want to talk about ghosts and that stuff and you seemed down, so I figured it could wait.”

I thought about it. “You’re right. Last night was a rough one for both of us and it can’t matter that you didn’t tell me then. I know about it now and that’s good enough. Did you recognize either of the . . . guys?”

“I’m not so sure about the dirt pile, but the zapmeister looked like one of the uptown floaters—the guys from Queen Anne, not the ones who usually hang out down in the Square.”

There were several factions within the Seattle vampire society, small as it was. Technically they all bowed to Edward, but there were always groups trying to undermine him or one of his favorites. The factions shifted constantly, but they tended to congregate by neighborhoods: Pioneer Square; lower Queen Anne near Seattle Center and the Space Needle; the University District; and over in the Central District and southern Capitol Hill.

By agreement, the downtown core was a free zone in which vampires were supposed to keep a low profile. If one of the Queen Anne faction was doing dirty deeds below Pioneer Square, Edward would not be pleased. He wasn’t particular about his punishments or upon whom they fell, but he was swift—recently he’d learned to make retribution quickly rather than let situations fester into more trouble. Or give the appearance of weakness.

“What did Edward do about it?” I asked.

“Nothing. He’d love to say I did it and put the arm on me, but he hasn’t. He’s been very quiet.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“No. It doesn’t. And now he’s bringing you back to Seattle on his personal express route, so . . . he’s either a lot more upset than he let on, or there’s something big distracting him.”

“Edward wouldn’t ask me to mediate between the two of you, so that can’t be it. It’s got to be something else.”

“No idea what, though. Or why the Queen Anne bloodsuckers would be making trouble for me.”

I hummed as I thought, but I didn’t come up with an answer. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see what he says tonight. Or what he does.”

“I’ll back you up if I can.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but I’ll let you know if I need it.”

“And I’ll take him out if he hurts you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need martyrs, sweetheart.”

“ ‘ Sweetheart’? Where did that come from?”

“You’d rather I called you ‘babe’?”

He made a gagging sound. “No, thanks. It’s just a funny kind of word.”

“Like something from a Bogart movie.”

“I thought he said ‘kid.’ ”

“In
Casablanca
, yeah.” I must have had Bogey on the brain, no thanks to Cary. “I could call you ‘sweetie,’ but that sounds like my mother.”

“Then, please, don’t do that. Ah, damn. I have to get off this phone. Call my pager and leave the address if you can.”

“I will. Sweetheart.”

He snorted and I laughed as we hung up.

But I didn’t feel pleased for long. I didn’t like Quinton’s report and I was less enthusiastic about my meeting with Edward by the minute.

There are two civil aviation terminals at the Burbank airport. The smaller of the two is the swanker one, so naturally that was the one Edward’s secretary had directed me to. The resident charter company didn’t have a chance to woo me with their posh sitting area since there was already a TPM flunky awaiting me. He was standing near the doors. Judging by his military posture, I guessed he’d been standing just the same way in the same spot since he’d arrived, however long that had been. He knew me the moment I stepped through the sliding glass doors.

“Ms. Blaine,” he said, stepping forward to take my bag, “the plane is waiting. Is there anything you require before we board?”

I looked him over, noting the close-clinging indigo of his aura—a color I’d rarely seen and wasn’t sure of. Still, I didn’t think turning around and leaving was an option. “I’m good to go.”

He nodded and picked up my suitcase without effort, leading me out to the hot tarmac. A white jet with a green stripe on its tail stood just beyond the doors with a rolling staircase pushed up to it.

It was bigger than I’d expected, more a small jetliner than a sporty little executive jet, and clothed in a thin red haze from the frequent passage of vampires. Inside, my escort stowed my bag in a bin near the galley and led me back past a small work area to a seat that was more like an expensive Swedish lounger than an airline seat, except this had a seat belt. The cabin looked like a very posh living room. Aft past the wings, the cabin was cut off by an upholstered wall that showed a dull blackness in the Grey. It stretched from side to side and was pierced only by two large latched doors.

My escort noted my glance toward the wall. “That’s Mr. Kammerling’s private cabin. As he’s not on board today, it’s locked down.”

“I see.” I imagined that Edward’s cabin was fitted for the needs of vampires—keeping the light of day and its noises out as well as any roving passengers who might not know his nature—and explained the bloody red energy clinging to the craft. From this side the area just looked a little more secure than the usual cabin. I raised one eyebrow a little, wondering how much the man with me knew about his employer.

“For safety’s sake, you’ll need to keep your seat belt on until we reach altitude, but after that, the cabin’s yours. It’s a short flight, but if there’s anything you want, let me know.”

“Well, there is one thing,” I started, settling into the contoured chair.

He raised his eyebrows and waited.

“What’s your name?”

He cracked a dazzling white smile and a tiny yellow flare of emotion that vanished again before he spoke. “I’m Bryson Goodall, Mr. Kammerling’s head of security. You can call me Bryce.”

He was not, I noted, TPM’s security chief. Interesting. “Does Edward think I’m going to run out on him, or is he afraid I won’t make it without you?”

“Pardon me? I don’t follow your logic, Ms. Blaine.”

“Head of security is a big man to send out as a cabin steward. So he’s afraid of something, and I have to wonder, is it me or is it something else?”

“You’ll have to ask Mr. Kammerling.”

He smiled again and excused himself to let the pilot know I was seated and ready to go. In a few minutes, we were taxiing out for an uneventful flight to Seattle.

The elevator opened onto a very plush lobby, but no amount of decoration could disguise from my practiced eyes that it was the antechamber to a secure bunker. Beyond the normal-world anti-intrusion measures, the room was wrapped and tied in layer upon layer of gleaming magic that burned with the deep red glow of things born of blood and darkness. There was no indication how long the wards had been in place, so I didn’t know if it was a routine paranoia on Edward’s part or something new. Either way, anyone stupid enough to make threatening moves in this place would die screaming. That was not going to be me.

Goodall crossed the room to a pair of double doors made of some dull gray metal inlaid with bronze panels pressed deep with complex geometric patterns. They were almost Art Moderne but not quite, and they, too, emitted the hungry red glow of blood magic.

Goodall waved me forward. “The inner doors won’t open while the elevator doors are also open.”

Drawing a deep breath against the stink of vampires, I complied. I stopped next to Goodall on the assumption that Edward wouldn’t kill me after so much trouble to get me there, and especially not if it would take out his security chief at the same time. Edward had done some thoughtless things in the past, but he didn’t generally waste useful people without reason.

Goodall pressed a button next to the door frame and I was glad it was him touching the black thing. I thought I saw an eye blink above it and the impression of tiny teeth gnashed at the air beneath Goodall’s wrist. I knew these weren’t spells laid by Edward—he didn’t have any such power of his own—and his uneasy truce with Carlos wouldn’t have persuaded the necromancer to lay them for his benefit. It worried me that such spells existed in Seattle; someone had to have set them and I had no idea who, but such power was dangerous and its source wouldn’t be pleasant. I put that thought aside for later consideration and braced for whatever was next.

The big doors swung open with the hiss of hydraulics and we stepped through to Edward’s private lair. The doors sighed closed behind us and I heard a faint click and a rattle in the Grey like the sound of insect wings. The bloody glow of the wards seeped though the walls into the room beyond and brushed over us like the touch of carnivorous vines. Then came the smell, the stomach-twisting psychic odor of vampires.

Edward entered the room through a door on the far side, bringing the heat and roil of his particular aura closer. Most of the bloodsucking fraternity seemed to exude a glamour of sexual attraction—prey attractor, I supposed, since if anyone could really see and smell them as I could, they’d never get close enough to get a bite in—and Edward’s was thick enough to gag on. I eased half a step back without thinking. It had been a while since I’d had to deal face-to-face with the Prince of the City. I’d forgotten how hard it was to be in his presence.

He strolled up to me, his eyes, hooded from recent sleep—or feeding—were directed straight to mine as if Goodall didn’t exist. Even freshly risen, he looked like a film star from Hollywood’s golden age: dark haired, sloe eyed, and far too handsome for anyone’s good. The spoiler was that he was short for a modern man—about five foot seven or so. He reached for my hand and caught it, stroking the palm with his fingertips. I wanted to shudder but didn’t.

“My dear Harper. Good of you to come.”

“As if I had a lot of choice.”

He raised his eyebrows in question. “You are under no compulsion.” He glanced at Goodall. “Is she? You’ve not got a gun to her back, have you, Bryce?”

“No, sir. Not that I think it would make a difference with this lady.”

“Indeed. She’d tear your arm off and feed it to you if you offended her. Wouldn’t you, my dear?”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you want, Edward? Your secretary said it was urgent, not just an excuse to mess with me.”

He sighed. “Blunt as always. Yes, all right. It is urgent. Bryson, you may go.”

“I’d rather he didn’t,” I said.

“This one time, I’m afraid you have no choice,” Edward replied, dropping my hand and lowering the temperature in the room with his scowl. “Much as I trust Mr. Goodall’s discretion, this is not a discussion for his ears. Only yours. Stay or go as you choose, but choose now. I’m very busy.”

I glanced at Bryson Goodall, who didn’t move a muscle, not even to shift his eyes, which he kept fixed on his boss. The energy of his aura had expanded when Edward came near, and now it rippled in a dark blue corona shot with yellow lines and coils. There was something very odd going on between him and Edward, whose own red-and-black energy haze reached out toward Goodall’s like the tongue of a snake.

“Why should I assume I’m safe with you, Edward?” I asked.

He closed his eyes as if he were too exhausted to bear it. When he opened them, they were darker than ever and infinitely tired. “If I wanted you dead, Ms. Blaine, you’d never have exited my plane alive.”

“That’s not a comfort with you.”

He laughed. “True.” Then he turned to Goodall. “Bryson, I believe Ms. Blaine will be staying, after all. Please retire until I call for you again.”

Goodall gave a curt nod and left us alone, the door opening before him automatically.

“Neat trick,” I said, watching the doors.

“Rather. It wasn’t easy having them installed. The panels are ancient and powerful. I’m afraid I lost a few people getting it done.”

So they were dark artifacts—objects that had been imbued with or accrued magical residue and, with it, power. That might explain the darkness of the spells around them. The wrong kind of magician would lust after them more than he would all the virgins of heaven.

I let Edward take my hand again and lead me deeper into his sanctum, resisting the urge to recoil from the hot/cold sensation that rushed up my arm at his touch. We went through a door and into a chamber—you couldn’t call it a room—decorated in dark green. All the better to conceal the blood, I thought, for this looked like a small board room and I imagined that any business done here carried the direst consequences for someone. A large black table dominated the center of the room with hard chairs ranged around it and audiovisual equipment hanging from the ceiling. Off to the side were several groupings of more comfortable chairs—no doubt for private conferences.

Edward led me to one of these and slid with his usual elegant bonelessness into one of the seats. There was already a drinks tray on the table between the chairs. I sat more carefully. He poured amber liquid into glasses and I didn’t pick mine up.

“It’s quite safe,” he said, sipping at his own drink. “It’s a rather rare whiskey and very nearly eighty years old. I wouldn’t insult such a distillation with anything that would harm you.”

“I’d rather know why you were in such a rush to see me.”

“You really can be stubborn.”

“It’s one of my best traits, I think.”

“Do me and my whiskey the honor of taking a sip, and we’ll get down to business. Please.”

Well . . . he wasn’t going to kill me, and we’d long ago established that I’d be no use to him undead, either, so I took the risk and drank. It was, without doubt, the smoothest, mellowest whiskey I’d ever tasted in my life—not that I’m an expert. Once in my mouth, it went places and did things whiskey ought not to be allowed to get up to, and my fingertips tingled from the warmth of it. I could feel a flush on my face. Barrel strength. I narrowed my eyes at Edward.

“Don’t,” he said. “Appreciate it as it is. I’m not trying to get you drunk and take advantage of you.”

“You won’t.” I put my glass down. “It is very good, but before the whiskey steals my sense, tell me what you want from me.”

“I need you to go to London on my behalf.”

“You could send Goodall. He’s obviously in your good graces, competent, and aware of what you are as well as who.”

“Mr. Goodall is only recently installed in his position, and anyway, he can’t be allowed too far from my side yet—even if he wasn’t known to be my employee. He won’t do. I need someone horribly clever and not openly my friend. Which certainly fits you.”

“I’m hardly thought to be your enemy, either.”

He stood up, agitated. “You are a neutral party. They may think they can sway you, suborn you. I know they won’t succeed.” He started pacing on a short track across the space in front of the two chairs we occupied.

“Who? Who is this ‘they’?”

“The London cabal. Possibly with the help of other factions and agitators, certainly with the help of my enemies there and here. You have seen us fractured and fighting here, but I assure you, Seattle is a tranquil sea of unity compared to the Old World.”

I snorted, but Edward shook his head.

“It’s the truth. I handled Seattle poorly—as you demonstrated—because I had grown used to the habits of England and its divisions and factionalism. They were an irritation but a constant in England that one simply accepted because the population is old and the territories and hatreds well-established. They could not be changed, only worked around. I have been trying to change that here. But it has not made my enemies into friends. I suspect my troubles on both sides of the pond are orchestrated by a single source, but among my unfortunately numerous enemies and evil-wishers, I don’t know who it is. It’s the sort of trouble old enemies stir up—people who’ve known you long enough to think they know your weaknesses.”

“If these problems are connected, then why are you ignoring the destruction of vampires in the underground?”

His eyes narrowed. “Your friend is not in my best graces over that. . . .”

“He says he didn’t do it.”

“I’m aware of that. And of who did. There is much going on of which you are not aware, and I cannot simply do as I like. Still, I’m not best pleased to have lost one of my own. But I can address that myself. And I will, but that will require my attention here. I cannot go to London on this other matter. You can.”

“What matter? You haven’t said yet what’s wrong.”

“You haven’t agreed to go.”

“And I won’t until you tell me what I’d be getting into.”

He stopped over me, looming, his gaze trying to bore into mine. “You must agree first.” His voice resonated, and ripples moved through the Grey. I felt the pressure of his insistence against me, weighing on my body like a physical thing.

I unfolded myself from the chair and stood, trying to shake it off. I towered over him, but that didn’t help as much as I’d have liked. I felt weaker than I had in a long time, and Edward wasn’t playing with me this time. He was deadly serious. He’d never put out so much effort to control me before. I felt hot and unwell. The combination of his blood-soaked presence and the blaze of his sexual glamour was sickening. I drew my breath with care and clenched my teeth.

He clutched my right wrist, pulling me down so my eyes were level with his. “You must agree.”

“Go screw yourself,” I growled. It wasn’t the cleverest thing I’d ever said, but I was fighting, his will against mine. I squeezed my eyes shut to break the contact while I still could.

Edward, though shorter, was much stronger than I, and he yanked me into the nearest corner. I could feel something unearthly wash over us, but I kept my eyes closed, resisting his pulling and pushing with everything I had. His other hand came up to my throat. I felt it hovering, just brushing the fine hairs on my skin, waiting to wring the breath out of me.

“Say you will do it,” he hissed, a note of desperation in his voice. “Say it, under the seal.”

A seal, yes, now I could almost see it like an afterimage on my retinas. Some cold-fire sigil embedded in the ceiling and sending its icy power down over us both. I knew that promises made under the power of certain magics were binding even beyond death. The thought burst into my head that there could have been something similar acting on the ghosts of my father and Christelle, too. I’d bound and been bound myself by such magic. I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t let Edward bind me to whatever he pleased, no matter how distraught he was. I would not be a pawn, a living ghost with no will of my own.

His hand closed on my neck with just the slightest pressure. For an instant, panic surged in my system and I felt the knot of Grey embedded in my chest by another vampire twang and thrum, vibrating across the spectrum of the Grey in rainbow colors that danced on the inside of my eyelids. Wygan had tied me inexorably to the grid two years ago with that tangled strand. Now I forced every ounce of power, of thought, toward that singing in my chest and, bringing my free hand between us, I shoved. . . .

The world seemed to stretch and twist. . . .

Thunder shook the room and lightning coursed over my bones and out toward Edward.

“No!” I shouted, opening my eyes and giving one more desperate mental push.

The seal cracked, its power vanishing, and we both pitched away.

I landed hard on my back, rolling fast to my feet, drawing my pistol in one fluid movement and a sharp clack from the cocking lever. Unless I blew his head off, shooting him wouldn’t stop Edward, but it might slow him down.

Edward was on the other side of the room, looking at me with narrowed eyes. “You’re more formidable than I recalled.”