White Winter (The Black Year Series Book 2) (17 page)

He smirked. “It’s the crazies here and your parents there that make it worth staying.”

She threw him another dirty look, and they both left.

The general hum of conversation resumed.

“I want to go
home
,” Amelia said, looking at Jonas.

Kieran looked dazed, fragile, like when Bert used to beat him in the basement of the Macreadys’. “Jonas, could you…”

“Yeah, Kieran, I’ve got it. I’ll take her home.”

♘

He stood as Kieran came out of the Agency lab, looking tired. “When will you find out?”

“They rushed the tests because I work here. He was telling the truth,” Kieran said.

“Jesus, Kieran, I’m… I’m so sorry.” He went for the man-hug, arms over the shoulders; it felt forced, but it seemed like what a werewolf would do. Kieran could almost cross his arms around him. He wept on Jonas’ shoulder. But the worst of it was what leaked through Kieran’s barrier, the death of every child and grandchild, every descendant Kieran had thought to raise, see, and be remembered by, gone, like a great oak withering from the roots up, and in its place was just… emptiness.

“Jonas?” Alice said, behind him.

“Mom? Now isn’t the best-”

“I have a job for the two of you.”

“What? Mom, you can’t-”

“I’m not asking as your mother, Jonas, I’m telling you as your boss. I wouldn’t do this if I had any other choice. And Kieran? You’ll have full access to the Agency’s resources to solve this. But I need you on a plane in two hours. Both of you.”

“I’m fine, ma’am,” Kieran said, straightening and wiping his eyes.

No, you’re not,
Jonas thought. He hoped his mom was right, that they’d find a way around it, but he was pretty sure the Sorcerer had already tried. He doubted Kieran would be fine for a long, long time.

CHAPTER 20

Jonas smiled as the stewardess cleared his foldout table. He’d never flown business class before. Instead of eating out of a plastic tray, he’d been served a four-course meal on actual plates. His glass was still plastic, but it was shaped like a real glass, and the food was pretty good, even by restaurant standards.

“How was the beef?” he asked Kieran.

“Good.”

Another stewardess cleared Kieran’s table. She smiled at him. He didn’t seem to notice.

They were both served salmon gravlax to start, which was kind of like sushi on toast, but saltier. Jonas had the noodle soup with red snapper, shrimp, and black mushrooms, and they both had cheese and a vanilla, lime, and blueberry mousse for desert. Jonas took a picture of the menu with his phone to show Eve. Apparently, you could do that now; when he was a kid, everything had to be turned off before takeoff.

Kieran got up and walked toward the restroom.

Jonas yawned. The hum of the engines outside was kind of soothing. There were a couple new movies available on the in-flight entertainment system, but most of the other travelers were already asleep and he was exhausted from the stress of the teashop, waiting for the lab results, and rushing to make the flight. Every time he brushed against Kieran’s mind, he felt like he’d been stung by some kind of jellyfish. His brain just went numb. At least the seat slid all the way down. Once he was horizontal, he raised his barrier, pulled the blanket up to his chest, and put the eye mask they’d given him on.
No more teahouses, ever,
he thought.

He heard Kieran settle back into his seat. “Night, man,” Jonas mumbled.

“Goodnight, Jonas.”

Not Kieran.

Jonas sat up and swiped the mask off his face. Doris was lounging in Kieran’s seat, wearing a black dress with a modest neckline, accented by a mesh front panel. Sparks of green magic circled her shoulder, zipped across her midsection, and ran along the side of the fitted dress to the slit hemline, just above her knee.

“Jonas! You’re making me blush.”

She pouted, full lips, almond eyes, and collarbone length chestnut hair speaking directly to his brain. If he hadn’t seen her missing her tongue, gurgling like old pipes, and eating sheep brains a month ago, he might have been turned on, vampire or not. As it was, he didn’t know if he’d ever feel clean again.

“What do you want, Doris?” he said, his voice breaking.
Perfect.

She rested her chin on her palm. “Call me Lena?” she said.

“Okay… why?”

She batted her eyes at him. “Call me Lena or I kill everyone on this plane but you, and you find out why vampires don’t like deep water.”

He swallowed. “Okay, Lena.”

She leaned forward. “Do you like my name, Jonas?” Her voice was a breathy whisper.

“It’s great. I love it.”

She giggled. “I could just
eat
you. Eat you right up.”

Jonas’ breath caught in his throat.

“Where’s Victor, Jonas? Where is he where is he where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you lying to me, Jonas?” He could feel her breath on his face. It smelled like peppermint.

“No, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am, Jonas. Ma’am is your mother. I’m Lena, remember?” She smiled and stuck the tip of her tongue through her teeth, then glowed green and vanished. “I’m going to kill him, Jonas,” she said, her breath in his ear. “And when all she has left is you, I’m going to kill you, and she’ll have nothing, nothing, nothing…”

He turned and saw her walking on the wing like it was a tightrope, hair whipping in the wind. Lightning flashed below, then a steward came forward from economy and started closing the window shades.

“Why does my seat smell like flowers?” Kieran asked, settling into his seat.

“You don’t want to know.”

♘

Someone knocked on the door.

“Coming!” Jonas said.

It was Kieran, already fully dressed. “Hey.”

“Hey, Kieran. Can you help me with this tie? I watched a video online, but I keep screwing it up.”

“Sure,” he said, stepping in. He grabbed both ends of the tie, closed his eyes and tilted his head for a second, then looped the thicker end around the thinner end twice and threaded it through, cinching it tight.

Jonas looked in the mirror. It looked like something out of a catalog. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, though sometimes I feel like you’re my kid brother, clan leader.”

Jonas grinned. “Can’t I be both?”

“Bert didn’t think so.”

“Ouch,” Jonas said. He saw a trace of mischief in Kieran’s eyes, so he decided to push it. “Maybe if he hadn’t been such a douche-bag, you would have let him tie your tie for you.”

“If he hadn’t been carrying around all that douchery, I would have outweighed him.”

“Douche McDoucherson.”

“King of the douches,” Kieran said. His face was starting to look strained.

Jonas started putting his shoes on. “You miss him?”

“Yeah,” Kieran said. “He was my brother.”

“You regret killing him?”

“No.”

♘

The car dropped them off in front of a small plaza in the center of the city. Jonas had to remind himself that’s what it was. It wasn’t Temperance small; he’d read there were over a 190,000 people living in Geneva, which still made it a quarter of the size and one-tenth the population of Manhattan.

His suit was surprisingly light, considering it was supposed to stop, or at least slow, a bullet or a knife. Carbon nanotubes. Kieran’s stretched at the seams so he wouldn’t wreck it if he transformed. That made it less protective for most werewolves, but if the Sorcerer told the truth about everything, that wouldn’t matter much to Kieran.

They were buzzed into the building and rode the elevator to the top floor. A werewolf about Kieran’s size, but in his mid-thirties, greeted them at the door. Jonas could see he was curious, but he led them to a conference room and left after offering them coffee, which they both turned down.

“Nice office,” Kieran said, looking out the window.

They were on the eighth floor, which didn’t seem like much except the only buildings taller than this one were on a hill across the fast moving, teal and white waters of the river. A plume of water over 100 feet tall spouted from the lake to his left, sheeting down on a walkway below, and the whole city was ringed in snow-topped mountains turned ochre and gold by the setting sun, while the buildings fell into shadow.

The werewolf they’d met before opened the door and held it as an older man walked in.

“Mr. Black, Mr. Macready,” he said, making eye contact with each of them. “You’ll forgive me for being a creature of habit. In spite of the stories, I never expected to receive a vampire before sundown, or I would have met you at the door.” He shook Jonas’ hand with a surprisingly strong grip. Jonas didn’t even get a hint of emotion from him.
Warded.
“I’m Frederic Dorner, the current Arbiter of the Council, and you’ve already met my son, Hans.” Jonas did his best to keep his expression neutral. The old man looked like he weighed 160 pounds, at most. Jonas shook Hans’ hand, and got a flurry of curiosity, disdain, and fear. “Did we offer you coffee?” he asked.

“You did, councilor,” Jonas said.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I will indulge.
Hans, un espresso serré, s’il te plait.
”

“
Bien sur, papa.
”

The old man waved to the chairs around the polished wood conference table and said, “Take a seat, or enjoy the view, as you please. This will only take a minute.” He stood by the wall-to-wall window, hands in the pockets of his expensive looking suit, and observed the sky.

Jonas exchanged a glance with Kieran, and they both stood, unsure of what to do.

Two minutes later, Hans returned and set the espresso on the table.

“Thank you, son,” the councilor said, and took his seat. Jonas sat, then Kieran, and finally Hans. The councilor raised the small cup and knocked it back, pausing a moment before setting it back on the saucer. After a few more seconds, he looked at Jonas and said, “You’ll forgive me the theatrics, Mr. Black, but I think you’ll find it’s relevant to the discussion.”

Jonas hid his irritation. “I’m not sure what the discussion is, sir. My mother told me you wouldn’t say. She was upset.”

“If Black Alice was upset with me, young man, she would have sent a tactical team. Let’s say she’s curious instead.”

“She’s very curious about the number of werewolves in New York city.”

“Is she nervous?”

“My mother doesn’t get nervous, councilor. She gets impatient, and then she sends tac teams.”

The councilor smiled. “Let’s get to it, then. According to legend-”

Jonas interrupted. “Do we really-”

Hans started coming out of his chair, but the old man grabbed his arm and said, “Sit down, boy!” His voice was like a whip. Hans froze in his seat.

Jonas?
Kieran thought.

Jonas looked down and saw Kieran’s hand on his wrist.
What is it?

You’re missing the subtext. Can you read my thoughts?

Jonas slipped through Kieran’s barrier and suddenly scent was overlaid on his other senses.
Anger and fear and curiosity from Hans, restrained violence from Kieran, anger, submission, fear, eagerness from the old man.

Jonas shook his head.
I’m sorry; it’s too much.
They were just one raw emotion after another.

They had to push you to save face,
Kieran explained.
He’s a councilor, and you’re a clan leader. But you have the upper hand, so they’ll give you what you want if you don’t back them into a corner.

You got all that from smell?

Yes, little brother.

Kieran let go.

Jonas blinked. “Councilor?”

“Yes, Mr. Black?” the old man said, his hand still on his son’s arm.

“Please excuse my rudeness. This is all very new to me.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed, flicking to Kieran. “Of course. Perhaps I
rushed
things.”

“Please take whatever time you require.”

The councilor withdrew his hand, and both men seemed to relax. “That
is
the central issue, here, of course. Time.”

He paused. Jonas waited. Hans shifted in his seat.

“How old do you think I am, Mr. Black?”

His hair was pure white, his skin wrinkled and pale but not translucent, and his face still had a lean firmness to it Jonas didn’t see in the truly old. “Sixty, maybe 65,” Jonas said.

“I’m 53,” the councilor said.

Jonas looked at Kieran. Kieran nodded.

“Everything goes faster for us, Mr. Black. We grow, we move, we heal, and we age faster than humans. I’ve managed to delay my death by drastic and unpleasant changes to my diet, but I will never see 60. I’ll die of liver failure before that.”