The fall of kings, p.21
The Fall of Kings, page 21
It didn’t take long after he joined for that dream to take a dark turn, for that postcard to turn into a ransom note. He had poured over her case file, reinterviewed witnesses, gone over security tapes. He’d look at every Jane Doe at the coroner’s office for the first three years after she had gone missing, until those pale helpless faces felt like his own reflection, until he had been certain he would never see his sister again. Yet here she was, too thin and scared to put into words, but she was here. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to hold her against his chest and never let go.
There was a knock at the door. Two short little taps that shook Aaron out of his thoughts. Josie’s head swiveled to the sound, and she went so still it was almost hard to see her. A vampire thing Aaron was still getting used to.
“Might I come in?” Fields’ voice was gentle, his polished accent rounding over syllables in an intentional way that reminded Aaron he had less than zero knowledge about the man.
Aaron tilted his head at Josie who was gripping the arm of the chair like an Olympic sprinter on the starting block. He waited for her to give him the smallest of nods before he answered Fields.
“Yeah, come on in.” Aaron didn’t take his eyes off of his sister. The second the doors opened he felt his heart pound in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. What if she ran? What if she took off and he never found her again? Could he live with himself if he knew she was out there, and he couldn’t help?
“I brought you both something a little less fresh, but more readily available.” Fields set a tray on one of the antique side tables that dotted the room. “I know that you said you couldn’t eat the same way you used to, but after enduring quite a bit of stomach sensitivity myself, I brought something that I find soothing and nutritious.”
“Thanks, Fields.” Aaron walked over to inspect the tray. “You’ve been great, man.”
Aaron cupped the Brit’s shoulder in the universally manly way. Josie was across the room chugging the ruby contents of the decanter without any semblance of decorum before Aaron could reach for a glass.
“Hey, Josie.” Aaron watched her with a stunned sort of humor. At least she hadn’t run out of the room. “Maybe save some for me?”
“There will be plenty more where that came from.” Fields waved off Aaron’s arm and the crow’s feet around the butler’s eyes creased as he made a sad sort of smile at the pair of them. “I would recommend slowing down just a bit. Too much on an empty stomach can have some rather nasty effects.”
Josie didn’t say anything, but she did lower the decanter, a thin blood mustache smeared across her top lip. Aaron smiled at her, his real smile, with teeth and sunshine and all the warmth of his love for her, tapping his own lip to let her know she had missed a spot. Her eyes went wide, and she wiped the blood on the back of her wrist.
“I will let myself out,” Fields chimed in, already at the double door. “If you need anything, either of you, I shall be on the Transempirial premises all evening. Do not hesitate to ask.”
“Thanks, man.” Aaron scratched the back of his neck looking between his sister and the butler with an almost bashful shrug. “You’ve done a lot already.”
“And I am willing to do more.” Fields nodded to them both, shutting the doors with a soft click.
The tension in Josie’s shoulders sagged after the door shut. The color in her cheeks was back now and the yellow tinge that clung to her eyes was gone. She was listing slightly into the table, her exhaustion palpable.
“Come on, let’s sit.” Aaron cursed in his head for sounding too much like an over eager fourth grader. “I mean, we should talk.”
Suddenly Aaron didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. They had been fine literally a second ago and now he was swinging them around, putting them in his pockets, pulling them out of his pockets.
“Looks like he brought us some oatmeal and honey and stuff.” To his own ears Aaron’s voice had pitched up a whole octave making him sound like a little boy. God, he felt like one right now, but who could fucking blame him. It was Josie.
“I told you,” her voice was still smoky and raw, “I can’t eat regular stuff, not anymore.”
“I could try it first.” Aaron bounced on his toes, jitters working their way down his legs. He leaned a half step closer to her and Josie flinched back, her arms coming defensively to her sides; a fighting stance. He was really messing this up. “If you want.”
Josie shook her head, her arms still at her sides, fists clinched.
“Okay,” Aaron stepped back and sat gingerly on the armchair next to the table. “You wanna sit with me? I want to try it.”
Waiting the few seconds for Josie to decide to sit down with him felt like an eternity, like the end of time and the world were just on the horizon and he had a front row pass. Her eyes flicked to the door. Aaron could almost see her thoughts in the way her fingers gripped the pitcher of blood. The clench of her jaw slacked and the pressure in the middle of his chest released just enough for him to take a breath he didn’t need. Slowly she sat right across from him on a matching armchair. She didn’t let go of the decanter or lounge into the plush high back, but she sat with him and that was enough for now.
Chapter Thirty-One
Emma sat on one of the opposing leather sofas that dominated the center of Vlad’s study, hypermasculine both in design and company. The oak panel walls were covered in oil paintings, pastoral hunting scenes. The heavy furniture was offset by even heavier red and gold brocade curtains. A fireplace haunted one wall and Vlad’s desk loomed on the far side of the space, ensuring that anyone entering the room would immediately feel intimidated by its owner.
Emma crossed her ankles primly, her hands clasped defensively in her lap in a posture she had come to think of as a church sit. On the few occasions that Grams had let Emma go with various friends to their places of worship, Emma had adopted this pose. It was a relative mimic of the pious, self-reflective posture she had seen her friends and their parents use when listening to the preacher.
Those unfamiliar church pews had always felt alien to her; cold, unwelcoming and dangerous. She felt that now, perched between Sevystian and Kadir, the latter was on his own a source of danger and chilling discomfort.
Emma was struck by the Francis Ford Coppola of it all. Vlad might as well have been Gary Oldman. The thought struck her with frantic humor, the kind that stole her breath and had her bending over her knees gasping with jerky giggles that must have sounded like something else entirely to everyone else of the room.
“Emma?” Vlad paused his rustling of papers on his desk, concern clear in his voice. “You need not be here if the day has—”
“No, no, no.” Emma gathered what she could of her composure pulling stray hairs out of her face as she sat up, suddenly aware of all the worried eyes latched on to her. “It’s just… it’s just with the window and the storm and the stupid fireplace and all the paintings … you look like you’re in a B movie. Mystery Science Theater presents Vlad Tepes as Dracula. Dun, dun, dun.”
Emma shook her hands out in front of her to emphasize the over-the-top sound effects. Across the room Buchannan bit his lips, stunting the bark of laughter that popped out of him. Emma wanted to feel the connection she had always felt with him, the shared humor, the effortless companionship that they had fallen into, but it rang hollow in that moment. He cast his eyes away from her and Emma pulled in a long breath through her nose, dismissing their short-lived amusement.
“Well, we can only hope for as tidy an ending to this debacle as a film would provide.” Vlad lifted one slick brow above the other, his stare flicking between Emma and Buchannan with immediate understanding. “Though, those films do tend to side with the villagers in these types of situations. Being chased with pitchforks and torches is not nearly as fun as it looks.”
“It doesn’t look very fun,” Emma countered sardonically.
“Then I suggest we formulate a sturdier plan than we have thus far.” There was a little bite in Vlad’s quip that made Emma wonder when he last fed. “The contract Marcus signed is not a solution.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be a permanent one—” Emma was interrupted in her defense by Vlad’s open palm held up patiently in front of him.
“It was a good idea, Emma.” His response was calm, fatherly even. “It may buy us time in the long game. The terms of that contract may give Marcus pause, should the Order be planning a forthcoming strike against us.”
Emma felt Sevystian’s hand slide warm and reassuring over her knee, his fingers tapping gently on her inner thigh as if he were unsure of his welcome. She slid her hand over his. Sevystian turned their hands until their palms kissed, locking their fingers together. The glide of his calloused fingers through her own and the drag of his thumb over the back of her palm made Emma wish they were alone. He pulled their hands to sit on his thigh and Emma nearly lost the thread of the conversation.
“Any movement against the Order now would be suicide.” Kadir leaned back, his legs spread wide enough that the whole side of his thigh pressed into Emma’s. “The city is awake and watching. The next to make a move risks public revelation.”
“So, you’re suggesting we just sit here and twiddle our thumbs until they send another troop of thugs?” Emma hissed turning to face Kadir, her hand still firm on Sevystian’s thigh, growing firmer with the rise in her ire. “Sounds great. Super productive. Only, maybe this time Melissa will wise up and bring a couple of the real soldiers they’ve got at their compound. There were only like, what?” Emma looked between Sev and Vlad, her face a mask of seriousness. “Ten, twelve? Those were just the ones we could see, and don’t count out Chase or Benedict, Marcus’ personal goons. Those two looked hungry for the big time. So yeah, let’s just sit here and wait.”
“Should we attack the compound, with those same soldiers, and the same goons, and the hundred other obstacles we do not know about?” Kadir traced the shape of her face with his eyes, barely blinking. It was the strange stillness of a hawk tracking a field mouse that disquieted Emma’s hindbrain. “Shall I steal their leaders from their beds, galvanize their religion against us, force their hand? You saw those Faithful that tended to Melissa’s errand here, their numbers were few.”
“So, that makes it okay?” Emma twisted to face him fully, ready for a fight. He was bigger, stronger, faster, but Emma was a King and she’d been born into this war whether Kadir approved of her involvement or not. “You just want to ignore all the evil the Order is doing because they aren’t big enough to do… what, exactly? What do they have to do to tempt you into action? Maybe if it was your mother, or brother, or friend you would do something.”
“Acting without forethought will expose our kind to the scrutiny of the world.” Kadir leaned into her until the heat of his breath brushed her cheek. “You are a child tilting at windmills.”
“And you’re just a toothy incrementalist,” Emma bit back, the snarl in her voice quivering in her throat.
“Perhaps this issue deserves space to breathe?” Vlad moved behind his desk, propping himself against the fine carved edge.
Taking the hint, Kadir leaned out of Emma’s space. Without the emanating threat of Kadir’s looming body, she noticed how deathly still the room had become. Even Buchannan, who was usually jittering and jiggling to the beat of some internalized juke box, was captive to their interaction.
Kadir was right about one thing, though Emma was loath to admit it, action without forethought would get them all killed, or worse. James popped into her head, that open face so confused and so innocent, the same face that had stormed the Transempirial, prepared to die on their mother’s orders. Emma decided to let the argument go rather than press on or let her mind travel down the darker paths of revenge. Those thoughts were better kept in the realms of fantasy, even if her mother deserved all of it and more.
“We don’t have the time to breathe.” Emma shot an exasperated glance at Kadir, who had wedged himself comfortably into the corner of the sofa, a defensible perch from which he could watch the proceedings. “You said it yourself, Vlad, that contract only buys us time and we don’t know how much. Melissa is probably back at the compound by now. She has at least one HPD officer in her arsenal, probably more, and they are going to come here eventually. They were down our throats before they even knew where Stevens worked. We need to have our story straight.”
“Espionage,” Fields spoke like a ghost come to tempt her into an early grave. He handed Buchannan a glass full of blood with a haughty air, and then promptly ignored him. “Wallachia Holdings is an international company of some renown, it is plausible that Heather’s death was a tragic byproduct of unscrupulous corporate espionage, and thus Stevens’ death and being set up as a shooter could reasonably fall under such category.”
“The jump from a bit of insider information to murder seems like a steep one.” Buchannan wiped blood from his mouth, color tinting his cheeks in such a way that had Emma wondering if any of them were eating regularly enough.
“Not necessarily,” Fields corrected Buchannan with a pointed finger and a condescending grin. “Wallachia Holdings has taken over three companies in the last year and a half, more than quadrupling it’s estimated gross profit, and we are on track to overtake our closest competitor within the year. There have been murmurs in the business community, worries really, that Mr. Tepes might take the whole thing public and make a tidy fortune, the likes of which would be enough to make Jeff Bezos shudder in delight.”
Emma squinted up at Fields, standing casually near the door with a matter-of-fact expression that almost covered up that he had casually slipped in a dick joke at the end of his explanation.
“You seem to have thought this out rather thoroughly.” Vlad tilted his head to the side slightly. “Should I be concerned that you are giving so much thought to this particular topic?”
“Only if you don’t trust me,” Fields smirked back at Vlad with a malice that caught Emma by surprise.
“Where exactly did this James Bond side of you come from?” Emma blurted out before her head could catch up with her mouth. She was really going to have to work on that.
“I am a man of hidden talents.” The smile Fields graced her with was positively blood thirsty.
Buchannan snorted into his near empty glass of blood and Fields cast him a scathing look.
“So, corporate espionage,” Buchannan changed the subject, his eyes flitting around the room looking for a safe place to land, finally settling on his glass.
“Yes,” Vlad agreed a small light of humor gracing his dark features. “I suppose it could work.”
“The story has to be simple, it will be better that way, more believable.” Fields placed his hands on his hips and Emma’s eyes drew to the forearm where she knew he had a thick lined tattoo of a dagger hidden under his suit jacket. So many things about him added together wrong.
“So, we say that Heather was abducted without our knowledge,” Emma started in on the narrative, just working through her thoughts out loud, more to herself than to anyone else. “That some company… I don’t know who, sent people in to get a look at your stuff and they fucked it up and Heather got killed because of their incompetence. I mean it kinda works, but what about Stevens? That other hostage might wake up eventually.”
“Stevens was a company man,” Vlad spoke with a tone of certainty Emma didn’t share. “He would not have said anything that might incriminate us.”
“Not really what the concern is,” she said, Emma leaned back trying to stretch out her neck and found herself half in Sevystian’s lap. Nearly sighing at the feel of his strong chest against her back and the smoky smell of his cologne, “I think the real problem comes when they ask why Stevens was there.”
“We will tell them he was pursuing a suspect,” Vlad cut off her train of thought and Emma stifled a groan of frustration. “And in doing so was taken hostage.”
“He’s not a cop, they are going to want to know why we didn’t call the police.” Her head was heavy with fatigue, falling back against Sev’s shoulder.
“When Heather was discovered, she was taken to the hospital,” Sevystian’s warm cider voice poured over her, calm and intelligent. “Our lawful protocols were followed in an effort to save her life, and until the officers arrived earlier, we had no reason to believe that her misfortune had originated within the tower’s property. When we were alerted to that possibility, we searched the building and came to the discovery that Stevens must have made. Unfortunately, the culprits abducted Stevens before that time.”
“Your scary good at that.” Emma nudged him with her elbow.
“It comes with the territory.” Sev smiled at her, his teeth a little sharp. “Buchannan will dazzle them with some technical jargon about how they got around our system and any further questions will have to be directed through our lawyers.”
“They’re going to want to get the ten-cent tour.” Emma sat straight up, regrettably untangling herself from Sevystian. It was oddly comfortable to touch him, to be connected to him so simply. It was something normal in such an abnormal situation. “You won’t be able to thrall all of them.”
Buchannan flinched when she said it.
“There may not be another choice.” Vlad met her stare with concern and truth. “You will need to make your peace with that.”
Emma didn’t engage him. Instead she rolled her neck until it cracked, relieving some of the stiffness making itself known in her joints. If they were going to be doing this well into the night Emma would need more than banter to keep her awake.
“What are we going to do about our other problem?” Buchannan threw himself against the tufted back of the sofa, making it a point to splay himself in an actively casual sprawl.
