Ashes of the Day (13 page)

He turned from the window before they could catch him staring. Taking a seat in the living room, he picked up the book he’d been trying to read earlier. With any luck, they’d assume he’d gotten engrossed in it and simply lost track of the time. It wouldn’t do to let them know he’d been anxiously pacing the floor for the past few hours, ever since he’d wrestled the story of where they’d gone out of Marc.

“Did you have good hunting?” he called when he heard them in the entryway. A moment later, they appeared in the living room doorway, Julie nervously plucking at the bandage on her hand, Damian hovering silent and still behind her. Conrad could feel the tension from clear across the room, and worked hard to hold onto his temper. “Well, my dears? Have you nothing to say for yourselves?”

“It was good.” It was Julie who answered. “It’s been a long night, though. I’m tired now.” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were a touch too glassy, but it was the blood-soaked sleeve of her dress that held his attention.

What had she been doing to cut herself so badly? And what had Damian been thinking to let her get hurt? He felt his brow furrow. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, this? It’s nothing. I cut it on some glass.”

“Let me see it.”

Julie hesitated. She looked like she wanted to say no, but Conrad was not in the mood to argue. He held out his hand and fixed her with an expectant gaze. Reluctantly, she crossed the room and laid her hand in his.

“You have three people who care about you, you know,” Conrad said as he unwrapped the cloth. “Not just two.”

“I know that,” she answered softly.

Conrad examined her hand. It was perfect, just as he’d suspected. There was barely a mark to indicate the wounds she’d received. Even for vampires the twins healed quickly. Too quickly, he’d often thought. It made the difference too obvious. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against the palm. “So, perhaps, next time you might come to me when you’re experiencing difficulties?”

Julie nodded. “Okay.”

Conrad smiled. “Thank you. Now, go and get some rest.”

“All right.” Bending down, Julie kissed his cheek. “Good-night, Grandfather.”

“Good-night,
carissima
.”

“Good-night, Uncle Damian,” Julie murmured, going up on her toes to kiss Damian’s cheek. “I’m sorry about your dress.”

“No worries,
querida
. I was not planning on wearing it again soon anyway.”

Julie grinned. “Well maybe you should. You looked very nice tonight.”

“
Gracias
,
bebesita
,” Damian said as he caught her in a quick hug. “
Muchas, muchas gracias.
”

Damian’s smile lingered as he watched Julie leave. Conrad waited until they were alone before speaking. “Damian.” He motioned toward the chair beside his own. “Come. Sit down. We need to talk.”

The light died in Damian’s eyes. His smile disappeared. The look he fixed on Conrad’s face was hooded, inscrutable. “Very well.” He walked slowly across the room to sit in the chair Conrad had indicated, telegraphing his resistance with every measured step.

“What is going on with you, my friend? What madness has seized you to make you act this way?”

Damian shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“No? Well then let me speak more plainly. I’ve been worried about you for several months now; the chances you take, the needless risks… What you did tonight was dangerous.” Conrad waved a hand to indicate Damian’s clothes. “And, please, don’t insult me by pretending this was all part of some game of dress-up you were playing. Marc told me what you’d said, what you were planning. Although clearly he didn’t know the extent of what you had planned.”

“Ah,
pobrecito.
The poor thing. Did you beat it out of him?”

“Of course I didn’t! And don’t try and distract me with nonsense. What were you thinking to take Julie out dressed like this? You were making yourself vulnerable. You were making the both of you vulnerable.”

“She was already vulnerable!” Damian snapped. “Can you not see that? When has she ever been otherwise? All I did was show her that any of us might feel the same, that all of us are vulnerable at one time or other. I forced her to find the courage to defend herself. To find the strength within her.”

“And you did this how, exactly?” Conrad demanded. “By putting yourself in danger when you should have been protecting her? By allowing her to get hurt? By encouraging the bloodlust?” He raised a hand to forestall Damian’s protests. “Oh, yes, don’t deny it. I saw the signs.”

Damian shrugged. “I did not intend to deny it. Why should I? I thought it might be good to give her a taste for it. I doubt she’s in any danger of becoming dependent upon it.”

“You had better hope she does not.”

“We can’t always be there for them, Conrad. Sooner or later, they must learn to stand on their own.”

“Yes, and it will be sooner—much sooner—the way you’re going about it.”

Damian blanched. “What does that mean?” His voice cracked slightly on the question.

Conrad frowned. “It means you must take care and stop taking such risks. I know these past few months have been hard—”

“Hard!” Damian laughed bitterly. “Ah,
sí
, but nothing I did not deserve. Is that not what you were about to say?”

“No, nothing of the kind,” Conrad snapped. “I don’t pretend to know what passed between you and Paul at your last meeting, or why you feel as guilty as you clearly do, but, whatever the cause, you must get over it, for the twins’ sake if not your own. Unchecked, your recklessness will endanger us all.”

“I would never do anything to hurt either of them,” Damian muttered stubbornly.

“See that you don’t.” It was not the first time Conrad had heard it, but he was no longer certain it was true. “Now, go to bed. The morning is already here and I’m in no mood to continue arguing with you.”

Damian rose without another word. Conrad supposed he should feel comforted by Damian’s easy acquiescence, but his thoughts remained troubled. As he watched Damian depart, he resolved to keep a closer eye on him in the future.

Chapter Eight

December 28, 2009

It was a quiet night at Akeldama, as every night between Christmas and New Year’s Eve tended to be. Drew was standing at the bar, enjoying a glass of stout and chatting with customers when the energy changed. The noise level in the bar dropped. Conversation abruptly ceased. A frisson of fear slithered down Drew’s spine as he turned to search for the source of the disturbance. And there it was, bearing down on him with sickening speed and a furious expression on her face.

“Lady Lancaster. Wh-what brings you here tonight?”

“Mr. Geiger.” Georgia’s tone was clipped, her eyes as hard as flint. “I’d like a word with you, if you please.”

Or even if he didn’t please, Drew had no doubt. “Of-of course, milady.” He gestured at a vacant table nearby and was not hugely surprised when the occupants at all the surrounding tables hurriedly rose
en masse
and found other places to be.

Georgia shook her head. “Alone, if you don’t mind.”

Drew sucked in a quick breath. Alone was the last place anyone would want to be with an angry
Invitus
. But, he doubted his preferences mattered to the lady. His shoulders sagged. “My office then?”

Drew waved Georgia into his office and then closed the door behind them. This time he didn’t ask if there was anything he could get her. He didn’t offer a chair, because it was clear she preferred to pace. And he seated himself behind his desk for one simple reason. He didn’t think his legs would hold him up much longer. He sat quietly, watching with wary eyes as the blonde fury stormed back and forth across the carpet.

After a long moment, during which she appeared to be trying to rein in her temper—successfully, Drew fervently hoped—Georgia finally paused before his desk and fixed him with an angry stare. “I’d expected to hear from you before now,” she said. “Have you nothing to report?”

“No, milady. Nothing of any substance.”

“And why is that? Are you so busy you could not find the time to pay our friend a call—even though I’d asked it of you as a special favor?”

A favor? Drew was tempted to laugh. If his sense of self-preservation was just a little less hardy, he might have done so. “I
did
meet with him, milady, but it was not a very productive meeting. I learned nothing that I felt was worth troubling you about.”

Georgia sighed. “Let me be the judge of that,” she said as she pulled out a chair and seated herself across from Drew. She folded her hands on the desktop and leaned forward eagerly. “Now, tell me. Tell me everything. What did he say? What was he up to?”

“It was Christmas Eve,” Drew explained. “So I thought—afterwards, you understand—that perhaps I’d timed my visit badly. That was why I was planning to wait until after the holidays are over before making a second attempt.”

Georgia nodded. “Very reasonable. Do go on.”

“I offered him back his job here, in the hope I could tempt him back into the fold, so to speak, but I don’t know if he’ll take it. He seems content where he is, very busy with the ferals and, I must tell you, he claims that everything he’s doing there is under Conrad’s auspices.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure he does.” Georgia waved the explanation away. “Perhaps he even believes that to be the case. But
what
is he doing? How is he spending his time? What is he planning? You must have gotten some sense of these things?”

Drew shrugged. “To be honest, I saw nothing to suggest he’s planning
anything
. Far too much of his attention is still focused on the ferals. I still don’t understand why they interest him so, but there seems nothing amiss in that quarter. Indeed, they appear to be markedly improved under his leadership. Rather surprisingly so.” It was so surprising as to be almost troubling, in fact, and it suddenly occurred to Drew that anything so exceedingly strange might very well qualify as being
exactly
the sort of information the lady would have been anxious to hear about. He hurried on before she could make that same connection. “I did ask if he was up to anything else, but I promise you, he mentioned nothing of any import. Indeed, we spent most of our time together discussing legends and lore, fairytales, if you will.”

“Fairytales?”

“Yes. For example, he seemed most interested in learning everything he could about the
Infragilis
.”

Georgia frowned. “What’s that? Oh, preposterous. Why on earth would he ask about them? Are you certain you did not mishear? Or did he misspeak? Perhaps it was
Invitus
he meant?”

“Oh, no, milady. I’m quite sure there was no mistake. In fact, he specifically asked what the differences were between the two.”

“Did he?” Her eyes put Drew in mind of glacial ice as she leaned back in her chair and fixed him with a frosty glare. “And how did you answer that, I wonder?”

Drew allowed himself a small smile. “I answered in the only way one could, milady. I told him only one of the two was real.”

That answer earned him a grudging smile from the lady. “Very good, Mr. Geiger,” she murmured. “I’m pleased to see your sense of humor has not deserted you.”

Drew sighed in relief. If his luck held, he might yet survive the night with his skin intact.

“What could have put him in mind of such things?” Georgia mused. “Where would he even hear the term? Is this the kind of thing ferals typically talk about amongst themselves? Perhaps it is. Do they believe such creatures could actually exist? I wonder if their hold on reality is even more tenuous than we’ve always thought.”

“It’s possible,” Drew agreed. “I, for one, certainly wouldn’t doubt it. Although, in Marc’s case, one can hardly hold it against him that he should wonder about such things. It’s natural for him to be curious about our ways and he’s young enough yet that, in all probability, he grew up not believing
any
vampires could exist. How is he to know what’s real and what’s not real, unless one of us tells him?”

Georgia nodded. “You argue a good case. But, I still don’t understand how the subject would even come up. Are you
sure
you spoke of nothing else?”

“Nothing else, milady, other than a few minutes spent discussing an old scroll one of the ferals had given him as a gift and our memories of Christmases past. That was all.”

“What did you say?” She sat up slowly, the look in her eyes so fierce Drew quailed and shrank back.

Saints preserve him. What
had
he said? “M-milady?”

“What scroll? Where did it come from?”

“I have no idea. As I said, one of the ferals had it.”

“Did you read it? What did it say? Describe it to me.”

“It was parchment, written in a rather cramped hand, and reasonably old. Several centuries, at least, or so I thought at the time, judging from both the friability of the document and the style of the writing. But I only saw it for a moment and didn’t read more than a line of it, so I cannot be certain.”

“Are you toying with me?” Georgia rose to her feet and planted her hands on the desk. She loomed threateningly over Drew, who was finding it inordinately hard to breathe. “What did it say?”