Dark Studies (Arcaneology) (23 page)

Chapter Twenty

Secrets both protect and imprison us.

—Tan Xiao-Ping, philosopher and poet

Angie and the team from Night and Day Security stayed in Denver three more days to discover what they could about Lockhart. They suspected he wasn’t the only one doing this sort of “research.” The human security specialists had experience investigating this kind of thing and were willing to help the Ruler of the city free of charge. Having an ally among vampires, particularly one who owed them a favor, was more than worth the cost.

Angie used the time to learn as much as she could from Joseph about the Great Basin tribes, particularly those allied with Soul Killer. The Monarch was the main threat to her safety. Rimbeau was dangerous, too, but they all agreed he was a secondary concern. Joseph’s knowledge could also prove useful to James and the Covenant.

“From what I’ve heard,” he said, “the humans in her territory are incredibly loyal. Fanatical, even. Most are born and raised on the reservations, where she controls almost everything—how they live, how they’re governed, what they know about the outside world, spiritual practices, education, you name it. Those who have proven beyond a doubt they can be trusted are the only ones she lets out to take care of things that can’t be done on the reservations.”

“Such as?” Angie asked.

“Managing casinos and other business interests, learning skills she finds useful, bribing people in positions of power. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of her supporters have worked their way into government agencies where they can gain information that isn’t available to the general public.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I have a cousin who married a Shoshone and lives on the Duck Valley Res in Idaho. They’re one of Soul Killer’s tribes. She doesn’t say much about it, so I’m just making educated guesses. Plus, I knew a guy when I was doing SEAL training in Coronado. It isn’t often you have two Indians in one class, so I figured we’d stick together, right? Wrong. He didn’t want anything to do with me. I found out later he was Paiute, from the Pyramid Lake Res. Here’s the kicker—he applied to get on the Special Threats Team but couldn’t get past the psych screening test.”

“Special Threats? Why—” Angie broke off. “Of course. Keep your enemies close.”

“Bingo.”

“Were you raised on the Spokane Reservation?”

“Yeah. We were dirt poor. I wanted to go to college, so I joined the military.”

“One of my anthropology classes touched on what life in the reservations is like. It’s a very different culture.”

“No kidding. The transition was a bitch.”

“You ever go back?”

“Sure. Most of my family still lives there. My brother hosts a sweat lodge every week, and I try to go at least a couple of times a year.”

Joseph went on to describe how his upbringing had shaped his life and always would. As he did, Angie thought about the Great Basin tribes and how the people there must also be shaped by their culture, one controlled by Soul Killer. With the Monarch’s vampires dominating the reservations, she could mold her people into whatever she liked. Any who started to have doubts about what they were taught could simply be entranced into submission. It was tragic and frightening that one delusional vampire could warp an entire way of life.

When they left Denver, Angie and her bodyguards flew to Washington, DC, and checked into a hotel, again using the name Andy Sullivan. The Ruler of Denver had arranged for Lockhart to sell the journals to Aaron. Everything was legal and there was no reason for anyone to suspect the transaction was coerced. Transporting them would require special packaging and a temperature-controlled environment, which would take time to arrange, so they remained in Lockhart's vault for now. They would eventually go to James for safekeeping. Lockhart, who had been a recluse for years, continued to live in his mansion and conduct business long distance with the “help” of the vampires of the city. Whatever they were doing to him, Angie didn’t want to know.

Aaron returned to Reno. He intended to move his household to Seattle so he could go over the journals with Angie at his leisure. For a being whose attention was fully engaged in one particular activity for half of his waking hours, this would be a slow process.

Meanwhile, she had an appointment to keep.

Julius Craft had asked for a hunt, and she was more than ready to give it to him. A hunt was pure, in its way, not like the ugly tangle she’d had to deal with in Denver. The hunger and violence was straightforward, and she had missed the adrenaline rush. Her sessions these last few months had not provided that. Until now, she hadn’t realized just how much she craved it.

Once she’d settled into her room, Angie called her manager. “Lynette. I’m at the Crowne Plaza in Arlington. Have you heard from Craft?”

“Just a couple of hours ago.” She went on to give Angie directions to the place Craft had reserved, a country estate outside of Middleton. “Be there at midnight tomorrow night, in costume. He’ll be waiting.”

“Good. Any messages?”

Silence for a moment. Then, “Steffen Scott called to make an appointment.”

“He called you?” Angie raised her brows. Lynette still refused to broker Scott’s sessions with Grace, so Angie always set them up herself. He had no reason to contact Lynette.

“He couldn’t reach you, so he tried me instead.” She spoke stiffly. “I believe he was worried.”

Angie frowned. As long as he was worried about Grace, that was all right, but after the things he had said about wanting to protect Angeline, she suspected it went further. It was time to bring him back to reality.

“I’ll call him. Anything else?”

“James wants you to grant permission for the security firm to give him updates whenever your bodyguards check in.”

Normally, she’d tell James to stop fussing over her, but even she had to admit there was reason for concern this time. “All right. I’ll arrange it.”

“That’s everything. Let me know how it goes with Craft.”

Once she’d finished the call, Angie made the arrangements James had requested, then contacted her tailor to schedule a final fitting. She’d ordered an authentic Gibson Girl costume, historically accurate in every detail, including a swan-bill corset that contorted a woman’s body into an S-shaped hourglass, thrusting the bosom forward and the hips back. They’d have a day to make the alterations before she picked it up.

Because of the time difference between DC and the West Coast, she had to wait until nearly ten before she could call Scott. Angie didn’t know what she was going to say. A client’s intrusion into her personal life could only mean trouble, but at the same time, a part of her felt pleased. It was natural, she supposed, that she would appreciate a client’s concern. Finally, she cleared her mind, settled her mental armor in place, and punched his number into her phone.

“Angeline.”

“Steffen. I understand you called. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to schedule another session with Grace. Do you have an opening before the end of the month?”

“Let me check my calendar.” After a few moments of consideration, she suggested a date three weeks away. “Does that work?”

“Yes.” He hesitated, then said, “Are you all right? Safe?”

She smiled, knowing he’d hear it in her voice. “I’m fine. The security team is taking good care of me.”

“You’re still determined not to let me help? I could send some of my people to keep an eye on you from a distance. You wouldn’t even know they were there unless you needed them.”

The smile vanished. “Steffen, I keep my personal life separate from my professional life. You have more access to me than my other clients do, but you’re still just that—a client.” The idea of vampires following her around without her knowing it made her shudder.

“Of course I am,” he murmured.

“I don’t mean to offend you. I just want to be clear about our relationship.”

Silence stretched over the line.

“Well, consider it clear,” he said at last. “I’ll contact you with the details for our next session.

“Thank you. Good night.”

Angie pressed the disconnect button and stared at her reflection in the window. She had wanted him to develop feelings for Grace. She’d wanted him to fall in love, to prove she could wield that power without falling prey to it herself. Had she subconsciously known he would want to expand those feelings beyond the fantasy realm? Hopefully not. Because if she had, it could only mean one thing—she wanted those feelings to be real, not just islands of make-believe.

She could not go down that road again.

She spent the following night preparing for the session. Craft had a particular fondness for the Belle Époque. At the time, he had confined himself to seduction rather than violence, but he had always wanted to chase one of those corseted beauties into breathless helplessness and feast on her while she swooned.

Was that so very different from Rimbeau? Angie felt it was but had to think in order to define just how. Craft knew his Gibson girl was just a fantasy brought to life by a skilled actress. Rimbeau wanted reality. She realized then what bothered her about the Rocky Mountain Monarch. The scenario he’d described was all too familiar. There were two differences between his desires and what Raphael had done to her: Rimbeau wanted to bind her to him without using his blood to do it, and he wanted more of a challenge than an innocent adolescent. But otherwise, what he’d described was exactly what she had sworn she would never allow to happen to her again.

Her relationship with Steffen might be headed down that path if she weren’t careful. He, too, seemed to want the fantasy to become reality. In his case, though, the fantasy was not abusive. Was it truly something to be feared? He treated Grace with respect and tenderness. Would that be so terrible if it were real?

But Angie was not Grace. She doubted he would feel the same way if he got to know her for who she truly was. Especially if he knew who she had been. She must never forget he was in love with a fiction, not with reality.

Chapter Twenty-One

Justice is the first casualty of politics.

—Mosi Aguda, human rights activist

Sarah Miller

Twelve Years Ago

Cell phones vanished as the judges filed into the auditorium, and the vampires who had stepped out were summoned to return. Sarah stayed next to Vanessa and James Morgan, with her guards seated in the row behind her. She tracked Lord Scott out of the corner of her eye and stopped only when he had seated himself some ways away and turned his full attention to the proceedings.

The judges remained standing, and the chief, or whatever she was called, stepped forward a little in front of them.

“There are two serious issues at the core of this case,” she said. “Therefore, we have made two decisions. The first is in response to the accusations against Antonio Romero and his enclave. We have seen sufficient proof to convince us of their guilt. They are all dead, so no punishment can be meted, but we agree that such abuses cannot be allowed to continue. Therefore, the Covenant nations will form a law enforcement committee to seek out such crimes and put a stop to them. Sanctioned investigations will not be considered an invasion of a keep. Attacking these investigators will not be viewed as the defense of one’s home, but as a crime against the Covenant.”

It sounded good, Sarah thought, but could they really force vampires to change? Humans had done it with the civil rights movement in the 1960s. A few people had taken up a cause and campaigned to convince others, and the ideas spread and grew stronger. But vampires were not human.

On the other side of the auditorium, Romero perched on the edge of his seat, tense with anger, and the vampire sitting next to him had a hand on his arm. The judges turned toward him. Their leader inclined her head.

“The second part of our decision regards the accusation of murder against Vanessa Van Sickle. In order for our species to progress, we must have stability, and so we have made it a crime to attempt to undermine another nation’s government or to usurp power within one’s own. Political maneuvering is acceptable, but acts of aggression will not be tolerated. An example must be made.”

She looked to Vanessa and gestured for her to come forward. When she had taken her place on the stage, there was complete silence within the auditorium. Sarah felt as though her single heartbeat must sound as loud as a drum to everyone there.

Vanessa might be a vampire, but she had tried to rescue the slaves, and to Sarah that made her far, far different, hardly a vampire at all. She possessed the same terrible powers, the same instinct for violence, but she had used it to protect the helpless, not harm them.

The judge continued. “Until now, we have overlooked your tactics and even taken action against some of those abuses you have brought to our attention. But you have killed the heir to a Monarchy. There can be no leniency for such an act, not if we want this law to be taken seriously. Therefore, it is our judgment that Vanessa Van Sickle be executed at tomorrow’s sunset.”

Romero settled back in his chair and threw a triumphant look at James Morgan, who stared at no one but his child. She stood on the stage, alone and condemned.

It wasn’t right. No one had ever tried to help Sarah until Vanessa and her companions came. She had to do something.

“No.” Sarah whispered, but in a room full of beings who could hear a pin drop from a hundred yards, she might as well have shouted.

“This is not your concern, human.” The judge glanced at her dismissively.

Shaking, Sarah got to her feet. “Yes it is. I did it.”

If they hadn’t all been looking at her before, they were now.

“What?” The judge took a step toward her, pupils dilating.

An old and powerful mind probed hers, trying to entrance her into speaking the truth, but she had perfected her defenses against this particular talent. Hadn’t Sutherland told them she was immune? Maybe they hadn’t believed him. Or maybe this one thought she would succeed where he had failed. Sarah raised her chin and held the creature’s gaze. The mental pressure intensified for several seconds before it abruptly ended.