No Rest for the Wicked (7 page)

trace to places they’d already been. If she wasn’t in Europe or Russia , then he couldn’t

reach her.

Again and again, he’d thought, If only I could trace directly to her.

The idea that a vampire didn’t need to know how to get to a destination, only to envision

it, didn’t make sense to Sebastian. He’d traced from Russia to London to buy clothing, but

he couldn’t imagine the exact route. If merely seeing the location was the requirement,

then why couldn’t a person be a destination?

What if there was more to tracing, and his brothers didn’t understand everything about it?

They had been newly turned themselves all those years ago and had admitted their

ignorance about so much in the Lore.

It might be that vampires traced to individuals every day...

Sebastian was unique among his family—he was the dedicated scholar, the one

introspective son among four. In battle, Sebastian had used cunning as much as strength,

relying on foresight as much as on past training. He was a thinker who liked to solve

problems, and his father had instilled in him the belief that the mind was capable of

unimaginable feats if one were strong enough to believe them possible.

And Sebastian needed to believe that tracing to her was possible. The alternative was to

wait out the villagers, which was untenable.

His family had known he’d been courted by chivalric and church orders, as well as other

secret sects of arcane knowledge, seeking to recruit him. What they didn’t know was that

he’d accepted an offer with the Eestlane Brothers of the Sword, learning about the world

from isolated Blachmount, corresponding with masters of physics, astronomy, all of the

sciences. Eventually, he’d even sailed the Baltic and North Seas to be knighted in London

.

While his brothers had been fighting each other or chasing women, Sebastian had been

studying, growing confident in his ability to learn.

It might just be that Sebastian’s sacrifices then would benefit him now, as he chased the

only female who’d ever mattered to him.

Filled with a burning determination, Sebastian had traced back and forth to places he only

vaguely remembered from boyhood, studying the amount of effort, the amount of mental

clarity, required.

He convinced himself that he just needed to see her as clearly as a location.

There was danger inherent in tracing to a place unseen. She could be under an equatorial

sun at noon , and he could be too stunned to get away. She could be on a plane. If his

trace was mere feet off, he could be sucked into an engine.

Hell, it would have been worth it.

Perhaps when Kaderin had determined that everything was under control, she might have

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) done so too hastily.

Since that night, her blessing had been behaving like an engine in an old Karmann Ghia

convertible—sometimes it slipped. There she’d be, cruising along, the same as usual, then,

out of nowhere—a slip.

For instance, right now, she felt an odd, hollow kind of ache. She thought she was...

worried. Coincidentally, Kaderin had a pressing urge to know if her niece, seventy-year-

old Emmaline, the daughter of Helen, was better. The last time Kaderin had checked in

with her New Orleans coven, she’d learned that Emma had been critically injured by a

vampire.

She rang the manor, hoping she wouldn’t get Regin the Radiant. Kaderin wasn’t ready to

talk to her, not yet, not so soon after her reckless morning with the vampire.

Regin’s entire race had been annihilated by the Horde.

Kaderin had molded Regin into a killer like herself, training her and stoking her hatred of

vampires. “Sword up! Remember your mother,” she’d told the girl again and again, and all

the while she was telling herself, Remember your sisters.

Don’t be Regin...

Regin answered with: “Bridge. Uhura here.” Kaderin sighed, then shook her head at the

Star Trek reference. Kaderin did not appreciate Star Trek references.

Yet that was the thing about Regin. Aside from her boiling hatred of vampires, she was

easygoing, quick to laugh, a prankster.

“Hi, Regin, it’s Kaderin.” She swallowed. “I’m calling to check on Emma. Is she any

better?”

“Hey, Kiddy-Kad! She’s totally better. She’s healed already.”

“Healed?” Kaderin asked in surprise. “This is great news, but how can it be? Did the

witches help?”

“Actually, she’s already wed that Lykae—that hateful one we wanted to neuter—two

nights ago.”

Had Regin just purposely glossed over that question? Kaderin wanted to know more but

had always believed that in digging for secrets, she was begging Fate to somehow reveal

her own. And now with her new secret? Kaderin would let Regin coast by so very easily

right now.

“I can’t believe she married him.” The werewolf had absconded with Emmaline, taking her

back to his castle in Scotland .

“I know. A freaking Lykae. It could be worse, I suppose. Could have been a leech.”

Though Emma was half leech herself and drank blood for sustenance, the coven didn’t

think of her that way whatsoever. “Nah, Emma isn’t that big of a bonehead.”

Kaderin felt a tic in her cheek, almost as if she had winced. The Valkyrie covens were at

war with the vampires even now, and the Lore was hurtling toward an Accession—a war

among immortals that occurred every five hundred years. During times like this, Kaderin

was expected to be ridding vampires from the earth, not riding them. Did her face just get

hot?

“We tried to call you,” Regin said. Kaderin heard her blow a gum bubble. Like so many

Valkyrie, she would chew only one specific brand, Sad Wiener Peppermint, which was

beyond foul. Kaderin herself secretly preferred Happy Squirrel Citrus. “I think you left

your sat phone at the Lykae’s in all the confusion.”

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)

“I remember,” Kaderin said, but she had to wonder if they’d truly called her. Kaderin was

an emotionless cipher, and many were uncomfortable around her—especially at

celebrations.

Kaderin recognized when situations might be humorous but was never moved to laugh.

She knew she loved her half-sisters but never felt the need to show affection. At a

wedding, she wouldn’t have even approached a smile.

She bit her lip and stared at her feet. Luckily, Kaderin couldn’t perceive the sting of hurt

feelings from being left out, either. No, not at all. “Well, Regin, it happens that I didn’t

mind ditching the phone since you’d locked the Crazy Frog ring tone into it.”

“Me? Who? Whaa?”

“Tell Emma congratulations for me,” Kaderin said. “Is Myst around?” Maybe Kaderin

could uncover why Myst had been so tempted by that vampire general—without revealing

that she herself had been pleasured by one.

“She’s busy.”

“With what? When will she be able to talk?”

“Dunno.” Another gum bubble popped. “So the Hie cranks up in two days. Are you

ready?”

Another change of subject?

“Everything is in preparation,” Kaderin answered. All her supplies were packed and her

transportation confirmed. That had proved easy enough. The Accord—a federation of

twelve Valkyrie covens—had agreed that they needed the capability to move readily about

the world—especially Kaderin in the upcoming Hie. So they’d established a network of

helicopters and jets available on most continents.

Pilots would be on call for Kaderin in all the key capitals. As she’d specified, they would

be demons, and they wouldn’t ask a lot of questions.

Naturally, the Valkyrie, with their lavish sensibilities, had only the best. Any competitors in

the Hie worth their salt would be taking advantage of modern modes of transportation.

But not all would enjoy luxury helicopters and Learjets.

“So where’s your first stop?” Regin asked.

“All the competitors have to meet at Riora’s temple.” The goddess Riora was the

patroness of the Hie. It was her competition—she made the rules; she decided the prizes.

“Kind of like an orientation?”

“I suppose.” Kaderin’s first jaunt would be from the exclusive and modern jetport at the

London City Airport to Riora’s ancient temple, hidden in an enchanted forest. The temple

had been built before humans began keeping their histories and was found only with secret

coordinates.

Kaderin might as well be going back in time, and yet she’d be traveling there in an

Augusta 109, the fastest and most richly appointed civilian helicopter in the world.

Regin sounded as if she were typing on a keyboard. “You know, the results of this Hie are

supposed to be posted in real time to the Net. Which is convenient, since you’ve never

sent word back to us about how you’re doing—even though we got you all those carrier

pigeons. By the way, I adored and named all of them, and you... you just tossed them.”

“Internet results will be interesting, and the birds, though beloved, preferred to be free.”

Pigeon drama. Scenes like that one reminded Kaderin why she worked alone.

7

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) A t sunset, Sebastian took a shower the only way he could in his castle—with melted

snow water caught in a cistern and piped freezing cold into a small tiled and drained room.

After that he dressed in new clothes. He shined his sword, sheathed it with a belt at his

hips, and sat on the edge of the bed, prepared to test his theory.

Everything depended on his success. I must find her to have her. His hand was damp

around the hilt of his sword.

Then he frowned. If this could work, he didn’t want to appear adversarial to her. He could

just see himself materializing at a family dinner—the overgrown vampire with the very big

sword. He unstrapped the belt, placed it aside, then sat once more.

This was all about sense detail. Focus. He concentrated on her for long moments. Wipe

everything from your mind but her...

Nothing. He lay back.

Imagine seeing her beautiful face once more. Her elfin features, the delicate chin and high

cheekbones, the way she’d gazed up at him with those smoldering hazel eyes.

He slowed his breathing. Recall how she felt beneath you. Her body was soft, giving, a

perfect fit to his.

The remembered scent of her hair and skin called him as sharply as a cry for him would.

He began tracing, feeling himself leaving the cold of his castle and moving toward warmth,

having no idea what he would find.

Temple of the Goddess Riora, Codru Forest , Moldova

Day 1 of the Twelfth Talisman’s Hie

The usual suspects, Kaderin thought with boredom. From her perch on a balcony rail, she

surveyed the assembly gathered below her in the gallery of Riora’s temple.

As with most temples, Riora’s sported the obligatory marble Palladian style, with dishes of

fire and candles to light it. Yet that’s where the similarity ended. Tucked deep within the

heart of the enchanted Codru Forest , it had lichen-covered oaks punching through the

walls or lying fallen inside. Roots buckled the heavy floor. The dome was a skylight with

glass cut into an intricate and patternless design.

“Order overcome, impossibility incarnate,” that was Riora’s motto. She was the goddess

of impossibility and exalted proving possible the impossible. Few knew this, though, and

she was coy, joking and spreading rumors. In the last fifty years, she’d come out as the

goddess of bowling couture.

Kaderin waited with hundreds of other competitors, because Riora was tardy again.

Nothing new there. To get her to be on time, Kaderin had been tempted at the last Hie to

declare it impossible for goddesses to be punctual. But then Riora would just have

declared that it was impossible for a Valkyrie to bathe in a vat of boiling oil for a decade.

To pass the time, Kaderin gazed down with disdain at the nymphs, making sure they saw

her contempt. She jerked her chin up at Lucindeya, the siren who had been her closest

competition at the last Hie. Lucindeya, or Cindey, was a violent, merciless rival, and so

had earned Kaderin’s respect. They customarily used each other to advance until it was

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) only the two of them in the finals.

Then all bets were off.

At last count, Cindey had broken dozens of Kaderin’s bones. But then, Kaderin had

snapped at least twice as many of hers, cracked her brain bucket, and, rumor had it,

ruptured the siren’s spleen.

To the adorable-looking kobolds, a type of ground-dwelling gnome, Kaderin reached to

her sword sheath at her back. She grasped the hilt, not even needing to draw it for the

largest male—still standing only four feet tall—to swallow and swiftly lower his gaze. The

kobolds only appeared wholesome and kindly—until they turned ravening.

Kaderin was one of the few beings alive who’d seen them as they really were, reptilian

predators who sprang from the ground as they hunted in packs. She still did not find the

term killer gnome hysterically funny as her sisters all did.

The crowd of entrants consisted of all makes and models in the Lore: trolls, witches, and