Prince of Twilight (5 page)

She got out of the car and headed for the speaker. The big iron gate hung between two towering columns of rust-colored stone blocks. The entire place was surrounded by a ten-foot wall of those same hand hewn stones, and beyond the gate, Stormy could see that the house was built of them, as well.

Giant stone owls carved of glittering, snow-white granite perched on top of each column, standing like black eyed sentries to guard the place. Those glinting onyx eyes gave Stormy a shiver. Too much like Elisabeta's eyes, she supposed. And the notion of them sparkling from her own face, the way witnesses had said they did, sent a brief wave of nausea washing through her.

A speaker with a button marked Talk was mounted to the front of the left stone column. Stormy poked the button. “Stormy Jones, from SIS, here to see Melina Roscova.”

“Welcome,” a feminine voice said. “Please, come in.”

The gate and swung slowly open. Stormy went back to the car, sat down on her black seat covers
with the red Japanese dragons on them, which matched the floor mats and the steering wheel cover, and waited until the gate had opened fully. Then she drove slowly through and followed the driveway, which looped around a big fountain and back on itself again. She stopped near the mansion's front entrance and shut the car off. Then, stiffening her spine and hoping to God that Melina would admit to having stolen the ring herself, she got out and went up the broad stone steps to a pair of massive, darkly stained doors that looked as if they belonged on a castle, right down to the black iron hinge plates and knobs, and the knocker, which was held in the talons of yet another white owl.

The doors opened before she could knock, and Melina stood there smiling at her. “I know we didn't discuss a fee before, but I'll pay whatever you ask. I'm just so glad you changed your mind.”

She continued babbling as Stormy's stomach churned, and she led the way through the house's magnificent foyer into a broad and echoing hallway, and along it into a library. As they walked through the place, they passed other women, all busy but curious. All between twenty and fifty, Stormy thought, taking them in with a quick sweep of her well trained eyes. All attractive and fit.
Really
fit.

“You certainly work fast once you make up your mind,” Melina said, as she closed the library doors, and waved Stormy toward a leather chair. “Did you bring it?”

Stormy walked to the chair but didn't sit. Instead, she turned to face Melina, her back to the chair, and asked as calmly as she could manage, “Did I bring what?”

Melina's smile showed the first sign of faltering. “The ring, of course.”

Disappointment dealt her a crushing blow. So much so that Stormy sat down heavily in the chair behind her and lowered her head. Dammit, she'd been hoping, but she didn't think Melina was acting. She drew a breath. “I don't have the ring, Melina.”

“Well, what did you do with it?”

“Nothing.” She forced herself to lift her head, to face the woman, who was, even then, sinking into a chair of her own, looking as deflated as Stormy felt. “So it's safe to say
you
didn't break into the museum and steal it last night,” Stormy said.

“I didn't.” Melina closed her eyes briefly. “I assumed you had. Figured you'd had a change of heart or…something.”

“I didn't,” Stormy said, echoing Melina's own denial.

“Then that means—”

“It means someone else has the ring,” Stormy said.

Melina rose slowly, walked to a cabinet and opened it, then poured herself three fingers worth of vodka. Stolichanya. Good shit. She downed it, then turned and held the bottle up.

“No, thanks. I'm driving.”

“Not for a while, I hope.”

“No? Why wouldn't I be?”

Melina grabbed another glass and poured, then refilled her own. She capped the bottle and put it away, then walked across the room to hand the clean glass to Stormy. “Because I need your help. Now more than ever, Stormy. You have to agree to take the job.”

“The job was to steal the ring,” Stormy said. “Someone's already done that.”

“Yes. And now the job is to find out who has it and take it from them. Before it's too late.”

Stormy was pretty sure she knew who had the ring. And she didn't look forward to going up against him, although it seemed she wasn't going to have a choice about that. Maybe with the money and resources of this Sisterhood behind her, she would have an edge. A shot, at least. God knew she couldn't let Vlad decide what to do with the ring.
She didn't know what sort of power the thing possessed, but she sensed, right to her core, that whatever it was, it might very well destroy her.

Melina sighed. “I have to let my Firsts know what's happened, so we can begin the search.”

“Your Firsts?”

“My…lieutenants, for want of a better term. Not to mention my superiors.” As she said that, she lowered her head and wiped what might have been a bead of sweat from her forehead. “Stay for dinner. As soon as I have things squared away, I'll tell you everything I know about the ring. Everything, Stormy. Although…”

Stormy lifted her brows, and when Melina didn't finish, she prompted her. “Although?”

Melina shrugged. “I get the feeling you already know as much as I do,” she said softly. “Why is that, Stormy?”

Stormy shrugged. “I never set eyes on that ring until yesterday, Melina. I think your imagination is working overtime.”

Melina studied her for a long moment, then seemed to accept her words with a nod. “Will you help me?”

“You keep your word and tell me all you know—and I mean everything, Melina—and I'll do my best to find and…
acquire
the ring.”

Melina smiled. “Thank you, Stormy. Thank you so much.” She clasped Stormy's hands briefly.

Stormy felt a little guilty accepting such senseless gratitude from the woman. After all, she hadn't said anything about giving the ring to her. And she didn't intend to.

 

When the sun went down, Vlad rose from the crypt where he'd spent the day. The crushing devastation that returned the moment his mind cleared of the day sleep was nearly enough to send him sinking to his knees. But he fought it. All was not lost. It couldn't be.

To be so close—so close to having the ring—and then to lose it that way…

He could only reach one conclusion. Tempest. She must have the ring. She had come for it, just as he had. And she'd beaten him to the theft.

So there was still a chance. He need only find her and—

She's gone.

The knowledge seeped into his mind, as real and as palpable as air seeping into a mortal's lungs. Tempest had left the city.

No matter. There was nowhere on earth the woman could go where he would be unable to fol
low. To find her. To feel his way to her. She would never escape him.

So he followed the trail she had left. A trail of her essence, woven with her yearning for him. And he found her.

She was behind the walls of a mansion, beyond a stone barrier and an iron gate marked by the word ATHENA.

He recognized the place for what it was—it wasn't the first he'd seen—a base for the Sisterhood of Athena.

They
were involved with Tempest? With the ring? By the gods, how? Why? Why would Tempest entangle herself with the likes of them?

Vlad planted himself outside the tall stone wall that surrounded the place, though he could easily have leapt it. He didn't need to. His power over Tempest was strong enough that he could crawl inside her mind, see everything she saw, hear everything she heard. He could
feel
her thoughts.

And damn the repercussions. She'd stolen the ring and…what? Brought it to these meddling mortals? How dare she betray him that way?

No, he would do whatever was necessary to get to the bottom of this, to find the ring and get it
back. So he made himself comfortable in the darkness beyond the walls of the mansion, and he slid as carefully as he could into his woman's mind.

D
inner was late at Athena House, but well worth the wait: a tender glazed pork loin with baby carrots and new potatoes. Enough side dishes to satisfy anyone, and the promise of dessert later on.

As she ate, Stormy tried to match the names she'd been given to the faces around her, but she determined she would never keep them all straight. There were three she knew for sure. Melina, of course. Then there was Melina's apparent right-hand woman, Brooke, with sleek, shoulder length red hair parted on one side, as straight as if it were wet. She looked as if she'd stepped off the set of a Robert Palmer video and was so thin Stormy wondered if she ever ate anything at all. She wore a tweed skirt that hugged her from hips to knees, with a buttoned-up ivory silk blouse. And third was Lupe, a shapely Latina who reminded Stormy of
Rosie Perez every time she opened her mouth. She was five-two, way shorter than her two cohorts, and curvy as hell. She had full, lush lips and copper-toned skin. Her hair was longer than Brooke's, jet back, and curled as if it had been left out in a wind-storm, and her brown eyes were like melted milk chocolate. She wore designer jeans and a chenille sweater that had probably cost more than Stormy's entire wardrobe.

Those three she remembered. And those three were the ones who went with her into the library when the meal had ended. And yes, Stormy thought, Brooke
had
eaten—about enough to feed a baby bird.

A fourth woman brought a china tray with matching coffee pot, cups, cream pitcher and sugar bowl into the room, set it down and left without a word.

“This place is…odd,” Stormy said.

“Is it?” Melina poured coffee into four cups, took one and sat down. She took it with cream, no sugar, Stormy noticed. Smooth but strong.

“It feels like a cross between an army barracks and a convent.”

“Because that's what it is,” Lupe said with a grin and a combination Spanish-Brooklyn accent. She took her own cup, added four spoons full of sugar
and sat back. Hot and sweet, but dark, Stormy thought.

She eyed the room. It was large, a towering ceiling and four walls lined with books and bound manuscripts, many of which seemed very old. The scents of old paper and leather permeated the place. At the farthest end of the room there was a table that stood about desk height. It might have
been
a desk, for all Stormy could tell, since it was hidden under a purple satin cloth. Antique pewter candle holders with glowing tapers stood on top, to either side of an aged leather book.

Stormy eyed the book, watching only from the corner of her eye as Brooke took her own cup of coffee, adding nothing to it at all. Dark and bitter.

She took her own with just enough cream to mask the bite, and just enough sugar to lull her into forgetting that caffeine could kick her ass. She smiled a little as she fixed it and thought that you could tell a lot about a person by the way they took their coffee.

Melina said, “We first learned of the ring in 1516, when a member of the Sisterhood acquired the journal of an alleged mage who'd lived a century earlier.”

“The Sisterhood of Athena is that old?” Stormy asked.

“Older.” Melina watched her staring at the book.

“So this is the one? The old journal?” Stormy asked, stepping toward the book on the table.

“Yes.”

She set her coffee cup down and moved closer, then reached for the book, only to pause when Brooke put a surprisingly chilly hand over hers. “It's very delicate. Be careful.”

“Like she's planning to rip off the cover?” Lupe asked with a toss of her head. “Give it a rest, Brookie.”

There was no question, the nickname was not a term of endearment.

Stormy looked from one woman to the other. They were opposites and maybe equals. There was tension there. But that wasn't her problem. She steadied herself and touched the book with great care, opening its leather cover and staring down at the brittle, yellowed pages within.

Words flowed across the pages in some foreign script, where words were even visible. Many had faded to mere shadows. She wanted to turn the page, but didn't dare, for fear it might disintegrate at her touch.

“It's not in English.” After she said it, she realized she had stated the obvious.

“No,” Melina said. “Many pages are missing or
only partly there. Many more cannot be read, but we've translated those that can. It's written in a long-forgotten language, so some of the translations are piecemeal or educated guesses. But the journal does speak of ‘The Ring of the Impaler.'”

Stormy nodded. She didn't bother trying to feign surprise. She'd never been a good actress. “Meaning
Vlad
the Impaler, aka Dracula.”

“That's the conclusion we've reached, yes. The timing would have been right, and since it was found in Turkey, and the Turks were at war with the Romanians during Vlad's reign, it makes sense.”

Stormy felt herself shiver. This
was
the ring Vlad had referred to sixteen years ago in the words that had so recently echoed in her head. If there had been any doubt, it was gone now. It was the ring he'd been seeking for more than five centuries. She forced herself to retrieve her coffee, to sip it slowly and not tremble visibly.

“And this journal…it says something about the ring?” she asked.

Melina moved past her to the aged book and opened it to a section marked with a blood red ribbon. “This is the reference,” she said. “If you prefer, you can copy it out and take it to your own translator. But I can assure you, you won't find a more
accurate interpretation than ours. We use only the best linguists for this sort of thing.”

“I believe you,” Stormy said. “But if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to copy it. Or better yet…” She dipped into her backpack, which she'd slung over the back of her chair, and pulled out a state of the art digital camera, tiny and light and packing 8.5 megapixels. “May I?”

Melina nodded, but her face was pinched. Stormy snapped several shots of the book, including close ups of the page to show the text as clearly as possible. Then she put the camera away and turned to Melina. “So are you going to tell me what it says?”

“Of course.” The other woman moved behind the large table that held the book, and confirmed Stormy's suspicion that it was actually a desk when she lifted the purple cloth and opened a drawer. She removed a notebook and an eyeglass case. Then she slid the glasses on—gold framed bifocals in their stereotypical rectangular shape. She opened the notebook and began to read.

“‘At the prince's bidding, we imbued the ring with his bride's essence and created a powerful rite, which we transcribed upon a scroll. These were given to him, along with our instructions. When he finds the woman, he must place the ring upon her
finger and perform the rite we created. At once the essence of the one he lost will return. Her mind, her memories, her soul, will be restored. Certain physical traits—mysteries to us but known to the prince, or so said our divinations—will return, as well. This was perhaps the greatest work of magic I have ever performed. The power of all of us together, the most accomplished mages of our time, was an awe-inspiring experience. And yet my heart remains heavy, for the work we did has a shadow side. The soul of the lost, while a part of the whole, is not the whole. For it to return, it must also displace. It is unnatural, and I fear the repercussions upon the whole, upon the innocent, and upon my own soul for my part in creating what I fear is a dire wrong. We did, however, set a way for the gods to subvert our work. A time limit, in the tried and true method of occultists from time immemorial. When the Red Star of Destiny eclipses Venus, the time of this spell will expire. And all parts of the sleeping soul—both the woman she was and her spiritual descendant—will be set free to begin anew.'”

Melina closed the book and lifted her head. She removed her glasses and folded them with care.

Stormy looked at the other faces in the room and realized this was the first time either of the
other women had heard these words aloud. Brooke looked excited and intrigued, while Lupe seemed puzzled and troubled.

“So the ring has the power to bring someone back from the dead?” Lupe asked.

“Not the body,” Melina told her. “Only the soul.”

“Creating what? A ghost?” Lupe asked.

Stormy set her cup down. “It's a soul-transferal. The dead spirit comes into the body of a living person. It…takes over.” She got a chill when she said it. “Correct?”

Melina nodded. “That's my best interpretation, yes.”

“And by spiritual descendant…some sort of reincarnation?” Stormy asked, though she thought she already knew the answer.

“But wouldn't a reincarnation already
be
the dead woman's soul?” Lupe asked.

Stormy shook her head. “Not necessarily. Some theorize that when we die, our soul returns to meld with a greater one. A higher self. All the experiences are shared, and the higher self spins a new soul from its parts. That's the reincarnation. It's part of the whole, but not the same whole that lived before. A new individual.”

Lupe nodded, as if that made sense to her. Stormy
wondered how, when it had taken her sixteen years to wrap her mind around the notion. It had been explained to her by the hypnotist she'd seen in Salem, and she hadn't believed it at first. Hadn't wanted to believe that the enemy lurking within her was her spiritual ancestor. A part of her.

Now she had a whole new nightmare to wrap her mind around. Elisabeta was Vlad's bride. His wife. His dead wife, and she was already hiding in Stormy's body, waiting for the chance to take over. And the ring he had in all likelihood stolen last night could bring her back to raging life in Stormy's own body. It could give her full control.

“So the question is,” she asked slowly, “what happens to the living person? The rightful owner of that body? Does she just get…booted out when Elisabeta takes over?”

Melina licked her lips. “How did you know her name was Elisabeta?”

Stormy's eyes flicked to hers quickly, then just as quickly away. “Come on. You said you've been observing my company for years. You must know vampires are an area of expertise for me.”

Melina nodded but kept looking at Stormy for a beat too long. Then she sighed. “I don't know what would happen to the rightful owner of the body. But
the rite spoken of in this journal could very well be a recipe for metaphysical murder.”

“Not necessarily, though,” Brooke said. “Some people, myself included, believe that two souls could conceivably co-exist within the same body, providing both agreed to it.”

“It would be like having a split personality,” Stormy said softly. “Constant conflict, fighting for control.” She was speaking, of course, from personal experience. “It could never be over until one of them died.”

“I disagree,” Brooke said. “They could share. Perhaps even…meld, given time. Melina, does the rite say the person the soul resides in has to be a spiritual descendant?”

“No.”

“It's obscene,” Lupe said softly. “A slap in the face of the supernatural order, no matter how it works.”

“Exactly,” Melina said. “A lifetime ends when its time is over. That's the way things are supposed to be. You cannot interfere with that and think there won't be serious repercussions. And now…” She closed her eyes. “Someone has the ring.”

“But what about the rite?” Stormy asked. “Is the actual rite given in the journal?”

“No,” Melina said softly. And as she said it, her eyes met Brooke's very briefly, then slid away again.
“We don't even know if the rite exists anymore. It could easily have disintegrated, as so many pages in this journal have done.”

“Could it be recreated?” Stormy asked.

Melina tipped her head to one side, studying Stormy a little too closely again. “Perhaps. A talented witch or sorcerer might be able to create a spell that would work. They could certainly try, with God only knows what sort of results. And no doubt there are some stupid enough or power hungry enough to want to.” She shook her head in disgust. “Which is why we must get the ring out of circulation. It has to be secured. As long as it exists, there is the risk that an innocent life will be lost or altered beyond repair.”

Stormy agreed. Particularly since the innocent life in question was her own. “What did that last part mean,” she asked. “That part about the Red Star of whatever?”

“We don't know. We have no way of knowing what modern astronomers have named whatever star those old ones were referring to. Or if it was a star at all.” Melina carried the notebook to the desk and put it into a drawer, then locked it. “That's it,” she said. “That's absolutely everything we know. Brooke and Lupe, because they are second in com
mand to me, are the only two here who know all this. And now you know it, as well.” She moved across the room to Stormy. “Do you think you can find the ring and take it from whoever stole it?”

Licking her lips nervously, Stormy nodded. “I think I have to.”

 

It had been so long. Far, far too long.

Elisabeta lived still. He sensed her, alive and aware, deep inside Tempest's consciousness. Waiting for him to rescue her.

And maybe the things he'd overheard while eavesdropping from deep within Tempest's consciousness were things that required him to take action. To see her. To speak to her. Or maybe he was only allowing himself to believe they did, because he couldn't be this close and not get a little closer. Close enough to touch.

The one called Melina—the leader of this little coven—suggested Tempest stay there at the mansion for the night, rather than driving all the way back to the city and her hotel. When Tempest agreed, he sagged in relief, because he couldn't wait much longer. He needed to go to her.