Sunset: Pact Arcanum: Book One (12 page)

“Lorcan Consul Diluthical,”
Nick said with cold arrogance,
“a member of our security team is waiting for you. Identify yourself to the front desk, and they will direct you to him so you may be brought up to my suite.”
He broke contact before Lorcan could answer.

Lorcan smiled, appreciating the gesture of dominance as a reasonable opening move in their negotiations. He made his way to the front desk and was introduced to the bodyguard, who led him upstairs to stand before the Journeymen’s suite. A few minutes later, the door opened, and the guard showed the vampire inside. Nick studied the Nightwalker, who was dressed casually in a dark purple long-sleeved shirt, untucked over a pair of black slacks.

“Come in, Consul.”

Lorcan stepped forward and made a shallow bow. “Prince Nicholas, I greet you on behalf of the Court of Shadows. What is your answer to their proposal?”

Nick’s eyes were hard. “I do not seek to take up my position within the Court of Shadows at this time. However, I accept their request to have you serve as my liaison to the Court, on the condition that you swear allegiance to me as Praetor Luscian for the duration of your stay and agree to defend my interests and the honor of my house as long as you hold that rank.”

Lorcan gave him a small smile. “An inventive solution. I agree to your terms.” He dropped to one knee. “Nicholas Magister Luscian, I swear my honor to your service for the duration of my duties. My life is yours. I am your blade to wield.”

“I accept your honor, to defend as if it were my own.” Nick held out a hand. “Welcome to House Luscian, Praetor.”

Lorcan stood and shook the proffered hand. “I thank you, my Lord. Shall we be seated? We have much to discuss.”

“Not yet. First I should introduce you to your superior.”

“Superior?” Lorcan blinked. “I was told that no other Luscian vampires survived the Burning.”

“They did
not. I’ve had to improvise.” He waved his hands toward the empty room, and a shroud of invisibility dropped away, revealing Scott.

Lorcan’s eyes widened as he felt the shape of Scott’s unshielded power and realized what he was.

“Lorcan Praetor Luscian,” Nick said with a predatory smirk. “I’d like you to meet Scott Phillips, my Consul.”

Lorcan found his voice. “A Sentinel? You consort with a Sentinel?”

Nick smiled, showing his fangs. “He is Consul Luscian, Praetor, and you will report directly to him.”

“My Lord, please. You must be joking.” Lorcan was completely taken aback. “Sentinels have no honor. How can you allow one of them to speak for you?”

Nick growled menacingly and clenched his fists. A black beam of energy sprang from his right hand and became a longsword forged of blackened metal, the blade inscribed with glowing blue runes and surrounded by a thin sheath of azure flames. Lorcan went completely still at the sight of Luscian’s sword in Nick’s hand.

“He is not a common Sentinel, Praetor,” said Nick. “He is the Wind of Water, and he knelt at my feet and said the words, just as you did. His honor is my honor.” He raised the sword so that the point almost rested on Lorcan’s shoulder, the blue flames hissing angrily. His voice was soft and menacing. “Are you questioning my honor?”

“No, my Lord.” Lorcan swallowed, the only sign of his fear at the near touch of the Sword of Nightmares. “I was merely unprepared for his presence. Please forgive my discourtesy to your councilor. It will not happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” The black sword faded away, and Nick unclenched his fist. With his open hand, he indicated the chairs arranged in front of the couch. “By all means, sit. As you said, we have much to discuss.”

Lorcan sat in one of the chairs and the Journeymen on the couch opposite him. Lorcan looked at Scott. “The Wind of Water? Truly?”

The Sentinel nodded.

“That is unexpected. We were unaware of your emergence.”

“Zachariah Consul Daviroquir kindled his Gift when he attacked me in a restaurant in London two weeks ago. I punished him for his presumption. In any case, we need to discuss matters of house security with you.”

Scott spoke first. “If you’re going to be seen with us, we’ll need to arrange a cover identity for you.”

Lorcan smiled, keeping his discomfort at speaking to a Sentinel well hidden. “It has already been arranged.” He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a number of laminated cards on a lanyard. He passed them to Scott, careful to avoid touching him in case his distaste became obvious.

Scott flipped through the plastic-coated cards, all of which carried the name Lorcan Kildare. “These are press credentials.” He raised his eyebrows. “They almost look real.”

“They are real.”

They both looked at him, surprised. Lorcan shrugged. “I work freelance, but my writing serves as a diversion from my house duties on occasion. It also gives me a legitimate reason to be traveling outside my home territory when my duties take me elsewhere in Europe.”

“What’s your home territory?” asked Scott.

“Is that relevant, Consul?”

“You’re here to learn about us. Isn’t it fair to ask about you?”

Lorcan’s eyes flickered to Nick’s, then back to Scott. “House Diluthical has held the territory of Ireland for seven thousand years. I was born in Belfast in 1504. I died in 1525. I have held Consul rank in my House for more than one hundred years following my successful negotiation as Praetor Diluthical of the current treaty between House Diluthical and House Daviroquir, which holds the rest of the United Kingdom. I was chosen for this assignment because of my diplomatic credentials and because my house is not party to any current disputes between the five houses whose territories you’ll pass through on the remaining fourteen days of your European concert tour. There is nothing else about my life or death that need concern you directly, Consul. Do you have any other questions related to the task at hand?”

“No,” said Scott, abashed.

“What exactly do you need to know from us to do your job, Praetor?” Nick asked.

“I will need to know the terms you wish me to set in my negotiations with the other five houses and what you’ll actually settle for.”

“No hunting at our concerts,” said Scott.

“No hunting of our staff or the fans outside our hotels and venues,” said Nick.

“No interference with us, either at our hotels or at the venues and fan events,” said Scott.

“Or at dinner,” Nick said sarcastically.

“That will be difficult to arrange.” Lorcan frowned. “How many of those conditions are negotiable?”

Nick looked him dead in the eye. “None of them.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” said Lorcan, his irritation showing. “Very well, I’ll try to invent some additional outrageous demands that I can negotiate away. Is there anything else?”

“One more thing, Praetor,” Nick said softly. “I am a signatory of the Armistice Declaration of 2021. As long as you are a member of my house, you will abide by the terms set forth in Article One of that document.”

“My Lord, you cannot ask that of me!”

Nick returned Lorcan’s shocked gaze without flinching. “You will take no human life. You will not kill, except in self-defense, defense of another, or in defense of your honor. You will not feed except on what is freely offered. You will not use magic on human beings with hostile intent without their consent.” He drummed his fingertips on the coffee table. “Four simple rules, Praetor. If you can’t show that much restraint for just two weeks, then what good are you to me?”

“My Lord, this is not the Armistice Zone,” Lorcan said heatedly. “We are at war here. I have no willing donors to sustain me.”

“Then find some,” suggested Nick. “Alternately, I can share my supply of bloodwine. It meets the requirements of the treaty.”

Lorcan grew suddenly intrigued. “You are speaking of Tiamat, are you not? I have heard of it.” He considered his options, thinking of ways to turn the situation to his advantage. “Very well, my Lord. If this is your will, I shall abide by it.”

Scott handed back Lorcan’s press credentials, and then reached into his shirt pocket and added another plastic card. “This gives you limited access to our hotel and venues, as long as we are present in those locations. Our security staff will be instructed to bar your entry when we are not there.”

“I have already warded our staff against mental and magical influences,” said Nick. “I will immediately detect any form of tampering. We’ll book you a room on the same floor as ours. But for safety’s sake, since we’ll usually be traveling by day, we think it would be best if you found your own transport from city to city.”

“Last, but most important,” Scott said coldly, “you are not, under any circumstances, to have any contact with the Magister without me being present.”

Nick turned to the Sentinel in obvious surprise.

Lorcan, watching them, his vampire senses fully primed, immediately saw the unmistakable signs of silently shifting emotions. They were conversing telepathically. “Fire and Darkness.”

The Journeymen snapped their attention back to him. “What’s wrong?” asked Nick.

“You’re one of
them
—one of Luscian’s hybrids.” Lorcan stared at Nick in undisguised horror. “The two of you are linked, aren’t you? You’re a dyad.”

“Yes, we are,” Nick answered, fixing him with a sour expression. “Is that a problem, Lorcan?”

“No, my Lord,” he whispered, continuing to stare at Nick, overwhelmed by pity.
He’s linked to a mortal for life. Could there be anything worse?
“If there’s nothing else, I will begin negotiations immediately and report my progress to you tonight after your concert.”

“By all means, Praetor. You are dismissed.”

Lorcan bowed to Nick and felt a window open in the jumper block that surrounded the building. “My Lord.” He nodded at Scott. “Consul.” Then he jumped away, back to his morning refuge. Immediately, he collapsed against the wall and slumped to the floor. He took a deep breath and forgot that Nick was his enemy in a rare moment of sympathy. “God help him.”

August 2034; Paris, France; Two weeks later

Lorcan knocked lightly on the warded door. After a moment, Nick appeared, leaning against the doorway and dressed in a faded blue T-shirt and white sweatpants. He left the ward intact, sealing the threshold of the doorway from entry as he frowned at the Nightwalker. “What do you want, Lorcan?”

Lorcan’s gaze was intent, even across the invisible threads of the ward. “Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No. I need to speak to you alone. If I wait until morning, Scott won’t allow it.” He smiled grimly. “He’s been quite an effective chaperone.”

“That’s his job. Why would I possibly want to speak to you alone?” Nick asked icily.

“Because I can almost guarantee you won’t want him to hear what I have to say.” He took a deep breath. “Nicholas, I swear on my life, on my honor, and on the honor of House Diluthical, that I mean you no harm tonight. Please let me in. It’s important.”

Nick considered Lorcan suspiciously. Then he reached out and laid his hand on the solid wall of air between them. “The way is opened.” The ward dissolved, and he stepped back to allow Lorcan across the threshold.

Lorcan entered and sat in the chair across from the couch. Locking the door and reactivating the ward, Nick then walked back to the couch and sat. He removed the shroud of invisibility over the bottle on the table, picked up his half-full glass of steaming red liquor, and put it to his lips.

“Would you mind sharing?” Lorcan licked his suddenly dry lips.

Nick pushed an empty glass toward him, and Lorcan filled the glass and warmed it. He sat back and took a sip, savoring the bloodwine. “Triple Voice?”

“Yes.” Nick nodded impatiently. “You said you had something to say to me, so go ahead and say it.”

Lorcan took another sip and then placed the glass on the table and laced his fingers together in front of him, considering his words carefully. “Tomorrow you will perform the last concert of your European Tour, and you will then return to Armistice territory. My negotiations on your behalf are already complete, so I will depart tonight as soon as we’re finished here. We will most probably never meet again. But before I leave, there’s something I want to speak to you about privately. Not as Court of Shadows to Armistice, not as Nightwalker to Daywalker, but as one immortal to another.”

“Go ahead.”

“Scott Phillips Consul Luscian.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “What about him?”

“Is he your lover?”

Nick looked like he had been dunked in ice water. “No,” he whispered.

“Do you want him to be?”

Nick seemed unable to form the words to reply.

With all of his vampire senses fully intent, Lorcan watched the emotions chase themselves across Nick’s psyche. He sighed. “I was afraid of that. I noticed how you watch him whenever he isn’t paying attention, the way your scent changes when he touches you. I hoped I was wrong.”

“What business is it of yours?” Nick demanded angrily.

“Nicholas, the love of a mortal is the most terrible, most painful price we pay for what we are,” Lorcan said, his voice aching with honest sadness. “You can never allow it to happen. To even try to let yourself feel such a thing is an unimaginable nightmare.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mortals die, Nick. It’s what they do.” Lorcan’s eyes bored into him. “To attach yourself to them is to watch them grow old and feeble while you remain forever young. You will see their love turn to envy, then resentment, then hatred, as they are forced to confront their own mortality reflected in your eyes. You will lose them all, and the longer you try to hold on to them, the harder it will be to accept when they finally slip away.

“I can’t even begin to envision how terrible it will be for you, linked mind to mind for life with a Sentinel. A human might make the choice to join you in eternity, but not one of them. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t turn him. He’s immune. Eventually, he’ll die, and you’ll be left alone, with only your perfect memory to remind you he was ever there.” He reclaimed his glass and took a long draught. “Trust me when I say it isn’t enough.”