When Passion Lies: A Shadow Keepers Novel (3 page)

“So we have a problem on the para-daemon front.” Tiberius was speaking to the human who sat in his office, but he wasn’t looking at the man. Instead, he was gazing out his window at the traffic on Piccadilly Circus. An apt metaphor for humanity, he thought. No matter how much they rushed, no matter how hard they worked, the end came just the same. For most, anyway. He’d been human once, too. But that was a long time ago.

The human cleared his throat. “If by problem you mean there’s no way on God’s green earth that Drescher Bovil is giving you the time of day, much less his vote for Alliance chairman, then yes, sir, you have a problem.”

Tiberius pressed his lips together, fighting the impulse to smile before he turned around. He admired humans as a group—their art, their literature, their science. As if in each creation they were thumbing their collective noses at death and grasping for some elusive brand of immortality. There was a strength in humanity that he admired—that he remembered even after more than two thousand years.

Yes, as a group, humans were most remarkable. Individually, though, he had to admit that many humans irritated him.

Thankfully, the one seated in his office had proved an exception.

As far as he knew, Severin Tucker had produced no art or literature that would resonate past his lifetime. He’d made no impassioned speech, had fought bravely in no wars.

But unlike other humans Tiberius had encountered since the arrival of the industrial age, Tucker didn’t immediately bend over and kiss Tiberius’s ass, agreeing with his every word and cowering in fear if he so much as yawned.

It was a welcome change.

That, however, wasn’t a fact he intended to share, and when Tiberius turned to face Tucker, the human saw only Tiberius’s practiced calm. The facade of a ruler, the poise of an ancient. Tucker saw a leader, not a friend; Tiberius made sure of that. “If there’s a problem, we need to deal with it. And as the Alliance members will vote on the new chairman in exactly ten days, we need to deal with it soon.”

“We?” Tucker asked. He was sprawled in a chair, his legs extended in front of him, an electronic notepad glowing in his hand. “Not going there, sir. When I took this assignment, we talked about the rules. Information only. No pushing for change. I’m willing to poke around in their heads and make them tell me what they’d normally keep secret, but I’m not going to actually change what they’re thinking. I thought we were clear.”

Tiberius studied the man’s face. “You would defy my direct order?”

Tucker pushed himself up in the chair, straightening his relaxed posture. His throat moved as he swallowed, but to his credit no fear showed on his face. “Yeah. About that, yeah, I would.”

“Good.”

“Oh.” Tucker’s brow furrowed. “Well, all right, then.”

“Now tell me what else you’ve learned. Is Bovil going to make a claim for the chairmanship himself?”

“Afraid not. He’s throwing his weight behind Lihter.” Tucker shrugged. “You already know that Lihter’s not susceptible to my particular talent,” Tucker added, referring to Faro Lihter, the new Therian representative to the Alliance. The Therians included all shape-shifters, but their leader tended to be a werewolf, and the newest representative was a particularly unpleasant one who had easily wrested the alpha position away from the wounded previous leader, Gunnolf.

Once, Tiberius would have bemoaned Gunnolf’s fall from power, not to mention the horrific injury that had caused it. There’d been a time when they’d worked together, Tiberius even managing to forget the beast’s weren nature and overcome his inherent distrust of the species.

But now …

Now he held not even an ounce of charity for the crippled weren. The beast with whom Caris now shared a bed.

Caris
.

The pen he’d been holding snapped in his hand, and he forced her from his thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to think of the choice he’d made or the love he’d lost.

“You’re right, of course,” Tiberius said. “Lihter will undoubtedly challenge me.”

“Right. Absolutely. But you survived Sergius’s rampage. What started out as a bloodbath turned into political gold for you.”

It was a cavalier way to discuss the political ramifications of Gunnolf’s injury and the horrific deaths of the
previous para-daemon and jinn Alliance representatives, but the bottom line was that Tucker was right. Tiberius had remained standing after the slaughter, and that gave him the appearance of strength and stability, useful assets for a leader. Assets he intended to exploit.

His craving for power had pulsed through him since the day he’d been yanked from his mother’s arms and sent to mine the quarries. And that ambition had been burned even deeper when he’d been pulled into the ring and made to fight his friends—to kill them in order to ensure his own survival.

He’d been human then, but his ambition hadn’t faded with the change. If anything, it had grown stronger. Before, he’d been merely a man, and a weak one at that. Now he was immortal. He had strength and time and patience. As a human, he would have needed several lifetimes to climb up from the muck into which he’d been thrust.

As an immortal, he had all the time he needed.

He was close now. So close he could count the remaining obstacles on one hand. And one of them was named Drescher Bovil. That problem would have to be handled, quickly and with little fanfare. But not, as Tucker had pointed out, by the human.

The intercom on his desk buzzed, mercifully interrupting his thoughts. “Lucius Dragos is here, sir,” Mrs. Todd, his secretary, announced.

Tiberius nodded to Tucker that they were done, then told Mrs. Todd to let him in. The two men—one vampire, one human—nodded to each other as they passed in the doorway. Neither smiled.

“He’s Ryan Doyle’s lapdog,” Luke said, the words coming out before the door had shut entirely behind
Tucker. Undoubtedly, Tucker would repeat that assessment to Doyle, a para-daemon with whom Luke had repeated run-ins. Undoubtedly, that’s what Luke wanted him to do.

“Until I cut him loose,” Tiberius said, “Tucker is
my
lapdog. So far he’s proven to be both skilled and loyal.”

“He’s been useful?”

“He’s been quite effective in areas where we cannot,” Tiberius said. As vampires, Luke and Tiberius had the ability to compel the human mind. But they held no such sway over other shadow creatures.

“I’m sure he has been,” Luke said as Tiberius watched his face. To anyone other than Tiberius it would have revealed nothing. But Tiberius had brought Luke through the Holding, the ritual to control the daemon that lived in all vampires. He’d trained him. Hell, he’d tamed him. And he relied daily on both Luke’s strength and his integrity.

“You don’t approve,” Tiberius said.

“No.”

“Does it matter so much? Cheating wraiths and jinns and para-daemons? Ryan Doyle is a para-daemon. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t mess with his mind any chance you got.”

“Doyle is an ass,” Luke said. “And he’s not the issue. The Alliance serves a purpose, Tiberius, and it has served it well since the aftermath of the Great Schism,” he added, referring to the dark period in history after shadowers had brought about the fall of that great human civilization Rome. History called them barbarians, but it had been marauding, warring shadowers who had ushered in the Dark Ages as they’d fought among themselves, vampire against weren, and all the others falling
in line, raising their swords, bathing in blood. It took many years before the Alliance was restored.

“If the Alliance is to remain on its course,” Luke continued, “the unity it provides must be true, not the result of manipulation.”

“You think I don’t agree.” Tiberius allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

A hint of relief flickered in Luke’s eyes. “You’re using Tucker for intelligence,” he said. “Not manipulation.”

“Tucker is my eyes and ears,” Tiberius confirmed. “He has not and will not manipulate anyone to act contrary to themselves.” He picked a crystal decanter off the credenza and poured two glasses of scotch. “I’m not interested in manipulating free will. But I have no problem with him suggesting that they open their mouths and reveal their allegiances, their weaknesses, their concerns.” He passed a glass to Luke. “Does that violate your code?”

“No.” The answer was simple and direct, and held a world of relief.

“When one aspires to live within the bubble that is politics, one must accept the value of espionage. Eavesdropping is a lever. I’m using Tucker to help me move the world.”

“And what have you learned?”

“I’m well positioned,” Tiberius said. “But not well enough.”

Luke nodded, and Tiberius knew that his friend understood. The shadow world was one of hierarchies, ruled by power and longevity and, yes, ruthlessness. The fae community might have power, but they tended to keep to themselves, as did the earthens—trolls and dragons
and similiar creatures that were unable to move easily within the human world. As a result, political power fell most directly on the jinns, the para-daemons, the vampires, and the Therians. Tiberius needed to ensure that as many of those influential creatures were behind him as possible.

“The jinn are with me,” Tiberius continued. “But Drescher Bovil presents a problem.”

“The para-daemon. He seeks the chairmanship?”

“Worse. He’s throwing his support to Lihter.”

“That is worse,” Luke agreed. “Ten days is a long time. He could persuade the others to shift their loyalty. Word on the street is Lihter’s going to do whatever he can to scrape his way to the top of the food chain.”

“Yes. It’s a problem that must be dealt with.” He turned away from Luke and moved to stand in front of the Monet he’d acquired at the turn of the twentieth century. He’d met the artist, admired his ability to look at the world and see each element so clearly and then ensure that all the pieces worked together to create one stunning, organic whole. It was a skill that served as well in politics and battle as it did in art, and one that Tiberius strived to emulate.

The painting hung over a squat oak bookcase, the ancient wood polished and oiled until it was as smooth as glass. Volumes from Kant, Descartes, Aristotle, and others filled the shelves. On top, lying open, was a copy of Sun Tzu’s
The Art of War
.

Tiberius lay his hand gently upon the page. “A victorious warrior wins first, before engaging in war.”

“There’s no guarantee Bovil’s replacement will throw his weight toward you,” Luke said, his comment revealing
that he understood the direction of Tiberius’s thoughts.

“Nothing is ever certain,” Tiberius agreed. “But still we try to stack the odds in our favor.”

“And Lihter?”

“I’d love to take the bastard out,” Tiberius admitted. “But it’s not feasible.”

“Agreed,” Luke said. “You’d be the first suspect in any attempt on Lihter’s life. And that’s a complication we don’t need. Not with the election so close.” Luke stood, his expression harsh. “Do you wish me to handle the matter?”

“No.” Tiberius crossed to his desk, pressed the intercom, and instructed Mrs. Todd to contact Bael Slater, another vampire among the
kyne
.

“Mrs. Todd?” Luke asked after she clicked off. “What happened to Aretha?”

“We had a misunderstanding,” Tiberius said. “She thought that because I welcomed her into my bed, I also welcomed her into my life.”

He had blamed himself for the young vampire’s misinterpretation of the situation. He’d sought companionship and she’d provided it. When he declined a repeat performance the next evening, she was upset. That being the polite term for trashing a Picasso and threatening to stake him with the edge of the frame.

He’d decided to avoid future misunderstandings by removing temptation. Mrs. Todd had been turned by her son at the age of eighty-seven. She was efficient, prompt, and not in the least bit attractive to him. Or attracted to him, for that matter.

It was the perfect scenario.

“Slater’s going to take care of the para-daemon issue,”
Luke said, returning to the business at hand. “But I can’t believe you summoned me simply as a sounding board.”

“There’s something I need you to take care of.”

“Whatever you need.”

“Since the weren continue to remain my primary weakness, I need to know what my enemy is up to, before and after the chairmanship is determined.”

“You want to know what’s going on in Lihter’s head?”

“Exactly.”

“Tucker?”

“Unfortunately, no. I hoped that Tucker would be able to help, but Lihter isn’t susceptible to the human’s particular skill. We tried. We failed.”

“And that leaves you with a lack of intelligence about what’s going on in the weren camp.”

“Maybe not. There’s a man. A werewolf. He’s already provided me with enough tidbits of information to prove that he has the potential to be an extremely valuable resource.”

“You want me to meet with him,” Luke said. “Simple enough. When and where?”

“Zermatt,” Tiberius said, referring to the cozy Swiss town that by tradition was neutral territory in both the human and shadow worlds. “Tonight. And you won’t be going alone. You’ll be accompanying me.”

As expected, Luke looked surprised. “It’s been a few hundred years since you felt the need to supervise my missions.”

“There are circumstances. He says that he has valuable information about Lihter, and he’s agreed to be an ongoing source. But in exchange for a favor.”

Luke’s brow lifted. “An informant with a knack for
negotiating. Sounds like you’re going to have your hands full.”

“His daughter’s been kidnapped. He has reason to believe Lihter took her.”

“Why would Lihter want her?”

“He says he doesn’t know. Obviously I don’t believe him, but until we meet in person, until he trusts that I’ll get her back, I doubt he’ll tell me.”

“So who is he?”

“His name’s Cyrus Reinholt. For years, he lived in Paris. He had his own home, but with unencumbered access to the château,” Tiberius added, referring to the ancient, sprawling mansion that the werens used as their central location.

“Past tense?”