“Are you going to question him?” Donovan asked.
She looked startled. “I…yes. I suppose I am. I didn’t think about it, but even if he doesn’t remember what happened, there might be imprints of some of it that I could read. I was in such a hurry to get over here and tell you about the missing crystals that I wasn’t thorough.”
“Let me know what you find,” he said. “I’ll keep thinking about it, too. There’s still something not quite right about the whole situation; if it occurs to me, I’ll contact you. I can send Cleo.”
“Or your new buddy,” she laughed, tossing her head and grinning up to where Asmodeus sat, glaring smugly down at Cleo.
“Buddy,” he said, flapping his wings and nearly toppling from the mantle.
“Thanks for reminding me,” he muttered. “I’ll have to find a way to make a truce between these two, or I’ll come back to find the building reduced to a pile of rubble.”
Amethyst laughed, and turned toward the door. Donovan walked her to the hall, leaned in, and gave her a quick kiss.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get through this, and when we do, we’ll have a reason to celebrate.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said, ducking into the elevator.
As the door slid shut behind her, he stepped back into his apartment. There wasn’t much time. He had to get a message into Windham’s hand so the collector could pass on the intention to fill the order for the bone marrow dust. He also had to gather the materials he’d need, do what he could to map his way through the graves, and get a report out to Johndrow. The old vampire would be worried sick, and after the first encounter with the hotheaded young Vein and his cronies, Donovan was in no mood for further interruptions.
When he was ready, he glanced over at Cleo, who stood poised on his desk. She’d been like that, watching every movement Asmodeus made, waiting for him to make the mistake of flying too low.
“You have to let it go,” Donovan said.
Cleo ignored him.
He sighed. Stepping forward, he drew the cat into his arms. She squirmed, but not like she’d done when he caught her earlier. He cleared his mind of thought, pressed his hand to her forehead, and thought about the cathedral. He relived the image of Cornwell’s dried, husk of a body crumbling to dust around the toe of his boot, his escape through the rear of the church, and the subsequent attack, where Asmodeus had come to his aid. Cleo grew very stiff in his grasp, but he held her until the images subsided, and when he placed her gently back on top of the desk, she had calmed.
From his perch, as if on cue, Asmodeus croaked “Cleo.”
The cat started to wash her face, and Donovan breathed easier. At least it seemed both animals might live to see his return. He double checked the items in his bag, folded the note he’d prepared into his inside jacket pocket and turned for the door. He glanced longingly at his bedroom, then stepped into the hall, and closed the door behind him with a snap.
THIRTEEN
Johndrow sat and watched as Vein paced the room. There was nothing left to be said about the fiasco at Club Chaos, but there were still things to be settled between the two of them. For all his anger, Johndrow understood Vein’s anguish. Vanessa had brought the young one to the blood, after all. They were tied together in ways that Vanessa and Johndrow would never be. Johndrow and Vanessa were blood-bonded, but that bond had been a choice, something cultivated over many years of shared intimacy. What Vein felt was primal, like the protective instinct of a young man toward his mother.
“There has to be something we can do,” Vein said. He spun to face Johndrow and dropped his palms flat on the desk between them, meeting the elder’s eyes. “We can’t just sit back and hope the magic man pulls her through this.”
“What would you have us do?” Johndrow asked, keeping his voice neutral. “We don’t know where she is, and we don’t know who her captor is. Even if we managed to locate her, we don’t know what we’d be facing; so how would we prepare? We must wait.”
“I can find her,” Vein said. It wasn’t a boast; Johndrow saw this in the young one’s eyes. “I feel her. The bond is weak, but it’s there. I could follow it. You know I could, you’ve done so yourself, in other places, and other times. I know the stories as well as any.”
Johndrow nodded. It was true. He’d spent an entire winter tracking the one who’d made him, but that was a different matter altogether from this. That had been a journey fueled by hatred, and vengeance, and there had been only one end possible. That bond had itched at Johndrow’s thoughts and clawed at his mind. That other’s eyes had mocked him and the dry, lilting voice behind that gaze called out to him in tones that broke like brittle crystals.
“I had no choice,” Johndrow said. “When I chose to walk that road, I walked it alone, and I knew that it was likely I would never return. Vanessa brought you to us, but you came willingly enough. I was taken, toyed with, and cast aside. That is what I thought about each night, when I woke to the darkness, and that is what I thought about when I fed. There was no time for pleasure, and no room for forgiveness. This is different.”
“It is not.” Vein said flatly. “You are right in saying that what she gave me is a gift that I cherish, but how does that weaken the bond? I know she’s held against her will. I know that she’s great danger, and that the bond could be severed permanently. As much as you loathed the tie that bound you to the one you killed, I cherish mine. I have to do something.”
“Ah, but there is a difference,” Johndrow said, rising slowly. 'There are two differences, in fact, distinct and important. The first is that, when I tracked and killed the one who made me, there was no council in place to stop me, or to help me. I was on my own, and I was going mad. You, on the other hand, are not alone. You have those you call friends, and you have the council.”
“What is the second difference?” Vein asked.
“DeChance,” Johndrow said, stepping around the desk to stand beside the younger vampire. “You have DeChance on your side. I know you don’t understand it — that you probably don’t believe it — but that one is strong, and he is smart. He can go places we cannot, and he can do things for us that no one else might accomplish. He has a personal stake in this, as well, so there is no fear of treachery.”
“As long as the blood in his veins flows hot and red, and it is his own, he cannot be trusted,” Vein said. “You yourself taught me that rule, and I have never forgotten it. He may help us for the money. He may even help us out of friendship. It changes nothing. He is what he is, and we are…something altogether different. There is no way he can change the instinct that makes his kind fear our kind, and with that fragile bond in the center of your bargain, I can’t trust her to him. I want to, believe me. I want to believe she will be here with us any moment, asking for a glass of your precious brandy and wrapping around you like a cat in heat. I don’t believe it, though, and that’s why I have to do something — anything — other than sitting here and waiting.”
“The Council will not sanction any rash action,” Johndrow said softly. “I want you to understand that. I know you believe you are doing the right thing, but your attack on DeChance might have cost Vanessa her life, if it had been less ill-conceived. Don’t believe he’ll be unprepared a second time.”
“I have no further interest in the magic man,” Vein said, glancing away toward the dark, obsidian surface of Johndrow’s window shield. Beyond it the afternoon shadows lengthened and stretched out dark fingers to clasp in the center and banish the light of day.
“But you will go?” Johndrow asked softly.
Vein nodded.
“I have to go.”
“If you find her,” Johndrow said, “tell DeChance where she is. Don’t try to get in alone. Don’t try to do it by yourself. I know you want to, but that’s your pride speaking, and pride speaks only for fools. Don’t let thoughts of revenge, or heroism, cloud your judgment. Whoever took Vanessa is no fool, and he will know you are coming — you or someone like you. He will be aware of the blood bond, and he will use it to his advantage.”
Vein turned to the door with a shrug. “If he has blood, I will make it mine. You can count on that.”
He stepped through the door and pulled it closed behind him. Johndrow stood in silence and watched him go. When he was sure Vein was out of sight, and hearing, he whispered.
