On Midnight Wings

“Does that answer the bullshit question? Anyone? Anyone?”

THE IMAGE THAT MERRI was receiving of Dante in the Cage, black dragon wings folded at his back and arching above his head, suddenly wrinkled like the surface of a wind-kissed pond, then smoothed away into nothingness as Juliet withdrew the feed from Merri’s mind.

Merri’s heart drummed a stuttering cadence against her ribs. Fallen. Not only True Blood, but Fallen. Her racing thoughts hurried back to Damascus and the white stone angels rimming the mysterious cave—where a home had once stood, where a rogue FBI agent and his family had died.

Blue sparks flicker like fireflies over the white stone, skip along the butter-smooth wings. From within the white stone a heart flutters, the sound slowing. Not statues, no. Merri senses power in each stone figure, power that tingles against her gloved fingertips. She remembers tales of Fallen magic, whispers of angelic battles.

Merri couldn’t help but wonder how Dante Baptiste—given what she now knew about him—had managed to avoid sharing their fate, especially since he’d been there too, he and Heather Wallace both.

She also couldn’t help but wonder why Von, that long cool drink of a nomad, had neglected to mention the fact that Dante was Lucien De Noir’s son. Nightbringer. A vision of raven-black wings, their edges sharp as a scythe, flaring above bone-white tombs, flashed behind her closed eyes, leaving her both chilled and uneasy.

An aroma of sweet oranges and almonds washed over Merri’s senses—Galiana’s scent—and then she felt her mere de sang’s soothing, mental touch.

<See, child? What did I tell you?>

<‘I have a suspicion that events beyond the scope of mortals or even vampires might be unfolding,’> Merri quoted. <Do you think Dante’s a part of those events? >

But Galiana ignored her question, asking one of her own instead. <Did you notice the sigil on Dante Baptiste’s chest?>

<Sigil? The weird scar?>

<The weird scar, si.> Amusement buoyed Galiana’s sending, an amusement that vanished as quickly as soap bubbles. <It’s the Morningstar’s mark. Which tells me that our damaged True Blood plays a very big part in what is to come among the Elohim>—finally answering Merri’s question—<I don’t know what or how or why. Not yet. But whatever it is, every living being in the mortal world will be touched by it as well.>

<So what now?> Merri sent. <Do I still try to assess how damaged he is? With the Fallen involved, does it even matter anymore? I don’t think they’re going to let us waltz away with him, no matter what I learn. I know his father certainly won’t—>

<Dante’s mother was vampire,> Galiana interrupted. <He belongs to us, child, and we need him. The Bloodline needs him. Without him . . . We’ll find a way to negotiate with the Fallen, so stay on course. Have you met him yet?>

<Not yet,> Merri admitted. For reasons she didn’t fully understand, she decided to leave it at that and save the details—Dante’s disappearance and the frantic search to find him—for another time. <But I’ll let you know when I do.>

<This announcement has the Conseil eager to get him somewhere safe>—a wry note twisted through Galiana’s sending—<meaning, away from the Cercle de Druide and that damned Renata Cortini in particular.>

<Meaning, the Conseil’s collective panties are in a twist.>

Galiana’s amusement poured like sunshine through Merri’s mind, warm and full of golden light. <That they are. Keep safe, Merri-girl.>

<You too, Galiana.>

As her mere de sang’s presence withdrew from her mind, Merri became aware of the strained silence surrounding her. She opened her eyes and looked up into eyes as cold and hard as emeralds in a glacier. It hit her then and she uttered a soft groan of disbelief. The announcement, the scene at the club, Dante in the Cage, herself so caught up, so damned rapt. . . .

“You dropped your shields, darlin’,” Von said in a low, tight voice. “I think we need to talk.”

18 CONSEQUENCES

HE’D FUCKED UP. NO two ways about it.

Von took another long pull from the bottle of Jack. The bourbon burned smooth all the way down, but did nothing to ease the fury and self-disgust knotting up his guts.

When he’d scanned Merri’s mind back at the house, he’d looked for SB conspiracy plots dancing like sugar plums inside her pretty head and when he hadn’t found any, he’d thought there hadn’t been a need to look deeper.

He’d thought wrong.

The second scan he’d just done verified everything he’d overheard between Merri and her mere de sang: the Conseil du Sang planned to out-maneuver, outwit, and outflank both the Fallen and the Cercle de Druide and lay claim to Dante first.

Motherfuckers. Like Dante was a winning lottery ticket.

And what exactly had Merri’s mere de sang meant when she’d told Merri that the Bloodline needed Dante? A dark suspicion snaked through Von’s mind, one he didn’t care to contemplate at the moment.

Ain’t got time for this shit. Need to be heading for the airport.

Merri still sat on the opposite side of the counter, a tumbler of brandy in one dark hand. Thibodaux sat beside her, hooded eyes watchful.

“Look,” Merri said, “I haven’t told anyone that Dante’s missing or incommunicado. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Von shook his head. “Nope. No brownie points for biding your time.”

“I wasn’t biding. . . . Jesus, I told you, I was sent on a fact-finding mission—”

“Spying. I’d call it spying,” Von interrupted, resting the rapidly emptying bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the bar. “And, yeah. I know. To find out how much Dante’s been messed up by Bad Seed so that the fucking Conseil can decide Dante’s future for him. Sound about right?”

“No, llygad, it doesn’t sound about right. Just because that’s why I was sent, doesn’t mean that’s why I’m here.”

Placing his hands on the counter, Von leaned in, bringing his face closer to Merri’s. “All right. I’m game, darlin’. Entertain me. Why you here, then?”

With a soft, frustrated sigh, Merri shook a cigarette from her pack of Djarum Black, then fired it up with a slim, silver lighter. The aroma of clove-spice tobacco crackled into the reeking air. “It sounds like you’ve already got your mind made up. So forget it.”

“Oh no. You don’t get off the hook that easy. Spill, woman. Why you here?”

Merri lifted her chin. “To get to know Dante Baptiste. To find out what he wants. And to give back to him what was stolen—his past.”

“Amen to that,” Thibodaux said. “But he shouldn’t watch that flash drive alone, y’hear?” He lifted his gaze to Von’s, expression grim. Shadows lurked beneath the surface of his blue eyes. “And not in one sitting. Hell, maybe he shouldn’t even watch it at all.”

“Maybe,” Von agreed. “But that’s for Dante to decide.” He slid the bottle of Jack across the counter to Thibodaux. The former SB agent flashed him a grateful smile. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he took a long, healthy