The demon of fate settled himself deeper in his chair, elbows resting on the armrests and fingers steepled before him. He was regaining his strength already—feeding, I knew, from the turning of the universe around us. Presumably, the confluence of so many momentous events in such a short time would be a banquet for a being such as him.
Nigellus drew a deep breath, and spoke.
“Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a war. And wherever there is war, there will also be those who consider winning to be worth any price.”
SEVENTEEN
The City of Amiens, Northern France, 1798 A.D.
EVEN TO A BEING with Nigellus’ talent for divination, the human city of Amiens seemed an unlikely venue for history’s turning. With its smoky lamplights and gutters overflowing with filth, it was not even truly a hub for the current proxy war raging on Earth—it merely happened to be the current location of a particular individual Nigellus desperately needed to find.
Of course, the individual in question might, in fact, become the hub of a much wider war in the future... if Nigellus was successful in locating him before it was too late.
The towering, four-story facade of Amiens’ cathedral dwarfed the quaint cottages and shops surrounding him. The structure irritated Nigellus. It was one of countless similar ones that had sprung up on the continent over the past few centuries, in response to the sly propaganda war against the demons being waged on Earth by the Fae. But the cathedral was not his destination tonight.
Flickering firelight and the buzz of spirited conversation emerged from a tumbledown tavern located somewhat off the main thoroughfare. Nigellus strode in without hesitation, ignoring various suspicious looks from the patrons. His eyes scanned the interior, effortlessly cataloguing the swirling patterns of human interaction. It took only moments to hone in on a dark-haired presence lounging in the shadows, lurking at the edge of a table full of impassioned humans debating strategy and politics.
No doubt the debaters would have been quite alarmed to discover that they were sharing a table with a creature of the night, possessed of an unbeating heart, mesmeric eyes, and an unquenchable thirst for blood. As it was, they were probably too busy wincing at the appalling English accent that still tainted the vampire’s French, even after more than two decades spent stationed here in the Somme.
Ransley Thorpe looked up sharply, having sensed Nigellus’ presence mere moments after Nigellus sensed his. He carefully set down the flagon of sour-smelling wine he’d been holding for show, a look of wariness crossing his sharply drawn features at the demon’s unexpected appearance. Nigellus jerked his chin toward the tavern’s back entrance, indicating that they should speak away from curious eyes and ears.
To his credit, the vampire didn’t hesitate before turning to the man and woman sitting next to him. He spoke a few quick words to excuse himself, and a moment later, he was at Nigellus’ side. Wordlessly, the two of them made their way to the door and the dark alley beyond.
Nigellus gave Ransley a brief onceover. As befitted the role he was currently playing, the vampire was dressed in the current local fashion of waistcoat and breeches, with a long, slim-fitting overcoat, boots for riding, and a messily tied cravat. All of it was made from plain fabrics and showed the wear of hard use; none of it was ostentatious. As most successful vampires tended to be, he was a predator dressed up in lamb’s wool—a dangerous, razor-sharp blade wrapped in softest velvet.
And after tonight, he would be alone in the world.
Unaccustomed anger churned in Nigellus’ chest as he contemplated what was to come. It was a foolish reaction, particularly for someone who drew power directly from such confluences. Sentimental. War was war, and if anything, the Fae’s latest gambit should engender grudging admiration from him. Not this sense of... regret.
Ransley turned to face him as the tavern door clattered shut, cutting them off from the life and light inside. His incisive blue gaze flickered over Nigellus’ expression, missing nothing.
“Well, Nigellus. This is certainly unexpected,” he said mildly. “I fear I’ll have to withhold judgment on whether it qualifies as an unexpected pleasure until after you’ve explained what’s going on.”
There wouldn’t be any pleasure involved tonight. Not for either of them.
“No time for that, I fear,” Nigellus said grimly. “Come with me. There is an urgent matter that must be dealt with.”
Ransley frowned in surprise as Nigellus gripped his upper arm and jerked them both into the space between physical dimensions, pulling them across a vast, burning expanse of saltwater despite the drain such travel placed on his reservoir of power.
When they slipped back into reality, Ransley yanked his arm free rather abruptly, wincing in the unexpectedly bright sunlight filtering through the oak trees surrounding them. He looked around, taking in the complete lack of civilization and the radically different time of day.
“An urgent matter, you say?” His gaze fell on Nigellus again, a dangerous inner glow kindling behind his eyes. “Perhaps you’d better start talking. There were several ‘urgent matters’ underway back in France, as well. My unexpected absence could pose a problem for our allies.” He frowned. “And where in god’s name are we, anyway? It’s blistering out here.”
The area around them had no name, except among the handful of natives from the Nisenan tribe, who called it, simply, ‘home.’ But at the moment, the land’s designation—or lack thereof—was far from the point.
“The Council has received new intelligence. The Fae have perfected a magical weapon never seen before,” Nigellus said, without preamble. “If it works as intended, it will destroy every vampire in the human realm. They intend to deploy it imminently, and there has been no time to implement any defense against it.”
He watched as Ransley’s expression cycled through several emotions, from ‘is this a joke’ to ‘that’s not possible’
