Immortal War

“Cheng Li,” Lola said. “Yes, I suppose…”

Nathalie spoke again, more forcefully. “Captain, even if the card does suggest Hunter may be in danger, we let the cards reveal their story to us as a warning. We can take steps to protect him.”

“Yes.” Lola wiped her eyes dry. “Yes, dear, of course you are quite right.” She hugged Hunter more closely to her. “Nothing must happen to him. I will keep him with me at all times.”

“Even in battle?” Holly asked. “Isn’t that putting him straight into the line of danger?”

“We can take turns looking after him,” Nathalie suggested. “A twenty-four-hour rotation.”

“What about baby Evil?” asked Holly. “Shouldn’t we protect him, too?”

“The card was the Hunter,” Lola said. “He’s the one in danger.”

“Should you turn another card?” Holly inquired. “Just to check?”

Lola shook her head emphatically. “No more cards.”

“We agreed at the outset,” Nathalie said. “We were playing sevens. The cards made a pact with us to reveal their story in seven scenes. And so they did.”

Holly nodded, her eyes turning once more to Lola’s sweet little boy. It was unthinkable that he might be in any danger. This game had been fun at the start, but it had taken a rather nasty direction. The captain and Nathalie seemed utterly confident that the cards spelled victory for the Vampirates and death for Grace and Connor. But hadn’t they also placed Olivier and Stukeley in the danger zone? Maybe even Johnny, too. Although the others had seemed to believe the reading, Holly was less convinced. It seemed to her that there were many possible ways to interpret the macabre cards. The whole game had left her with an increasing sense of unease about what lay ahead. But, she reflected—as Nathalie cleared away the cards—she was only a beginner. And, based on this experience, this was not a game she would want to play again anytime soon.

35

THE LAST FEAST NIGHT

Not for the first time, Grace experienced frustration that there was no mirror in Lorcan’s cabin. Perhaps there was still time to return to her own room and change her dress. She had made as much effort as she could muster out of respect for the traditions of Feast Night. Nonetheless, she wasn’t convinced that, had Darcy been here, she’d have been allowed to step out of the cabin looking like this. She had liberated her hair from its utility ponytail but it still looked rather wild. She had run out of time trying to tame it into submission. Her dress was plain navy blue—a good cut and color but, she had no doubt, too simple for her friend’s tastes. She imagined Darcy shaking her head and giving her a few stern words about how standards must not slip, even in the midst of war. The only jewelry Grace was wearing was Lorcan’s ring. In this respect, at least, she was confident that she had done the right thing. Nothing could, nor should, compete with the beautiful diamond.

Grace’s thoughts of Darcy turned to wondering about how things were going at Sanctuary. Seeing the sleeve of Lorcan’s uniform poking out from his open wardrobe door, Grace stepped forward. She felt another flash of guilt at her hasty departure from Sanctuary. She had yet to make an astral journey to Mosh Zu to explain her actions. Her excuse was that she didn’t want to disturb him at this crucial time. Well, that was part of it, she thought, as she pushed Lorcan’s uniform back inside the wardrobe and turned the key. She reflected on the extent of her journey; when she had first arrived on The Nocturne, it was Lorcan who had been the one to lock her in her cabin. Now she was the one with the key, putting away her boyfriend’s clothes.

Now Lorcan stepped out of his washroom, smelling of his light woodsy cologne, and walked over to her. He brought his arms about her waist and kissed her neck.

“You look gorgeous,” he said. “In case you were wondering.”

She twisted around in his embrace and caught full sight of him. It was something of a shock to see him out of his serge uniform and back in the more formal attire of Feast Night.

“So do you,” she said as his lips met hers. As they kissed, her eyes closed. When she opened them again, she was overwhelmed—as she invariably was—by his beauty.

“I guess we should get going,” Lorcan said. She could hear the reluctance in his voice and sensed that, like her, he’d be far happier remaining here with her in his cabin.

“Yes,” Grace said. “If you still think it’s the right thing to do.”

There was a flash of weariness in Lorcan’s eyes. “I’m afraid I do,” he said. “We must at least try to talk to him.”

Grace reached out for his hand and squeezed it tightly in her own. They set off along the corridor, walking in the direction counter to the other Nocturnals, who were making their way down through the ship to the large dining room on the lowest deck. Some of the Nocturnals glanced curiously at Grace and Lorcan as the couple moved against the flow. Others were too preoccupied by their own concerns. Grace gazed at the stream of familiar faces. Despite the various cosmetics employed in an attempt to disguise their true state, the Nocturnals looked as frail as they always did at the outset of the Feast. It was, after all, when they were most depleted in blood and therefore at their weakest.

As the rest of the crew continued moving down the ship, Grace and Lorcan reached their destination—the captain’s cabin. The door was ajar. Either Obsidian Darke was about to emerge or he had anticipated their arrival.

“Captain?” Lorcan said tentatively.

There was no answer.

Grace realized with alarm that there was a third possibility: The captain’s cabin had been breached. She turned to Lorcan in alarm. He squeezed her hand and called more loudly. “Captain!”

Still no answer. Grace felt her heart hammering, wondering what might be waiting for them inside the captain’s cabin. She had a deep sense of foreboding about this night, and with every step she took—with every beat of the music—that sense of foreboding only grew more intense.

“Come on,” Lorcan said to her, his voice deep and calm as he drew his hand free and pushed open the door to Obsidian Darke’s cabin. Her heart still beating wildly, Grace followed him inside.

The first section of the cabin—containing the captain’s polished wooden table and chairs and the fireplace— was deserted. In the center of the table was an oil lamp, illuminating a number of charts. It was a sight that Grace had glimpsed before, many times. It took her back to the very first time she had dared to enter the captain’s cabin.

Lorcan turned to Grace curiously, asking softly, “Where is he?”

Grace thought she knew. Ahead of them lay a pair of thick curtains. Grace moved toward them and parted the material, beckoning to Lorcan to follow. As she had expected, Obsidian Darke was standing on the balcony outside, his hands resting on the ship’s vast wooden steering wheel. This was where she had first seen him, almost a year ago now. Then he’d been clad in a mask, cape, and gloves and had cautioned her “not to be alarmed by my appearance.” Now it was his human face that turned to meet them.

“I’ve been expecting you,” he said. There was something in the way he said it that confirmed and intensified Grace’s ominous feelings about the night.

“We need to talk to you,” Lorcan said.

“I know what you want to say,” Obsidian answered. “But it’s out of the question.”

Lorcan hesitated. “I know how powerful you are, Captain, so it doesn’t surprise me if you have read my mind, but I’m still going to voice the words.”

Grace looked from one to the other, willing Lorcan to draw upon all his remaining strength. Looking at him now, he seemed weary to her. She couldn’t be sure if this was the outcome of a war of attrition with Obsidian Darke over the best way to steer their forces or simply his own urgent need to take blood from his donor, Oskar.