“It’s like putting on another skin,” Naasir had said to him shortly after their first meeting a hundred and twenty-five or so years back. “The skin is not mine and it itches until I take it off.”
Naasir only wore those skins around people he either didn’t like or was yet making up his mind about. The latter could take him an instant or a year. Janvier had never had to deal with the vampire in any skin but his own—he’d met Naasir in a no-name vampire bar in Bolivia. To cut a long story short, they’d raised hell, broken furniture and a few jaws, and come out of it friends who understood the wildness in each other.
“I like you, Cajun.” A flash of gleaming fangs. “Where do you go from here?”
“I have to deliver a ‘will you be my one and only concubine’ proposal from an angel to a vampire.”
“You’re to ask this vampire to be a concubine on behalf of another? Why?”
“Because I’m a stupid couillon who lost a bet, but this Cajun doesn’t go back on his word. So I’ll play matchmaker. I just have to find the son of a bitch in the damn rain forest first; he’s off licking his wounds after a lovers’ quarrel.”
Naasir’s eyes had lit up and Janvier had ended up with a companion on his hunt. They’d located the vampire and Janvier had delivered his message—to Naasir’s silent laughter—then escorted the happy male back out to his contrite angel. It wasn’t the first time the two of them had ended up playing or working together; it was through Naasir that Janvier had first come to see Raphael not simply as an archangel but as a man to whom he’d be proud to give his allegiance.
Now, he stepped up to where the vampire crouched, but instead of looking down at the ribbon of traffic far below, he turned his head in the direction of Guild Academy. “I’ll continue to work with Ash, dig up everything we can on the victim, tug on all possible threads that could lead us to her murderer.”
Dmitri shifted to stand on Naasir’s other side. “I also need you to keep an eye on the vampire community on the ground. With Illium busy running drills, he doesn’t have as much time to move in that arena.”
“Do I need to look out for any specific problems?”
“If you hear anything about a drug called Umber, pass on the information to me immediately.” The vampire gave him a briefing on the drug before adding, “In more general terms, the Made are aware the Tower’s busy with a number of other matters at present.”
Dmitri’s eyes followed a Legion fighter coming in to land on the roof of the high-rise that was being modified for their use. “Repairs, the Legion, the archangelic political situation—they’re sucking manpower and attention. And you know our kind.”
Yes. Vampires were predators, the clawing hunger for blood existing just beneath the surface of their skin. Janvier had learned to control it long ago, as had Dmitri, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Being a vampire wasn’t a cosmetic choice; it affected the cells of the body itself, permanently altering its internal chemistry.
Bloodlust, if allowed free rein, could turn a vampire into a gluttonous killing machine.
15
“I’ve made it a point to be a presence in the vampire community since my return,” Janvier said, understanding Dmitri’s concern. New York—in particular, Manhattan—had a heavy vampire population. An outbreak of bloodlust could paint the city crimson-black, fragile mortal bodies lying in the streets like broken toys. “It was simple enough to slide back into the community, since I knew a number of people from previous visits to the city.”
Dmitri’s lips curved. “The ability to charm your enemies and make friends wherever you go has always been your gift, January.”
Naasir snorted at the literal translation of Janvier’s name. It was an unusual one, given to him by a girl of sixteen who was in love with her baby—a baby born during the first minute of a long-ago January night. The time and date were facts his mother had known only because right before she pushed her son out into the world, she’d heard the sky explode with fireworks as the wealthy mortals and immortals who lived in the nearby settlement celebrated the new year.
That sweet, romantic girl had loved him to the day she died as a tiny, wrinkled woman who’d lived a glorious life.
“My Janvier. My New Year’s gift.” Warm, soft hands on his cheeks, a brilliant smile that hadn’t faded an iota in all the decades of her life. “I am so proud of you.”
Warmed by the precious memory, he smirked at Dmitri. “At least people don’t run screaming when they see me coming.” The other vampire was simply too old to fully conceal the lethal depth of his power.
“Do you think I could jump to the ground from here?” Naasir asked conversationally.
“No,” Dmitri replied. “I’d have to scrape you up with a shovel.”
Naasir frowned, stared down at the distant city street. “Pity.”
Sometimes, even Janvier didn’t know if Naasir was kidding or asking a serious question. “If you don’t need me to handle anything else immediately, I’m going to visit the injured.” He’d gotten into the habit of dropping in, updating the fallen men and women on news of the outside world—the kinds of things that would make them laugh or groan.
“I’ll hit the vampire clubs tonight,” he added, “get a feel for things.” If the computer searches on the tattoo and fingerprints came up empty, the clubs would also be a good starting point when it came to tracking the identity of his and Ash’s victim.
As soon as her name formed in his mind, it was as if the past minutes hadn’t existed. He was back on the snowy street outside the morgue, watching the woman he’d waited two lifetimes to find walk away from him.
Mulling over the strain he’d seen on Janvier’s face before the Cajun left, Dmitri turned to the vampire who remained. Naasir was unique, the only one of his kind in known history. He was also dangerous to himself at times, with as little sense of self-preservation as a four-year-old. “If you crack your skull by falling over,” he pointed out, “you won’t get to have dinner with Elena and Raphael tonight.”
Naasir jerked up his head, eyes shining. “Dinner?”
“Yes, you’ve been invited to the Enclave. Elena would like to welcome you back to the city.”
Naasir crept away from the edge a fraction. “I want to go to dinner,” he said decisively. “Will there be proper meat?”
“Montgomery will ensure you get fed.” He was severely tempted to turn up at the dinner himself, just to see Elena’s reaction to Naasir’s unusual eating habits. “Tell me about Amanat.” The lost city risen to the surface after an eon was home to the Ancient Caliane, Raphael’s mother and a staggering power.
“Twice a week,” Naasir said, “Caliane lowers the shield that protects the city so her people can go outside. They do so in small herds, scared and clinging to one another.” There was no judgment in the words. “It may take months for them to overcome the fear seeded by the loss of one of their own.”
Dmitri wasn’t surprised. Caliane was strong, but the people who’d come with her into her long sleep were gentle, cultured beings with no real capacity to protect themselves. “Lijuan’s territory?”
“I was able to infiltrate it without being detected after Jason gave me the advance data.”
Dmitri had already received Jason’s report, but the spymaster had focused on the politics, as well as on any news of Lijuan’s whereabouts, while Naasir had been directed to pay attention to the populace.
“Her people are in the grip of a stunned kind of shock,” the vampire said, “but there is no despair, not at the level there should be. They are waiting, and erecting shrines—where they kneel and pray for Lijuan’s swift recovery.”