A lot of ifs. Still, I search out the shifters standing transfixed to one side.
“Frey. Weren’t there five shifters when we came in?”
He nods, his gaze following mine.
“There are only four now. We need to talk to Vlad.”
I start for the staircase, Frey at my side.
Vlad has turned to the six coconspirators huddling like frightened rabbits between their captors. I have no idea who these vampires are or how long they have been on this earth, but it is clear from the fear on their faces that mortal or immortal, facing death in some brings out cowardice.
Except in my mother. Unbidden, the thought flashes through my mind. My mother is facing death heroically.
Vlad senses my approach. He turns to face me. What is it?
Steffan. I don’t think he is gone.
There is no hesitation on his part. Transmutation?
If that’s what it’s called.
The conversation is between just the two of us. Around us, the crowd grows restive.
Vlad casts his eyes around the room. I must finish this. The others must see. Then we can talk.
He doesn’t wait for my acknowledgment or concurrence.
He approaches the six. His bearing, authoritative, commanding, makes me remember the name he was given after his death, the name Frey called him . . . Vlad Tepes. Vlad the Impaler. I catch the fevered thoughts of his captors and they are thinking of the stories, too. It’s hard to reconcile the man in the duster who talked so passionately about living in peace with the images of a bearded, steely-eyed tyrant who is reputed to have killed thousands.
Vlad stops and turns to look at me. Would you free these six?
I shouldn’t have been startled that he had been reading my thoughts. He’d already demonstrated his prowess. Still, I take a moment to choose my words before replying.
Are they are a threat?
These six? They are Steffan’s sycophants.
Then perhaps you can win the loyalty of those present by showing mercy.
He flashes a smile. Would it win yours?
My loyalty? I have others to whom I owe my loyalty. But it would demonstrate that we share a common bond: the willingness to protect our worlds—vampire and mortal—with . . .
Another smile as he finishes my thought. Justice tempered with mercy?
I nod.
Vlad gestures to the guards on either side to remove the chains. Still uncertain as to their fate, the vampires remain hunched together, heads bowed, shoulders slumped.
You are free to go, Vlad says simply, dismissively. But you are banished from Europe. If you return, it is in peril of your lives. Do not go to your homes. Your belongings are forfeit. They will be sold and the money used to ferret out the mortals working in concert with Steffan.
He walks slowly as he talks, pausing in front of each vampire as he makes his pronouncement. One by one, they look up at him, whether by their own volition or because he is mentally compelling them, I can’t tell. There is no relief on their faces. Banishment is almost as dreadful in their minds as death. But they are all resigned to their fate. No one is willing to argue or plead.
Vlad motions to the guard. Take them to the boat docks at Marseilles. Give them enough money to book passage on the first ship out to . . . He glances back at me again, telegraphing his intention before giving voice to it. Any ex-Soviet republic. I will alert Alexi to expect them. He knows how to deal with insurrectionists.
I’m impressed with Vlad’s knowledge of the world outside his own domain. Alexi is one of the heads of the Thirteen Vampire Tribes. I met him when I was declared the Chosen One and I remember his stern, unyielding posture and harsh, uncompromising demeanor. Vlad has picked his choice of “jailer” for the six well.
The six are shuffled off; Vlad is surrounded by sycophants of his own. Whether they agree with his decision or not, no one is letting anything but admiration and pledges of loyalty color their thoughts. Steffan’s ashes are trampled underfoot as the orchestra resumes playing and glasses are refilled.
I stir restlessly. Vlad, we must talk.
His eyes meet mine. He nods, excuses himself and leads Frey and I off to the side of the hall.
“Tell me.”
“I saw a burst of energy at the moment your sword touched his flesh.”
“And you know of transmutation?”
“I didn’t know what it was called then.” I pass a hand over my face. “I’d never heard the term before but I know what it is. Transmutation is an ability possessed by only the oldest vampires to leave their bodies at the moment of the second death. I have first-hand knowledge. Avery.”
He pauses, as if turning the idea over in his mind. “I hadn’t heard. You were not hurt?”
“Not because he didn’t try. He used a friend’s body as host—a werewolf. Then tried to coerce her through pain to attack me.”
“But you vanquished him.”
I think back to that terrible scene in the basement of Avery’s house. Avery had possessed the werewolf Sandra, tried to force her to attack me. She had the will and strength to resist and in doing so, drove Avery from her body to perish.
“No. The were vanquished him. I think Steffan used the same tactics. There were five shape-shifters when we arrived here. There are four now.”
Vlad looks to Frey. “Do you know the shifters you were talking to?”
Frey shakes his head. “Met them for the first time tonight. But they seemed to know each other.”
“Then we need to speak with them.” Vlad waves a hand and a vampire steps to his side. “The shifters. Bring them to the library.”
The guard leaves and another memory from that terrible time with Avery surfaces. “There must be a talisman. Something of the shifter’s that Steffan now possesses. For the werewolf, it was the talisman she wore to effect the change. I don’t know what it would be for this shifter. But I’d bet he took something that belonged to one of them. It’s what makes the magic work.”
“Magic.” Vlad sniffs. “More like devilry.”
VLAD LEADS US ACROSS THE BALLROOM AND THROUGH a door at the far wall. He is obviously familiar with Steffan’s home and we find ourselves in a large square room lined on three walls with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and on a fourth with a fireplace and raised hearth. Next to the hearth is a paneled bar.
Vlad shuts the door behind us and goes to the bar. He pours some dark amber liquid into three heavy, squat glasses. He keeps one for himself and pushes the others toward Frey and me. Frey picks one up, hands me the other. The aroma is heady and smells of oak and vanilla.
Frey takes a sip, rolls it around in his mouth, swallows. “Whiskey. Good stuff.”
“The best,” Vlad agrees. “Fit for a king.”
I lay the glass untouched on the bar. “I’m a beer gal,” I say.
Vlad raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
In another moment, the door opens. Vlad’s guard escorts the four shape-shifters into the room and bows an exit.
Vlad continues to sip, his eyes focusing like lasers on the faces of the four men.
They look to Frey and I wonder what thoughts are transmitting themselves between them. They don’t appear nervous. Only curious and maybe a tiny bit uncertain. They are all dressed, as were the vampires in attendance, in formal wear, tuxes, silk shirts, colorful cummerbunds and handkerchiefs. They are clean-shaven, all dark haired, three look to be in their late twenties. The fourth is older, forty maybe, hair touched with gray at the temples. They are handsome in a tough, old-style-gangster way, more Italian than French.