“You’re sure he’s all right?” I asked, not for the first time.
“He’ll not die of it,” he said, which was not quite the same thing.
The elevator came to a smooth stop, and the doors slid open to reveal a kitchen. Bright lights gleamed on bird’s-eye maple cabinetry and creamy stone countertops. There were no windows, but a clever use of mirrors and backlit stained-glass panels made up for the lack. Next to the refrigerator was something I was a lot more interested in, an outside door. I didn’t wait for Stefan, but opened the door and ran out to the manicured lawn. As I sucked in a shaky breath of air that smelled of dust and exhaust rather than vampires, I realized that I’d come out of the main house.
“The houses are connected by the tunnels,” I said, as Stefan came down the back steps.
“There’s no time to talk,” grunted Stefan.
I looked at him and saw that he was struggling with Samuel’s weight.
“I thought vampires were strong enough to upend trees,” I said.
“Not after Marsilia gets finished with them,” said Stefan. He shifted Samuel, trying to get a better grip.
“Why not a fireman’s carry?” I asked.
“Because I don’t want to be carrying him that way when he starts waking up—he’s not going to be a happy wolf. This way I can put him down and get out of the way if I need to.”
“I’ll carry him,” said a stranger’s voice.
Stefan turned with a snarl and, for the first time ever, I saw his fangs, white and sharp in the night.
Another vampire stood near us, wearing jeans and one of those white, piratey shirts, open to the waist, that you see at Renaissance Fairs and Errol Flynn movies. It didn’t look good on him. His shoulders were too narrow, and his flat stomach just looked cadaverous rather than sexy—or maybe I’d just had enough of vampires that night.
“Peace, Stefan.” The vampire held up a hand. “Marsilia thought you could use some help.”
“You mean she didn’t want Dr. Cornick to be here when he came out of the Kiss’s hold.” Stefan relaxed a little. “All right.”
They transferred Samuel from one vampire to the other—the newcomer apparently wasn’t suffering from Stefan’s worries because he lifted the werewolf over his shoulder.
The night was quiet, but there was a waiting quality to it that I recognized from the hunt. Someone was watching us—big surprise. None of us talked as we made our way through the garden and out the main gates, which someone had propped open while we had been inside.
I slid the door of the van open and pointed to the long bench seat. The pirate-clad vampire pulled Samuel off his shoulder and put him on the far backseat. I decided that much strength was creepier in vampires than it was in werewolves—at least the wolves looked like people who should be strong.
With Samuel safely stowed, the vampire turned directly to me.
“Mercedes Thompson,” he said. “My mistress thanks you for your visit, which has allowed us to discover problems that otherwise might have gone unnoticed. She also thanks you for allowing her to keep her honor and that of her vassal, Stefano Uccello.” He saw the skepticism on my face and smiled. “She said that she’d never been repulsed by a sheep before. Crosses, scriptures, and holy water, but not a sheep.”
“The lamb of God,” explained Stefan. He was looking almost like his usual self, with one elbow propped against the door of the van. “I didn’t think it would work either. Otherwise, of course, I would have told her to give it to Estelle.”
“Of course.” The other vampire gave me another quick, charming smile. “In any case, I am to extend Signora Marsilia’s apologies for any discomfort you or yours experienced this night and we hope that you will extend our apologies also to Dr. Cornick. Please explain that the Mistress intended him no hurt, but that her recent indisposition has allowed some of her people to become . . . obstreperous. They will be punished.”
“Tell the Signora that I find her apologies gracious and that I, too, regret any trouble she suffered this night,” I lied. But I must have done it well, because Stefan gave me a half nod of approval.
The vampire bowed, then, holding it gingerly by its chain, handed me Samuel’s cross and a small sheet of paper, the thick handmade kind. It smelled of the same herbs that scented the house and upon it, written in a flourishing hand that had learned to write with a quill, was a Kennewick address.
“She had intended to give this to you herself, but has asked me to tell you more. The wolves paid us just under ten thousand dollars for the rights to live at this address for two months.”
Stefan straightened. “That’s too much. Why did she charge them so much?”
“She didn’t. They paid us without any negotiation. I expressed my concerns about the oddity of the transaction to the Signora, but . . .” He glanced at Stefan and shrugged.
“Marsilia has not been herself since she was exiled here from Milan,” Stefan told me. He looked at the other vampire, and said, “It is a good thing that happened tonight. To see our Mistress potent with her hunger again is wondrous, Andre.”
“Wondrous” was not the word I’d have chosen.
“I hope so,” said the other harshly. “But she has been asleep for two centuries. Who knows what will happen when the Mistress awakens? You may have outsmarted yourself this time.”
“It was not I,” murmured Stefan. “Someone was trying to stir up trouble again. Our Mistress has said I might investigate.”
The two vampires stared at each other, neither of them breathing.
At last Stefan said, “Whatever their purpose, they have succeeded in awakening Her at last. If they had not put my guests in danger, I would not willingly hunt them.”
Vampire politics, I thought. Humans, werewolves, or, apparently, vampires, it doesn’t matter; get more than three of them together and the jockeying for power begins.
I understood some of it. The older wolves pull away from the world as it changes until some of them live like hermits in their caves, only coming out to feed and eventually even losing interest in that. It sounded as if Marsilia suffered from the same malady. Evidently some of the vampires were happy with their Mistress’s neglect while Stefan was not. Andre sounded as if he didn’t know which side he was on. I was on whichever side meant that they left me alone.
“The Mistress told me to give you something, too.” Andre told Stefan.
There was a sound, like the crack of a bullet, and Stefan staggered back against the van, one hand over his face. It wasn’t until the faint blush of a handprint appeared on Stefan’s cheek that I realized what had happened.
“A foretaste,” Andre told him. “Today she is busy, but tomorrow you will report to her at dusk. You should have told her what Mercedes Thompson was when you first knew. You should have warned the Mistress, not let her find out when the walker stood against her magic. You should not have brought her here.”
“She brought no stake or holy water.” Stefan’s voice gave no indication that the blow bothered him. “She is no danger to us—she barely understands what she is, and there is no one to teach her. She does not hunt vampires, nor attack those who leave her in peace.”
Andre jerked his head around faster than anyone should and looked at me. “Is that true, Mercedes Thompson? You do not hunt those who merely frighten you?”
I was tired, worried about Samuel, and somewhat surprised to have survived my encounter with Signora Marsilia and her people.
“I don’t hunt anything except the occasional rabbit, mouse, or pheasant,” I said. “Until this week, that was it for me.” If I hadn’t been so tired, I’d never have uttered that last sentence.