Day 18-20: 3,607 words; 33,336 total

Part 7: Are you now or have you ever been

I wanted to find something I could scream at, but the security at Rossov Trading could not be tighter. Skyler and Chuck were overseeing things with faces grim as death, and the place was teeming with just about all the employees. I knew that the logistics center would be just as crowded. Kirill was pulling his people in, drawing the peasants inside the castle walls just as he would have done in the Rossov fortress if enemies had besieged him with cannon and knights. All around the city, other heads of blood clans would be doing the same.

They made the vampires fear, I thought. I wondered if they knew that when it came to fight-or-flight in a vampire, fight always came out on top.

I didn't need Skyler's directions to know I was expected to make my way to Kirill's office, and I rushed up the stairs as Anton turned into another corridor to head off the IRS crowd at the pass. That was another problem we did not need right now, I thought.

When I came in, Kirill was standing in front of the window, looking down on St. Germain Avenue. I leaned against the door.

"Hey," I said.

I could feel his whole stance change as the tension disappeared. "No problems?"

"Nah." I took off my jacket and threw it on a chair. "Anton kept an eye out."

"Good. Genevieve Sands is at Shadow's agency right now. She will be coming here to brief you."

"Cool." I came up to him and pressed my nose to the glass. I threw him a sly look. "I've thought up a forfeit for you, for the bet. Take me dancing."

He raised an eyebrow. "To a club with that disco noise playing? Have mercy."

I made a face. "Tango dancing. A real milonga, they gotta have them here. With a live band and a dark dance floor and you dancing only with me."

"That sounds tempting." His lips curled in a smile. "But isn't dancing with strangers supposed to be the charm of a milonga?"

"I trust your creativity." I did love the way his eyes darkened sometimes.

"Then there is only the fact that it may take longer than three hours to wear you out." He took my hand and traced my life-line with one sharp fingernail. "Shall I take out the difference in trade?"

I whispered his name, then caught my breath as he whirled me around and pressed my body against himself. I was trapped between him and the window, and in the reflection in the glass, his eyes were black as night.

"I think I'll enjoy that," he muttered with a dark amusement, then bent to kiss my neck.

Luckily, he didn't see how wide I was smiling when his teeth pricked my skin, drawing a single drop of blood, because my grin completely did not go with the mood.

The door creaked and Kirill lifted his head, biting off a Russian blasphemy. To his credit, Holcombe looked appropriately chastened, or maybe it was sheer embarrassment at having intruded on an intimate moment once again.

"Uh, Mr Rossov, you said you'd have time to answer questions about the business?" he stammered out.

I hid my smile. The way this audit was going, the IRS was going to hire Rossov Trading as a penal colony for unruly agents.

"I should be glad to. I would prefer Anton and Alyssa Damienovna to be present at the interview, though." Kirill switched to full business mogul mode, though shades of annoyed vampire were still showing around the edges.

"Yes, they are waiting for us in my office." Holcombe looked ready for either battle or execution. "And, Ms Malory-"

I snorted.

"I mean, Rachel Efraimovna," he corrected himself. "If I could talk to you, say, tomorrow? There are some security-related expenses that I would appreciate your aid in understanding."

"Sure." I picked up my jacket and stole a Hershey's Kiss from the chocolate bowl on Kirill's deck - he swears he doesn't touch it, but I know his secretary refills it every second day just like all the others. "Three hours, Kiriusha," I said in Russian as I headed for the door.

"I'll be looking forward to it," he answered in the same language, and damn if a shiver didn't run down my back.

I opened the door and almost collided with Maria Pavlovna, Kirill's secretary.

"There's a lady who wants to see Mr Rossov," she whispered. "She mentioned Prince Arthur, so I thought it wouldn't be wise to call about it with the layman in the room-"

"Thanks, I think I can manage to show myself in!" Damn. I knew that cheerful voice.

Natalie rounded the corner at full speed. I'd unwisely taken a step from the still-open door to Kirill's office in order to let Maria Pavlovna talk without fear of being overheard, and now Natalie's path was unobstructed.

I saw the way Kirill flinched when she appeared in the doorway, and I wondered how strong his resolution not to pursue her was.

"Good evening, Miss Morritz," he said coolly. "I do not believe we had an appointment for an exact date. I'm afraid the circumstances preclude one at this time, for which I apologize."

"Oh." She faltered in mid-step. "I'm sorry - I thought that with the prince-"

I put my head on her shoulder and she jumped, clearly not having seen me before.

"How about I show you around?" I winked at Holcombe. "Grad students, Michael Ianovich. A worse pest than the IRS, if that's possible."

"That - that'll be fine." Natalie turned up the smile a few more notches. "Are the wards your work? Around the gargoyles at the entrance, they're-"

I stifled a groan and tugged her away before she could spill any more magical secrets.

"Are you deaf?" I turned on her as soon as the door of my office closed behind us. "No talking of magic with laymen around. Don't tell me they stopped whipping the students at Finisterra if they fail the three a.m. quiz on the Daylight Concordat."

She blanched. "I'm sorry! How was I supposed to know?"

"Hello, IRS." I gestured her to the penitent's chair to the side of my desk. I'd made a point of having one uncomfortable chair when I'd furnished the office. "While they do have some magic-aware people, the default assumption with any Daylight agency is laymen."

"Uh..." She looked at me sheepishly. "What's IRS?"

All the air went out of me. "Internal Revenue Service, the T part of death and taxes this side of the pond. Aren't you supposed to be writing a thesis on commerce?"

"That's why I'm doing research." Natalie's eyes were not especially large, but they were that peculiar early-morning shade of blue, I noticed as she opened them wide. "They asked me to do that subject because it's my weak point - I mean, I'll provide a fresh view on things! I've read a lot, but I know I have a long way to go still."

I hid my face in my hands. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-one," she declared with a strange pride.

"Right." I did not need this. "The other two agents-" I checked the log book of security cards issued "-are called Grincher and Lachapelle. They've got Nightfolk in their families, so you should be safe with passing mentions of magic. But Holcombe, to our eternal irritation, is as Daylight as you get. Obfuscation on full, unless you want the Concordat broken and all Daylighters gunning for us."

"You really think-"

She didn't have to finish that. I'd been young and invincible, too, though it hadn't lasted long. "Smart bombs and genetic testing, Miss Morritz. And don't tell me they wouldn't stoop down to it." I hated pulling out this card, but she needed the shock. "I'm Jewish, from Lvov and born in 1924. Let's say I don't have to worry about relatives showing up unexpectedly."

"Oh." She swallowed convulsively. "I- call me Natalie, please. I mean, you're so much older, and I've heard - I mean, you're still remembered in Finisterra."

"Am I now. Tell me, does Theramenes still grope the students during the meditation exam?"

She colored, then grinned mischievously. "Not since someone shaved his head, dipped him in tar and feathers and hung him by the leg from the bell tower. Or so I heard."

"They should give me a damn medal." I reached over the desk. "And it's Rachel."

She had a good handshake, firm and dry. We shared a tentative smile.

"Okay, chewing-out session closed," I declared as I pushed my bowl of candy in her direction. "So, you're investigating the seedy business side of New Granada? What made you start here?"

"Out of the people Prince Arthur introduced me to, Mr Rossov seemed the one most likely to have the information at the ready - it's a brokerage and a logistics service, right? I figured it was much simpler than nightclubs or recording agencies and so on." She blushed a little again.

"And it didn't exactly hurt that Kirill Yevgenyevich is gallant and easy on the eyes?" I winked knowingly and laughed as she went crimson. "Trust me, you're not alone in that opinion."

"I wouldn't!" she protested. "He's a vampire."

"That's a plus." Unconsciously, I touched the spot on my neck where Kirill's fang had pierced my skin not long before.

Natalie's eyes widened. "Are you and him-?"

I nodded, deciding not to go into the intricacies of it. "Yeah, I'm sleeping with him, and I've been known to stay the night. Does it bother you?"

She cocked her head like a curious kitten. "Not really. I've been meaning to ask you about things anyway, since you're probably the only human working here..."

"What gave you that idea? There's tons. I should know, I have two dozen on security detail alone. Sure, the frontline of the auction side is mostly vamp, but that's because they're the ones with both people skills and intimidation factor. It might be Rossov Trading, but it's sure as hell not Rossov Blood Clan Incorporated."

"That's something I didn't expect." She looked down on her nails, which were short and lined, as if she'd damaged them fairly recently. "The way everyone's working together. I always thought, well, vampires eat humans, and werewolves are hunters in general, and vampires and werewolves don't get along. What happened to all that?"

"Civilization happened," I explained. "Vampires - they live longer than mages, in general, maybe because the hunger that drives them precludes suicide, and they don't have to make or pay for tincture." I didn't have to mention that self-destruction and a terminal lack of funds were the leading causes of death in mages over a hundred and fifty or so. "That means that they're the ones with the money, because they had the time to invest it and see things through. Their society is formal and stable; though the names may change, the titles stay the same. It was just a question of time before they worked things out with the mages. Good business sense."

"And fear, right? Of binding rituals?"

"Nah. There's a lot less of them than us, but I wouldn't take bets either way in a local conflict, as long as the Tribunal did not get involved. Their accession to the Daylight Concordat might mean limits on the creation of new vampires, but they choose them carefully - and mages willing to undergo the Change get priority." I thought it not prudent to mention the fact that a lot of what the vampires did went well under the radar of the Concordat authorities, though maybe not the Tribunal. "Think of what three or five hundred years of experience mean to a mage. And that's just what they can do even when the sun is out. When night falls, you're facing an incredibly fast, very strong man who can look at you and impose his will on you, if you don't pay attention. And unless you stake him, tear him to shreds or burn him, he's going to keep coming back."

Natalie nodded, her lips drawn tight. Her innocence of Daylight matters in all probability meant a sheltered upbringing and magical-only descent, and in such circles the old prejudices were still going strong. Especially regarding things that go bump in the night.

"Not that they're all bad - there's a reason the commerce institutions are theirs, the city-rulers settle contract disputes, the patents are registered in their banks. Vampires are pedantic, and that's double good for business. Now for werewolves." I spread my hands. "That's just a non-aggression treaty. They don't really have anything against humans, especially now that penicillin's better for preventing were-infection than alchemy ever was. And they're simple - they want booze, sex and an opportunity to roughhouse without people putting them in chains. What's between them and vamps is their own. Mostly politics, or just plain violent fun."

"Violent fun?" It must have sounded like an oxymoron to her.

"Don't knock it until you've tried it." I bared my teeth. "Some of my best security people are werewolves. Anyway, why do I have to tell you all this? If you're up to the point of writing your thesis-"

"It's just research so far. There was the opportunity to catch a ride here, and I took it. I still have a few years to go."

There had to be more to it - the good magisters at Finisterra do not let go of their students that easily - but I decided not to push it. "Sure. If you have any more questions, hit me. Have you seen the gargoyles yet?"

Natalie blinked. "Yes, there was one above the entrance. It felt magical, but I couldn't identify the spell."

"I'm not surprised. Original patent, we're still working out the details of commercializing the production."

I walked over to the window and whistled for one of my babies. A creaking noise announced the arrival of the one stationed on the northern corner of the second floor, and a taloned granite hand opened the window fully. I heard Natalie's gasp.

The gargoyle was five feet tall, wiry like an elf, with a mouth that was all fangs and horns and a lovingly sculpted mane of hair that slid and clanged as it moved. There was a werewolf sculptor up on Kerrick Street that jumped on with glee at any new sketches I brought him and turned out gothic masterpieces. The wings were batlike and taloned, with hypnotic swirls engraved into the membranes. Just for show, so far, though I'd been working on putting in enough air runes to actually make them fly.

"Come on, you can touch it," I said.

Natalie was hesitant at first, but then tangled her fingers in the soft-rough mane. A pointy gargoyle ear twitched, and then the stone figure curled up on the window sill like a pet raven who wanted his feathers cleaned.

"Is it a lower demon?" There was disbelief in her voice.

"Nah. And it's not plain enchanted stone either - the Notre Dame crowd's like salamanders to a chimpanzee to this one." I pointed at the bright onyx eyes, which blinked slowly. "All synthetic - the basic movement structure is Kabbalarian, but the intelligence is hermetic, runes and wards and you don't want to know how many layers of enchantment. Weaving it all together was a bitch, but they're just about eternal, can take much more damage than your run-of-the-mill gargoyle, and best of all they're smart enough for autonomic operation. Fireproof, curse-proof and persuasion-proof - just the thing for a discerning vampire enterprise. Or any other enterprise, come to think of it."

"That's the sales talk, isn't it?"

I grinned. "Busted. Arthur's going across the pond in early December for a big social occasion, so we figured that was as good a moment as any to pitch the beasties to people in power."

She looked doubtful. "You said Kabbalarian - does it mean it's really a golem?"

"The same underlying structure, but nothing like the rigidity of instruction or the accompanying danger. The intelligence level is somewhere between a smart dog and a slow-thinking monkey. The way they're wired, they're happiest when their building is calm and whole. They see trouble, they evaluate it, they contain it." I reached under the gargoyle's chin and pulled out a sapphire on a short chain. "Any time they go into action, this alerts the command units - right now I have the main one and Kirill Yevgenyevich has one of the others, as well as Anton Kirillovich and a few other directors. I've read my Asimov, so these things won't kill under any circumstances. And they're aware enough to know they'll be rebuilt as long as there's even a scrap of rock left, so the self-preservation instinct won't meddle with that."

"I can see why they still talk of you at Finisterra." Natalie got up her courage and scratched the gargoyle's nose, smiling as its eyes crossed in an attempt to focus on her finger.

"It didn't take that much power." I saw the way the gargoyle shot brief looks at its abandoned guard post, and shooed it back to work. "Just a lot of digging around in the books, and enough spell casting experiments to give me a migraine for a week. Willem had the hard part, making sure that the Kabbalarian mechanics obey the sprite I'd come up with. Once we hit on the right combination, making new ones has been a snap."

"Nice." Natalie leaned out of the window to watch the gargoyle return to its perch on the corner of the building, then closed it and re-wove the opening in the wards with a skill that did credit to her alma mater. "What else does Rossov Trading do?"

"Why don't I show you around?" I offered.

It took me all of fifteen minutes to pawn her off on a human guy in Legal under the pretext of setting the security clearance for her thesis, and not a moment too soon. When I got back to the office, blonde and compact trouble was sitting on my desk and eating my candy. In the dark.

"Don't you have a figure to watch?" I showed off a little by spelling the lamp on with a gesture. "Thanks for the files, by the way. Very professional. You're Bureau, Agency or something more exotic?"

"Agency. Ex. Fuckers can go hang as far as I'm concerned. By the way, who was the cutie with the blond streaks who picks up your mail?"

"Anton Kirillovich, Butor clan, and paws to yourself unless you promise not to scratch too much." My maternal instincts get the best of me at times.

"Butor? They were the crazy ones, yeah? Cool." She took out another manila folder that looked almost as thick as the council transcripts. "The E.T. phone home act got a few answers, and I've just been to that goth setup Shadow has. Do you know he has a whole block of nothing but recording studios? No wonder it took them an hour to find the girl, even with the amount of blood she leaked."

"Vamps that can't smell blood?" I leafed through the folder, noting Tribunal file signatures that spoke of medium-high clearances at the very least. "Then again, it's Shadow. Coked up to the gills, I gather?"

"And then some." Her eyes were all-pupil as she grinned at me. "Good shit. Sorry, forgot to pack souvenirs."

I rolled my eyes. "Not my style. As far as vices go, I stick to being drained by vampires."

"Definition of a downer if I ever heard one. You ever have any fun?"

"Sure. Let's try for intellectual fun now - any hypotheses on who's behind it and what his game is?"

Talking things through took us most of the rest of the working night, especially since we had flirt-breaks every ten minutes or so. We did come to some useful conclusions: whoever it was, magic was the most likely reason for the kidnappings, because no demands had been made and interrogation victims had been simply left for dead with no attempt to hide them. One werewolf from each major pack was a dead giveaway: packs, like blood clans, are bound and connected, so theoretically if you got one, you could find a way to control the whole gang. Research tendencies like that went on our list of clues, as did power fantasies and delusions of grandeur.

Kirill came up to collect me some time past two a.m. Just for kicks, I upped the flirting a good few notches as soon as he entered the room, and got a lapful of bottle-blonde ex-CIA agent for my troubles. Genevieve kissed as if she were eating ice-cream, all short licks and hunger, before she bounced up, called Kirill a dirty pervert for watching us, and ran out laughing just as loud as we were.

It turned out that Kirill had ordered take-out from the best Hungarian place in town, so between that and the added spice of watching me kiss another woman, the rest of the night ended up being hot in all senses of the word. Though I did take the time to fix the soundproofing wards around the bedroom, for which I'm sure Anton was grateful.

Just before falling asleep, my thoughts skirted past orchestras on sinking ships and being in life in the midst of death. I could feel the snake telling me to stop complaining and enjoy what I had.

The snake always made things feel so simple.