Day 28-29: 4,227 words; 50,051 total written so far. NaNoWriMo 2005 winner

Part 11: Old ghosts

Someone was knocking at the bathroom door. Politely and relentlessly. Tap, tap, tap.

I hid my face in Kirill's damp hair. "Can we pretend we're not here?"

Instead of answering, he just slid his hand down my back and thighs, and slipped in under my knees. The movement sent a pleasant shiver through me as his fingers caressed my sensitized skin, but I still made a wordless sound of complaint as he stood up in the bathtub, lifting me out smoothly. This bath had been the first downtime I'd got in thirty hours after chases and explosions and a day spent in debriefings in front of what seemed like half the Night folk in New Granada, so I'd have been perfectly happy to fall asleep in the warm water, even if the guest tubs in Darkspring Manor were a little less spacious than the one at Kirill's home.

Kirill stole another kiss from me before setting me down on my feet. Even though I hadn't been to my usual breath-holding tricks, he made it clear he wasn't complaining about my performance.

It took us a few minutes to get mostly dried out and presentable, all the while accompanied with insistent knocking at the door. Our impatient visitor turned out to be Eudokia, and she all but smirked at the annoyed expressions she was presented with.

"Arthur thought someone should make sure you haven't managed to drown the heroine of the day," she informed Kirill.

He answered her in something that sounded like Old Church Slavonic and too slang for me to follow. Judging by the way her eyebrows rose, he wasn't being up to his usual standards of politeness. Then again, Doxie's an old friend of his, if not of mine, and I guessed that allowed for liberties.

"You have forty-five minutes until the meeting." She opted for English, for which I was thankful. "The Oak Bedroom has been set aside for your use, and Rachel's clothes have been set out in the Lilac Bedroom."

I groaned. Fantastic slow sex notwithstanding, I was feeling more like sleeping in a coffin than attending a formal vampire occasion, and I was sure I looked that way. Even now Kirill's fingers were tangled possessively in my hair, and I was sure it wasn't doing it any favors.

Not that it stopped me from leaning into the kiss he gave me before leaving me with Eudokia. His fangs scraped against my bottom lip, a shade of a thought from drawing blood, and if it hadn't been for the meeting, I'd have been all for shutting the door in Eudokia's face and running another bath.

He swept off with a curt nod at the vampiress, and I was left leaning against the bathroom door and blinking sleepily. I waited for Eudokia to buzz off wherever it was that she had something to do before the meeting started, but she stayed put.

"I know where the Lilac Bedroom is," I muttered.

She looked me up and down, and her lips twitched. "You'll excuse me, but you don't look like you're in a state to dress yourself."

I tried making a face, but it was too much effort, so I just slunk down the corridor after her. "Since when do you care?"

"We can't have the star guest looking like something the cat dragged in," she shot back.

I tried to think of an appropriately catty comment to answer with that wasn't a your-mom kind of thing. Before I could pull my thoughts together, we were by the door to the Lilac Bedroom, one of the seventy or so suites that form the second floor of Darkspring Manor, and once I saw what was lying on the bed, all thoughts of retaliation fled from my head.

The outfit was simply gorgeous. The breeches were matte black velvet, with narrow legs designed to fit into the high, many-buckled riding boots, and the black suede of the latter was just discreet enough to skirt the edges of fetishism. The white button-up blouse had the kind of Chinese collar that wouldn't detract from even the most forgettable face, and the demure jabot and strategic pleats were aimed at enhancing any woman's assets. The coup de grace was the coat, softest, thinnest suede and silver lace appliqués in Russian motifs, billowing tails that brought it closer to a dress or a robe. The end effect, I knew, would be mid-way between European and Asian, between mage and vampire, human and preternatural, just androgynous enough to put the slightest doubt in the viewer's mind.

I fingered the collar of the shirt and wondered how the hell Eudokia had found out my exact measurements.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

I picked up the shirt and found a bundle of the appropriate underthings, not only in the right size, but also my favorite label. "It's perfect. What gives?"

She was wearing one of those infuriatingly superior smiles again, but it melted into something more real. "You are the heroine of the hour. I thought it may go some way to rendering my thanks."

Oh. "How's Justin?" I asked.

"Recovering. He was still sleeping when I left him." She gave me an inscrutable look. "He hasn't talked to me about what exactly happened."

I sighed and let the bathrobe slide to the floor as I set about putting on Doxie's olive-branch outfit. She had been present for a lot of the talking I'd done over the day, but I could see where she was coming from. It was one thing to hear me giving the dry facts to a room full of people that could barely remain civil with each other, and another to talk about someone so close to her.

"The way I see it, what they tried to do was a binding ritual." I decided Doxie got extra brownie points for the garter belt. I hate self-supporting stockings with a passion. "I first got a hint of that when I saw they weren't targeting one blood clan, or just the blood clans close to the seat of power, but trying to snatch relatively low-powered people from as close to the head of the clan as possible. Even that second attempt on me might have been aimed to catch Antosha instead, though that only makes sense if their research is particularly sloppy - any vamp in town could have told them he and Kirill Yevgenyevich are only blood-related on the human side."

The boots fit like second skin, and I wondered how much those particular charms had cost. But the heels clicked even on the carpet as I tried a few steps, and that goes a long way towards making me like a pair of boots.

"I've never done a binding, but I've researched it, for obvious reasons," I continued. "Most books agree it involves taking a vampire's blood and subjecting it to magical influence. The principle is the same as a blood-parent's control over a child, and just as spotty. Logically, there is no reason why it couldn't be used to reverse the flow of control over the blood bond, since the only reason control is enforced from parent to child is because the parent is the one with more experience in exerting it."

"There's a long cut on Justin's arm." Eudokia was standing in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, correcting the complicated braids of her hairstyle. "He wouldn't let me touch it."

"If it's like any other magical binding, it'd hurt like holy hell. And it wasn't the only thing that happened to him. They had him locked in the same room as the human victims, and they starved him. He was shackled, but that wouldn't have stopped him - they used him as a tool to torture the others."

"He didn't touch any of them." There was a quiet pride in Eudokia's voice. By doing that, Justin had showed himself a true vampire of noble blood, and his standing in the community would be increased tenfold.

"Nah. He even tried to protect the others - Alcibiades was pretty adamant on that. I think we've managed to win another one for the 'vampires are not that bad' camp."

"I'll be sure to tell Justin. What do you think I should do about him presently?"

"Just in case, I'd get him out of NG until we're done with those low-lives." I buttoned up the blouse. "And maybe yourself, too."

"Just in case?" Eudokia tutted at my clumsy attempt at dressing and set to straightening the clothes.

"Hell if I know," I admitted as I submitted to her ministrations. And to think I'd thought Anton was particular about my clothing.

Speak of the devil, because right at that moment he poked his head in the door before the perfunctory knock had time to echo from wall to wall. I had a feeling he was also the one to blame for Eudokia's detailed knowledge of the dress sizes I wore, but all was quickly forgiven, since he was holding a tray with a coffee urn and enough pastries to feed a small army.

"Father mentioned you might want to replenish your energy," he said cheekily as I descended on the supplies of sugar and caffeine. "Just in case the meeting takes longer than expected."

I threw a crumpet at him, but of course he caught it in mid-air.

"I like the clothes," he remarked to Eudokia. "What's she going to do about the hair?"

"I was thinking of putting it up." Out of nowhere, she produced a truly frightening assortment of pins. "Bohemian gothic with Medusa overtones?"

"And black eye shadow." Standing together, the two of them looked like horror hosts. The Vampire Eye for the Mage Gal, maybe. "Silver glitter lipstick?"

"Definitely."

Three cups of coffee later, I was feeling almost human, but by that time my hair was arranged in charming disarray and my face had been painted with artful gloop that somehow managed to do all the right things and not look like clown paint. I'd hoped for a horde of beauty-minions that would distract those too-focused stares, but apparently even Byzantine vampire princesses subscribed to the universal vampire creed that taking care of your looks was best done yourself, just to make sure everything was perfectly as you wanted it.

My lips curled in a bitter grin as I stood in front of a mirror. Pale face, highlighted cheekbones, black and dark and silver. "I guess most vampire groupies don't go to these lengths."

"The right outfit for a vampire's consort, though." Anton threw an arm around my shoulder and ignored my glare.

Eudokia did a double-take. "You mean Kirill finally-"

I hissed, loudly.

"I think the way he put it was that he values his continued existence." Anton proved even better at dodging hairpins than crumpets.

I left the two of them to their snarking as I stormed out of the room. With my luck, I ran straight into Kirill.

"You look radiant," he declared as he kissed my hand.

"Like a corpse." I still smiled at him, because I knew he meant it as a compliment. I noticed he was in black and white as well, and the lace at his throat was woven in the same motifs as the ornaments on my coat. I wondered whose else compliance Eudokia had enlisted in her attempt to thank me for saving Justin's existence.

He caught on quick. "I think I left you in a better mood."

"Just Anton pulling my leg again." I rolled my eyes as we walked down the corridor, my hand on Kirill's arm. "And Doxie was helping him. I swear, one more person starts nagging me, I'm going to get a ring just to stop the Spanish Inquisition routine."

"I do hope you'll let me be the one to supply it." He said this in a perfectly serious voice, but with mischief in his eyes.

Even with all the coffee, I wasn't feeling up to arguing. "Topazes are nice," I said instead. "Which reminds me, my apartment isn't exactly livable now - I haven't checked in except that one phone call from the P.D., but it's bound to take a few weeks before I get the renovations done. Can I impose on you for that long? Because if not-"

He stopped me with a finger on my lips. "Do you really need to get that apartment renovated?"

"Cats," I reminded him. "Nosy neighbors that actually care. A place to go to so that I don't snap and kill you in the night."

"Your success seems to have made you vicious."

"Nah, that's because I didn't get to kill anyone. Want to help me work that off once we're free to go home?"

He laughed that deep fallen-angel laugh that never failed to send shivers down my spine. "Careful. I think Arthur would prefer we didn't disappear too quickly."

I schooled my face into a polite smile, since we were nearing the parlor and guests could be roaming the halls. "I didn't think I had the power to distract you that much."

"Rachel-" in Russian, my name was an endearment on Kirill's lips, the H soft and deep "-I trust you to get yourself out of difficult situations. Yet that does not mean I like it when you get into them."

I wanted to make a flippant comment, something that would make us both laugh at how overprotective he could be at times, but we were already at the doors to the parlor. I'd fallen into Kirill's rhythm, and now he slowed it down as we all but glided over the threshold.

Heads turned, and I was grateful to Eudokia's ministrations for the admiration in saw in people's eyes. For once I didn't have the feeling that I was a shabby-haired mongrel an aristocrat had taken an inexplicable liking to, but someone whose rightful place was in a place like this, on a handsome vampire's arm.

It would be seven years in January. I'd thought of running, briefly, in the pre-dawn light in the Latin Quarter, of letting the destruction of my home be the impulse to move and change and drift, but then, what was the point? I'd had my eightieth birthday the year before. High time to grow up, Rachel Malory.

The crowd, if larger, was similar to the one that had gathered at Darkspring Manor the previous Tuesday, but the mood was much different. Celebration, and preparations for war, I thought as Kirill and I separated to circulate around the room. They know who their enemies are, and they know they can be fought. There wouldn't be a group discussion, but a quiet consensus reached through the thrust and parry of verbal fencing, and then Ralph Green and his cohorts would have something to have nightmares about.

Arthur was certainly in better spirits as he intercepted me. "Rachel. I'm glad to see the trials of the past few days have failed to leave their mark on you."

I decided rolling my eyes did not go with the high-class vampire-groupie get-up. "And I'm glad to see you're getting into the swing of political untruths. I don't have to talk to everyone, do I?"

"Just the ones who wish to render their thanks for your daring rescue. I should hope it won't take more than an hour, but I'm expecting a distinguished guest and I would like you to be present when he gets here." He steered me towards the refreshments, giving me a break before I would have to hold court, and I saw some heads turn again as we walked past. I guessed my black and silver stood out in the company of Arthur's blue coat, and while he was a little shorter and lither than Kirill, the Prince of New Granada wasn't anything to scoff at.

"Promise you'll get someone to prop me up if I fall asleep on my feet?" I accepted a glass of champagne.

"I think I'll let Kirill Yevgenyevich do the honors in that regard. Far it be from me to infringe on his territory."

He accepted my glare with good grace, and then propelled me back into the fray. Virgil was at my side the second Arthur had disappeared. The werewolf leader looked positively civilized in evening clothes and with his long hair pulled back in a neat queue.

"I believe I owe you a large favor," he said.

"I'll be sure to collect." I bestowed a brilliant smile on him. "Or should I hoard it?"

He shook his head, turned serious. "You take it lightly. You saved a pack-mate's life. The pack will answer, when you call."

"That's a first." I looked into my glass, watched the play of light on the bubbles. "I value the gift and will not make ill use of it. May the Night look upon us and favor us with her grace."

Virgil's eyes lit up again, and he smiled like the predator he was. "And good hunting, Mallory. I hope you'll tear their throats out."

"I'll do my best. Unless others decide they would be better at leading the next stage of the assault?" It wasn't impossible - my specialty, so far, had been investigation, not urban warfare, not for a long time now.

"People used to wonder why the vampires valued your insight. I think you've proved that, today."

He put his hand on my shoulder in a way that brought him a little too close to me for comfort. I threw a pointed look across the room, where Kirill was just turning to glare at Virgil in what, for a vampire, was a restrained and polite manner of 'get your hands off my property', and the werewolf apparently felt it political to comply. Sometimes, the territorial vamp instincts can come in handy.

Once I'd pawned off Virgil on a resplendent Eudokia, I had to undergo the same treatment, save the sexual harassment, from Ophelia, the other pack leader in attendance. A quick exchange with Simon, consisting mostly of his griping about not letting him tag along on the real fun, thankfully ended my werewolf obligations for the evening before my graciousness got even more strained.

Natalie waylay me by the canapés. She was wearing white robes with a plunging neckline and a lace mantilla that made it clear the exposure to vampire fashion was working its magic.

"I didn't think I'd see you here," I said as I looked the buffet over. Predictably, everything was sugared or chocolate, and I didn't feel like adding another sugar rush to the caffeine and champagne and thirty-plus hours without sleep.

She looked down. "I think I owe you an apology. A confession. You know."

"Let me guess - you're not in New Granada to write your Finisterra thesis."

"How did you-"

"As much as I hate sounding like a valley girl, DUH." I exchanged my empty glass for a full one. "Since you're here, I take it you're not in the employ of Magdalene Publishing."

"Well, no." Her fingers were hopelessly tangled in a long strand of blonde hair. "I am writing a thesis, that's why he told me to come here, but I was also supposed to kind of keep an eye out. Last night, when you disappeared from that warehouse, when the news hit Alhambra, I told Magister Lowell, and I called - him - and he said he'd come as soon as possible."

I raised my eyebrow. So Arthur's 'distinguished guest' was little Natalie's boss. "And how does a Finisterra undergrad get into the spying business?"

"Investigations," she corrected me. Her eyes lit up as she told me, "I'm strong. I know I don't look it, but I really am, and in Finisterra if you're gifted, you get a mentor."

I nodded. Mine had been Theramenes, that old goat.

"I went through three. We just - didn't get along. And then two months ago Magister Ewig came to consult with someone in the Research Cathedra. I just fell into talking with him, and when he wrote to me a few weeks ago, asking for my help, well, he mentioned he used to be a mentor at Finisterra and-"

"Let me guess, he's tall, dark and handsome to boot?"

Her blush told me the rest.

"And he's working for?"

Natalie shook her head. "It's just a question of interest. It was like he knew something would happen."

I dropped my gaze to the glass in my hand. A few weeks ago, no-one had been kidnapped. A few weeks ago, Ralph Green's second book had hit the shelves, and the author himself had been completing the move to New Granada.

I was looking forward to meeting Natalie's Magister Ewig.

Muriel Phearieal swept me off next, all but genuflecting in thanks and dropping not particularly subtle hints that the job offer Alcibiades had extended was still valid. By the time I extricated myself from her clutches, my head was starting to hurt, so I tried to make my way over to the safer side of the room, the one full of velvet, lace and other vampire fashion staples, but it seemed like half of Alhambra wanted to make sure I'd noticed them, their gratitude and the way they hoped very much that the vampires would continue to efficiently take care of the problem.

I made a mental note to throw their words in their faces the next time the New Granada Propheteer published a cover article on vampire murders and the savagery of the undead.

The crowd was slowly starting to thin, but my headache was getting proportionally worse. I was looking around for a free bit of wall to prop myself against when Kirill materialized by my side. I was grateful for the support of his arm, and we made our way to the center of the vampire crowd. Arthur had disappeared somewhere, and Kirill and Eudokia were holding court, smoothly stoking the egos and allaying the fears of all the Alhambra prominents in attendance. I stood by Kirill's side, looked reasonably pretty and listened to Anton and Simon's subdued bickering about which of them was a better brawler, just in case either of them decided to test the other's claims.

I was looking at Natalie's face when the murmur in the room rose, heralding Arthur's return, and by the way she lit up I knew he had her mentor in tow. I took another sip of champagne and wondered how much longer this would all take until I could go home and finally fall asleep.

"Everyone," I heard Arthur say in an even voice that still managed to make itself heard over the crowd, "I would like to present our guest, Magister Gabriel Ewig. He is interested in the recent matter that had us preoccupied, and I hope that his insights will help us in our current predicament."

I was standing a little behind Kirill, and he was between me and the new arrival, but I could see the crowd parting as Arthur ferried Magister Ewig around, making introductions and exchanging pleasantries. I wondered how it was that Arthur, for all his military mean and penchant for curt efficiency, was so good at the diplomacy thing, never losing his patience without an aim behind it.

Then the crowd parted, and my breath caught in my throat.

Dark eyes met mine, and he froze as well. A beard again, I thought, less silly than that goatee.

There was a pain in my chest, tiny daggers stabbing from the inside.

A sharp sound, like breaking glass.

My hand hurt.

Distantly, I heard Arthur's cultured British accent. "-Yevgenyevich Rossov, a pillar of the city's commerce, and an activist in the council, and this of course is the heroine of the hour-"

A step, a movement in the room that stood stock still and oh gods and goddesses and spirits, he was going, I couldn't let him touch me-

"Rachela." A catch in his voice.

So quiet, all eyes upon me again. I needed to acknowledge that, yes?

"Jibril."

My voice was steady, and the fire of pride warmed me. My hand was warm too, warm and hurting like Rachela Tepper who was dead and buried and in pain.

And then he reached out to me, and my hand moved faster.

The shards of the shattered glass cut three lines on his cheek, and the champagne mixed with my blood splattered redly on his face. He closed his eyes.

I turned on my heel. There were six steps to the door, then just lift my hands, studied, graceful movement, and open them, clearing my way with the poise I'd studied for so long, the style I envied in vampires. I had the key to it, finally, in this ice and fire and hunger and despair, and a flash of happiness shook my body in a silent sob.

I stood still until the door closed behind me, and then I ran.

There was a staircase in the north tower, abandoned and dusty. I curled up on the landing by the window that stretched the whole height of the stair. I pressed my bloodied hand to the cold glass and tried not to think about Jibril As Samad and Katanga and fire in the night. I listened to the snake scream.