Death's Mistress

Page 32

“And Elyas was there?”
“No, but I could smell him, so he must have just left.”
“And how do you know what Elyas smells like?”
“Maybe because he’d been down to the club that afternoon,” Ray said sarcastically. “He was trying to bribe me to give him the rune before the sale, and getting really pushy about it. I finally told him I didn’t have it, that it wouldn’t be delivered until after the sale, so he might as well go away.”
“You told him?”
“Well, I didn’t expect him to come down and murder the guy, did I?” Ray asked huffily. “Anyway, the fey are supposed to be hard to kill. And I guess maybe they are if you use magic. But this one had been gutted. He died a couple minutes later.”
“And the rune was missing.” I didn’t bother to make it a question.
“Damn straight. He had this gold thing around his neck when he arrived, fist-sized, with like a sunburst pattern. Kinda gaudy, but it looked expensive. But he said it was nothing, just a carrier for the rune. He showed it to me, and the rune fit inside in this little space. But when I went back up, it was gone.”
“The rune or the necklace?”
“Both.”
“Then that thing you said you ‘misplaced’—”
“Was the rune, yeah. I called Elyas as soon as I calmed down and told him that he either returned the damn thing or I’d finger him for killing a fey. And you know what they’re like about revenge.”
On a personal level. “But he refused?”
“No. I mean, he was pretty nasty about it, but he finally agreed. But it was almost morning by then, and I didn’t want him coming over when my boys were all asleep. So I told him to send it over tonight. But he didn’t show, and I couldn’t get him on the damn phone, and the boss was due in a couple hours! And I was freaking out, you know? The boss was flying in special to take the rune to Ming-de tonight, and I didn’t have it! I knew he’d kill me.”
“That sounds about right,” I agreed. That was the way the vampire hierarchy worked, even in the more legitimate families. Cause your master to lose face, and you were likely to lose yours, along with a lot of other body parts.
“Elyas never intended to show,” Ray said, getting worked up again. “He just wants me dead and conned that French guy into doing his dirty work!”
“Louis-Cesare. And you could have mentioned some of this earlier!” I pointed out.
“Yeah, I can’t imagine why I’d have trouble trusting the freak who decapitated me!”
“So what changed?”
“What changed is you told Louis-Cesare you want the rune. Well, you’re not going to get it from Elyas. He’s not going to give it up, and if it does its thing and makes him invincible, you can’t kill him. The only chance you got is to blackmail him. I can tell everyone what I saw if he don’t cough it up.”
“But you’d have to be alive for me to do that,” I said, seeing where this was going.
“Which I won’t be, once he gets his hands on me.”
I stared blankly at the trees. The leaves shook, the tops swaying in the freshening wind. The sky above was a troubled gray, dark clouds mounting, heralding another thunderstorm. It perfectly matched my mood.
On the one hand, if Ray was telling the truth and Elyas really had killed the fey, it opened up some interesting possibilities. He might be invulnerable, but his family and property weren’t. The fey could ruin him, making blackmail far from an empty threat. With a little luck, it might be possible to get the rune and Christine.
On the other hand, I had to convince Louis-Cesare to ignore Elyas’s offer and that wasn’t going to be easy. Christine was within his grasp; all he had to do was turn Ray in, and it was a sure thing. Blackmail, on the other hand, included risk: Ray might be lying and Elyas might dig in his heels, counting on the word of a Senate member to beat out that of a nightclub owner.
No. Louis-Cesare wasn’t going to take a chance like that. Not when he could walk upstairs and end this right now.
Get away, keep Ray alive and willing to talk. That was the plan. I glanced down at the deserted alley. The fire escape made getting out of here easy, except for one small problem. The rest of Ray was in a guest room somewhere, and I didn’t even know which one.
“If you’re lying to me to save your skin, I’ll find out,” I told him, dragging us back through the window. “And I’ll be ten times worse to you than Elyas.”
“Yeah. Like I could make this shit—”
Ray cut off midsentence because someone rapped on the bathroom door. I paused half in, half out of the window. “Dorina, it has been half an hour,” Louis-Cesare said. “Are you ready?”
Chapter Seventeen
Ray and I stared at each other. “Almost,” I said quickly. “Let me just… uh…”
I slithered the rest of the way through, set the duffel on the counter and started pawing through it. I had things in there that could kill a person fifty different ways, but my less lethal alternatives were few and far between. I’d been going into a vampire club, and not a lot works on them.
And that’s especially true for first-level masters. I rejected magical cuffs—he’d be out of them in five seconds—a stun spray—he probably wouldn’t even feel it—and a disorienting sphere, which I already knew was a waste of resources. I finally had to admit that I had nothing that could trap Louis-Cesare long enough to do any good.
“Dorina?”
“Coming!”
I started pulling on the dress, or trying to. But that top would have defeated a puzzle master. “Where are you?” I mouthed at Ray, who was watching me anxiously.
“You mean my body?” he mouthed back.
“Of course! Where is it?”
“In the tub.”
“What?”
“That old guy left me and never came back.”
Typical. Horatiu had probably forgotten he was there. “Get out the front door, fast.”
Small eyes popped. “By myself?”
“Yes! Go to the car.”
“What?”
“To. The. Car. I’ll stall him.”
I ran a comb through my hair, which was still wet, forming a sleek cap around my head. I tried again to sort out the straps, but it was hopeless. They were a twisted mess that made no logical sense.
“Dorina. Is there a problem?”
I threw open the door. “I can’t get the straps right,” I said.
Louis-Cesare stood there, his hand raised for another knock. His face was wearing that expression men get when a woman takes three times longer to get ready than she’d promised. It didn’t last long. Okay, I thought, watching blue eyes dilate black. Maybe the dress looked better than I thought.
“A little help?” I prompted.
He hesitated for a moment, but he finally stepped behind me. He made a few minor adjustments, the calluses on his fingertips catching slightly on the soft material. Miraculously, the dress fell into place, every shining strap lying perfectly flat against my skin.
I twisted in front of the mirror. I decided that it wasn’t too bad. It was sleek and simple, and it let the cut do the work instead of requiring embellishments. And it fit perfectly, except for being maybe an inch or two too long. But the plain black satin heels should take care of that.
A hand smoothed down my side in a totally unnecessary movement. It lingered in the indentation where waist flared into hip, burning through the thin silk, sending a jolt to the pit of my stomach. “Elyas is waiting.” His voice was rough.
“Let him wait.” I sat down on the bench at the foot of the bed and pulled on the thigh highs. They were gossamer soft, like spiderwebs in my hands. Utterly impractical, they’d probably run within minutes. But they felt like a dream.
I pointed my toe and pulled one on. It felt utterly decadent, a silky, sensual glide all the way up to the wide band of lace around the top. I pulled on the other and then pushed the skirt out of the way to admire my pretty new hosiery.
It was rare to find pure silk hose these days, but that was what they felt like—light as a feather with a pearlescent quality that caught the light. It subtly drew attention in all the right places, making my legs look unusually long and better-shaped than they actually were. I flexed a leg, enjoying the feel of the silky stuff sliding against my skin.
I looked up to find Louis-Cesare watching me. I couldn’t complain about lack of expression now. He looked like a starving man faced with a banquet he couldn’t have. It made me furious all over again.
He looked away. “The dress suits you.”
“You have good taste,” I said acerbically. In some things.
I picked up the delicate black satin strappy things pretending to be shoes. Trust a man, I thought darkly. They had to be six inches, with heels so high and so thin, they looked like they would snap at the slightest pressure. I slipped them on and then just stared. Whoever designed them had to be a sadist. They were a broken ankle waiting to happen.
“You did this on purpose,” I accused.
“I can have something else sent, if you prefer,” he told me, challenge sparkling in those blue eyes.
My own narrowed. “These will be fine.”
I slowly stood up, feeling like I was wearing a pair of stilts. It had been years—decades, really—since I’d owned a pair of stilettos, and I suddenly recalled why. My left ankle buckled, and I corrected myself, glaring down at it. If I could run along the edge of a rooftop and never miss a step, I could walk in these damn shoes.
And I did. For about two steps. Then I wobbled, stumbled and ended up on my butt on the bed.
One of the shoes had gone flying. Louis-Cesare retrieved it and knelt in front of me, his eyes amused. “There is an art to it.”
“How would you know?”
“I used to wear them.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“At the French court. They were all the rage—among both sexes—for a time.”