Fury's Kiss

Page 82

“And the consul’s box would be?”
He blinked at me, like I might be slow. “There.”
I followed his gaze across the railing, and the width of the huge gleaming oval below, to the far wall. Where a massive balcony ran the length of all the box seats on our side. It was still mostly empty. A lot of shadows were moving around in an arched alcove, talking and drinking and waiting for the hoi polloi to settle before taking their seats, but only a few had drifted out onto the actual balcony. Radu wasn’t one of them.
But guess who was?
Marlowe looked about the same, even without whatever glamourie he usually used. A little paler, maybe, and there were tired lines at his mouth and dark circles under his eyes, probably because this was something like his fifth straight day awake. But his servants must have finally tackled him out of sheer desperation, because he was currently wearing a perfectly cut black tux without a wrinkle in it. It looked a little incongruous next to the still messy brown curls and the gold earring shining in one ear, but it perfectly matched the sharp, dark eyes, which were busy scanning the crowd below.
But despite the fact that we were in each other’s line of sight, he didn’t see me. I suppose the people in the boxes were regarded as safe, more or less. I only hoped he continued with that thought, because this was the best vantage point I was likely to get.
And there was plenty to see.
The great mirror at the far end of the room reflected back the huge crowd assembling at the other. Although “assembling” isn’t quite the word for being packed into the standing-room-only area like sardines, with no regard for expensive clothes and delicate feelings. Or danger, because the overflow was being channeled along the sides of the wide-open area of floor where the action was soon to start.
If it had been me, I’d have wanted a splatter shield.
But nobody was looking worried, maybe because they were busy looking up—at the balcony, where Ming-de had just emerged from under one of the arches. The empress of the Chinese court was surrounded by attendants, every single one of whom dwarfed her tiny four-foot-eleven frame. But there was no question who was in charge: she was encircled by a rush of power like a tornado.
It was currently keeping several fans aloft, fluttering around her head like jeweled butterflies, which matched the moving splendor of the rest of her outfit. Bright blue dragons coiled around her wide cuffs, white tigers prowled around her hemline, ebony tortoises gleamed on either shoulder, and a brilliant red phoenix preened its feathers at her waist. I knew enough to recognize ancient symbols of imperial power, although not what they meant.
And then there was the stark contrast offered by Hassani, coming up on her left, his elegant movements at odds with the tattered ruins of his face. They were making small talk as their attendants jostled about in the background, jealously staking out space for their respective masters. Some of Hassani’s were also exotically pretty, in jewel-tone silks and ropes of pearls. They were rushing around, bringing up piles of pillows to cushion the already overstuffed chaises the consuls had in lieu of regular old chairs. But the rest…
Hassani’s more…interesting-looking…servants weren’t running around and they weren’t wearing silk. They’d also apparently declined tuxes, suits or even the elaborate costumes of the consul’s vamps. Instead, they remained in what looked like their everyday attire—stark, hard leathers, old and scratched and vaguely dusty, over thin cotton shirts and trousers and discolored boots. They didn’t go with the decor or the surrounding splashes of gleaming fabrics and bright jewels. They did go pretty well with the rifles slung over their backs and the swords at their waists. And the looks on their faces as they hedged the boss.
And for the first time I seriously started to doubt myself.
It would be suicide for any group to try to fight their way in here. Even assuming they got past the outer wards and the inner wards and the guards bristling with weapons, what then? There would just be more hell awaiting them in the form of the crème de la crème of the vampire world.
The original plan had relied on surprise: a rush through the portal, a strike with overwhelming force on a largely civilian crowd, who could be relied on to go nuts at the first sign of danger and run amok. That would complicate any attempted counterstrike by the consul’s guards for a few vital minutes, during which the other side might be able to gain the upper hand. It was a gamble, but one with decent odds.
Unlike this.
I suddenly started wondering what I was doing here.
Not that it looked like I’d have that problem for long.
“I told you, I must have dropped them on the stairs,” Ray was saying, as he was shoved unceremoniously through the curtain.
There were two guards now, and they didn’t look so obsequious anymore. Although, amazingly, neither seemed to have recognized me yet. It was only a matter of time, though, and if there was nothing more to see from up here, there was no reason to—
Ray came into my line of sight, looking rumpled and put upon and as crabby as ever, flanked by the two guards.
And outlined by the silver gleam of the great mirror behind him.
You know, the one that masked the consul’s portal.
And just that fast, I understood.
“I know we checked, but I’m telling you, somebody must have picked them up,” he was saying, glaring at the vamp with the hand on his arm. “Don’t you have cleaning staff? Have you checked with them? Because you’re making a big mistake here. I’ll have you know that Lord Mircea and I, we’re like this.” He held up a hand with crossed fingers. “He gave me a ride in his limo just the other day, and I was telling him…”
I didn’t hear whatever story Ray had dreamed up, which didn’t appear to be working on the guards anyway. One of whom grabbed my purse, I guess to check for tickets. I let him have it in favor of gripping Ray’s arm. “The password,” I said tightly.
He just looked at me.
“For the portal. You said Radu guessed it.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So the bad guys were right there. What if they heard—”
His eyes got big, but before he could answer, the guards stiffened. And one glance to the right showed me why. It seemed that Marlowe did look up now and again, after all. Because he was practically hanging over the balcony, staring straight at me. And I finally understood the saying “If looks could kill.…”
Only they didn’t have to, because his boys had just been instructed to do it for him.
“Shit,” Ray said, and slammed his elbow back into the gut of his vamp.
I kicked out at mine, heard something crunch, and saw him go staggering at the balcony. And then Ray was jerking me through the door and toward the stairs, only to do a fast one-eighty and drag me through the curtain of the next box instead. “More, coming up fast,” he told me quickly, as Radu’s blond spoke from the hall.
“They just jumped over the balcony,” he told someone laconically. “They’re back downstairs now.”
There was the sound of booted feet hitting marble, but only some of them. Others started checking the box seats, because they hadn’t been born yesterday, and that included this one. Which I’d just noticed contained only two people.
One of whom was making down gestures at me.
I grabbed Ray and dove behind a low-slung couch, just about the time the metal curtain holders shlincked along their rod. And, presumably, a guard poked his nose in. And saw what I just had, namely the hairy leg and thigh of the flagrantly naked man on top of a pretty brunette senator whose name escaped me, but it had once been linked with Geminus’s.
Only it looked like she’d traded up. Because the guy continuing to move lazily against her was none other than Anthony, the European consul. Who obviously had his own way of celebrating, and it didn’t involve hobnobbing with a bunch of his rivals.
Fortunately, scaring the crap out of intrusive guards had made the list. Or maybe he was just returning a favor I’d once done him. Either way, he was giving a good glare over the back of the chaise.
“Yes?” he drawled, voice dripping with the privilege of a few thousand years.
“I…uh…I…” Well trained or not, the guard had obviously been thrown for a loop. I guess the consul’s place was usually a bit more straitlaced—an adjective that had never once been applied to Anthony.
Who suddenly smiled at the flustered vamp. “If you stay here any longer, I am going to assume you want to join in.”
The guard fled.
Anthony looked at me. “Having fun?”
“Not even,” I said, scrambling back to my feet.
Only to have Ray grab me. “You’ve got it wrong.”
“How?” I demanded—hopefully. Because nothing would make me happier right now.
“They weren’t that close,” he said quickly, because neither of us was under the impression that Anthony had bought us much time. “We got the portal open before you came around the last bend, but you couldn’t hear us ’cause it was so loud in there. So Radu had to go get you. They couldn’t have heard—”
“Vampire zombies,” I reminded him grimly. “Their strength and speed doesn’t vanish, even after they start to decay—”
“Don’t remind me.”
“So why should their hearing? And the necromancer heard everything his puppets did. Remember the half-missing guy upstairs?”
“I said don’t remind me,” Ray hissed, and then: “Marlowe’s probably changed it by now, anyway.”
“Changed what?”
“The password! You know how paranoid the guy is—”
“I also know he hasn’t slept in five days and has about a thousand other things to watch. He can’t—”
“Can I say something?” Anthony asked mildly.
“What?” Ray and I both demanded in unison.
“He’s standing behind you.”
Chapter Forty-three
I always wondered what Marlowe would look like if he ever really lost it. I found out. He gave a very nonhuman snarl and jumped me, sending a brazier tumbling and the hot oil inside it sloshing and Anthony and his pastime running butt naked out into the hall when the oil caught their chaise on fire.