The Scarlet Deep
Page 17
“I think most of our kind would leave. You could certainly work from anywhere you wished. Even going to England or Scotland would have been farther. But you stayed here. Rather close. That tells me that you didn’t want to cut ties as much as you think.”
“No. That’s ridiculous.” Anne sat up straighter. “We have completely separate lives. He’s had numerous relationships. I’ve had relationships. We both…”
Elke leaned forward, her head propped on her hand. “If you weren’t you, if you were a patient, what would you say to a woman who breaks off a very serious relationship—the most intimate an immortal can have—and yet stays within a day’s journey of the one to whom she is bound?”
Anne sat back in her seat. “Well… dammit.”
THE trip to Donegal had been scheduled months ago. Twice a year, Anne and her sister would meet at the ruins of the old stone house where both had spent their first years as an immortal. Their sire had cared for Mary there, and Mary had cared for her sister. It was the way of things in their small clan. Should Anne’s father ever sire another, that child would be Anne’s responsibility to guide through the first few tumultuous years.
So far, she was the youngest. Her father was not a prolific vampire.
Despite both their busy schedules, Anne knew it was important for her and Mary to have these times together. Mary had few people she trusted in Belfast. Unlike Patrick Murphy, who’d come into power with a cadre of trusted advisors at his side, Mary had clawed her way through the bloody wake of a vampire uprising in Belfast two hundred years before. She’d held on to power through intelligence, determination, and a ruthless attitude toward governance that brooked no argument.
But, as Anne often pointed out, that way led toward tyranny.
So Anne met with Mary twice a year and reminded her sister that she had a conscience.
She pulled into the small drive and waved at the caretaker who was already walking back to the smaller house on the edge of the property. Mary’s car was in the drive, a luxurious old roadster that she was able to navigate herself. Anne pulled next to it and parked her Mini.
The weather was typically damp. The house in Donegal always smelled of the sea and musk roses in summer. Anne could hear the waves in the distance, washing up the bay, but the night was too dark to see the water through the grove.
The Georgian house that had replaced the stone cottage sat on eighteen carefully landscaped acres. It was big enough to suit their independent natures, but not so big that it wasn’t easily taken care of by the groundkeeper and his wife, who lived at the lodge. Over the years, it had come to be what Anne considered her family home.
Following the faint scent of cigarette smoke, Anne rounded the corner to see her sister staring at a bank of blue hydrangeas and sucking on one of those blasted tobacco sticks as she sat on a garden bench that bordered the walk.
Mary had the delicate English beauty that made modern humans think of period films and fine manners. She’d styled her dark brown hair the same since the 1920s because it suited her heart-shaped face. A human would think her a damsel until they looked into her eyes. Then they’d probably run screaming.
“Such a nasty habit,” Anne said, sitting next to her and leaning her head on Mary’s shoulder.
“Hello,” Mary said, reaching over to pat her sister’s cheek. “How’s my kinder half?”
“Confused.”
“Tell your sis, eh?”
“I don’t know that I want to.”
Mary hated Murphy. Mostly out of rivalry, distrust, and his treatment of Anne. She probably also envied his ease being a male in leadership while she constantly battled human sexism.
“Well, sister, count two of us who don’t want to say the things that need to be said.” Mary sighed. “Because I’ve a favor I need to ask that you’re going to hate me for.”
Anne groaned. “What? Is it a political meeting? Tell me it’s not a political—”
“It’s business. And politics. More politics, really. You’ll really just have to nod and smile and take notes for me.”
Anne groaned. “Mary, you know I hate—”
“I can’t trust anyone else. I can’t leave the city right now, Anne. You know my position is—”
“Far more secure than you think.” She gently prodded Mary with her elbow. “You’ve put a competent team in place, sister. If you continue this level of paranoia, you’re going to sabotage yourself.”
“Not time for analysis just yet.” Mary paused, took another drag on her cigarette. “Do this for me, Annie?”
Anne took a deep breath and drank in the sea air. “You know I will. What is it?”
“I need you to go to London.”
“Oh.” Anne sat up. “That’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Quite welcome, in fact, as long as I have some time to—”
“I need you to go to London with Patrick Murphy.”
Anne burst to her feet. “That bloody, conniving bastard!”
Chapter Five
MURPHY WAS GOING THROUGH London security concerns with Brigid when he got the message that Anne had arrived in the building. She’d be staying with Brigid and Carwyn while she was in town for a few weeks, but as she was officially entering his territory, she was following protocol by paying him a visit.
He and Terry had agreed that while Anne would speak for Mary Hamilton, it was best that Ireland as an island speak with a single voice at the summit. Fractured, they were less likely to be taken seriously. Together, they controlled a sizable percentage of the North Atlantic shipping trade.
“No. That’s ridiculous.” Anne sat up straighter. “We have completely separate lives. He’s had numerous relationships. I’ve had relationships. We both…”
Elke leaned forward, her head propped on her hand. “If you weren’t you, if you were a patient, what would you say to a woman who breaks off a very serious relationship—the most intimate an immortal can have—and yet stays within a day’s journey of the one to whom she is bound?”
Anne sat back in her seat. “Well… dammit.”
THE trip to Donegal had been scheduled months ago. Twice a year, Anne and her sister would meet at the ruins of the old stone house where both had spent their first years as an immortal. Their sire had cared for Mary there, and Mary had cared for her sister. It was the way of things in their small clan. Should Anne’s father ever sire another, that child would be Anne’s responsibility to guide through the first few tumultuous years.
So far, she was the youngest. Her father was not a prolific vampire.
Despite both their busy schedules, Anne knew it was important for her and Mary to have these times together. Mary had few people she trusted in Belfast. Unlike Patrick Murphy, who’d come into power with a cadre of trusted advisors at his side, Mary had clawed her way through the bloody wake of a vampire uprising in Belfast two hundred years before. She’d held on to power through intelligence, determination, and a ruthless attitude toward governance that brooked no argument.
But, as Anne often pointed out, that way led toward tyranny.
So Anne met with Mary twice a year and reminded her sister that she had a conscience.
She pulled into the small drive and waved at the caretaker who was already walking back to the smaller house on the edge of the property. Mary’s car was in the drive, a luxurious old roadster that she was able to navigate herself. Anne pulled next to it and parked her Mini.
The weather was typically damp. The house in Donegal always smelled of the sea and musk roses in summer. Anne could hear the waves in the distance, washing up the bay, but the night was too dark to see the water through the grove.
The Georgian house that had replaced the stone cottage sat on eighteen carefully landscaped acres. It was big enough to suit their independent natures, but not so big that it wasn’t easily taken care of by the groundkeeper and his wife, who lived at the lodge. Over the years, it had come to be what Anne considered her family home.
Following the faint scent of cigarette smoke, Anne rounded the corner to see her sister staring at a bank of blue hydrangeas and sucking on one of those blasted tobacco sticks as she sat on a garden bench that bordered the walk.
Mary had the delicate English beauty that made modern humans think of period films and fine manners. She’d styled her dark brown hair the same since the 1920s because it suited her heart-shaped face. A human would think her a damsel until they looked into her eyes. Then they’d probably run screaming.
“Such a nasty habit,” Anne said, sitting next to her and leaning her head on Mary’s shoulder.
“Hello,” Mary said, reaching over to pat her sister’s cheek. “How’s my kinder half?”
“Confused.”
“Tell your sis, eh?”
“I don’t know that I want to.”
Mary hated Murphy. Mostly out of rivalry, distrust, and his treatment of Anne. She probably also envied his ease being a male in leadership while she constantly battled human sexism.
“Well, sister, count two of us who don’t want to say the things that need to be said.” Mary sighed. “Because I’ve a favor I need to ask that you’re going to hate me for.”
Anne groaned. “What? Is it a political meeting? Tell me it’s not a political—”
“It’s business. And politics. More politics, really. You’ll really just have to nod and smile and take notes for me.”
Anne groaned. “Mary, you know I hate—”
“I can’t trust anyone else. I can’t leave the city right now, Anne. You know my position is—”
“Far more secure than you think.” She gently prodded Mary with her elbow. “You’ve put a competent team in place, sister. If you continue this level of paranoia, you’re going to sabotage yourself.”
“Not time for analysis just yet.” Mary paused, took another drag on her cigarette. “Do this for me, Annie?”
Anne took a deep breath and drank in the sea air. “You know I will. What is it?”
“I need you to go to London.”
“Oh.” Anne sat up. “That’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Quite welcome, in fact, as long as I have some time to—”
“I need you to go to London with Patrick Murphy.”
Anne burst to her feet. “That bloody, conniving bastard!”
Chapter Five
MURPHY WAS GOING THROUGH London security concerns with Brigid when he got the message that Anne had arrived in the building. She’d be staying with Brigid and Carwyn while she was in town for a few weeks, but as she was officially entering his territory, she was following protocol by paying him a visit.
He and Terry had agreed that while Anne would speak for Mary Hamilton, it was best that Ireland as an island speak with a single voice at the summit. Fractured, they were less likely to be taken seriously. Together, they controlled a sizable percentage of the North Atlantic shipping trade.
