The Scarlet Deep
Page 9
“Yes, but now I have even more questions.”
Anne gave up and laughed. “I love you.”
“I know you do. Carwyn worries that one of these days I’ll simply stay here, and he’ll have to hunt me down and drag me back.”
“We’d manage to fight him off if we tried.”
ANOTHER hour’s conversation left Anne in a troubled state of mind. The worries she’d had at the start of the evening hadn’t lessened with her friend’s visit; they’d grown worse. Like her hunger.
The Elixir problem showed no sign of improving. After the drug had escaped its murky origins in Rome, it had showed up in Ireland and other parts of Europe, but no one knew who was shipping it. Patrick Murphy had tried everything possible to halt its import, but the drug was too easy to transport. Terrance Ramsay in England was having the same problem, and Anne knew she needed to ask her sister some hard questions. Was Belfast having the same issues? Had Mary been hiding it from her?
To humans, Elixir looked like a clear pink liquid that smelled strongly of pomegranate. And yet it acted as a poison to vampires and humans alike. For mortals, there was no cure at all. They wasted away, unable to process any of the vital nutrients their bodies needed to remain healthy. They starved, even on feeding tubes. It was a horrible, painful death.
In vampires, Elixir acted as a cure for the bloodlust that plagued them. The vampire stopped eating. Then drinking. All while remaining in seemingly perfect health. But gradually, he or she went mad from the lack of blood that fed their amnis, the vital energy that kept them alive and connected to their elemental power. Once Elixir invaded their systems, vampires could no longer process the blood they needed to survive. Not even forced feeding was a cure. The only cure—if it could be called one—was a near complete exsanguination of the infected immortal, followed by an infusion of their sire’s blood.
For vampires such as Anne, who remained on good terms with her father, not a wholly hopeless proposition. For vampires such as Murphy or her next client, impossible.
The patient Ruth knew as “the Russian” arrived minutes before his appointed time of three a.m. He was a particular sort, and Anne had never known him to be late in all the time he’d been “visiting” her.
He refused to call her his doctor. He refused to consider her anything more than a friend he saw once every six months or so. He always propositioned her, and vodka was always involved.
Psychological practice among vampires necessitated a slightly more individualistic approach.
“Oleg,” she said, holding out her arms to embrace the fearsome fire vampire who ruled over most of Russia.
“Anne,” he said, pulling her into a heated embrace. “Have you decided to leave these cold shores and warm yourself by my fire?”
“Not tonight, my friend.”
Not that it would have been a hardship. Oleg had a handsome, angular face and eyes the color of the grey skies over his home in St. Petersburg. He rarely smiled, but when he did, his teeth were even and his fangs… impressive. His hair was chestnut brown, and he wore a thick beard in defiance of his element.
He also had several houses filled with human and vampire mistresses if rumors were to be believed. Oleg lived more like a czar than the mobster many called him.
“Soon you’ll run away with me.”
Anne laughed. “We’ll see.”
He tipped his chin up, and Anne was once again reminded of wind and snow and fire in the night. Oleg was fiercely beautiful, but far from civilized. His human and vampire lineage was drenched in blood. Despite that, he treated her with a gentle respect, and Anne knew their friendship was one of the reasons her home remained safe.
“Come. We’ll talk inside out of this cold. I brought a new vodka.”
“Oleg—”
“Just a taste, yes? For me. It is a new brand. I want your opinion.”
The Russian was one of the most powerful fire vampires in Europe. Brigid, with her fledgling power, would be ash at his feet. Anne wondered whether he’d been able to sense the presence of the young fire vampire when he walked in the house. Probably. Fire vampires had the keenest noses of their kind. She also doubted that an immortal like Oleg considered someone like Brigid Connor to be anything other than amusing. Aside from the ancients, the reclusive scholar and former assassin Giovanni Vecchio would be considered his only rival. And Vecchio wanted as little to do with vampire politics as Anne did.
“There is a fire in you tonight, lapochka,” Oleg said. “I can sense it.”
“Is this the beginning of a very bad pickup line?”
“Perhaps.” He smiled slowly. “To have a woman like you at my side? For this, I would offer your sire gold.”
“I’m not for sale, but I’ll try to be flattered.”
“You should be.”
“Tell me what’s going on with your daughter. Have you spoken with Zara lately?”
An angry stream of Russian was his only response. Anne shook her head and looked for the vodka glasses.
Chapter Three
DECLAN USED HIS HAND to point at the projection on the wall. “We can pick up these three properties for far less than market value, but we’ll need to use at least two different shell corporations and space the purchases out over several months.”
“Are there any other buyers interested?” Murphy asked.
“Not that I could find. These two are considered prime, but with the economy the way it is, there’s no telling when construction will pick up again.”
Anne gave up and laughed. “I love you.”
“I know you do. Carwyn worries that one of these days I’ll simply stay here, and he’ll have to hunt me down and drag me back.”
“We’d manage to fight him off if we tried.”
ANOTHER hour’s conversation left Anne in a troubled state of mind. The worries she’d had at the start of the evening hadn’t lessened with her friend’s visit; they’d grown worse. Like her hunger.
The Elixir problem showed no sign of improving. After the drug had escaped its murky origins in Rome, it had showed up in Ireland and other parts of Europe, but no one knew who was shipping it. Patrick Murphy had tried everything possible to halt its import, but the drug was too easy to transport. Terrance Ramsay in England was having the same problem, and Anne knew she needed to ask her sister some hard questions. Was Belfast having the same issues? Had Mary been hiding it from her?
To humans, Elixir looked like a clear pink liquid that smelled strongly of pomegranate. And yet it acted as a poison to vampires and humans alike. For mortals, there was no cure at all. They wasted away, unable to process any of the vital nutrients their bodies needed to remain healthy. They starved, even on feeding tubes. It was a horrible, painful death.
In vampires, Elixir acted as a cure for the bloodlust that plagued them. The vampire stopped eating. Then drinking. All while remaining in seemingly perfect health. But gradually, he or she went mad from the lack of blood that fed their amnis, the vital energy that kept them alive and connected to their elemental power. Once Elixir invaded their systems, vampires could no longer process the blood they needed to survive. Not even forced feeding was a cure. The only cure—if it could be called one—was a near complete exsanguination of the infected immortal, followed by an infusion of their sire’s blood.
For vampires such as Anne, who remained on good terms with her father, not a wholly hopeless proposition. For vampires such as Murphy or her next client, impossible.
The patient Ruth knew as “the Russian” arrived minutes before his appointed time of three a.m. He was a particular sort, and Anne had never known him to be late in all the time he’d been “visiting” her.
He refused to call her his doctor. He refused to consider her anything more than a friend he saw once every six months or so. He always propositioned her, and vodka was always involved.
Psychological practice among vampires necessitated a slightly more individualistic approach.
“Oleg,” she said, holding out her arms to embrace the fearsome fire vampire who ruled over most of Russia.
“Anne,” he said, pulling her into a heated embrace. “Have you decided to leave these cold shores and warm yourself by my fire?”
“Not tonight, my friend.”
Not that it would have been a hardship. Oleg had a handsome, angular face and eyes the color of the grey skies over his home in St. Petersburg. He rarely smiled, but when he did, his teeth were even and his fangs… impressive. His hair was chestnut brown, and he wore a thick beard in defiance of his element.
He also had several houses filled with human and vampire mistresses if rumors were to be believed. Oleg lived more like a czar than the mobster many called him.
“Soon you’ll run away with me.”
Anne laughed. “We’ll see.”
He tipped his chin up, and Anne was once again reminded of wind and snow and fire in the night. Oleg was fiercely beautiful, but far from civilized. His human and vampire lineage was drenched in blood. Despite that, he treated her with a gentle respect, and Anne knew their friendship was one of the reasons her home remained safe.
“Come. We’ll talk inside out of this cold. I brought a new vodka.”
“Oleg—”
“Just a taste, yes? For me. It is a new brand. I want your opinion.”
The Russian was one of the most powerful fire vampires in Europe. Brigid, with her fledgling power, would be ash at his feet. Anne wondered whether he’d been able to sense the presence of the young fire vampire when he walked in the house. Probably. Fire vampires had the keenest noses of their kind. She also doubted that an immortal like Oleg considered someone like Brigid Connor to be anything other than amusing. Aside from the ancients, the reclusive scholar and former assassin Giovanni Vecchio would be considered his only rival. And Vecchio wanted as little to do with vampire politics as Anne did.
“There is a fire in you tonight, lapochka,” Oleg said. “I can sense it.”
“Is this the beginning of a very bad pickup line?”
“Perhaps.” He smiled slowly. “To have a woman like you at my side? For this, I would offer your sire gold.”
“I’m not for sale, but I’ll try to be flattered.”
“You should be.”
“Tell me what’s going on with your daughter. Have you spoken with Zara lately?”
An angry stream of Russian was his only response. Anne shook her head and looked for the vodka glasses.
Chapter Three
DECLAN USED HIS HAND to point at the projection on the wall. “We can pick up these three properties for far less than market value, but we’ll need to use at least two different shell corporations and space the purchases out over several months.”
“Are there any other buyers interested?” Murphy asked.
“Not that I could find. These two are considered prime, but with the economy the way it is, there’s no telling when construction will pick up again.”
