Hands of Flame

Margrit had seen none of them move. Her heartbeat was sickeningly fast, making her light-headed with the panic of being in the midst of a reckoning that she had no control over. Chelsea’s warning, to have Alban with her when she asked that question, seemed pitifully inadequate now: without the entire quartet who held Daisani off, she was certain she would already be dead. That she would have died so quickly that she would never have seen it coming.

Daisani craned his head toward her, neck elongating to an impossible degree. Ursula snaked into his path, half blocking Margrit’s view, clearly protecting her. “Me first, Father.”

Hesitation flickered in Daisani’s black eyes. His jaw opened too far, starting to unhinge, and then he snapped it shut again and withdrew into himself, suddenly the same contained businessman Margrit had met him as. He shook off Alban’s hands, and to Margrit’s horror, the gargoyle let him.

“You will come to regret asking that question, Margrit Knight. You will come to regret it, and so, too, will the one who guided you toward asking.

“Catch me,” the vampire whispered. “Catch me if you can.”

CHAPTER 35

Daisani’s words lingered far longer than he did, sounds left on a whisk of wind as he sped away. Ursula, unexpectedly, squealed with glee and disappeared after him. Even Kate look startled at her sister’s departure, taking a few abortive steps to follow before stopping. Alban flexed his hands, regretting that he’d released the vampire, but uncertain Daisani couldn’t have slipped free regardless.

“Chelsea,” Margrit whispered. “He’s going after Chelsea. Can Ursula stop him?”

Kate shook her head. “Ursula’s not trying to stop him. She just wants to race. She’s never had anyone as fast as she was to go up against.”

Janx snorted beneath Kate’s denial. “One does not go after Chelsea Huo. Not even Eliseo is that rash.”

Margrit stared at him and Alban put himself between the two of them, catching Margrit’s hand in his own. “Would you go after the serpent at the heart of the world, Margrit?”

The petite human transferred her stare to him, becoming incredulous. “How could you?”

“No more than you can go after Chelsea. Don’t worry.”

Margrit dropped her chin to her chest, forehead pinched with the force of her frown. “So her referring to humans wasn’t just because she’s gotten in the habit of thinking of all the races by their specific names.” She lifted her gaze, lips thin, and pulled her hand from Alban’s to fold her arms. “What is she?”

Alban fought off the temptation to follow her and simply shook his head. “Some secrets aren’t ours to tell.”

A beat of silence, then two, filled the room before Alban, half apologetically, said, “Some secrets aren’t ours to tell.”

Margrit threw her head back, scowling at the chamber ceiling. “Of course not.” She set her teeth together, then, jaw still held tense, visibly tried to let it go. Tried, and almost succeeded: Alban barely heard her threat of, “One of these days I’ll get inside your memories and find out.”

“Not now that you’ve warned me,” he said with more apology.

Margrit glared at him. “All right. All right, fine, whatever. Never mind what she is. Some secrets have to be kept.” She sighed suddenly and pulled her hair loose to scrub her fingers through it. “How about the secret of where the bodies are? Do either of you know what that means?” Worry washed away her frustration and she hugged herself. “I don’t care how safe you think she is. I want to make sure.”

“My dear—”

Margrit spun to face Janx, exasperation filling her voice to the edge of lividity, mercurial human emotion a wonder, as always, to Alban. “I heard you. What if you’re wrong? She’s the one who told me to ask the question that just sent Eliseo Daisani ru

Janx looked toward Alban, who opened a hand in answer to the question. “There was Moscow. But then, you left rather precipitously, too, didn’t you? With your tail between your legs, if the stories have it right.”

The dragon’s nostrils flared, and Margrit looked from one Old Race to another with an expression that demanded explanation. Alban flashed a smile and shook his head. “That’s all anyone knows about it. But aside from that, I don’t remember the last time Eliseo ran from anything, and a gargoyle should.”

“You’ve been out of the memories a long time, Stoneheart. There was Van Helsing.” A hint of smugness slithered over Janx’s face as Alban lifted his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t know about that. It was what sent him—and me, in the end—to the Americas. Van Helsing is why there’ve been no vampires but Daisani these past hundred and fifty years.”

“Van Helsing is a story,” Margrit protested.

Momentary silence filled the chamber before the dragonlord smiled. “You can stand here, in this company, and say that with such authority? You asked once what happened to those humans who executed the Old Races. Your own facetious answer was immortality, but you’re not so far off, my dear. Human fiction disguises worlds of truth.”

Margrit shot a look from Janx to Alban and back again, then cast a wary glance toward Kate, as though checking to see if the other woman could tell if the Old Races were having her on. Kate made a tiny motion of denial and Margrit’s gaze came back to the dragon and gargoyle. “Are you telling me Abraham Van Helsing existed and hunted vampires? That he came to help some woman who was bitten—But it doesn’t work that way. You can’t turn a human into a vampire.”

“Ah, but what if you flip the story around? What if Lucy lies dying of consumption, and her doting suitor discovers a sip of vampire blood will cure all her ills? What if he begs help from a doctor friend and they pursue the panacea at all costs, but are refused and the beloved wife dies? The lover might retire, his heart broken, but the doctor might be unable to let the idea of a universal cure go. He might make of himself a hunter, perhaps the best in all the world.”

Margrit lifted her hands to her temples, massaging.

A burst of sympathy filled Alban and he stepped forward to touch her shoulder.

She dropped her hands and stared at the ceiling before exhaling heavily. “Yeah, okay, I guess he might just. I mean, all the other stories are turned on their ears. So what happened?”

Janx shrugged. “Eliseo determined retreat was the better part of valor, and fled. Shortly thereafter he met Vanessa, and you know the rest.”

Margrit laughed, short, sharp sound, and turned a despairing look on Alban. “That’s so far from the truth I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Why are we still here?” Kate demanded with what struck Alban as very human impatience. “Even if Daisani can’t do anything to this Chelsea person, shouldn’t we still be going after him? What if you’re wrong?”

Janx sniffed. “I’m rarely wrong, Katherine. And there’s no haste, because it’s not possible to catch up with him. Your sister might have, but as for the rest of us, we may as well wait for him to come to a stop.”

“Wherever that may be,” Kate said sourly.

“Most of us do have somewhere we call home.” Janx gave Margrit a telling look. “Unless it’s been stripped of us, of course. Either way, I have very little fear for our friendly neighborhood bookseller.”

Margrit glowered at the dragon. “Chelsea told me to ask about the bodies when I asked if Eliseo had any vulnerabilities. I’d think you’d be just a little bit interested in what the answer was. If you’re not, that’s fine. I won’t pursue it, but you’ll release me from this promise, no holds barred. I leave Daisani alone, he retains his empire, and you don’t go after Tony. I’m going to check on Chelsea. Come or don’t, but make your choice, dragonlord. I’m sick of this.”