Darkyn - Private Demon Part 8

"John Keller was my protege," August said. "I've been bringing him along for nearly thirty years. When Cardinal Stoss decided to use him, I asked that he not be wasted. Stoss ignored my counsel, used him in an atrocious manner, and proceeded to throw him away."

D'Orio's laugh had a faint, metallic ring to it. "So you played catcher." He made a casual gesture. "You know how this works. Whatever the boy was to you, he's a threat to the Order now. Have him brought to the facility for processing."

"Please, Your Eminence." Hightower felt sweat bead on his face. "John Keller is the only connection we have left to his sister, Alexandra."

"The plastic surgeon."

"Precisely. You must know that she has gone over to the maledicti, and her talents will interfere greatly with our mission." Hightower chose his next words carefully. "Alexandra has also become the lover of Michael Cyprien, the one we believe will be Tremayne's successor. John Keller led Stoss and the Brethren directly to his sister and Cyprien in New Orleans. If Stoss hadn't planned the attack so poorly, we might have captured all of them alive."

"You would use your own protege as bait." D'Orio's eyes glittered. "You've got very cold blood running through those veins, August."

"I am loyal only to the Order, Your Eminence, and for the Order I would do anything. You say that John no longer has any value to the Order." Hightower shrugged. "I disagree."

D'Orio nodded slowly, and turned his head when a gentle knock sounded on the door. "That is my two-minute warning. Where is Keller now?"

"I've arranged a counseling position for John at one of our recruitment shelters. He has no money, and no other sanctuary, so it is as good as a holding cell." The bishop tried not to let the relief he felt show in his voice. "Once he's settled in, he will want to make contact with his sister."

"He'll be monitored around the clock?"

August nodded. "Naturally."

"All right, August. I'll let you fish with a live worm." D'Orio stood as another knock sounded and the office door opened. "If Keller doesn't produce something in the next eight weeks, he's finished." He held out his hand.

It was less than Hightower had expected, but any reprieve was better than none. He had bought more time for himself and John. "Thank you, Your Eminence." He bent over and touched his lips to the diamond hourgla.s.s.

Father Carlo Cabreri returned to Hightower's office as soon as he had escorted the cardinal and his men to a limousine waiting outside. "His Eminence is not what we expected."

"His Eminence is a tenement boy from Brooklyn." Hightower rang the kitchen downstairs cook and ordered lunch be served an hour early. "That he came to see me personally is what concerns me now."

"You must be highly regarded in Rome," Cabreri said. "It is perhaps a show of appreciation for your many contributions to the mission."

"I am unknown in Rome," Hightower corrected him. "What's more, I have worked very hard to stay that way. This fiasco of Stoss's has ruined more than my plans for the Kellers."

"We have another, more immediate problem, Your Grace," Cabreri said. "Luisa Lopez has undergone eye surgery. A corneal transplant, and it seems it was successful."

"What?" Hightower glared. "Why was I not informed of this?"

"It was privately arranged by the mother. Our people in the hospital knew nothing about it until after the procedure had been performed." The bishop's a.s.sistant looked uneasy. "Jema Shaw has also become actively involved in Lopez's case."

"Jema?" Hightower went from furious to astounded. "What in G.o.d's name is she doing in the middle of this?"

"The museum job you obtained for Lopez," Cabreri reminded him. "While the girl was working there, apparently Shaw became friendly with her."

"Jema Shaw, friends with Luisa Lopez? Hardly."

"Jema Shaw has also been moonlighting as a forensic consultant for the coroner's office," Cabreri told him. "Last week she requested copies of all the Lopez case evidence reports. Our men in the department have managed to stall the paperwork, but he can't shuffle it forever."

"How many lambs must I sacrifice, Lord?" August muttered. "How many hopes must I burn?"

Jema was part of another of August Hightower's special projects, although she had never offered much promise.

Jema Shaw had come to his attention after her famous father's death in Greece; August had hoped to make use of her once she had come of age. Her poor health kept her from being of any constructive use as a breeder for the Order, but her inheritance would have certainly enriched the Brethren's treasury-as well as his own.

"Our people could make an anonymous report and lead the police to the grave sites," his a.s.sistant suggested. "Once the bodies are recovered, they will be quickly identified and the case closed."

"Not if the police show Luisa mug shots," Hightower said flatly. "She won't identify them as the men who attacked her."

"She has always refused to give a description to a sketch artist," his a.s.sistant pointed out. "Perhaps she does not know."

She knew, August thought. "Luisa will never give the police a description, but she won't identify the wrong men, either." He paced for a few moments, turning over the possibilities in his mind.

"I've never understood why you permit Lopez to live," his a.s.sistant said, rather bitterly. "She has caused us nothing but trouble since they pulled her from that fire."

Luisa Lopez was August Hightower's personal insurance policy, but he would never tell Cabreri that. "You don't have to understand, Carlo. You merely have to a.s.sure that the girl is not touched."

"What about Jema Shaw?"

When G.o.d demanded a sacrifice, He wanted the best, not the most convenient. August sighed. "She is expendable.

Arrange it."

"There was an inventive fellow who used a chainsaw the other night," Cabreri said, almost cheerful now. "He's dead, but his accomplice is still at large. We have a description of him."

Hightower shook his head. "Too dramatic. Make it something simpler, so that it will not attract undue attention. A traffic accident."

Chapter 7.

Valentin Jaus waited by the seawall that bordered his compound, as he did every evening just after dusk. More often than not he stood watching the private, empty stretch of rock that hemmed Lake Michigan, and used the time to sort out his tasks for the night. Occasionally he would walk a few yards down the uneven sh.o.r.eline, always looking at the charcoal-gray water, never at the houses beyond the seawall.

Pride kept Jaus from doing many things another, weaker man might not be able to resist.

The jardin bodyguards did not accompany their suzerain to the lakefront, but remained near the house within earshot. The jardin did not usually take such chances with their leader, but Jaus had insisted on spending this interval each day alone. He was not foolish, and he was never unarmed, but he needed the s.p.a.ce and opportunity to think.

More so now that there was a chance he need never be alone again.

If it is as she says, my lady can truly be mine.

Cyprien had told him of Alexandra's determination to prove the Darkyn were not under a curse. The surgeon believed their condition was some sort of genetic disorder, originally caused by, of all things, a viral blood infection. It seemed incredible-unthinkable-but if she proved correct, it could mean that the centuries of hopelessness were over.

Hope, after so many years of accepting that there would never be any, was a kiss to the soul and a dagger to the heart.

Alexandra Keller was also seeking answers as to why she herself had survived exposure to Cyprien's blood and had become Darkyn. If she discovered how, and more humans could be safely changed, the Kyn could grow stronger. They would have to. If the Brethren discovered that the vrykolakas could once more breed, then there would be nothing to prevent a full-scale war between the ancient enemies.

Jaus had a more selfish reason for wanting Alexandra to succeed. A safe method to change human into Darkyn would not only give him a future with the woman he loved; it would save her life. And there, now, as if summoned by his very thoughts, his lady appeared, moving through the half-light toward the water. Jaus tensed the moment he saw her, and yet he felt a deep relief.

Unlike so many others, this night he would not spend strangled by his solitude.

She walked down the wooden steps from the edge of her property to the cl.u.s.ter of large stones that formed a natural ridge bisecting the two hundred yards of sh.o.r.e in front of her home. As always, she went to the rocks and perched on the largest and flattest of them, and looked out at the water.

It was her favorite place, which was why he came out here each night on the pretense of needing time to think, in order to watch it.

Jaus had never set out to fall in love. Human women provided nourishment and s.e.x, but their short life spans made anything else inadvisable. Jaus had never been expected to love, either; he had been born and raised to manhood in a time when men did not feel such emotions, not toward their wives or even their mistresses.

Men loved their horses, their swords, and their liege lords, usually in that order.

Many men of his cla.s.s married women. It was an expected duty, performed to obtain property, produce heirs, and secure family fortunes. His contemporaries regularly took mistresses to give their delicate lady wives relief from the physical demands of holy matrimony, and to enjoy s.e.x with a ripe, willing woman. Women had never tempted Jaus beyond a few hours of sweaty pleasure, so he did not regret forsaking them when he took his vows and became a knight of the Temple.

Would she think differently of me if she knew I had been a priest for fifteen years? An inane question, that; he thought of her as his lady, but suspected she rarely thought of him, if at all. Would she share my life if I find some way to save hers?

He had a terrible suspicion that he was not above using her grat.i.tude, or blackmailing her with it, to get what he wanted.

Jaus climbed over the short seawall and made his way toward the rocks. Despite all his caution and longings and endless inner debates, this was when he felt most ridiculous. He had come to this country to acquire power. A man in his position had thousands of responsibilities, and no time to indulge such useless pursuits. He also knew nothing would come of going to the rock and speaking to his lady. He never dared to do anything else.

Still, he went to her, as helpless as a storm-tossed s.h.i.+p driven to shoals.

"Good evening, Miss Shaw," he said as soon as she noticed him approaching.

"Mr. Jaus." She turned and smiled. "How have you been?"

"Very well, thank you."

Their conversations rarely varied from the polite, impersonal greetings exchanged by pa.s.sing acquaintances. Before and after such meetings, Jaus often thought of many clever remarks he might have made, but whenever he spoke to Jema, none of them would come out of his mouth.

It would help if she gave him permission to use her given name, but she never had, and the rigid manners he had been taught as a boy prevented him from using it without her leave. Thus they had remained Mr. Jaus and Miss Shaw.

It made Valentin want to dash his own head against the rocks. No, that was not precisely true. It made him want to scoop her into his arms and carry her back to his house.

There he would show her how he had been for the last twelve years. There he would teach her exactly how he wished her to say his name.

His eyes studied Jema's calm, thin face. She had not the faintest idea of what he wanted to do to her, or how often he had fantasized about it. How much he wanted to peel the dull clothes she wore from her body and wors.h.i.+p it with his hands and mouth. How without a qualm he would hand over his jardin for a single night in which he could kiss her, and touch her, and f.u.c.k her until dawn- This need was turning him into a mindless fiend.

The shame Valentin felt over his l.u.s.t for Jema did nothing to banish it. The thought of having her caused his fangs to slide out of the twin holes in his palate, fully extending, aching with need. He breathed in deeply, willing his c.o.c.k not to do the same thing.

I am not an animal at the mercy of my needs. I am a man, an honorable man, and this is my lady. I will conduct myself accordingly.

"I think it might snow this weekend," Jema said, tilting her head back to look at the sky. "Then we'll be stuck indoors until April."

Here he was, literally shaking with desire for her, and she was speaking of the weather. She was brilliant and charming and entirely engaging, and he loved her with a pa.s.sion that left him speechless, but she was also, as the American saying went, totally clueless.

"Are you ready for winter?" she was asking.

Jaus hated the long, cold months, because they deprived him of these chance encounters. So did her disease, which was draining the life out of her year by year with slow, relentless cruelty. The reminder of the little time they had left together made his fangs retreat, but for the first time, hope would not permit him to bid her good night. "Would you care to walk with me?"

She gave him a short, startled glance, and then suddenly jumped down from the rock. "Lead the way."

Jaus did not lead her, and in fact slowed his steps so as not to hurry her. His first walk with Jema was going to last as long as he could make it.

Why did I not ask her to do this before tonight? He sensed the scant inches that separated them, a bare handbreadth of air.

His insides clenched. Before tonight I had more sense than to draw this close to her.

Jaus had never dared touch his lady. His curse, and his talent, made it too dangerous.

"I love the lake at night," Jema said. "It's so quiet, and I can always sleep a little better after I've walked down to look at the water. It's hypnotic or something." She glanced at him. "Is that why you come down here, or are you more into the exercise?"

He came down for her, of course. He couldn't have her, and he refused to touch her, but that didn't stop him from seizing a few minutes in her company.

I am a fool, Jaus thought as he watched her hips move as she walked, and imagined them welded beneath his, framed in the blue satin of his bed linens. His fingers digging into the slight curves as he sank into her. A fool, and a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t.

She was waiting for him to answer.

"It is very tranquil," Jaus said. "I find it relaxes me." This close to her, he could see new changes that were not evident from a distance, and he focused on them instead of the siren song of her hips. "Are you feeling well? You seem more slender than the last time we met."

"Skinny, you mean." Jema made an adorable face. "My appet.i.te has been terrible. I never feel like eating anything. I just force it down because I know I have to."

He could sympathize, but he doubted she would appreciate his dietary difficulties. No, if she knew what he needed to live, it would send her screaming into the night.

She gave him the same swift scrutiny. "You, on the other hand, never change. You always look like you just came from the gym."

The gym. Jaus groped for the meaning of the word. Some sort of sports facility? Was his hair disordered? Were his clothes wrinkled? "I am not certain of your meaning."

"You're so fit." She gestured toward one of his arms, the forearm exposed by his sleeve, which he had rolled up to make his appearance more casual, more human. "You must work out every day to keep in such good shape."

Now he understood the reference. "I am fortunate to have a... happy metabolism." He could smell blood on her breath when she spoke, and it was terribly distracting. Had she cut her lip, or had a tooth pulled? No such matter had been reported to him. "I wonder if I might impose upon you."

"Impose?" She stopped and turned to him, her expression openly curious.

It reminded him of the first time he had seen Jema. Now, standing here and staring into her face-they were exactly the same height-Jaus wished he could go back in time to that moment. If he could, he would not have let her go. He would have abducted her, taken her out of the country that very day. Over the centuries he had reclaimed his family's vast holdings and influence in Austria; no one would challenge him there.

Fantasies of having Jema to himself had filled many of his lonely hours.

It would never happen. Jaus's obsessive desire for Jema was too dangerous. Such primal, reckless l.u.s.t was just the sort of thing that sent the Kyn into thrall. Wanting her to this degree made her automatically off-limits to him.

He would not risk killing the only woman he would ever love.

"Mr. Jaus?" Jema was saying. "Is something wrong?"

Her voice shook him out of his thoughts as a hard hand might drag him from slumber. "Forgive me; I was gathering sheep," he lied.

"Wool." At his blank look, she added, "The expression is 'woolgathering.' "

"Ah, yes." He had mastered her language but not its idioms. Yet another reminder of how different they were. "Miss Shaw, each year I hold a masque for my friends and business a.s.sociates. I would like it very much if you were to attend."