“Put your plans together. However, do not take even the smallest action until I have permission from the Committee. Even then, we can only begin the moment the ascendiate has answered the call. Are we clear?”
Crace stared at him, his lips parted. Of course he knew the rules, he just couldn’t believe the simplicity of the assignment. He even wondered why a man of lesser talents wasn’t brought in to get the job done.
The Commander smiled, just a little. “Is there a problem, High Administrator Crace?”
“Not at all.”
Crace knew joy. The sensation was a flock of butterflies flitting through his veins. He got a hard-on the size of a sledgehammer. Victory sang in his ears. He grinned though he knew he shouldn’t. Maybe this was a simple form of justice for all the labor he had performed, karma coming home to roost.
A fever now worked in him. “I will not disappoint you,” he cried. His hands shook. The paper rattled between his fingers. He had many things he wanted to discuss with the Commander. He had a thousand ideas about how to administer the Coming Order, the vast spectacle he would help create worthy of the Commander’s vision and power.
Kill a mere mortal woman and he had a seat at Commander Greaves’s Geneva Round Table.
Sweet, sweet Jesus.
And he had so many ideas for the Coming Order.
He was dizzy with excitement, a bride on her wedding day. He was ready to speak, to share the enormous plans he had. Instead the Commander rose to his feet. “You must forgive me for ending the interview. I have other matters to attend to.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Crace said, once more pushing himself out of the chair, his damn pants clinging to his thighs. The interview was over.
He bowed and remained in the subservient position as the master passed by. A scent of lemons arose along with a faint resinous smell, something like paint thinner.
A moment more and Greaves vanished. At the same time, the pressure within Crace’s head eased.
Of course Greaves had been in his head. Of course. Yet he had somehow cloaked his presence.
So much power.
Crace glanced at the paper. One final task to complete, and not nearly as difficult as a dozen others he’d performed over the decades. He smiled once more, baring his fangs. He laughed and threw in a throaty growl. He wished his wife were with him. She was the great love of his life, the partner in his ambitions, the finest hostess of the North American continent. Most certainly his darling wife would understand the monumental nature of this opportunity.
He’d take her, right now, here in the office of his deity, on the Commander’s big fat ebony desk. They would drink champagne and commune. Oh, God, would they commune.
Maybe he should bring her to Phoenix Two while he took care of business. He would have need of her, great desire for her body and for her blood.
He glanced once more at the paper.
Now where, oh where, to find the mortal Alison Wells?
* * *
After showering … again … Kerrick dressed in black cargoes, a snug black tee, and steel-toed boots. This time he pulled his hair back and secured the leather cadroen. The ritual bound him to the warriors, to Second Earth, to his avowal of service to all immortal ascenders. He took his vows seriously.
Most nights he wore flight gear to meet up with the warriors at the Blood and Bite, because for whatever reason the ladies always made a beeline for the kilt. Right now, however, he wasn’t in the mood.
As Central folded him to the Mortal Earth club, he stood on the threshold and took a long look around, the music a loud wild frenzy, strobes flashing over the dance floor. He flared his nostrils and breathed in. He was only concerned about one scent right now, although he feared the smell of lavender more than a hundred of the Commander’s death vampires.
However, when nothing returned to him, not even a hint of lavender, instead of feeling relieved, he cursed. Where the hell was she?
He ordered his mind. He should be grateful she hadn’t made her way here. Alison Wells would do well to remain unknown, hidden in the safety of her life. Any association with him would put her in harm’s way.
What had he been telling Thorne just a few hours ago: You ever had an itch you couldn’t scratch?
Fuck.
He headed to the bar where Thorne, Medichi, Jean-Pierre, and Zacharius bellied up and drank, four of his warrior brothers. Well, they all drank except Jean-Pierre. He had his tongue in the ear of a brunette.
Thorne sat in his usual spot, at the top of the bar where he had the best view of every corner of the room. The club was full of Phoenix Two Militia Warriors who also had permanent passes to the Mortal Earth club. Thorne made sure all the vampires treated the mortal women with respect. Right now his right heel thumped to the music.
Kerrick went down the row and slapped shoulders. Medichi shoved an elbow at him as he jerked his head up and down once. He held a glass of red wine in his hand. Kerrick didn’t know how his brother could stand the shit.
Zach presented his hand, and Kerrick grabbed five. Zach drew him close. “Heard Greaves was with the ascendiate,” he shouted. The music roared by this time of night and the strobes bounced light and dark around like a pinball machine.
“You got that right.”
Kerrick acknowledged Jean-Pierre with a nod. The brother was a little too busy to do more than cast an eye in Kerrick’s direction as he tended to the female. Jean-Pierre was one helluva player, just as he’d been during his mortal life. Ladies were his game, no restrictions. The woman leaned close, her lips parted, her body molded to the warrior.
Kerrick turned around and headed back in Thorne’s direction. The lighting over the bar cast spotlights over each stool, and the last thing he needed from Jean-Pierre was a visual reminder of what he wanted to do to Alison.
As he drew close he saw that Thorne’s hazel eyes were not only red-rimmed but also bloodshot, and still he had his fingers around a sweating tumbler of Ketel One. He gestured for Kerrick to take the stool next to him then swiveled in his direction. “Good job,” he shouted, his gravel-pit voice raking the words hard. “Jeannie said the death vamp drained a mortal.”
Kerrick nodded. He spoke in a strong, clear voice. “Had to spend a few minutes wiping memories.”
“No doubt.” Thorne picked up his tumbler and took a deep swallow.
“So … Marcus.” Even saying his name caused Kerrick to twitch and his shoulders to bunch. “Endelle said she’d recalled him.”
Thorne scowled. “Yeah. You gonna be okay?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Exactly what I thought.”
Kerrick turned to Sam, ready to call for his Maker’s only to find a glass filled with liquid gold already sitting in front of him. He smiled. Sam was the best. He mouthed a thank-you to the barkeep. Sam merely nodded in response and kept moving up and down the line, tending to the warriors.
Thorne cut into his thoughts. “So how’d the cleanup go? We good?” He spoke in a loud voice but he still sounded like the low rumble of an idling Corvette.
Kerrick nodded, took a long swig, then leaned in close, aiming his words at Thorne’s ear. “With one exception.”
Thorne shifted toward Sam, lifted his left arm, and with his hand made the cut sign across his neck. Sam nodded, picked up a phone, and a few seconds later the music came to a halt. Sam always obliged Thorne.
“Tell me everything.”
Kerrick related the battle at the medical complex, then his experience with Alison.
“So what is this ascendiate like?”
She’s…” Perfect. “Like most women. Curved, soft-looking.” Hot as hell. Okay, he had to stop thinking about her. Now. He added, “Assuming this really is an ascension, it’s already without precedent. She has a boatload of power. Telepathy, empathy, and she folded. A profile indicated at least twenty others. I think she has all of Second’s abilities.”
Thorne dipped his chin. “Are you shitting me? And she folded, just like that? I couldn’t dematerialize when I ascended, not for another decade or so. And you still can’t.”
“Don’t rub it in.”
Thorne laughed. He threw back his Ketel, popped the glass on the bar, and Sam was ready to pour. “If you weren’t in all other respects the most powerful of our band of misfits, yours truly included, I might just feel sorry for you. Your speed makes up for everything since you prove it every night. Bastard.”
Kerrick laughed then shook his head. “I watched her fold. I had my wings at full-mount and would have risen to the second-story catwalk where I thought the death vamp had her trapped, but the next moment she appeared a couple of yards in front of me on ground level.” He then told Thorne about the difficulty he’d had doing the memory slice.
Thorne’s face knotted up. “Jesus. I’ve never heard of a mortal with so much resistance.”
“I’ve never had to go that far before.” He had his tumbler to his lips, but he just kept shaking his head at the memory. He’d practically punched her head with an ice pick to get inside—and even then, that she’d withstood the pressure without stroking out meant only one thing. Power. A lot of it. “Greaves was there.”
“Holy hell. When?”
“Just when I arrived. He acknowledged my presence then walked away. After that, Jeannie couldn’t read him on the grid so we presume he folded. The mortal’s been his therapist for a year. Can you believe it? She said he offered her a job. She refused.”
“Goddamn. So essentially she’s already declared her intention of aligning with Endelle.”
“Again without precedent, since she still hasn’t answered her call.” He shook his head. “None of this makes sense, does it?”
“No.” Thorne frowned. “A complete anomaly.”
Kerrick felt compelled to make his confession. “I left a card for her.”
Thorne snorted then backhanded his arm. “What the hell were you thinking? We are never supposed to interfere.”
“I thought between the Commander’s presence and the death vamp’s knowledge of her power she was already in the middle of a call to ascension. Couldn’t be a coincidence that the vamp went to the complex hunting for her, and apparently with a purpose to drain her, nor that I showed up shortly after.” He dropped his voice, turned slightly, and met Thorne’s gaze dead-on. “Something else happened. I really got into her.”