Autumn Bones (Agent of Hel #2)

Autumn Bones (Agent of Hel #2) Page 46

Damn. Maybe he really did have feelings for me.

If he did, it didn’t appear that he was going to declare them today. I let the silence stretch between us. When it became obvious that he had nothing further to say, I returned to the original topic. “Okay, well, I’m going to Bethany Cassopolis’s rising in two days,” I said. “Any advice?”

Stefan frowned. “A newly turned vampire’s rising is a volatile time,” he said. “Physically and emotionally. While it may be a transformation of their own choosing, no one is ever truly prepared for it. Many panic upon rising. I would offer to accompany you if I thought it wise . . . but I fear I do not.”

Good to know. “No problem,” I said. “I’ve got backup.”

“The lamia?”

I shook my head. “The cop.”

“I see.” Stefan steepled his fingers. “I would not anticipate difficulty. The newly risen possess considerable strength, but it takes many years to develop more dangerous skills, such as vampiric hypnosis, to their fullest potential. The others will be prepared to manage the situation, and it is my impression that Lady Eris is competent in ministering to her brood.”

“So I should just . . . let it happen?” I asked.

He gave me another of those centuries-old, gap-spanning looks. “It has already happened, Daisy. You are merely there to observe the culmination as a courtesy.”

“Right.”

We gazed at each other.

“You should go,” Stefan said presently, his pupils waxing, stabilizing with an effort. “My control is . . . strained.”

I stood, hesitating. I couldn’t resist asking. “Okay, look, I’m sorry, but . . . is it about you? Hamlet?”

He summoned a faint smile. “Are you asking if I knew William Shakespeare? No. By all accounts, the play is based on an old Scandinavian folktale. But if he had put words into my mouth, they would have been Laertes’, not Hamlet’s.”

Since I couldn’t remember which one was Laertes, I held my tongue.

Stefan looked into the distance. “To hell, allegiance!” he murmured. “Vows to the blackest devil! Conscience and grace to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation. To this point I stand.” His voice dropped an octave, deep and menacing. “Let come what comes. Only I’ll be revenged most thoroughly for my father.”

I shivered.

Words, they were just words. But they were words that evoked a moment that defined the entirety of Stefan Ludovic’s existence. I hadn’t forgotten how Cooper had described it: that one terrible, horrible, glorious moment that could never be taken back, that could never be regained. The moment that he craved to re-create, forever and always.

And couldn’t.

I wanted to say something profound and reassuring, but the truth was, I had no idea what that might be.

So instead I left.

Thirty

Two days later—or to be more precise, two days and a night later—I returned to the House of Shadows.

In accordance with the instructions on the engraved invitation, Jen and I arrived at eleven thirty. The temperature had dropped and it was a chilly night, more like October than September. We stood shivering in the courtyard for a few minutes, waiting for Cody to pull up in a cruiser and join us. God knows what would happen if things did go wrong, but at least he looked reassuring and official in his cold-weather police duty jacket.

“Are you okay?” he asked Jen.

She gave him a wan smile. “Not really.”

“Let’s get this over with.” I banged the door knocker.

Unsurprisingly, the undead doorman had a problem with Cody’s presence. I suppose the only surprising thing was that he didn’t have a problem with mine. Jen was prepared to claim me as family if necessary, but apparently being Hel’s liaison included the privilege of attending vampire risings.

Lucky me.

In the end, Lady Eris was summoned, arriving in a cloud of irritation and impatience. “There is no justification for your presence here, wolf.”

Cody planted his hands on his utility belt. “Are you kidding? There’s a dead woman on the premises.”

Lady Eris shot him a glare. “Unrisen, not dead.”

He shrugged. “Until she rises, she’s dead. And as long as she’s dead, police presence is justified.”

“He’s right,” I added, trying my best to sound authoritative. “He’s here at my request. Just in case.”

“There is no time to argue the matter.” She pursed her carmine lips and turned her glare on me. “Fine. The wolf may remain on the premises, but he may not attend the ceremony. Once he has confirmed the initiate has risen, he will depart. Does that suffice to resolve the issue?”

Cody and I exchanged a quick glance. He gave me a faint nod. It was probably the best compromise we were going to get.

“Yeah,” I said. “It does.”

With that settled, the denizens of the House of Shadows assembled to file through the manor into the . . . crypt, I guess you’d call it. Back in the day, it was probably a cellar storage room, with stairs leading down from an aisle adjacent to an incongruous kitchen. As Jen and I were escorted past it, I wondered briefly why Lady Eris’s vampire brood hadn’t disassembled it, then remembered that their mortal acolytes still required human sustenance.

Anyway.

The walls of the crypt were covered with stucco, and dozens of candles burned in niches and on stands arrayed around the cellar. A fresco of the night sky adorned the ceiling, smudged with decades’ worth of candle smoke. A big slab of marble like a sarcophagus sat hulking in the center of the space.

Jen let out a faint sound, reaching involuntarily for my hand. I grabbed hers, squeezing hard.

Bethany Cassopolis lay motionless on the marble slab, looking bloodless and pretty fucking dead. Her black hair was fanned out over the marble, her hands were folded on her chest, and her normally Mediterranean olive-toned skin was pale and ashen. The fact that she looked so much like her sister made it even more unnerving. Weirdly, a length of scarlet ribbon had been run beneath her chin and tied in a bow atop her head.

I took a deep breath. After the night’s chill outside, the air in the crypt was close and stifling, but although I was beginning to sweat under the leather of my secondhand motorcycle jacket, the sweat turned cold on my skin.

“Brethren and sistren,” Lady Eris said in a mellifluous voice. Okay, so apparently sistren is an actual word. “We gather here tonight to celebrate the initiation of a new member into our midst. Hail, sister!”

“Hail, sister!” a dozen-plus voices echoed.

Creepy, right?

She glanced around the crypt, her gaze settling on Jen. “Does the family of the initiate wish to bid her mortal sibling a farewell?”

“Are you serious?” Jen blurted. Lady Eris raised one perfect eyebrow. “Jesus!” Jen stared at her sister. Unheeded tears spilled down her cheeks. “Jesus, Beth! Did you have to?”

“You should be grateful,” Geoffrey the prat informed her in a supercilious manner. “It is a tremendous honor that we accord her.” Other vampires murmured in agreement. Jen fixed Geoffrey with a death stare filled with hatred. He actually looked slightly nonplussed.

“Very well.” Lady Eris raised her voice. Not much, but it held an unmistakable ring of command. “Let the ritual commence.”

She offered a series of invocations to the Goddess of Night in all her incarnations, of which there were many. I concentrated on taking mental notes for my database, counting the vampires in the crypt. Altogether, there were sixteen of them. Seventeen if I counted Bethany, which I wasn’t ready to do yet.

Other than Jen and me, there was only one other mortal present. I recognized him as the guy who’d played John the Baptist in the tableau vivant. He stood quiet and patient, gazing at Bethany with a look of glazed envy.

Bethany just continued to look dead.

I clutched Jen’s hand in my left, my right resting on dauda-dagr’s hilt, its coolness caressing my palm. The candles burned, wicks crackling faintly here and there. I was hyper-aware of my heart thudding steadily in my chest, the soft whoosh of air entering and exiting my lungs.

Lady Eris beckoned. One of the other female vampires brought forth a silver chalice and set it on the edge of the sarcophagus. Another inclined her head to Geoffrey the prat, proffering a little silver knife with a curved blade.

Ceremoniously, Geoffrey unbuttoned his brocade waistcoat and removed it, handing it to the nearby doorman, who folded it neatly over one arm. Then Bethany’s blood-bonded mate unbuttoned the ruffled cuff of his left shirtsleeve and rolled it up to expose a pale, muscular forearm before accepting the knife.

Making a fist of his left hand, he held it over the chalice. With the knife in his right hand, he slashed the length of his inner forearm.

The other vampires sighed in approval, making the candle flames flicker and sway, sending dancing shadows around the crypt.

Okay, so it turns out that vampires aren’t actually bloodless, which I guess I’d known on some level, since it’s their blood that turns mortals. Exactly how it could work without a beating heart to circulate it, I’d never understood. It’s just . . . it’s not human blood that runs in their veins. What pulsed out of the gash in Geoffrey’s arm was an opaque, pearlescent liquid that spidered over his skin and streamed into the chalice. The way it slithered and skittered reminded me of mercury from a high school science experiment.

I swallowed hard.

Jen squeezed my hand tighter.

The gash on Geoffrey’s arm was already knitting, fading to a faint silvery line. He shook a few errant drops into the chalice before bowing to Lady Eris and offering the knife to her.

She pricked her forefinger and extended it. One, two, three perfect shimmering globules formed at the tip of her finger, falling into the bowl of the vessel.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the faint sound of the candles and three mortals breathing.

Then Lady Eris bent over the sarcophagus. With one decisive slash, she severed the ribbon binding Bethany’s jaw shut.