Around midnight Jane found herself in the back of a black Mercedes on her way home. Up front, on the other side of the partition that was in place, the uniformed driver was that butler who was older than God and as cheerful as a terrier. Beside her V was dressed in black leather, as silent and grim as a tombstone.
He hadn't said much. But he wouldn't let go of her hand.
The car's windows were darkened to such a degree she felt like she was in a tunnel, and in an effort to ground herself she hit a button on the door next to her. As her slice of glass went down, a shocking rush of cold pushed inside and replaced the warmth, a bully scattering the good kids at a playground.
She stuck her head out into the breeze and looked at the pool of illumination thrown by the headlights. The landscape was blurry, like a photograph out of focus. By the downward angle of the road she knew they were coming off a mountain. Thing was, she couldn't get any sense of where they were headed or where they had been.
In a weird way the disorientation was appropriate. This was the interlude between the world she'd been in and the one she was returning to, and stretches of neither here nor there should be hazy.
"I can't see where we are," she murmured as she put the window back up.
"It's called mhis," V said. "Think of it as a protective illusion."
"A trick of yours?"
"Yeah. Mind if I light up, as long as I let in some fresh air?"
"That's fine." It wasn't like she was going to be around him for much longer.
Crap.
V gave her hand a squeeze, then put his window down a quarter of an inch, the soft drone of wind flaring up over the quiet hum of the sedan. His leather jacket creaked as he took out a hand rolled and a gold lighter. The flint made a little rasp, and then the faint smell of Turkish tobacco made her nose tingle.
"That smell is so going to¡ª" She stopped.
"What?"
"I was going to say, 'remind me of you.' But it won't, will it?"
"Maybe in a dream."
She put her fingertips on her window. The glass was cold. Just like the center of her chest.
Because she couldn't stand the silence, she said, "These enemies of yours, what exactly are they?"
"They start as humans. Then they're turned into something else."
As he inhaled, she saw his face aglow in orange light. He'd shaved before leaving, using the razor she'd once wanted to turn against him, and his face was impossibly beautifully arrogant, masculine, hard as his will. The tattoos at his temple were still beautifully done, but now she hated them, knowing them for the violation they were.
She cleared her throat. "So tell me more?"
"The Lessening Society, our enemy, chooses its members through a careful screening process. They look for sociopaths, murderers, amoral Jeffrey Dahmer types. Then the Omega steps in¡ª"
"The Omega?"
He looked down at the tip of his hand-rolled. "Guess the Christian equivalent is the devil. Anyway, the Omega gets his hands on them... as well as other things... and presto, changeo, they wake up dead and moving. They are strong, virtually indestructible, and can be killed only by a stab wound to the chest with something steel."
"Why are they your enemies?"
He inhaled, again his brows going down low. "I suspect it might have something to do with my mother."
"Your mother?"
The hard smile that stretched his lips was more a curve than anything else. "I'm the son of what you'd probably consider a god." He lifted his gloved hand. "This is from her. Personally, as baby gifts go, I'd have preferred one of those silver rattles, or maybe some paste to eat. But you don't get to pick what your parents give you."
Jane looked at the black leather that stretched over his palm. "Jesus..."
"Not according to our lexicon or my nature. I'm not the savior type." He put the cigarette between his lips and pulled off the glove. In the dimness of the backseat, his hand glowed with the soft beauty of moonlight reflecting off of fresh snow.
He inhaled one last time, then took the cigarette and pressed the lit tip down right to the center of his palm.
"No," she hissed. "Wait¡ª"
The butt was ashed in a flare of light, and he blew off the residue, a fine powder that dispersed in the air. "I would give anything to get rid of this piece of shit. Although I will say, it's damn handy when I don't have an ashtray."
Jane felt woozy for a whole host of reasons, especially as she thought about his future. "Is your mother forcing you to get married?"
"Yup. I sure as fuck wouldn't volunteer for it." V's eyes shifted to her and for a split second she could have sworn he was going to say that she'd be the exception to that rule. But then he glanced away.
God, the idea of him with someone else, even if she wouldn't remember him, was like being kicked in the gut.
"How many?" Jane asked hoarsely.
"You don't want to know."
"Tell me."
"Don't think about it. I sure as hell try not to." He looked over at her. "They're going to mean nothing to me. I want you to know that. Even though you and I can't... Yeah, well, anyway, they won't mean jack."
It was horrible of her to be glad of that.
He put the glove back on, and they were silent as the sedan ghosted through the night. Eventually they stopped. Started up again. Stopped. Started up again.
"We must be downtown, huh?" she said. "Because this feels like a lot of traffic lights."
"Yeah." He leaned forward, hit a button, and the partition went down so she could see out the windshield.
Yup, downtown Caldie. She was back.
As tears speared into her eyes, she blinked them away and stared down at her hands.
A little later the driver stopped the Mercedes in front of what looked like the service entrance to a brick building: There was a sturdy metal door marked private in white paint, and a concrete ramp that went up to a loading dock. The place was clean in the way well-kept urban places were. Which was to say it was grungy, but without any loose trash around.
V opened his door. "Do not get out yet."
She put her hand on the duffel bag with her clothes in it. Maybe he'd decided to just take her back to the hospital? Except this was no entry she knew of at St. Francis.
Moments later he opened the door and reached in with his bare hand. "Leave your things. Fritz, we'll be back in a while."
"It is my pleasure to wait," the old man said with a smile.
Jane got out of the car and followed V over to a set of concrete stairs next to the ramp. The whole time he was on her like a slipcover, tight against her back, guarding her. Somehow he opened the sturdy metal door without keys; he simply put his hand on the push bar and stared at the thing.
Oddly, once they were inside he didn't relax at all. He led her quickly down a corridor to a freight elevator, checking left and right as they went along. She had no idea they were in the luxurious Commodore Building until she read a notice from the property managers that was posted on the concrete wall.
"You have a place here?" she asked, even though it was self-evident.
"Top floor's mine. Well, half of it." They got in a service elevator and stood on worn linoleum under caged lights. "I wish I could take you in the front way, but that's too public."
There was a lurch as the lift engaged, and she reached out for the elevator wall. V caught her upper arm first, holding her steady, and he didn't let go. She didn't want him to.
V remained tense when they came to a jerking halt and the elevator opened. The plain hallway was nothing special, with just two doors and a stairway exit to give it purpose. The ceiling was high but not ornate, and the carpeting was the kind of low-napped, multicolored variety she recognized from the hospital's waiting rooms.
"I'm down here."
She followed him to the end of the corridor and was surprised to see him take out a gold key to unlock the door.
Whatever was on the other side was pitch-black, but she went inside with him without fear. Hell, she felt like she could walk into a firing squad with him by her side and come out all right. Plus, the place smelled nice, like lemon, as if it had recently been cleaned.
He didn't turn on any lights. Just took her hand and urged her forward with a tug.
"I can't see anything."
"Don't worry. Nothing will hurt you, and I know the way."
She hung onto his palm and wrist and shuffled along behind him until he stopped. With the way their footsteps echoed, she had a sense of great space, but no idea of the contours of the penthouse.
He turned her to face to the right and then stepped away.
"Where are you going?" She swallowed hard.
A candle flared over in the far corner, some forty feet away from her. It didn't illuminate much, however. The walls... the walls and the ceiling and... the floor... it was black. All black. As was the candle.
V stepped into the lee of the light, nothing but a looming shadow.
Jane's heart pounded.
"You asked about the scars between my legs," he said. "How they happened."
"Yes..." she whispered. So that was why he wanted everything dark as night. He wasn't going to want her to see his face.
Another candle came on, this one on the opposite side of what she realized was a vast room.
"My father had it done to me. Right after I almost killed him."
Jane inhaled sharply. "Oh... God."
Vishous stared at Jane but saw only the past and what had come after him taking his father down to the ground.
"Bring me my blade," the Bloodletter said.
V fought against the soldier who was holding his arms and got nowhere. As he struggled two more males appeared. Then another pair. Now three others.
The Bloodletter spat on the ground as someone put a black dagger into his hand, and V braced himself for the stabbing that was coming... except the Bloodletter just streaked the blade across his palm, then sheathed the knife in his belt. Bringing both hands together, he rubbed them one against the other, then slammed his right one into the center of V's chest.
V looked down at the print on his skin. Expulsion. Not death. But why?
The Bloodletter's voice was hard. "You shall be ever unknown to those who dwell herein. And death shall come to any who aid you."
The soldiers started to let Vishous go.
"Not yet. Bring him into the camp." The Bloodletter turned away. "And get the blacksmith. It is incumbent upon us to warn others of this male's evil nature."
V bucked wildly as another soldier swept up his legs and he was carried like a carcass into the cave.
"Behind the screen," the Bloodletter told the blacksmith. "We shall do this afore the painted wall."
The male blanched, but took his rough wooden tray of tools around the partition. Meanwhile, V was laid out on his back with a soldier at the end of each of his limbs and one holding his hips down.
The Bloodletter stood over V, his hands dripping bright red. "Mark him."
The blacksmith looked up. "In what manner, great one?"
The Bloodletter spelled out the warnings in the Old Language, and the soldiers held V down as his temple and his groin and his thighs were tattooed. He fought the whole of it, but the ink sank into his skin, the characters permanent. When it was finished he was utterly drained, weaker than when he'd come out of his transition.
"His hand. Do it upon his hand as well." The blacksmith started to shake his head. "You will do it or I will get another blacksmith for the camp, as you will be dead."
The blacksmith shook all over, but was of care not to touch V's skin so the marking was completed without incident.
When it was done, the Bloodletter stared down at V. "There is one more necessary task, methinks. Spread wide his legs. I shall do the race a favor and ensure he never procreates."
V felt his eyes pop as his ankles and his thighs were yanked apart. His father once more unsheathed the black dagger from his belt, but then paused. "No, something else is needed."
He ordered the blacksmith do the deed with a pair of pliers.
Vishous screamed as he felt the metal clamp onto his thinnest skin. There was a spearing pain and a tearing and then¡ª
"Sweet Jesus" Jane said.
V shook himself back to the present. He wondered how much he'd said out loud, and decided that, going by the look of horror on her face, it had been pretty much everything.
He watched the candlelight flicker in her dark green eyes. "They weren't able to finish."
"Not out of decency," she said softly.
He shook his head and raised his gloved hand. "Even though I was about to pass out, my whole body lit up. The soldiers who were holding me down were killed instantly. So was the blacksmith¡ªhe was using a metal tool, and it conducted the energy right into him."
She closed her eyes briefly. "Then what happened?"
"I rolled over, threw up some more, and dragged myself to the exit. The whole camp watched me go in silence. Not even my father got in the way or said a thing." V cupped himself loosely, remembering the mind-numbing pain. "The, ah... the cave floor was covered with this loose, powdery kind of dirt that had various minerals in it¡ªone of which must have been salt. The wound sealed up so I didn't bleed out, but that's how I got the scars."
"I am... so sorry." She lifted her hand as if she wanted to reach out, but then dropped her arm. "It's a wonder you survived."
"I barely made it through that first night. It was so cold. I ended up using a branch to help me walk, and went as far as I could in no particular direction. Eventually I collapsed. My will to keep going was there, my body was not. I'd lost blood, and the pain was exhausting.
"Some civilians of my race found me just before dawn. They took me in, but only for a day. The warnings..." He tapped his temple. "The warnings on my face and my body did what my father wanted them to. They made me a freak to be feared. At nightfall I left. I wandered alone for years, sticking to the shadows, staying out of people's way. I fed from humans for a while, but that just didn't sustain me for long enough. A century later I ended up in Italy, working as a hired thug for a merchant who dealt with humans. In Venice there were whores of my kind who would let you feed, and I used them."
"So lonely." Jane put her hand to her throat. "You must have been so lonely."
"Hardly. I didn't want to be with anyone. I worked for the merchant for a decade or so then one night, in Rome, I ran into a lesser who was in the process of killing a female vampire. I took the bastard out, but not because I particularly cared about the female. It was... See, it was her son. Her son was watching in the shadows of the dark street, crouched next to a cart. He was like... shit, definitely a pretrans, and a young one at that. I saw him first, actually, then caught the action across the way. I thought of my own mother, or at least the image I had made up about her, and was like... hell, no way was this little boy going to watch the female who'd birthed him die."
"Did the mother live?"
He winced. "She was gone by the time I could get to her. Bled out from a throat wound. But I promise you, that lesser got shredded. Afterward I didn't know what to do with the kid. I ended up going to the merchant I killed for, and he put me in touch with some folks who took the boy in." V laughed in a short burst. "Turned out the mother who died was a fallen Chosen, and that pretrans? Well, he ended up being the father of my brother Tohrment. We got a small world, true?
"So because I saved a kid of warrior blood, word got out, and my brother Darius ended up finding me and introducing me to Wrath. D... D and I had a certain connection, and he was probably the only one who could have gotten my attention at that point. When I met Wrath, he wasn't into being king, and he was no more interested in ties than I was. Which meant the two of us clicked. Eventually I was inducted into the Brotherhood. And there... shit, yeah, there you have it."
In the silence that followed he could only guess what was going through her mind, and the idea that she pitied him made him want to do something to prove he was strong.
Like bench-press a car.
Except instead of going all soft on him and making him feel even more rattled, Jane just looked around, even though he knew she could see nothing but the two candles that were lit. "And this place... this place means what to you?"
"Nothing. Means nothing more than any other."
"Then why are we here?"
V's heart rate spiked.
Shit... Standing here with her now, after spilling his guts, he wasn't sure he could go through with what he'd planned.