Death's Mistress (Dorina Basarab, #2)(64)

“Dorina!” Mircea’s voice snapped.

“You sound annoyed.”

“It would not be without cause!”

“What now?” I asked wearily.

“Point number one,” he said grimly.

“Wait. There are points?”

“You do not tell me you are being chased by Hounds, and that you will call me back and then fail to do so! You have not answered your telephone for the majority of the evening!”

“I didn’t have it for the majority of the—”

“Point number two: you have free access to my properties, but I would very much appreciate it if in future my bedrooms were off-limits!”

“Woah. You did the boinking in your dad’s bedroom?” Leo looked vaguely impressed.

“Stop eavesdropping!”

“Are you kidding me? Your life is way better than anything on the soaps lately.”

“Dorina.” It sounded like Mircea might be grinding his teeth.

“Is there a point number three?” I asked. “Because you’re interfering with my drinking here.”

“Yes. If it will not inconvenience you too greatly, I should like to speak to Louis-Cesare.”

“Sorry. You missed him.”

“And yet Horatiu tells me he recently left tracking you.”

“Tracking?” I asked, getting a sinking feeling.

I jerked open the duffel, and there it was, buzzing softly. I stared at it for a moment in disbelief. He’d tagged me. The son of a bitch had tagged me with my own damn charm.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” I said grimly, clicked the phone shut and jumped up—only to find myself staring into a pair of burning blue eyes.

“Uh-oh,” Ray muttered.

Louis-Cesare didn’t say anything, unless you count breathing heavily.

“Look, this isn’t what you think,” I said, getting a solid grip on the duffel. “I wanted to get Ray away so we could talk—”

“There is nothing to say. You will return the vampire to me. Immediately.” His tone might have been that of a king talking to a peasant. It made me quietly furious.

“I’m not one of your servants,” I snapped. “You can’t give me orders. And if you’d listen for a minute, you’d learn why you don’t want to take Ray to Elyas.”

“I know precisely what I want to do.”

“Okay, then while you’re up there, you might want to ask him what he was doing at the club just before the fey was found murdered,” I said sarcastically. “And why Ray thinks he already has the rune, and intends to keep it and Christine. You might want to ask why he’s been playing you!”

There was silence for a moment. “An excellent idea,” Louis-Cesare said softly. And disappeared.

I stood there for a second, staring stupidly at empty space. I’d seen vamps move quickly before, but that was just ridiculous. And then I snatched up the duffel and headed out the door.

“What are you doing?” Ray demanded as I dashed across the garage floor, stabbing at the key fob repeatedly with my thumb.

“Going back.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Not at the moment.” I slid into the seat, threw him on the passenger side and started the engine, all in one motion. Louis-Cesare was on foot; if I didn’t hit any traffic, maybe there was a chance—

“You could have fooled me!” Ray said as we tore out of the garage on burning rubber. “When two first-level masters are determined to rip into each other, the only sane place to be is somewhere else!”

Normally, I’d have agreed. But there was no way Louis-Cesare could win a confrontation. If Elyas had the rune, he was toast, and if he didn’t and Louis-Cesare killed him, it would break the ban set by the Senate. And their punishments tended to be draconian even when there wasn’t a war on.

Five minutes later the car fishtailed to a stop in front of the mansion, and I leapt out. I grabbed the duffel, which contained most of my weapons, and headed for the front door. “What about the rest of me?” Ray shrieked.

“Stay in the car!”

“What if the master shows up?”

I threw him the keys. “Outrun him!” My last sight rounding the first bend in the stairs was his hairy butt, bent over searching for where the keys might have landed.

I took the stairs three at a time, hoping it would be good enough. It wasn’t. I’d barely hit the foyer when I felt it—a swell of power coursing through the apartment, flickering though every vamp in the place who had ever tasted Elyas’s blood.

Marlowe had been right: the death of a vampire hits his children hard, and at no time is that more true than the death of a first-level master. Heads whipped around; confusion and fear gripped the younger ones, one of whom screamed and collapsed from the shock. But there were enough masters around to regroup—fast.

Doors and windows slammed shut on all sides, including the ones behind me. I barely noticed. I stepped over a collapsed doorman and ran up a staircase in the direction of that swell of power.

A long corridor branched out from the stairs in either direction. A door was open at one end, and I went that way. It turned out to be a large study with a fireplace, a couple of maroon leather chairs, a cherrywood desk and a dead man.