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  The door opened, and John stepped in, his shades securely in place. Behind him, a uniformed police officer entered. The officer cast a wary gaze at John, who waited for her nod of approval.

  “Thank you, John.”

  He grunted softly and left, back to his post.

  “Sorry to disturb you at this hour, Madam Mayor, but the chief said you’d probably still be here.”

  “No problem, Officer…”

  He removed his hat. “Rodriguez, ma’am.”

  “Hola, Officer Rodriguez. What can I do for you at this hour?”

  He glanced quickly at the floor, then back to her. He was young, probably hadn’t been on the job long. Whatever he had to tell her, it wasn’t good news. Regardless, she could take it. She hadn’t been mayor this long without some rough patches.

  “We believe we’ve found your daughter.”

  St. Petersburg, Russia, 2067

  Times like this, the need to kill coated her mouth like the remnants of a lover’s kiss.

  Tatiana tapped her head against the high-backed wooden bench. One hundred ninety-two hours wasted. Eight bloody days they’d made her wait. She hadn’t even had a chance to deal with the two runaway comarrés. Madame Rennata would replace them gratis or Tatiana would find a way to make her pay.

  Which reminded Tatiana that she could have returned to New Florida and done away with that other comarré whore by now, but no, she’d been trapped in St. Petersburg at the whim of Lord Grigor and under the watchful eyes of the rest of the House of Rasputin. Because of the powers this house possessed, she’d been forced to leave Octavian behind in Corvinestri. He was just a vampling, far too young and inexperienced to guard his mind against the likes of Grigor and his ilk. She couldn’t have Grigor tapping into Octavian’s thoughts and gathering information to use against her. Like Zafir’s death. Or that of his brother, Nasir.

  She glanced down at her leather-clad hands and flexed the metal prosthesis that filled the right glove. Zafir’s alchemical masterpiece. Also his undoing.

  She snorted softly. Part of her wished Grigor knew exactly what she’d done to those who opposed her. It would serve the mind-reading prat well to fear her.

  A creaking sound brought her head up as one of the tall double doors across from her opened. Svetla, Grigor’s right hand and the Elder of the House of Rasputin, slipped out. Her midnight-blue silk gown swished around her wiry form, her frigid blondness too comarrélike for Tatiana’s taste, but then she’d disliked the woman since the first time they’d met. Svetla was hard to read. Her simplicity seemed too practiced to be real. She’d only just attained Elder status after Tatiana was awarded it. Before Tatiana, there had been no female Elders. Curious how Svetla’s predecessor, a noble who’d come to be a thorn in Grigor’s side, had mysteriously decided he’d had enough and walked into the Siberian sunlight. Regardless of her connection to Grigor, Svetla best remember whose hard work had paved the road to Elder. Tatiana had no time for weak imitators.

  Svetla’s porcelain façade cracked enough to allow a narrow smile. “You may come in now.”

  Returning a false smile, Tatiana forced down her anger at being made to wait. She steeled the mental barrier already in place and strode through the massive mahogany doors and into the chamber beyond. The council had long been called to order, and now the lords sat around Grigor’s table like fat Romans, a few with their Elders positioned behind them. Zephrim, Dominus of the House of St. Germain, smoked a cigar. Carafes of blood and vodka littered the table. She kept her lip from curling. How anyone could drink the two mixed was beyond her.

  Grigor lifted his glass, half full of the rosy-pink concoction. “Svetla, shut the doors.” He tilted the glass slightly toward the seat beside him. “Then come sit.”

  No chairs were available beside the one Grigor had reserved for his chew toy. Tatiana remained standing as Svetla did what she was told.

  Once the other woman was seated, Grigor spoke to Tatiana. “Tell us what happened.”

  “Lord Ivan is dead.” Tatiana reached into the pocket of her varcolai leather coat, curled her gloved fingers around the broken bits, and tossed what was left of him across the table. The shards of stone skipped over the wood; the largest—a bit of eye and forehead—came to rest in front of Syler, Dominus of the House of Bathory.

  She’d once considered him a tentative ally. Now with Ivan gone, she wasn’t so sure. The security of that connection had to be determined.

  The other Dominus looked on with curiosity. Timotheius, Dominus of the House of Paole, gasped, always the dramatic. “How did this happen?”

  “Yes, I would love to hear that explanation. I’m sure you expect us to believe you had nothing to do with this?” Zephrim asked. He ruled the House of St. Germain fast and loose, letting just about anything go unchecked as long as it was in the name of alchemy.

  “I didn’t. Not in the slightest.” Tatiana’s rage curled around her with comforting warmth. Behind secure mental barriers, she imagined turning her metal hand into a sword and skewering Lord Zephrim in the manner Vlad Tepes most often favored—through the groin and out the throat. The thought caused an inappropriate smile to crease her lips. She covered it quickly by drawing a hand across her mouth before speaking. “The comarré whore is now in league with a powerful coven of witches. Lord Ivan and I went after her. She and her compatriots ambushed us. The anathema, Malkolm Bourreau, was with her.” Several of the lords glanced at one another. “Not only is he alive and well, but he has also become her lover.”

  “Poppycock. He’s been ashes for years. The report is in the council archives.” Zephrim refilled his goblet with blood.

  “I can prove it.” She glanced at Grigor. Perfect. His family power of mind reading was just what she needed to corroborate her story. She opened her thoughts to him as she spoke, careful to show him only the parts of her memories that held Malkolm hoisting Ivan into the witch’s circle and Ivan being turned to stone. The part where she’d smashed his statue into rubble she kept hidden. “There. I’ve shown my thoughts to Lord Grigor.”

  The other lords turned to him. Grigor pursed his mouth. “I never knew Bourreau myself. I cannot be sure this is the one of whom she speaks.” He stroked his narrow beard. “It does seem another vampire was responsible for Ivan’s death in conjunction with the witches.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Thank you. I assure you, the vampire you saw was indeed Bourreau.” Blighty old ratbag.

  “What is it that you desire, Tatiana? Your petition stated you had a request to make,” Syler asked. Something about his expression gave her hope. Perhaps the alliance still stood.

  She paused, as though needing a moment to gather her thoughts. “This crime against the House of Tepes was perpetrated by the rabble that calls the Southern Union home. Anathema, witches, varcolai, remnants, and fae.” She threw up her hands in disgust. “New Florida is a ghetto of othernatural undesirables, and while it’s well and good that they should be contained in such a single, vile location, Lord Ivan’s death must be avenged, the anathema Bourreau must be put down once and for all, and the comarré whore must at last be brought to justice.” She paced a bit for dramatic effect, stopping to give the appearance of an idea suddenly coming to her. “I am sure I could take care of these things. I know New Florida. I have connections in place. I just need the right resources to make my attempt successful.”

  “What kind of resources?” Syler asked.

  She fixed her face into the most neutral expression she could muster. “Unlimited access to Nothos, to family funds, the ability to command an army of fringe—”

  Timotheius interrupted. “The kind of resources a Dominus has.”

  “What? Well, yes, I guess they are rather similar—”

  “You want the council to appoint you the new Dominus of Tepes in Ivan’s place. Is that it?” Hints of silver played in Syler’s eyes, a mark of emotion. Whether from anger or elation remained unclear.

  She held out her upturned palms, a recognized
sign of submission among the nobility, knowing she must tread carefully so as not to upset the plans she’d been crafting for so many years. Slowly, she spun the words out. “Lord Ivan’s passing makes this necessary transition uncomfortable, I understand. It pains me to move forward with such haste, but Dominus is a position I am well suited for and a title I would be honored to wear.” She dropped her hands back to her sides. “I would take every necessary precaution to prevent Lord Ivan’s death from throwing the House of Tepes into disarray. Without reservation, I know that is what Lord Ivan would want.”

  Lord Zephrim jumped to his feet. “This is outrageous.” He glared at the other lords. “She’s been Elder little more than a month and now she wants to ascend to Dominus? Forget that she’s a woman. She has no place asking such a thing.”

  Lord Syler set his glass down. “If something happened to Grigor, would you balk at setting Svetla in his place?”

  Lord Grigor nodded in approval. “It is the natural order of our system, Zephrim.”

  “The natural order?” Lord Zephrim bridged his fingers on the tabletop and leaned in toward Grigor. “No one achieves Dominus without the say of the ancient ones. That is the natural order of our system. Unless you wish to go against them as well?”

  Lord Grigor sat back, the nerves around his right eye twitching. “I would never go against the ancient ones. I live to serve them. For you to suggest otherwise, in my home, at my table…” He shook his head slowly. “Do not press my hospitality, comrade.”

  Lord Zephrim took his seat. “I am only saying things must be done properly.” He turned to look at Tatiana. “Unless you have something to say about that?”

  This time her smile was genuine. After all, the Castus Sanguis had chosen her as their instrument to break the covenant between humans and othernaturals, and their leader, Samael, had given her some of his power. She had nothing to fear. “No, please, the ancient ones must be consulted. And, of course, I am willing to abide by whatever they decide. May the ancient ones be served.”

  The others recited the words in unison. “May the ancient ones be served.”

  Lord Timotheius nodded toward Grigor. “As we have gathered in your house, it is your right to call upon them.”

  Yes, Tatiana thought, because the rest of you are like frightened little rabbits running from the hawk. And well they should be. The Castus did as they pleased. Even if that meant turning on their children.

  Lord Grigor whispered something to Svetla. She nodded, then got up and left. The other lords took notice and sent their Elders out also. Cowards. If the Castus wanted a sacrifice, a few walls would not prevent them from taking what they desired.

  She moved one of the vacated chairs to the foot of the table opposite Grigor and sat, folding her hands in her lap as one might when awaiting the arrival of a friend for tea. Grigor ignored her. Fool.

  He pushed back his chair, the felted feet making little sound on the cold marble tiles, and stood. His fur-trimmed robe fell open, revealing a charming pair of mother-of-pearl daggers on his belt. She would appropriate those as spoils of war when the time came. “It is my honor to call the ancient ones.”

  Tatiana smiled at his bravado and settled back to await Samael. She’d not seen him in some time. Her smile faded, and she closed her eyes to send a silent plea that he was not displeased with her efforts.

  When she reopened them, Grigor’s arms were outstretched, his palms up. An almost-imperceptible quiver shook his body. “Castus Sanguis, hear your children, come to us and grace us with thy presence.”

  The lords around her stiffened. Seconds ticked by. She inhaled, seeking the scents of brimstone and rotting flesh. Nothing but blood and the reek of ancient vampires. Grigor dropped his arms.

  “Perhaps call one by name,” Lord Syler offered.

  “Yes.” Lord Zephrim nodded.

  Lord Grigor frowned. Tatiana bent her head to hide her pleasure. Calling one of the Castus by name would be no one’s first choice. He shook his hands and stretched out his arms again. “Hear us, ancient ones, the purest of blood, the Castus Sanguis, those who made us. We bid you come into our midst.” He stepped back. Did he expect a bolt of lightning?

  Once again, moments slipped away and nothing happened. Tatiana’s nerve rose. This could be a test. For her. If she called Samael by name and he came, the lords would have no other option but to accept her as the powerful force she was. They would have to make her Dominus. The power of possibility shivered over her skin.

  She stood, shoving her chair back. The lords whipped around to look at her. She bowed her head slightly, reveling in playing the eternal ingénue. Let them think her incapable. So much sweeter would her victory be when she removed each one of these buffoons and built a council that suited her reign. “I will call him, if you wish.”

  Lord Timotheius barked a laugh. “You know not what you do.”

  She tilted her head, widening her eyes the way an innocent might. “Should I be afraid of our fathers?”

  “She wants to call them, let her.” Lord Zephrim waved a hand through the air while the other hand dug something free from beneath his robe. He then swallowed whatever he had procured. No doubt a potion of his own making. Something to protect himself. How desperate did he imagine things would become? “The consequences are hers.”

  She lifted her head all the way. “And I accept them.”

  “If you fail, they affect us all.” Lord Syler’s eyes told her she best know what she was doing.

  “I will not fail.” She could not. She would not.

  Lord Grigor sat. “You are a fool.”

  “No,” Lord Zephrim countered, turning to the others. “She toys with us. We should not allow this.”

  He was afraid of the power she might gain. His fear rolled off him in waves. She decided to push him a little further, to test how far he would go. “I do not undertake such a thing lightly. If—when—I succeed, you will know I am capable of the position of Dominus. Do you not think such a test fair?”

  Lord Zephrim hesitated. “And if you fail?”

  “Then I will await the council’s decision until such time when one of the ancients can be summoned.”

  “And you will abide by our rules for such a decision?”

  “Of course.”

  He sat back. “Proceed.”

  Victory sang in her blood. She opened her arms, palms skyward, and closed her eyes. Her moment was at hand. “Oh great and powerful Samael, your humble child calls upon you.”

  She tensed, every cell and sinew on hold until the greatest of the ancients showed himself. She braced for the rumble of thunder, the putrid scent, the…

  She opened her eyes. The lords stared back at her through the still empty room.

  She swallowed. “Samael, come to us.”

  Nothing.

  “Samael,” she whispered, fear creeping through her gut.

  The room was as still as a mausoleum.

  She slammed her fists onto the table, splintering wood beneath the metal one. “Samael!” she bellowed. A bottle of vodka shattered with the force of her voice.

  Lord Zephrim picked a shard of glass off his robe. “Tatiana, Elder of the House of Tepes, you are hereby remanded to Corvinestri to await the decision of this council. You may not leave the city until such decision is made.”

  “Samhain is in three days. I need to be back in New Florida by then.” She couldn’t afford to miss the chance to catch the comarré during all that chaos.

  “The final merging of the mortal and othernatural worlds will present some interesting opportunities wherever one is.” He lifted one shoulder. “If New Florida holds more interest than our decision, I urge you to go. There are others who would gladly accept the mantle of Dominus.” The corners of his mouth tipped upward ever so faintly. “You are dismissed.”

  Chapter Three

  New Florida

  Settle yourself, demon. There’s no getting out of there, so quit trying.” Aliza sighed, shoving a loose dread out of h
er face. Securing an all-powerful demon in a pentagram was a grand feat, the kind of thing that took noble vampire blood, earth from the Potter’s Field, salt from Lot’s wife… the rarest ingredients she’d ever gathered. But having that demon secured in that pentagram when it was located in your living room was a real pain in the keister. Really made it hard to watch her stories with all that noise and smoke.

  Samael raged against the invisible barrier keeping him prisoner. “Let me out, witch. I am being summoned.”

  She took a slug of cold beer and hit pause on the TV, stopping Dr. Lassiter just as he was about to revive the woman he was in love with from a coma. Poor man had no idea she was actually his long-lost sister. Damn, this was gonna be good. She glanced over at the unholy creature. “You’ve already been summoned. To here. One more word out of you and I’m going to put the lid on that aquarium.”

  She and Evie had figured it was best to keep him indoors after they called him the first time outside on the porch picnic table. Too wide open out there. No need to let the rest of the coven know what she was up to. Besides, a good breeze and half the pentagram would be gone and then what would they have? No demon, that’s what. And without that demon, there was no way they were going to get that ring the vampires were after. Trouble was, the demon was getting antsy.

  Inside an old hexagon aquarium Evie had once bred Chewie’s feeder goldfish in, they’d remade the calling pentagram. Evie had glued the lines of salt and earth down onto a piece of cardboard, just to be sure there was no breaking it. Then they’d lit the candle, written the name in blood, and brought the demon back to them. It was better this way, with the pentagram safe inside the glass. Popping the lid on and throwing an afghan over the whole contraption was easy enough if they needed to hide him. So far, they hadn’t had to.