Chapter Three
“Surely, it cannot be...Morana? Little Morana Knezevic. It cannot be!”
Winter forced herself to keep walking, even though the woman’s voice just to her right and the words in clear Serbian were damning enough. She had been recognized.
“Morana!” the woman called again.
Winter quickened her pace, keeping her gaze straight ahead as she headed east along Hollywood Boulevard. She could still bluff this out.
“Morana, wait!” English, this time.
Then a hand gripped her arm just above the elbow and yanked.
Winter made herself react like an innocent stranger. “What the hell!” she exploded, pulling her arm out of the woman’s grip. People were stepping around them, making annoyed sounds.
The woman was in her fifties, with dark eyes and dark marks beneath them — from long term tiredness, perhaps. She wore a Muslim head cloth, but pushed back on her head so that her hair showed beneath. The hair was shot with grey. And she wore light trousers and a simple short-sleeved shirt. It was nearly ninety-five degrees and not quite noon...the shirt was a compromise. She also wore flat sandals.
She nodded. “You’re Morana,” she said in Serbian.
“Excuse me?” Winter replied.
“You’ve forgotten your own language?” the woman asked in English. “It cannot have been that long. Come, Morana, you may not remember me, but the speech of your birth?” She shook her head. “I used to bounce you on my knees when you had the colic,” she said in Serbian. “It made you stop crying, when nothing your mother could do would work. I used to babysit you and your brothers, Boro and Dejan. I lived next door to you, Morana. I would know your face anywhere. You have forgotten me? Finka?”
Winter stepped back a pace. “I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else, lady,” she said as coolly as she could. Her heart was thundering, making her feel sick with tension. She reached inside herself to flood her body with calming endorphins to counteract the shock. She drew in a steadying breath, using the oxygen it gave her to help restore calm.
Finka blinked. “Morana!” she protested.
“I am not Morana,” Winter said levelly. She turned and walked away as swiftly as she could, and as soon as a she spotted a place to duck out of sight, she did.
She pushed open the door and found herself facing a reception podium and a hostess. She looked around, taking off her sunglasses. Chilled air wafted over her, a reminder of how warm it was on the street. A dim interior, lots of small tables and a buffet to one side. Only three of the tables had diners. It was an up-market lunch bar.
“A table for one,” Winter told the hostess. She glanced over her shoulder at the door to the street behind her. “Preferably at the back of the room.”
The hostess, all legs and teeth and skimpy black cocktail dress, smiled as she picked up a menu. “I’m sure I can arrange that,” she promised.
* * * * *
“Is that a Ben & Jerries just down there?” Garrett asked, tapping on the frame next to the driver.
“I believe so, sir,” the driver replied.
“Pull over, will you? I’ve got a sudden craving for some Dublin Mudslide.”
MacDonald snorted. “We’ll be late for the Sumitomo Mitsui meeting. And when did you sell out to the Irish?”
“The Irish are as Celtic as a good Scot, I’ll have you know,” Garrett said, as the limousine veered over to the sidewalk. He glanced at his watch. “And they know nearly as much about a fine drop of whiskey as the Scots do.”
“Nearly,” MacDonald qualified. “Well, it’s your meeting you’re putting in jeopardy for the sake of ice-cream.”
“That’s right,” Garrett agreed, and pushed the door open. Immediately, a blast of arid heat beat about his face, radiating up from the sidewalk and fanning into the car from the motion of the opening door. He drew in a breath of surprise. “I’ll make this fast,” he told MacDonald over his shoulder as he shut the door.
He hurried into the ice-cream store and ordered the double scoop of Dublin Mudslide, plus a spoon, and headed over to the chrome stools and high counter at the back of the store, where the air-conditioning was blasting. The stools ran along both sides of the wide counter, and a line of toppings and napkin holders marched down the middle.
Garrett settled onto one of the stools and pushed the tub of Mudslide across the counter to the man with sea green eyes who sat on the other side. “Did it have to be Irish crap, Sebastian? I had to justifying selling out my Scots ancestors to my lawyer.”
Sebastian grinned as he picked up the spoon and tucked into the ice-cream. “You could have told him you were getting Chunky Monkey or something.” He swallowed a spoonful with obvious relish.
Garrett watched, fascinated. “Is it as good as it looks?” he asked, curiously.
“Better,” Sebastian replied, licking the spoon. “‘tis no wonder they have high cholesterol and weight issues, these days. Food is nothing like it was in our times. It’s addictive.”
Garrett shook his head as Sebastian took another enormous mouthful, and looked at the man sitting to Sebastian’s left. Nathanial’s appearance had changed since Garrett had met up with him in Poland, just over a year ago. The long hair was now short and business-like. There were streaks of very pale blond through it that might be mistaken for grey in the right light. He wore glasses that seemed to go along with the short hair and the very sincere-looking business suit he had on. But the glasses did nothing to hide Nathanial’s eyes, which had always drawn one’s gaze. Now, with his hair cut short and the glasses drawing attention to them, Nial’s eyes seemed to blaze with light and brightness. They were the blue of the Pacific ocean, and as deep.
With a shock, Garrett realized that they were almost the same colouring as Roman’s eyes, except that the shaping was different and Roman had the olive skin of his Greco Roman heritage to go with it.
Was that part of the reason Garrett had given his fealty so easily, last year?
“You should have done something about your eyes while you were changing identities,” Garrett murmured.
Nial’s mouth lifted at the corner. “I wasn’t allowed to.”
Sebastian snorted, and took another spoonful of ice-cream. “Neither was I,” he said around his mouthful.
Garrett suppressed his first reaction. That either of them would let a human dictate how they arrange something as basic, as important, as their current identities, seemed outrageous.
Nial shrugged. “I intend to make it unnecessary for any of us to have to worry about this sort of trivia in the future, Garrett. If my wife wants me to keep my eyes the same, it is a small matter, now. It is not the life or death thing it once was.”
Garrett drew in a deep breath. Then another. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, I keep forgetting.” He felt the tension leave him, and smiled. “Old habits,” he confessed.
Nial nodded. “How did the meeting go?”
“About how I predicted,” Garrett replied. “She’s as defensive as a shield wall. And now she has me pegged as a star-struck sycophant. I don’t think a direct assault is going to work.”
“We don’t have time for anything sneaky,” Nial said flatly. “And you’re supposed to be visible, anyway.”
“Well, I’m certainly that,” Garrett said dryly.
“It’s interesting you should call her a shield wall,” Sebastian said, chasing the last of his ice-cream around the bottom of the tub with his spoon. He licked the spoon and glanced at Garrett. “Constantinople had a shield wall that withstood frontal assault for nearly ten centuries. The only thing that broke the wall, in the end, was the invention of gunpowder. They had to blow the wall up to breach it.”
Garrett could feel his gut tightening, his heart racing. His heart hadn’t squeezed like that for years. He fought hard to keep his face and body still and unrevealing. “Why do you speak of Constantinople?” he demanded. “What do you know?”
Sebastian put down the empty tub, his eyes narrowing. “Is there something I should know?” he asked quietly.
Damn. Garrett gritted his teeth. He had made the mistake with Sebastian that he always did. He had underestimated his intuitive logic. His ability to read even vampires, and leap to correct guesses. Sebastian was young, but far from stupid.
“What do you have to tell us, Garrett?” Nial asked.
Garrett grimaced. “Roman Xerus is with Kate.”
Nial straightened up slowly, and Garrett could see by the inward focus of his gaze that Nial’s mind was racing. “How is he with her?” he asked.
“I don’t know the precise relationship. It’s personal, though.”
Nial’s gaze refocused on Garrett. Then it slid sideways to take in Sebastian, then came back to settle on Garrett again. “That...complicates matters, doesn’t it?” he said mildly.
He knew. Garrett drew in another steadying breath. He had never spoken about Roman to another living or undead soul, but somehow, Nial knew.
“Roman could be with the Pro Libertatis,” Sebastian said.
“You think?” Garrett said dryly.
Sebastian sat back, not at all offended. “Then, if you’ve already thought of that possibility, what is the complication you’re both suddenly obsessing about?”
“Fuck,” Garrett breathed.
Nial just smiled a little. “You walked into that one, Garrett. Better come clean.” He rested his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder — the one with the heavy titanium ring on it. Sebastian wore the same ring on his left hand. “Sebastian, of all people, will understand.”
Sebastian blew out a breath. “Jesus, Garrett. You and Roman? How long ago?”
Garrett closed his eyes briefly, as pain flared in his chest and his gut. He let it subside. “We were not like you and Nial, Sebastian. We obeyed the tenants. We stayed apart and went our own ways.”
“But,” Nial added gently.
“Roman made me in 1542,” Garrett said. “And he stayed to guide me, in the beginning. That was the start of it. Then...” He realized his hand was tightly fisted and tried to loosen it. These were words he had never spoken. It was a challenge just to form them aloud. “It seemed like, every forty, fifty years. Maybe longer. One of us would find the other. A day or so. A week. Sometimes a month, if we dared. Until May 1832.”
Both Nial and Sebastian remained silent, simply watching him.
Garrett sighed. “The Greek Revolution,” he explained. “Roman is Byzantine — an Ottoman, born and bred. But he’s Greek to the core. We both were recruited by the British to fight for the Greeks...against the Ottomans. Roman was conflicted as hell. He’d lived so long time had turned around and bitten him on the ass. I don’t know what happened in clinical terms, but he went off the rails a little bit, and I didn’t know how to put him together again. Human psychology was virtually unheard of back then, and we were just as ignorant about our natures, too. I think Roman had simply had enough of living and time. He just...hopped off the bus for a while.”
Nial nodded. “I’ve been there,” he said quietly. “It’s not pretty.”
Garrett nodded. “I was the target for most of it. I was the only vampire around, so it makes sense.” He sighed. “Now it makes sense. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Back then, all I knew was Roman had turned into someone I didn’t know anymore. He drove me away and I never saw him again.”
“Until today,” Sebastian added.
“Did you meet, today?” Nial asked, and Garrett knew he was talking about a vampire meeting.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Risky,” Nial ventured. “What did you learn?”
“Nothing of value, except that Roman is Roman once more. He is bitter,” Garrett couldn’t help adding. “Of course, now he is determined to protect the woman.”
“Is that going to slow you down?” Nial asked.
“No,” Garrett replied. “He can’t stop what I have planned next. The woman, either.”
“Her name is Kate,” Sebastian said.
Garrett glanced at him, puzzled. “I know that.”
“Use her name, then,” Sebastian said shortly. He seemed annoyed.
Garrett looked to Nial, hoping his expression might explain Sebastian’s sudden prickliness. Nial’s face, however, was neutral.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Sebastian said. He leaned across the counter, dropping his voice. “You genuinely don’t know what I’m pissed about.”
Garrett looked from Nial to Sebastian, hunting for clues. Nial was silent and still. Sebastian’s eyes were narrowed, the sea-green suddenly darkened with emotion.
Annoyance stirred in his own gut. “Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to, boy?” Garrett said, anger making his accent stronger.
Sebastian wasn’t intimidated by an iota. He just nodded. “Yeah, an automaton who’s been moving through history for centuries, who wouldn’t know a real human emotion if it bit him on the ass.”
“By Christ—” Garrett swore, as something cold seemed to slide through his gut.
“You shook Nial’s hand last year,” Sebastian override him. “You said you wanted to re-join life. Be a real person, be yourself once more.” His lip curled in disgust. “You were lying through your teeth, Garrett.”
Garrett found himself on his feet, with no clear idea how he’d got there. He reached for Sebastian, who still hadn’t backed off from his lean over the counter.
But Nial was faster. His big hand slapped over Garrett’s wrist, and held it perfectly still, despite all the power Garrett was pouring into reaching for Sebastian’s throat.
Nial moved around the end of the counter, his hand still around Garrett’s wrist, and stepped up alongside Garrett. “Sebastian has a point,” he said quietly. “As much as you may dislike hearing it.”
Garrett let out the breath he was holding. “Name the point,” he demanded.
“Kate Lindenstream. She’s human to you.”
Garrett struggled to understand. “She is human,” he said at last.
Sebastian shook his head. “To you, she’s just human.”
“This is all just an intellectual exercise for you,” Nial added.
Garrett swallowed. “I agreed to everything,” he said. “I’m cooperating.”
“You’re going through the motions,” Sebastian said. “A hired actor could do better.”
Garrett pulled his wrist out of Nial’s loosened grip. “A hired actor couldn’t play me,” he said shortly. “And you need me. I’ve been playing roles for five hundred years. Believe me, Kate Lindenstream won’t notice the difference. No other human ever has.”
Sebastian shook his head.
Nial leaned back against the counter. “You need to relearn what it is to be human, Calum.”
“Do I?” Garrett gave a dry laugh. “Why? I’m never going to be one again.”
“You still are one,” Nial amended. “You just have to remember that.”
“Words,” Garrett said dryly. “You always did talk a man to death, Nathanial.” He straightened his jacket. “Is there anything else?”
“I’m curious,” Sebastian said. “What do you think of Winter?”
“Winter?” Garrett recalled the woman who had married both of them, in their very unconventional ménage. He remembered stunning red hair, and eyes that were a strange replica of Sebastian’s. A statuesque woman with all the right curves and a way of looking inside people with her gaze. “I don’t see the relevance of your question,” Garrett said.
“In other words, you don’t think of her at all, because in your mind, she’s human, and beyond thought,” Sebastian concluded.
“She can hardly be human if—” Garrett began, and stopped, realizing what he had been about to say.
“If we married her?” Nial finished.
Garrett found he couldn’t look Nial in the eye.
“What does that make me, then, Garrett?” Sebastian asked softly. “I eat. I no longer need blood. I can walk under full sunlight and stare at the sun without harm...just like a human. What am I to you, Garrett?”
Garrett shook his head. “You have all had time to adjust to this. To think it through. One does not simply shrug off the habits and mindsets of a long lifetime overnight.” He pointed at Sebastian. “You have always had others around you — Nial — to point out your attitudes and prejudices. Try walking alone for a few centuries, Irishman, and then be judged for ways of thinking that were invisible to you because there has been no one to highlight your ignorance.”
Sebastian’s expression sobered.
Nial pressed a hand against Garrett’s shoulder. “You’re not alone now, Garrett. That’s all we’re trying to tell you. It’s safe to let down the shields a little. We all get to help each other now.”
Garrett realized that deep inside, he was trembling. He nodded. “Fine,” he said shortly. It was all he dared say aloud.
Nial clapped his shoulder and stepped back to lean against the counter again. “Kate slapping you down is a good sign,” he said, smoothly changing the subject. “It confirms she has the backbone we’ll need. She really is perfect for this. I’m more curious about how Roman came into her life. It’s interesting timing.”
Garrett frowned. “The only people who knew in advance about the plans for Kate are us three...and I presume your—Winter.”
Sebastian grinned but didn’t comment about Garrett’s change of name for their wife.
Nial crossed his arms. “Then Roman has to be there for his own reasons—or for Pro Libertatis reasons.”
“What possible reasons would the Pro Libertatis have for seeking her out, before we give them one?” Sebastian said.
“None,” Garrett said flatly. “Kate Lindenstream is exactly what she seems to be. A Hollywood producer/director who makes successful big budget action adventure movies, and has a growing amount of political power in the industry because of it. She has a lot of friends in high places, and probably has a number of skeletons in her closet, just like all the power players do. She can do interesting things with money. If she wasn’t so wrapped up in La-la land, I would have coaxed her over to one of my Boston corporations a year ago and put her in charge of finance.”
Nial lifted a brow. “You did your homework.”
“I’m not stupid, Nathanial,” Garrett shot back. “This woman has a tested IQ of 160. She would have spotted holes in a cover story from ten miles away. The approach had to be flawless and long term.”
“And now that you’ve met her in person, what is your reading?” Nial asked.
“She has an entrepreneurial mind. She thinks like a man — probably a result of fighting it out in the industry she’s in, and surviving. She likes to have fun and explore with big toys. That’s why she does all those hands-on research trips to wild corners of the globe and lives rough and hard for six weeks in the Gobi Desert or the Atlas Mountains while she digs up some interesting trinket or another for her next movie.” Garrett grimaced. “She also doesn’t mind slapping down men every now and again to prove her point. She has mental balls.”
Sebastian laughed softly. “I like her already.”
Nial was frowning. “These research trips of hers. That’s one of the reasons we focused on her, Garrett. The last trip she did...”
Garrett shrugged. “She’s in pre-production for some biopic about a warrior emperor. Murad. She did all the research a year or so ago.”
Nial nodded. “Somewhere in southern Turkey.”
Garrett felt the jolt almost down to his toes. “Çayönü,” he breathed. “Near Diyarbakir.”
Sebastian moved around the counter and came up next to Garrett’s side. He was taller than Garrett remembered, and looked Garrett in the eye. “Murad was an Ottoman emperor, wasn’t he?”
Garrett nodded.
Nial straightened up from his slouch against the counter. “Southern Turkey was all part of the Byzantine empire...and the Ottoman, too. It can’t be a coincidence.”
“Roman was born an Ottoman. He’s probably heard about Kate’s research,” Garrett said.
Nial crossed his arms again. “You have to find out, Garrett. Roman is a wildcard we need to neutralize if this game is to play the way we want it to.”
Garrett grimaced. “In three hundred years, I never could tame Roman in the slightest. The best I managed was to walk away and not look back.”
Sebastian’s smile was grim. “You can’t walk away this time, my friend. Your stakes are not the only ones on the table anymore.”
Garrett nearly opened his mouth to ask who else had a stake in the game beside him. Then he clamped his jaw closed, his heart pounding, as he realized the answer for himself.
Everyone’s future rode on the outcome of this. Human and vampire. Merely the future of mankind.