Omens and Artifacts

  “Folks here and there,” Tywyll said. “Been folks askin’ about Brennus for centuries now.”

  Asking about Brennus, but what about Bran? Both were legends, but if the Sanguine Raptor belonged to Brennus, then the Fitheach Lann belonged to Bran.

  “They’re asking the wrong questions,” Ben said.

  Tywyll’s eyes narrowed. “Are they?”

  “They ask about his treasure, but do they spare a song for the Raven King?”

  “Few do.” Tywyll’s eyes met Ben’s and he smiled a little. “But humble folk still be hanging ribbons at the Raven King’s tree.”

  “Is that so?” Humble could mean poor. But Tywyll was ancient, and in Middle English, humble meant “low to the ground.” Were “humble folk” people of the earth? Mortals?

  Humans were hanging ribbons at the Raven King’s tree.

  “Many looked for favor that way,” Tywyll said. “Though only the wise’ll find it. Brennus never put stock in trinkets and tricks. Not like the one come looking.”

  Tenzin pressed. “When?”

  “Fortnight past.” Tywyll took another long drink. “But he didn’t have a coin for the new king’s stone.”

  Trees and ribbons. Stones and kings.

  Ben kept the smile contained. Barely. He didn’t know if his pulse gave him away. Tywyll had given him the key, but he had to remain calm.

  “That was foolish,” Ben said. “You should always bring a coin for the Raven King’s throne.”

  Tywyll cocked his head. “Ravens like ribbons, but they like silver more.”

  “I can hang a ribbon at the Raven’s tree,” Ben said, “But I’m happy to pass a coin to the riverman first.”

  “A coin for the river will never serve you wrong.” Tywyll’s eyes twinkled. “But save your silver for the king, young Vecchio. Do ye think ye know where yer headed then?”

  Ben let the smile break through. “I do.”

  “We’ll see if yer as keen as your auntie, won’t we? She’s a great one for a riddle.”

  “How about the other one who came asking?” Ben asked. “Did he like riddles?”

  “The other liked flash and fire. Blood of the Raven, but none of the ken.”

  “Blood of the Raven?”

  Tywyll nodded slowly. “Watch yerself, young Vecchio. Yer not the only one digging into the past.”

  Tenzin’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. “Okay,” she said, nodding. “Ben, I’m going to get a beer. Do you want one?”

  He smiled. “Sure. Tywyll, what’ll you have?”

  “Another porter,” the old man said. “Then ye can tell me all about how yer lovely auntie is faring out in California with that fire-starter she mated.”

  ✕

  “BENJAMIN!” Gemma Melcombe, earth vampire and first lady of London immortal society, strode into the sitting room, hands held out. “I’ve been hoping you would make time to see me.”

  She was tall for her era, pale-skinned and blond with vivid blue eyes. No matter what Gemma was wearing, Ben imagined her dressed for a period film. She was the child of Carwyn ap Bryn, who was like another uncle to Ben. He’d already tried to mine Carwyn for information about Brennus, but the jovial immortal had been surprisingly tight-lipped. Ben was hoping Gemma would be more forthcoming.

  “Gemma.” Ben stood and kissed both her cheeks. “Thank you for meeting us. I’m sorry I didn’t come around sooner.”

  At one point, Gemma had also been his uncle’s lover. Ben thanked the heavens daily that hadn’t lasted. He wasn’t nearly fancy enough to be Gemma’s adopted son.

  Tenzin remained seated, paging through a coffee table book. “Hello, Gemma.”

  “Tenzin.” Luckily, Gemma seemed amused, not offended. “Welcome to you as well.”

  Tenzin slammed the book shut and looked around the room. “You have opinions on decorating.”

  Ben thought he ought to be concerned about Tenzin’s line of questioning, but he was too curious where it might be leading.

  “I do,” Gemma said, settling on the settee across from Tenzin. “I’ve been to several design schools. It’s a fascinating subject, and of course, with our color perception being what it is, subtleties are easier for us to recognize. I heard you and Ben have a new place in Manhattan.” She glanced at him. “What neighborhood?”

  “SoHo.” He sat down next to Tenzin. “We have a penthouse loft on Mercer. Built late nineteenth century. Great ironwork.”

  “And very tall ceilings,” Tenzin added. “With roof access. I want to make a garden there.”

  Ben said, “You didn’t tell me you wanted a garden.”

  “Well, I do.”

  Gemma said, “I’d love to see it. Is it renovated?”

  “It was an artist’s loft,” Ben said. “The rest of the building was renovated a few years ago, but our seller used it as a gallery. So it’s mostly empty, but the walls are in good shape. One bathroom. A little kitchen. The wood floors are redone. We have the floor below for our office and storage.”

  Gemma said, “It sounds like a wonderful space.”

  “But how should I hang my swords?” Tenzin said, looking intently at Gemma. “Should I try for something symmetrical or more utilitarian?”

  Gemma seemed stymied by that one, but only for a minute. “I’d aim for eclectic but balanced. Have you thought about mixing art in with the weapons? I’m assuming your collection is drawn from several eras.”

  Tenzin leaned forward. “It is! And various martial traditions. Mixed metals as well.”

  “Then mixing the weapons with the art will create a gallery effect for the space.” She glanced at Ben. “And also make the collection appear a bit more… decorative than functional.”

  In other words, mix art in with the sabers, or human company might get weirded out.

  Thank you, Gemma.

  Tenzin smiled and leaned back on the settee. “See? I knew she’d be the right person to ask. The television shows never talk about the right things.”

  The look on Gemma’s face was Ben’s signal to change the subject. “How are things, Gemma? I met with Terry last week, and he said the stuff going down in Athens has been… interesting.”

  She raised a delicate eyebrow. “It’s definitely a shift in power. And lower risk for Elixir poisoning could affect the blood-wine market, but we’ll see. Vampires are cautious. So far, orders don’t seem to be falling off.”

  Tenzin elbowed Ben. “Remind me to order some before we leave.”

  He frowned. “You barely feed as it is. You need blood-wine?”

  Her teeth glinted in the lamplight. “No, I just like the taste.”

  Ben managed not to shudder. Blood-wine was exactly what it sounded like. Blood preserved in wine. The preservation process Gemma and Terry’s winemaker had perfected served two purposes. It preserved blood for years without cold or anticoagulants, and it removed any trace of Elixir—a deadly vampire virus—from the blood supply. The good news was, reports from the Mediterranean indicated that Elixir was probably on the way out in the vampire world. This time for good.

  Gemma asked, “How are Giovanni and Beatrice, Ben? I haven’t been to the West Coast in years. And they seem to be hermits these days.”

  “They like their books,” he said. “Unless I drag them to Italy, they’re usually in Los Angeles or Chile. The quiet life suits them.”

  “Indeed.” Gemma glanced over as a maid set down a tray with cordial glasses and two dark bottles. “Tenzin, would you like to try some of our new blood-port? And Ben, I’ve brought out the non-blood variety as well.”

  “Yes, please.” Tenzin held out her hand as Gemma poured. “Ben, when are you going to ask her the real question?”

  The corner of Gemma’s mouth turned up. “You mean you didn’t come here to talk about design ideas and try my new wine? I’m shocked.”

  “I came for that,” Tenzin said. “He’s the one with ulterior motives.”

  With a single look from their mistress, the hu
mans standing in the corners of the room left, leaving Gemma alone with Ben and Tenzin. “Does this have something to do with your research in Exeter and the reason you wanted to speak to Tywyll? You’ve attracted some attention from certain quarters, Ben. I hope that’s not a surprise.”

  “It’s not. And yes, that’s why I’m here.” He wasn’t surprised that Gemma knew about Exeter. He was a friend, but he was still a human under a foreign vampire’s aegis who was traveling within Gemma’s territory. “But my research project has something to do with your family as well.”

  Gemma looked less bored and more interested. “Is that so?”

  “You know that Tenzin and I have started our own offshoot of Gio’s business, right?”

  “Hunting antiquities, I believe.” Gemma spread her hands. “I wish I had a job for you, but right now I don’t. If I need your services in the future, you can be sure I’ll contact you.”

  “I appreciate that, but right now we’re in the middle of a job. That’s what the research in Exeter is about.”

  “Old land maps, Benjamin?” Gemma sipped her port. “One would almost think you’re involved in treasure hunting.”

  “And get my hands dirty?” Ben winked at her. “Come on, Gemma. You know I’m a city boy.”

  “You think you fool me with your charm and wit,” Gemma said. “And I’ll let you continue the illusion. But don’t forget, Benjamin Vecchio.” Gemma glanced at Tenzin. “Like recognizes like.”

  He sighed dramatically. “Why must you think the worst of me?”

  Gemma laughed. “Why do you think it’s the worst? Don’t forget who my mate is.”

  A barely reformed criminal, Ben thought. If anyone knew what it meant to tread the line between dark and light, it was Terrance Ramsay. Gemma pulled Terry over to the side of the good guys… most of the time.

  “I’m hunting something,” Ben said. “A sword.”

  “Oh?” Gemma’s eyes flashed with something Ben didn’t catch. “What sword?”

  “The Sanguine Raptor.”

  Her mouth firmed into a line. “Do you like your life, Benjamin?”

  “I’m a pretty big fan of it, yeah.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Then quietly return whatever money you’ve been given, apologize to your client, and go home.”

  That was not the response he’d been hoping for. Tenzin sat still and silent at his side.

  Ben shook his head. “That’s not the way it works.”

  She said, “Brennus’s treasure is not something to play with.”

  “So you’re not going to try to convince me it doesn’t exist?”

  “No,” Gemma said. “I’m going to tell you that searching for it could be your end.”

  Tenzin took a sip of her port. “That’s excellent,” she said. “A little too sweet for my taste, but it’s very good.” She stared at Gemma for a few more moments before she said, “Ben, we should be going.”

  Ben frowned. “What? We haven’t asked her—”

  “We should go,” Tenzin said again. “Thank you, Gemma.”

  Gemma nodded. “Tenzin.”

  Tenzin stood and looked down at Ben. He felt his temper rise; he turned to Gemma. “Blood of the Raven,” he said. “Tywyll mentioned the blood of the Raven was looking for the treasure. Brennus was the Raven King. You, your brothers, all of Carwyn’s family are the blood of the Raven. Is that why you’re shutting me out? Has someone in your family been asking about Brennus’s sword?”

  Gemma rose, and Ben was forced by drilled-in manners to rise with her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said graciously. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Really? You don’t know if anyone in your family has been in town asking about your great-grandsire’s treasure?”

  Tenzin pulled on his arm. “Thank you, Gemma. Good-bye. Thank you again for the wine. I’ll send a messenger with my order before we leave the city.”

  “Of course.” Gemma leaned over and kissed both Ben’s cheeks. “Ben, it was so good to see you. Please give Giovanni and Beatrice my regards.”

  “I’ll make sure to do that.” He was pissed. So, so pissed. Gemma knew something and she was holding back. Tenzin better have a damn good reason for retreating, or she had a lot to answer for.

  “Ben.”

  Gemma called his name, and he turned at the door.

  “Leave it alone. I’m asking you to leave it alone.” She sighed. “Even though I can tell by the look in your eyes that you won’t. You’re too much like your uncle.”

  “I take comparisons to my uncle as a compliment, Gemma.”

  “You should. But you should also remember something else.” She smiled sadly. “Giovanni is a fire vampire with a reputation earned over many centuries and many battles. I know he has taught you many things, Ben. But you are not your uncle. And you are so much easier to kill.”

  Without another word, Tenzin pulled him from the room.

  ✕

  USUALLY Tenzin left him when he started down the stairs to the underground, but that night she didn’t. She followed him to the High Street Kensington station, pulling out her own Oyster card for the tube. Ben didn’t even know she had an Oyster card. She walked with him silently as he followed the signs for the Circle Line and racked his brain.

  Gemma knew something.

  Blood of the Raven.

  Brennus’s line.

  Did Carwyn have siblings?

  How many children did Carwyn have?

  How many children did Carwyn’s children have?

  The train pulled into the station and Ben boarded, Tenzin walking silently behind. It was nearly ten p.m., and they were the only travelers at their end of the compartment. He sat down and stared out the black windows as the doors hissed closed, and Tenzin took the seat next to him.

  Just how much “blood of the Raven” was wandering around Western Europe? Had Tywyll given whoever this mystery person was the same information about the Raven King’s tree? Had they also discovered the stones in Dunino Den?

  “…he didn’t have a coin for the new king’s stone.”

  No, Ben didn’t think Tywyll had given the key to the other seeker. Still, the question remained—

  “So, who do you think it is?” Tenzin asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “But Gemma does.”

  “She won’t tell us.” Tenzin stretched out her legs and crossed her arms. “The only people Gemma cares about are family.”

  And Ben wasn’t family.

  “Tywyll said the other one had ‘Raven’s blood.’ I assumed it was part of Carwyn’s family. Are there any other descendants from Brennus’s line?”

  She shook her head. “If there are, they’re hidden. Brennus did live on the Continent for many years. He was originally from the Celtic tribes in the Carpathian Basin. My sire’s men had occasional conflicts with them. That was the first time I heard his name. He had other children, but as far as I know, they were all killed in a massive battle around two thousand years ago. It was rumored that was the reason he went to Britain. After that, there was only Maelona and her sister. I don’t know the sister’s name. Then from Maelona, Carwyn.”

  “So as far as anyone knows, all of Brennus’s blood is concentrated in Carwyn’s line?”

  “Yes. And Gemma would only care about protecting her sire’s clan. She has no love for anyone other than her family and her mate. She has friends—your uncle, for instance—but she’d sell Gio out in a minute for her own blood.”

  Ben mulled it over as the train hurtled under the city. They transferred at Edgeware Road and walked across the platform to catch the train to Ladbroke Grove.

  “There’s something else she’s not telling us,” he said.

  “I know.” Tenzin tapped her foot. She hated being underground. “I may be more worried about that than whoever is looking for the treasure. She warned you away from it, and Gemma isn’t overly dramatic.”

  “You’ve known her for a long time.”

 
She shrugged. “When she was still with Giovanni.”

  “Hmm.”

  Ben stared at the blurred rush of the train as it came to a stop in the station. They entered again, this time with more company, so Ben stood silently while Tenzin leaned against the front of the compartment. Black windows underground turned to grey night as they resurfaced past Paddington. The city glowed with passing streetlamps while raindrops made dancing jewels on the windows of the car.

  He took Tenzin’s hand when their station was called. Sometimes, when she wasn’t thinking about it, she forgot to keep her feet on the ground. Tucking her under his arm, Ben walked down from the platform and steered them up the deserted street. The only fellow walkers that night were two drunk men and a lone dog trotting up the middle of the road. Tenzin walked silently with him as they turned left and ambled down their quiet street, but she halted when they reached the gate before their house.

  “Someone is inside,” she said under her breath.

  Ben palmed the blade concealed in his coat lining and looked around. There were no eyes on them, so he jerked his chin up. Tenzin took off, flying up and over the house as he approached the front.

  He was at the top step when he heard the whistling. Someone was in his house. And they were whistling.

  The front door was unlocked. He pulled it open and walked into the dark entryway. The light was on in the kitchen and he smelled… tea?

  A short scuffle, a loud bang, then he heard Tenzin say, “I’ve got him.”

  Ben walked back to the kitchen to see a dark-haired Caucasian man sitting at the kitchen table, a teacup halfway to his lips. Tenzin’s blade was at his throat.

  The stranger’s smile was crooked and his eyes were dancing. “I was only trying to make myself comfortable until you returned.”

  The accent was undoubtedly French. The energy was vampire. Ben didn’t say a word. He sat across from the man—the vampire—who’d been foolish enough to invade his and Tenzin’s territory and set his hunting knife on the table. His pulse was low and steady.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” the stranger said. “My name is René Dupont. And I do hope you won’t tell Gemma I’m in town.”