Another of those creatures controlling him again? Never.
She would not break him. His will was stronger than hers. Than anyone's.
I'll break her.
And that was the reason--the only one--that he still burned to see her.
TWENTY-ONE
You've, uh, used all your dares, ma'am," Thad murmured.
"And you've used all your truths, Tiger," Natalya countered throatily. "So ask me a truth."
It's too early in the morning for this, Regin thought, bemoaning her second week in this hell hole. She lay on the top bunk, trying to ignore the latest episode of Good Boy Gone Bad, guest-starring Natalya, whose voice had turned porn-queenesque.
And Thad truly was a good boy. Over these unending days, he'd proved to be both affable and kind. At least when not faced with mind-bending sights like the Cerunnos or bewinged and behorned demons.
He'd also proved curious. A typical conversation between him and Regin:
"Is there a drinking age in the Lore?"
"Nope. Your high-school self can get slizzard on Zimas every night."
"Is there marriage?"
"Well, sometimes. It's species-dependent, I guess."
"Church?"
"Define church."
But he was starting to flag, with shadows under his eyes, and he'd lost weight. He ate none of the slop the Order served him and Natalya. His jeans hung on his lanky frame, his build morphing from football player to marathon runner.
Ultimately, Regin had concluded that he was part leech, a halfling vamp, because while Natalya had been busy monitoring Thad's sleep woodies--"Two words, Valkyrie: nocturnal emission. Just kidding, but I got you to look!"--Regin had been noticing another part of him giving a salute.
His fangs had lengthened and retracted at intervals. The sweet kid who'd barely been broken of calling them Ms. Natalya and Ms. Regin was a leech, or part one?
Regin's beloved niece Emma was half vamp, half Valk, but Emma could never go out in the sun as Thad obviously could. So what was the kid's other half?
And why do I still like him?
First Emma. Now Thad. Regin was sick and tired of non-evil vampiric creatures messing with her millennium's worth of scathing animosity for their species. ...
"A truth, then?" Thad asked Nat. "So how many guys, uh, you know--"
"Have I bedded? I'm centuries old, you remember, so if I 'went steady' with one guy every six months, well ... you get the picture. I wouldn't say an army's worth, but definitely several battalions. Care to enlist?" Over Thad's embarrassed stammering, she said, "And how many girls have you enjoyed, Tiger?"
Regin could hear him blushing.
"I've had tons of girlfriends," he said. "I am a quarterback, you know. I chase tail all the time."
"You didn't answer the question."
In a low tone, he admitted, "Between football and Eagle Scouts, I haven't had time to find, you know, the right girl."
Natalya sighed. "How utterly irresistible of you. Now that you've found her, I dare you to lose the jeans."
He choked out, "Ma'am?"
Thaddeus Brayden, worshipped as a football god in his small Texas town of Harley, had obviously never encountered a female like Natalya. "Of course we should share a bunk," the fey had purred this morning. "I'm nothing more than a fairy godmother. If we share a bed, I can make all your wishes come true."
Regin turned a blind eye--because everyone in this cell might be executed at any time. And because she'd forgotten she wasn't a moral person who wouldn't give a shit if the virginal Thad got it on with Natalya.
Just wait till I'm asleep. In the meantime, she stared at the ceiling, mulling over her own situation with Chase.
After their fight last week, Chase had ignored her, letting her languish in her cell. She had no idea where she stood with him or how close he was to remembering her, to kissing her.
This mulling sucked. Regin didn't introspect; she acted. Sometimes she got it right, oftentimes she didn't, and she'd never really figured out how to differentiate between the two.
Because she didn't fucking introspect.
Now apparently she was going to contend with some kind of internal struggle. Some kind of on-the-one-hand type crisis. Like the ones her sisters routinely went through.
The ones Regin mocked.
She simply didn't have them. She did whatever she wanted to do, and she slept well at night.
Regin muttered, "Balls." Then she finally surrendered to it:
On the one hand, her big berserker had returned to her, and her memories of their times together were burning hot. Each day I'll love you more than the one before...
On the other hand, how could she let this misery go on? Her friends, old and new, were suffering. Like Carrow.
The grapevine had been abuzz with gossip about her, rumors that Regin prayed were untrue. Word held that Chase had forced the witch to travel to the demon plane of Oblivion--a.k.a., hell--to use her wiles and trap a brutal vampire demon. Or else Chase would kill another prisoner.
Carrow's seven-year-old cousin, a little girl named Ruby.
The Order had captured Ruby--after murdering the child's mother. At that news, Regin had heaved, nearly vomiting energy--
She tensed when she heard Dixon's heels clacking down the corridor. Evil Order employees going about their evil daily business.
Regin hadn't thought anything could be worse than Fegley's belligerent visits, but Dixon had edged him out for prize asshole.
Watching the woman pine for Chase made Regin ill. As if those two would ever have a shot.
Even worse was when Dixon gazed at Regin. Like the woman hungered to examine her.
It gave Regin the creeps. She wasn't a puss by any means, but the threat of vivisection was really starting to get to her. Prisoners went off to those labs one way, and they came out another. Altered. ...
She'd just heard Thad's audible swallow and a whispered, "My jeans completely off?" when two guards arrived at the cell.
Regin leapt from the bunk. Had Chase sent for her? Or am I about to be vivisected?
One guard said, "Here for Brayden. We're moving him."
Thad shot to his feet, his eyes panicked. He subtly reached for Natalya's hand.
"There, lad. It'll be okay."
Regin couldn't say she was surprised by this transfer. Not many of the other cells were coed, from what she'd seen.
The second guard said, "Are you looking for this to be a gas extraction, or are we all going to play nice?"
She and Natalya shared a look. They both knew resisting the guards would be useless. Plus, it'd probably freak Thad out even more.
Regin shook her head. "Just be cool, kid. Remember, I'm not leaving this place without you."
Natalya added, "Same here. You have my word." Then she reluctantly pulled free her hand.
As the guards led him away toward the entrance of the corridor, Thad craned his head over his shoulder, keeping them in his sights for as long as possible.
Regin swallowed. His eyes had been glinting at the end.
She turned to Natalya, who looked bereft. "Come on, Nat, we both knew he'd get sent back to the minors. I've been expecting them to separate him from us ever since he woke from his stupor."
"Doesn't mean I like it. ..."
Hours later, they heard gasps from inmates up-corridor from them. She and Natalya ran to the glass in time to see the same two guards dragging by Thad's limp body, on their way to the opposite end of the ward.
He was soaking wet and shaking, his pupils the size of saucers. "They told me I'm a vampire," he mumbled to Regin and Natalya. "Now you'll w-want to kill me. ..." His head lolled as he fell unconscious.
Screaming obscenities at the guards, Natalya slammed her hands on the glass, spitting and kicking, her irises gone black with fury. Regin shrieked right beside the fey, her hands balled into fists so tight that blood dripped to the floor. She was murderously enraged that Thad had been hurt--and that Chase had broken
his word to her.
Vincente strode by then. In a low tone, the man said, "He's only going to a new cell now. Worry for yourselves."
Regin sagged against the glass. Gods, just give me one more chance to take Chase down. Just one more ...
As Declan strode through the facility, finalizing preparations for Webb's arrival this week, he decided it was time to bring the Valkyrie round once more.
His trap had been sprung for Malkom Slaine; now all he could do was wait. He'd compiled and edited the information Regin had given him about the Valkyrie, bersekers, and any impending apocalypses.
And by now, enough time had passed that he likely wouldn't throttle her on sight.
Their last meeting had infuriated him; his subsequent dream--wet as it'd been--had only compounded his resentment. Spend up to my chin. ...
Once again, the Valkyrie had sent him reeling. And again, he'd found his footing. If she meant to convince him he was a berserker, she'd have to do better than her tales, her induced dreams.
He would require irrefutable proof. Until then, he'd fight it every step of the way. Going down swinging--
"Magister Chase," Vincente called from behind him.
Declan slowed his steps.
"You've, uh ... you received a message, sir."
"I'll check it when I get back to my office."
"The message didn't come through the usual channels." He handed Declan a sealed transcript folder.
"Then where'd it come from?"
"It was recorded. From the listening device you planted in Louisiana. I matched it to an Aston Martin, red, current year, Orleans Parish tag."
"So? Someone must have driven that car, and we picked up a conversation. Those bugs are voice-activated."
"The car wasn't started. And only one person was inside it. Just read the transcript, sir. I suggest in private."
"I have another task at hand. Tell me who it's from, and I'll decide."
Vincente lowered his voice. "It's from a Valkyrie named Nix. She left the message specifically for you, using your own bug."
How the hell had Nix found the hidden device? He could only imagine what she would have to say to him.
Without a word, Declan turned back toward his office, ripping open the folder as soon as the door closed behind him.
He started to read. ...
--Begin transcript--
Testing. Hello, hellooo, anybody out there? Check, check, one, two. Soft pee. Puh, puh. Resonance! Sooooooft pee. Alpha bravo disco tango duck.
This is Nix! I'm the Ever-Knowing One, a goddess incandescent, incomparable, and irresistible. But enough about what you think of me. It's a beautiful day in New Orleans. The wind is out of the east at a steady five knots and clouds look like rabbits ... But enough about what you think of me!
Now, down to business--
Squirrel!
Where was I? [Long pause] Why am I in Regin's car? Bertil, you crawl right back out of that bong this minute!
Oh, I remember! I am hereby laying down this track for Magister Declan Chase. If you are a mortal of the recorder peon class, know that Dekko and I go waaaaay back, and he'll go berserk (snicker snicker) if he doesn't receive this transmittal. ...
Chase, riddle me this: what's beautiful but monstrous, long of tooth but sharp of tooth and soft of mind, and can never ever tell a lie?
That's right. The Enemy of Old can be very useful to you. So use him already.
P.S. Your middle name's about to be spelled r-e-g-r-e-t.
And with that, I must bid you adieu. Don't worry, we'll catch up very soon. ...
[Muffled] Who's mummy's wittle echolocator? That's right--you are!
--End transcript--
Declan sank back in his chair, muttering, "Jaysus." Why in the hell would she communicate with him?
And she'd alluded to him being a berserker. Fighting it all the way down ... Why would she say she'd be seeing him soon? Perhaps she planned some kind of incursion to free Regin?
Regret about what?
He called Vincente to his office. "Did anyone else see this?"
"Only the one who transcribed the message."
"Bury it." Declan scowled at the transcript. "And bring me Lothaire."
TWENTY-TWO
Gods, Magister," Lothaire said as soon as a cadre of guards left him in Chase's office, "try to contain that."
From behind his desk, the magister demanded, "Contain what?"
Lothaire's cuffed hands fisted behind his back. "That frenzied energy rolling off you in waves." It distracted him from his seething need to disembowel the man.
Chase had a look in his eyes, an almost demented light. The man was losing it. "I don't know what you're talking about, vampire." His visage was pale, his scars seeming more prominent.
Hate scars. I'm physically flawless--why can't everyone be? Everywhere Lothaire went, people stopped and stared. Of course, then they usually ran. "You don't? Ah, if only I could lie so easily."
The magister didn't address that, merely observed, "You appear ... saner today."
"Alas, you are remarkably less so." Demented and not quite mortal. What was he? Lothaire had contemplated this for days. "It seems we are to meet in the middle." I don't have time to be maddened--because of you.
"But you're not healing as I would have expected," Chase observed.
The torture had left Lothaire wasted. "That's because Magister Chase's hospitality leaves much to be desired." The Order provided no blood for vampires--Lothaire hadn't fed in weeks. And without blood, he was barely regenerating.
Beneath his shirt, ash remained where his flesh should be. There were gaps in the skin that should be covering his ribs.
So hungry I can count my ribs. He almost laughed. Not so flawless at present. But Chase would carry his marks to the grave. I will heal once I feed.
If only Lothaire could take down Chase and drink him. His fangs throbbed at the thought, his gaze rapt on the man's neck.
Chase noticed. "You sick son of a bitch. You think to take my blood?"
"When I truly want it, you'll know. Because my fangs will be shoved deep in your neck." Lothaire shrugged, turning to survey Chase's office.
The only discernible hint of his personality was that there was no hint of his personality. Lothaire strode to one of the windows, gazing out over the rainy landscape. She was out there in the world. Both his doom and his salvation. He wondered how strong this glass was. Drink Chase, break the window. ...
But he couldn't leave this place without his ring. "What do you want, Magister?"
"You're the oldest immortal here, and it's said you know more secrets about the Lore than almost anyone."
"True and true." For eons, Lothaire had crept through the night to drink his enemies down. And with each drop of blood taken from the flesh, he'd harvested knowledge.
His victims were legion.
"Most important, you're a natural-born vampire, so you can't lie. And I need information."
"Why should I assist you?"
"I'll torture you otherwise," Chase said so easily, still thinking himself the master of his domain and all within it. But not for long.
"Perhaps I'll make you go through the motions," Lothaire said. "I did relish your frustration when you couldn't get me to talk last time." Even when those lights had melted his flesh from his bones. ...
"Then so be it."
Foolish! the Endgame admonished. If you don't survive the Gilded One, then your female will be in jeopardy. And to survive, Lothaire needed supplies from this magister. "I do wonder why you've not tried to bargain with me? Immortals enjoy a good bargain." I know this well.
Lothaire's nemesis Nix might be the Ever-Knowing, but he was the Ever-Doing--forever collecting debts. Over the millennia, he had amassed an army's worth of debtors.
And every move I make serves my Endgame, the ultimate prize.
"What do you want?" Chase asked.
"My ring."
"Out of the question."
 
; "Keeping it here invites the wrath of an unimaginable power." La Dorada, the Gilded One, a sorceress of pure evil. The waters recede more each day. ...
Just before his capture, Lothaire had spent weeks traveling into the deepest part of the Amazon, following the Valkyrie archer Lucia and her werewolf lover as they sought Dorada's hidden tomb. At the last instant, Lothaire had swooped in to steal that ring directly off Dorada's mummified body, knowingly triggering the tomb's floodgates and waking her from her slumber.
He smirked now. He'd left the Valkyrie and the wolf in the lurch to deal with the cataclysmic aftermath.
"An unimaginable power?" Chase exhaled impatiently. "I suppose I'll just have to chance it. Unless you're ready to tell me what the ring does."
"No. I am not." Lothaire's smirk faded. Now I am left in the lurch, imprisoned here for Dorada to find, trapped without the ring.
She would bring her vicious guards here with her. "I will answer one of your questions--unrelated to me or my ring--if you have twenty pounds of sodium chloride placed in my cell."
That earned a double take from the unbalanced magister. "You want ... table salt? Why?"
"Why? I believe that is a question related to me."
Chase glowered. "I can't authorize your request."
"You can authorize anything you want. Remember, everything goes through you. This is your realm. Call your hulking minion, and order him to stow salt in my cell. It's that simple."
"I give you my word it'll be done."
"But you don't keep your word, Magister Chase. You promised the witch that she and her ward would be released if she brings you the demon Malkom Slaine. But we both know they won't be freed, even if she succeeds. You would be stupid to do so."
Chase didn't even have the grace to flush. At length, he radioed Vincente. "I want twenty pounds of salt placed in Lothaire's cell. You heard me. See it done."
Lothaire inclined his head. "Ask your question."
"Are there reincarnations? I need to know if reincarnates exist." Chase very much wanted an answer to his question. And he very much wanted it to be no.
Curious. "Of course there are reincarnations."
Chase sank back in his chair, his face paling even more.
"I even know a few. They owe me debts of honor." But then, most of the key players in the Lore did. When their accounts come due, the world will quake. ...