She rose and held out her hand. “I’ll do my best.”
Saba
Plovdiv, Bulgaria
She watched the trucks move in and out of the warehouse, their drivers mostly headed toward the port in Istanbul. She stood in the shadows, her old friend hovering at her side.
“It hasn’t stopped,” he said. “Though things have slowed down. They are finding it harder and harder to offload without detection.”
“Is Elixir the only thing made here?”
“There is a perfume as well. And, of course, this is only one of the facilities, though it is the primary one.”
“And you’re sure this is Laskaris?”
“I’m positive.”
“If you say it’s true, it is.”
Ziri’s network of spies was unparalleled, though she did understand he’d suffered a rather hard loss with the death of one of his primary information merchants the year before.
“And the Russian?”
“Has taken care of his daughter. There was no sentiment involved.”
“Sentiment can be a distraction.”
“As we’re both aware.”
She looked back at the warehouse where vial after vial of poison was being shipped out, spread to the farthest corners of the immortal world.
For now.
Ziri asked, “Does our son make any progress?”
“Of a kind.”
Ziri had always claimed Lucien; he and Saba had been lovers when Lucien had been sired. A good portion of the blood in her son’s veins probably did belong to the old wind vampire, but the heart of him was Saba’s.
“He’s running out of time.”
“Leave that to me.” Saba’s patience with her children was growing thin. Her patience with the world was growing thin.
The elemental world hung in the balance.
Saba wondered if her son knew how much.
CHAPTER THREE
Lucien stared at the calendar hanging on his wall and listened to Katya on the speakerphone and tried to contain his anger. Anger with Katya. Anger at himself. Anger at his mother and her friends and medieval alchemists with god complexes and relentless curiosity. It didn’t matter that Geber was centuries dead. Lucien wanted to raise him just to kill him in a more satisfying manner.
But anger solved nothing.
“I’m close,” he said. “You know I need more time.”
“You can have all the time you need,” Katya said. “But I’m sending another scientist down there.”
“I have assistants. The lab is excellently staffed.”
“She’s not an assistant. She’s a hematology researcher with a focus on sickle cell diseases and thalassemia. She’s smart. She’s persistent. She’s—”
“She’s human.” Lucien tapped a pencil on his desk. Three years working on this damn thing and he was at an impasse. He’d identified it as a virus, but not like anything previously known. He’d been able to isolate and identify the protein surrounding it—he’d even developed a test that could be used in humans—but curing it?
“Yes, she’s human,” Katya continued, “but she’s not likely to be intimidated by you. She’s worked with our kind in the past and can keep up.”
Not with me. Lucien continued to stare at the calendar. Three years. Three years within centuries should not have been significant. But that was before everything he’d lost.
“You say this doctor can keep up with me,” Lucien said. “But Katya, you don’t know that. You don’t even know what I’m working on.”
A long silence on the line told him the pointed barb had met its mark.
“Don’t forget who controls your funding, Lucien.”
He leaned forward and glared at the phone as if Katya could see him. “And don’t forget whom I answer to. Do you need a reminder? It’s not you.”
Katya wasn’t a bad sort, but to Lucien, the Russian vampire was an infant. He was here as a favor, and it might be a good idea to remind her of that.
“Would you like me to leave?” he asked. “Would you like to appoint this Dr. Abel to head the project? I’ve devoted three years to this study. I’ve developed a test that detects the virus in humans with near perfect accuracy.”
“And you’re already sharing in the profits from that test.”
“Don’t insult me,” he snapped. “I don’t need your money.” He had caches of gold that were older than her mother tongue. “I have logged countless hours of research and treated patients with no hope of survival. I did this as a favor to Vecchio and because I believe in this project. Do you think your human doctor has that kind of dedication?”
Of course she didn’t. No human did. He couldn’t blame them. Their lives were too short for prolonged devotion. Lucien knew that from personal experience.
“You have one living test subject left,” Katya said. “One. And her time is limited. I’m sending Dr. Abel down while the subject is still alive, and I expect you to treat her with respect.”
Lucien grimaced. It was Katya’s lab. She’d do as she wanted. If this human wanted to look over his shoulder, he couldn’t stop her, but he wasn’t going to hold her hand either. She probably didn’t even read Latin.
“Do what you want,” he said. A knock came at his door, and Lucien rose. He recognized Baojia’s step on the concrete. He flung open the door and motioned the other vampire in, taking the small boy who raised his arms out for Lucien. “Katya, I need to meet with Baojia unless you have something you need to discuss with him.”
“We have a call scheduled for later,” Katya said. “You do not need to be present for our conversation.”
It was hard to miss the frost in her tone. Baojia’s eyebrows rose in question, but Lucien shook his head.
“Send Dr. Abel’s file to me,” he said. “I want to look over her previous work and get a sense of how her mind works.”
“I’ll forward it to your human. Respect, Lucien. She’s not a lackey.”
“Fine.” He leaned over and hit the End Call button with a pencil, bouncing the wriggling little boy in his arms.
“Lucy!” Jake said. “Daddy said I can play with my blocks. Can I?”
“Of course you may.” Lucien set the little boy down in front of the bookcases and let him pull out the set of intricately carved wooden blocks Lucien had made for him when Jake was a baby. They sat stacked neatly next to a pile of books the boy played with anytime his father and Lucien needed to meet.
The child was the son of Baojia and Natalie, but he looked remarkably like his father. Lucien had studied the possibility of vampire and human conception extensively at one point in his life and knew it was an impossibility, so he suspected a donor from Baojia’s remaining human family in San Francisco, but he had never asked. It was none of his business. Natalie had given birth to their second child the previous year, and the little girl was the image of her brother.
“What did you do to piss off my boss?” Baojia asked, settling into a chair and angling it so he could keep an eye on the door and his child at the same time. “And who is Dr. Abel? Is that what our conference call is likely to be about?”
“Probably.” Lucien wiped a hand over his face. “She’s a hematologist from Seattle working at one of Katya’s other labs. Successfully, it sounds like. Your boss is sending her down here next week.”
Baojia frowned. “And you object to that?”
“I don’t know her.”
“She might be able to help.”
“Or I might spend ages just getting her up to speed on the project, wasting time I could spend making actual progress, and she might not be able to understand my research direction at all. Or she’d have her own, which, frankly, would be a distraction.”
Baojia thought for a moment. “Why now? The trials for the testing kits have been a success. Katya’s making money hand over fist right now shipping them.”
“Time,” Lucien said. “Limited access to human test subjects. She’s sending Dr. Abel down here while we still have Carmen
.”
Baojia’s expression went blank. “How long?”
“I don’t know.” Lucien’s voice softened. “A month. Maybe two or three. I doubt it will be longer than that.”
Jake banged his blocks together with a satisfying crash as Baojia stared at the wall.
Lucien knew the loss of their last patient would be gutting to the former assassin even if the reserved immortal would never show it. He was, at his core, a protector. And he took the responsibility to guard the women he’d rescued from traffickers seriously. Losing them one by one over the past three years had been quietly devastating, though there was nothing Baojia could have done differently to prolong their lives.
Nothing either of them could have done.
The women had come to them with a death sentence already imposed. Carmen, the last and strongest of the women, had lasted six months longer than Lucien had predicted. Curing a virus like Elixir could take years of research, even with supernatural abilities.
Lucien doubted a human researcher would solve a mystery that had puzzled the finest vampire minds for centuries.
No, it wasn’t doubtful. It was impossible.
❖
Lucien and Baojia stood at the gates of the compound waiting for Dr. Abel’s car to arrive. Though there were living quarters at the lab available, the woman had insisted on taking a small rental house in the town twenty miles away. She’d also insisted on taking her own car.
Basically, she was already driving Baojia to distraction.
“Just because the worst doesn’t happen doesn’t mean it can’t,” he muttered, standing next to Lucien. “Does she think whoever is funding this wants you to find a cure? Do you think threats aren’t constant? My people intercepted two spies from India last month asking questions in San Francisco. Three months before that it was a Macedonian assassin.”
“Ah yes. He was delicious.”
Baojia wasn’t amused. “I can’t believe Katya agreed to let her live in town.”
“I’m rather surprised myself.”
“Who is this woman?”
He’d done a little research on her. “Apparently she’s the daughter of Katya’s archivist. The man has worked for her for thirty years, so he’s loyal.”
“Dr. Abel should not be allowed to have this much independence.”
Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Better not let your wife hear you say that.”
“Natalie has learned that security is no longer an option.”
“She only learned that when the children were born.”
Baojia frowned. “Nevertheless.”
Lucien hid his smile. He wasn’t at all pleased about the new doctor coming and disrupting his lab, but he couldn’t stop Katya. So he decided he would be… amused. He’d pawn Dr. Abel off on one of his underlings and give her all his original notes in Latin. That would keep her occupied for a while.
Under different circumstances, he would look forward to collaboration with a colleague—some of his best work had been done with partners—but he was not in a collaborating mood. He could scent the growing instability in his world, and he didn’t like it. Some of the most ancient of their race were dying. Rumors of war drifted in the wind, and currents of power were shifting.
His mother, the most reclusive vampire he knew, had even gone roaming from her mountain home. He’d received a letter not too long ago from the Caucasus Mountains.
I go to see the fire king and your theios. I would have their counsel on a matter of some concern.
Night had fallen, and the ocean mist hung heavy over the low buildings that created a horseshoe facing the sea. Though Baojia and Natalie lived in the original farmhouse on the property, the rest of Katya’s people, including doctors, lab assistants, support and maintenance staff—human and immortal—lived in the low bungalows and dormitories. The patients, the reason the lab had been built in the first place, had lived in the comfortable and luxurious quarters closest to the ocean.
All but one of them was gone.
“How was Carmen feeling today?” Baojia asked.
“As well as can be expected. She’s not as dehydrated.”
“Good.”
The virus caused by the Elixir drug made vampires lose their grip on their amnis, which slowly starved them as their bodies stopped processing the living blood they needed to survive. They lost their bloodlust, control of their element, and eventually their minds. In humans, the virus was harder to pinpoint. It seemed to affect everyone differently, though a surge of health followed by an eventual slow wasting was universal in all the patients Lucien had treated in California and those he’d observed at Patrick Murphy’s facility in Ireland.
Headlights shone on the road. Lucien and Baojia waited as Dr. Abel’s car twisted over the low hills leading toward the house. As she approached, Baojia triggered the gate to roll back, and the small hybrid vehicle coasted to a stop in front of the farmhouse.
The woman who exited the vehicle provoked an unexpected surge of pure male admiration in Lucien. Surprised by the unexpected heat of his reaction, he tried to shove it back.
Makeda. Queen.
Her ancestors hailed from the Horn of Africa or very close to it. Her figure and features were typical of the region. Her first name should have tipped him off, but Americans were so odd about naming their children, and Abel was not a typical Ethiopian or Eritrean surname.
Late thirties. Clear skin. Nonsmoker. Muscle tone indicates regular exercise.
She walked toward them. “Baojia? Is that correct?”
Second language speaker. First language Amharic? Ethiopian?
“Katya sent your picture for security reasons,” she continued, taking Baojia’s hand. “She said you preferred to use your first name.”
“That’s correct.” Baojia said. “Welcome, Dr. Abel.”
“Thank you.”
Konjo.
The Amharic word for beauty popped into his mind. Makeda Abel’s skin was pure mahogany with gold undertones. And though her hair was pulled back in a very professional twist, he could see the tendrils around her neck curling in the mist. Her eyes were large and cinnamon brown, her lashes sweeping her cheeks when she blinked.
She turned to Lucien and held out her hand. “Are you Dr. Thrax?”
“Lucien.” He kept his body under strict control. Lucien realized after he’d taken Makeda’s hand that he hadn’t even heated his skin to be polite. Which was fine. She was his colleague, and she knew he was a vampire. Subterfuge was hardly necessary.
“Lucien, it’s nice to meet you.” She dropped his cold hand. “And please call me Makeda. Your reputation is unparalleled. I hadn’t read any of your published articles before Katya assigned me to this lab, but I have taken a look at some Dr. Pak directed me toward. You are an excellent writer.”
Flattering words, but her examination of him felt indifferent. No increase in heartbeat. Her expression, unlike her body, was impossible to read. Her eyes held no warmth, only speculation.
“You’re very young,” Lucien said. “I was expecting someone older.”
A slight narrowing of her eyes was the only reaction she gave him. “If you expect me to apologize for my age, you’ll be waiting awhile.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He detected skepticism in her eyes before she turned back to Baojia. “Thank you for the assistance at the house today,” she said. “The people you sent were very helpful, and the security system seems very thorough.”
“If you insist on living in town, increased security is something I must insist on.”
“And I appreciate it. If you could show me to my offices, I’d like to get settled in. I won’t be able to work a full night tonight, but I’d like to unpack a few things, take a tour of the facility, and meet some of the staff if you have time.”
“Of course,” Baojia said. “Why don’t I ride with you? There’s a road leading to the lab, and you’ll be able to park right behind your office. I can help you unpack and then show you aro
und and introduce you. Almost everyone is working tonight.”
“Excellent, thank you.” Makeda walked back to the car without even glancing at Lucien.
Baojia waited a beat after she’d closed the car doors. He cleared his throat and spoke softly. “‘I expected someone older?’ Really, Lucien?”
Lucien shrugged. “I did.”
“This is where Natalie would say you have no game.”
“She’s a colleague. I don’t need to have game.”
“Right.” Baojia walked to the car and opened the door. The heater was on, and a current of warm air drifted from the driver’s seat and reached Lucien’s nose before the cold night wind snatched it away.
Citrus and cinnamon.
❖
Seven nights later, he was reading another letter from his sire. This one was from Istanbul.
The vampire Zara has disappeared, but the boats loaded with this drug still move through the Black Sea and the Mediterranean unobstructed. There is no stopping it unless we want to draw the humans’ attention, as it is hidden within legitimate goods. A cure is the only hope to save the humans. And ourselves. It is a creeping death, but a death that will be inevitable unless you are successful, my son.
Let it never be said that Saba didn’t have high expectations for her progeny.
He folded the letter and put it in the locked drawer with the others just as someone knocked on his door and opened it only a second later.
“Not acceptable,” he barked, rising to his feet. “If my door is closed, I—”
“Are you serious?” Makeda placed a folder on his desk, tension evident in the clutch of her hands. “I know vampires tend to be archaic, but are you serious with this?”
Lucien crossed his arms and hated that his first thought was that Makeda looked stunning when she was irritated. His second thought was that she was far angrier than she was allowing him to see.
“You asked for copies of my original observation notes,” he said. “Is there a problem with them?”