The Vampire Narcise

Chapter 11

  Two months later

  Despite being at war with England, Napoleon's Paris was surprisingly easy to enter, particularly with the resources of the Earl of Corvindale to grease palms and ensure that certain eyes turned blindly away from certain things. And for a gentleman like Chas Woodmore, whose Gypsy heritage gave him an almost Gallic appearance, the blending in was even simpler.

  It was the getting out of the city that would be the problem.

  But for Chas, there was only one element of the plan to be concerned with at a time, and the first was to gain entrance to Cezar Moldavi's house.

  It was past noon, well into the afternoon, as he walked along a rue in Le Marais. Although this was the area where the wealthy lived, the street was busy-filled with servants walking to and from the market, deliverymen and the residents rumbling along in their carriages on their way shopping and to other social engagements. No one would take note of yet another courier with a small paper-wrapped packet, particularly since he was dressed so as to be unremarkable in simple clothing and sturdy shoes. He'd settled a simple cap on his head, which had the result of covering much of his thick, dark hair and shading his face. It also made him appear younger.

  Nevertheless, Chas knew it was highly unlikely he'd actually make it out of the city. If he succeeded with his plan to assassinate Moldavi, and possibly the sister as well, regardless of what Cale had told him about her, then he would have the greatest chance of making it back to London. In that case, he'd only have to contend with getting past the soldiers at every corner of the city.

  He couldn't help a rueful smile, imagining Corvindale's reaction if he had to carry through on his promise to take in Maia, Angelica and Sonia in the event of Chas's demise. Maia, the eldest of the sisters and his junior by nearly ten years, would have plenty to say about it as well. Chas could already imagine her, with her hands on her hips and her foot tapping in annoyance. She was used to being in charge and managing the household, notwithstanding the dubious assistance of their chaperone Mrs. Fernfeather.

  But there was no one better equipped, nor more trustworthy, than Corvindale to protect his sisters if something happened to him, and as such, for the first time in all of his travels, Chas had left instructions with Maia to contact the earl if he didn't return or otherwise message her within a fortnight.

  That was how long Chas expected it to take to infiltrate Moldavi's homestead-if things went smoothly-and get close enough to his target, then get out of the city. He'd have one chance to drive the stake home, and God willing, he'd succeed. The rues were just as dirty and crowded in Paris as they were in London, Rome and St. Petersburg. He happened to prefer the countryside to the big, loud cities, perhaps because he was fairly forced to frequent them-and their seediest, most dark and unsavory places-in search of Dracule. As he avoided a steaming pile of dog shit in the center of the walkway, which was really just the edge of the street, he pictured for a moment the small estate he'd just purchased in Wales, with its neat, unassuming manor house tucked amid rolling green hills.

  It was likely he'd never have a chance to enjoy the place. He'd acquired it secretly, in hopes that it would be a private haven for him if he needed to hide his sisters from danger. For, just as he attempted to rid the world of vampirs, so were there vampirs who were bent on ridding the world of him. . . and who wouldn't hesitate to use Maia, Angelica and Sonia to do so.

  Thank goodness at least Sonia was tucked safely away at St. Bridie's. The last time he'd seen her, when he'd come to visit, they'd had a terrible row. A flush of guilt warmed his cheeks as it occurred to him that he might never see her or any of them again. God willing I'll make it up to them all.

  Then he realized he hadn't been paying attention to the numbers on the houses, and had nearly missed Moldavi's.

  Here it is.

  He walked past the columned, whitewashed front of the narrow but imposing three-story building, his attention moving from thoughts of his sisters and sharpening as he observed the area. A maidservant rushed past, carrying three large parcels that obstructed her view, and nearly collided with two footmen who were standing in the center of the walkway. Two carriages passed each other, harnesses rattling, hooves clopping. Someone shouted across the way from an unshuttered window, and there was a bellicose response from another window in the next building. Moldavi's house, while it looked the same as the ones surrounding it, was the only one that seemed devoid of life.

  From Giordan Cale, Chas knew that the house itself was only the facade of Moldavi's residence, and that most of the living space was underground in well-furnished but windowless chambers. The servants-mostly vampir, but some mortal-lived in the aboveground floors, where heavy curtains were drawn over the windows during the day. It was also where merchants entered and deliveries were made, and these upper floors were the way Chas would gain access to the house. He just had to wait for an opportune time. . . or to create one himself.

  The improved smoke packets that his friend Miro had made for him were in his coat pocket, but those were best used inside a confined space. And since this was his first visit to the area, he didn't intend to do anything more than get a sense of the area.

  He'd continued on his way to the end of the block. The houses that lined the thoroughfare were all similar to each other in design, with classical columns and landings. Built close together, these structures were part of an architectural revival that had swept Paris during the Revolution. Along with the city's rebuttal of all things royal had come the desire to eliminate the opulence and richness the ruling class had imposed upon it.

  Thus, the nouveau style embraced the simplicity of the Greeks and Romans along with symbolizing the rise of the bourgeoisie and their own seal on the city.

  The scent of spring roses and lilies caught in the breeze as he walked past neatly trimmed gardens around to the next block. There was a small alley between two of the houses that abutted Moldavi's, and he turned into it, still carrying his package.

  The alley was deserted and he walked purposely along toward the rear side of Moldavi's house. If anyone saw him, he was delivering a package to Monsieur Tournedo-and could someone not direct him to whichever of these houses belonged to the gentleman, s'il vous plait? If no one did, he'd have the chance to explore the rear of the house.

  During sunlight was the best time to attempt to break into a vampir residence, for a good portion of the household would be asleep. He just had to find the right time.

  And then as luck would have it, an opportunity presented itself. Looking back, Chas knew he couldn't have planned anything better.

  All at once, he heard a loud crash and clatter coming from the street in front of Moldavi's house. The horrified whinny of a horse, followed by a scream and lots of shouting. More whinnies and even a terrible, agonized shriek from one of the beasts. Whatever had occurred, it wasn't good-likely an animal would have to be put down-but it was also a guaranteed distraction to anyone in the vicinity.

  Sure enough, as Chas peered around the corner toward the mess on the narrow street, he saw crowds gathering. Like executions, accidents drew the morbid as well as the curious. Which included, more often than not, everyone in the vicinity.

  "It was a cat! She ran in front of me and I could not stop!" a driver was shouting.

  "But you should have been looking!" raged another. "Now see what you've done!"

  People were streaming from their houses, shouting encouragement and orders, crying out in shock and horror. Dogs barked and whined, and warning bells began to ring. Even a gunshot sounded, momentarily tempting even Chas to investigate further.

  But, no. . . he had much more important and satisfying things to attend to. Bloody damned child-bleeder. He was looking forward to seeing the man cower in fear for his life, knowing that only the thrust of a stake was between him and eternal damnation.

  His lips settled in a feral grin that no one could see, he eased back behind the house. If anyon
e in the Moldavi household was awake, it was certain they'd be either looking out the front windows or standing on the front porch. Chas had the perfect opportunity and had to work quickly.

  As trees gave shade, and thus provided shadow from the sun streaming inside the house through a window, he avoided the windows near the large oak that grew on the north side of the building. Best to find entry through a chamber that was less likely to house a Dracule. And the higher the chamber, the less likely it would be occupied when the master lived belowground. He eyed a window on the third floor and noted the sturdy brick edging around its gabled roof.

  Just then, a streak of blonde shot around the corner of the house. It was a light-colored cat, and it appeared to be the one that had caused the ruckus out front. Once safely under a yew against the house, the feline stopped and looked up at him with unblinking gray-blue eyes.

  "Merci," Chas murmured to the creature as he slipped his package, coat and cap behind the bush and pulled a rope from inside his pocket. "You've given me an exceptional opportunity. " He swung the rope up onto one of the window gables and pulled tight when its hook caught around the lip of the peak.

  The cat meowed, and to his amusement seemed to nod and then preen in acknowledgment, then ducked under the bushes and out of sight. The rope safely in place, Chas tested it and then began to climb.

  He was quick and efficient, his movements smooth and sleek, and moments later, he pulled himself onto the ledge of the window to peer in carefully. Empty of everything but a rug and a single chair. He smiled, but there was also a nudge of disappointment that no one was waiting to try to stop him. It had been some time since he'd been in a good fight.

  Gathering up the rope, he looped it out of sight onto the top of the little roof so that it would be accessible on his way out.

  Then, grateful for the continued chaos from the street beyond, he climbed into the chamber and walked silently to the door. Before opening it, he waited for the familiar sensation to come over him. . . the sort of itching in his belly that told him a vampir was near. The closer one came to him, the deeper and more violent the odd feeling he had in his gut.

  There was a time not so long ago when Chas would have sneaked through the home of a Dracule and staked any vampir he encountered-often while in their beds, sleeping away the daylight. Even after he met the earl, and learned that at least one of Lucifer's stewards was not quite the evil being his granny's stories had made them out to be, he hadn't become any less discriminating in his work.

  But in the last few years, since he'd come to know Corvindale's friends and realized that despite the fact that they had all tied their souls to the Devil, there were various degrees of immorality and violence, Chas had become less rigid in his choices. In his mind, every vampir could be a threat to mortals, but there was a divide between those who truly were, and those who simply tried to live and let live.

  He heard nothing alarming and went out the door into the corridor on silent feet. A little twinge in his belly told him a Dracule was near, but it was so subtle that he knew it wasn't in close proximity.

  As he made his way through the house, mentally reviewing the rough sketch of a map Cale had made for him, it became obvious that the top floors of the house were empty and unused. That made his job even easier, for he'd be less likely to encounter anyone as he made his way to Moldavi's private quarters below the ground.

  Nevertheless, he utilized the servants' stairs down through the back of the house, noting to himself that there were no enticing smells coming from this kitchen. Draculean households didn't really need to cook much.

  The twitch in his gut was getting stronger, and he slipped a stake from one of his inside pockets. But as he passed silently by the main foyer of the home, which was furnished so as to impress any casual visitors, he saw that a cluster of people still gathered in front of the house and glimpsed the gleam of shiny black paint on the side of an upended Landau.

  It was safe to say that everyone awake in this house was out in the street.

  As he made his way toward the staircase Cale had told him led to the underground apartments, Chas couldn't resist thinking: Could it simply be this easy? This Providential?

  Sonia would say, yes, if he was doing God's work, the Hand of the Almighty would arrange things so that it would happen. But Chas didn't fully believe that such blatant miracles occurred like chess pieces being rearranged on their board.

  His favorite Biblical maxim was "God helps those who help themselves. " And that was what he was doing.

  He'd just about reached the entrance to the lower level when his belly gave a sharp twist and the odd itching feeling became uncomfortable. Just then a door opened in front of him.

  Chas reacted before the vampir had the chance to see him: he lunged for the unsuspecting man, grabbed his arm and had him pushed against the wall, forearm up against his throat, before the sot could take a breath. All in complete silence. The vampir goggled up at him, his eyes wide and shocked. Then they narrowed a bit as he seemed to catch his breath.

  "Where's Moldavi?" Chas asked in a soft voice, the stake's point just beneath the servant's waistcoat, pressing gently into his breastbone as his powerful arm eased up on the man's throat.

  He felt the footman draw in a breath and just before the bastard was about to shout an alarm, he jammed the stake through shirt, breastbone and directly into his heart.

  His victim jolted, shock rushing back over his face, and Chas felt him shudder. . . then all life abruptly cease. Swearing to himself-for now he had the smell of fresh blood in the house, not to mention the problem of a dead body to attend to-he wiped off his stake and stuck it back in his pocket. Then he heaved the corpse over his shoulder and slipped quickly back the way he'd come, toward the servants' entrance.

  Opening the back door, he dumped the corpse into the space between the house and the thick yew and boxwood that grew close to the wall, hoping it would obscure the body for some time.

  Back inside the house, he moved with silent speed back to where he'd been when he encountered the vampir, all the while waiting for a renewed itch in his belly that told him more Dracule were near.

  Before he started down the stairs, he paused, waiting, listening. . . feeling. There was a sound in the distance, voices rumbling. . . and the niggle started in his gut again. But it was some distance away and he started down into the depths of Cezar Moldavi's lair.

  There was a sort of finality about it. Perhaps it was because going below the surface was akin to being buried, perhaps because there was no way out but the way he came-or through the skull-lined catacombs on the north side-but Chas felt his nerves string tight. He was on his guard as he'd never been before, listening for the sound of approach, paying heed to his body and its innate signals. He had his stake in one hand, and his other fingers curled around the butt of his pocketed pistol.

  Aside of it being cooler, and lit only with oil lamps and no natural light, the subterranean corridor appeared no different than one above the ground. It was painted and furnished, lined with doors just as any other hallway in a well-appointed home. But here he moved with more caution, listening at every door to see what he heard and felt.

  The voices had become more distinct and Chas more cautious as he made his way along a stretch that seemed to make a large U-shape. When he reached a large door from which the voices seemed to be coming, he stopped to listen, scanning the hall as he pressed his ear to the wood, careful not to touch it and make it jolt in its hinges.

  "And Corvindale," said a male voice beyond the door.

  A little prickle scooted up his spine and Chas pressed closer. He couldn't make out all of the conversation, but he heard snatches of it.

  "In London?" came a different voice, with a bit of a hiss to it. That must be Moldavi. "But of course. Perhaps you'd like to go, then, my dear?"

  "Of course. I'd be more than delighted to see Dimitri again," came a husky female voice. She m
ust be sitting closest to the door, for her words rang fairly clear. "Since Vienna, you know. " She gave an arch laugh.

  That had to be the sister. Chas leaned closer, his gut filled with that gnawing feeling from the proximity of vampirs.

  Despite what Giordan Cale had implied about the sister Narcise being more of an ally than a threat to his mission, Chas had reserved judgment. Her brother might use and abuse her, but that didn't mean that she wasn't malevolent in her own way. Anyone that close to Moldavi was most likely tarred with the same brush, and from the sound of her, he wasn't far off in his estimation. A beautiful woman with fangs was a formidable force, particularly for a man.

  A fourth voice joined the conversation-another male, which cooled any thought he might have had about bursting into the chamber. With four Dracule against one mortal-even with the mortal being himself-the odds were not in his favor. Chas heard something about spice ships just as something moved in the air behind him. He spun around in time for a slender, four-sided silver blade to rest right in the center of his chest.

  "You don't look like much of a fencing instructor," said the woman holding the epee. This particular blade's tip wasn't blunted, however, and Chas could feel its point digging into his skin.

  "What does a fencing instructor look like, per se?" he replied, keeping his voice quiet.

  "For one thing," she replied in a voice that was low and dusky and threatened to wrap around him like a velvet rope, "he would normally be armed with a blade of his own, instead of a stake. " She was strikingly beautiful, with deep blue-violet eyes and ink-black hair. So much so that he felt a little tremor of awareness beneath the adrenaline shooting through his body.

  Now things were going to get interesting.

  "Ah, yes," he said, easing a bit away from the tip of her blade, feeling the door behind him and still taking care not to jolt it. Damn. He'd been wrong; this had to be the sister. "Perhaps it was an oversight. "

  "Perhaps. " She followed him with the tip of her epee, and those lovely eyes narrowed. "There is only one way to find out then, isn't there? We shall have to fence, and you will prove to me that you are accomplished. This way. " She used the tip of her weapon to prod him away from the door.

  "But of course," he replied readily, his brain working quickly.

  Getting away from the others would hopefully give him the opportunity to disarm her without creating a disturbance that would bring Moldavi and his companions rushing from the chamber.

  "I trust you have a place in mind?" he added. And not on the other side of this door. . .

  "Walk, monsieur," she said, not yet drawing blood, but coming dangerously close to doing so. He didn't want that scent in the air, so he complied.

  Chas walked quickly. If this was the sister, she was certainly not the downtrodden, dead-eyed creature Corvindale had described-a fact which heightened his suspicions even further. Perhaps that was the way things had been a hundred years ago in Vienna, but things had obviously changed. His fingers tightened around the stake.

  "Here," she said in that low voice when they came to a door near the end of the U-shaped corridor. "Open it and go in. Slowly. "

  Feeling the sharp implement in his nape, Chas did as she bid and walked into the room. He took an instant to confirm that no one else was waiting beyond the entrance, and then he reacted.

  Holding on to the edge of the open door, he used its leverage to whip himself around and behind it, away from her sword. She made a sound of fury, the blade clashing against the door, but he was already ducking below and erupting back out from its shelter, rearing up and knocking her against the wall on the opposite side.

  A gasp of surprise burst from her as she slammed against it, her breath knocked out for a moment, and her lips curled back as she swung the blade down clumsily. He ducked again and, on her downswing, he slammed his entire body against her sword arm, smashing it against the wall, blade impaling the floor instead of his arm.

  With his foot, he slid the door closed as he pushed his forearm beneath her neck and held her there.

  Her eyes stormy, her breasts heaving between them, she glared up at Chas. A little ripple of attraction shivered through him, and he pushed it firmly away. She was a vampir, and lived to seduce.

  Her breathing eased. "There is no doubt, then. You're Chas Woodmore. "