“I shall leave you to it, then.” Greaves started to lift his arm then lowered it. “I am curious about one thing. Did you actually penetrate Julianna during the performance tonight?”
“I never fuck and tell.”
Greaves chuckled. “I think you did, not because I know you that well, but rather because I know Julianna, the lusty creature that she is.”
Casimir held his gaze. “Julianna would never have agreed to perform without a measure of … compensation.”
At that, Greaves laughed again. “No. She would not.”
“You miss her.”
“I will not deny that we were well suited.” The arm rose. The bastard disappeared.
Casimir gained his feet. As pep talks went, Greaves had a knack for it.
Time to return to Paris.
Having lived for over three millennia, I no longer think that variety is the spice of life. In more recent centuries, I’ve become fond of the unexpected.
—Memoirs, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 24
Endelle stood in the defendant’s box, high above the proceedings, cameras trained on her. She wore one of her fav outfits, a silvery gray snakeskin jumpsuit. Marcus had wanted her to don a formal black robe, the one she wore to perform the ascension ceremonies, but she just wasn’t feelin’ it. She kept sending little zaps of power to her arches since being forced to stand during this little committee hearing for over three hours in her stilettos was one motherfucker of a pain in the ass.
Whatever.
But Marcus kept the proceedings hopping. She’d never been more proud of her longtime friend. He was running circles around these bozos, half of whom were taking dying blood on the sly but keeping the telltale effects at bay by making use of Greaves’s famous and not-so-secret antidote.
Although Daniel Harding, chairman of these bullshit proceedings, was looking prettier every day. He’d always been a vain if ugly bastard. Because he was homely by virtue of having the ugliest parents in the world, he couldn’t seem to help experimenting by holding off on Greaves’s antidote. Even waiting half an hour to take the serum would initiate some physical changes. In time, therefore, Harding’s pug-dog features had started to smooth out. The trouble was, he now had a faint bluish line forming in an arc just in front of his ears. Maybe he forgot his Revlon concealer.
“High Administrator Amargi,” Harding called out, his cheeks reddening. “You dishonor this assemblage by not owning up to the truth of what occurred the night of the Las Vegas Two explosion. Did you, or did you not, hear Madame Endelle violate COPASS orders by giving permission to Warrior Jean-Pierre and Warrior Thorne to enter the Superstition Mountain Seers Fortress?”
“And I tell you again, I did not,” Marcus said, holding Harding’s gaze. “But I should remind you that the night was a mass confusion because we were aiding over twenty thousand refugees from around the globe to return to each of over forty allied Territories. You can’t expect me to recall everything that happened that night.”
He shifted his gaze to the thirty or so cameras and film crews off to the side and smiled. “But I don’t need to remind the good people of Second Earth what was found in the Seers Fortress, the devastating truth that the High Administrator had been abusing his Seers, that many were pregnant and malnourished, that there were children without proper care, that the facility itself was condemned by the Health and Safety Board of Southwest Desert Two.”
“High Administrator Amargi—”
He continued to address the cameras. “I am fully persuaded that only the most dire of situations would have caused two of our most worthy duhuro warriors, elite Warriors of the Blood, men with the highest caliber of integrity, vampires who have served in this war against a growing army of death vampires for hundreds of years, without complaint—yes, only the worst kind of treachery and depravity would have forced Warriors Jean-Pierre and Thorne to violate one of COPASS’s most sacred laws. For those who wish more information about this ongoing story of Seer violation, we have extensive footage of the crime on www.madameendelle.com.”
“Warrior Marcus, this conduct is outrageous!” Harding shouted. “You are seeking to enflame public opinion.”
“Yes, Chairman Harding, I am. I want transparency. I want the good people of Second Earth to know all that is going on in high places around this world.”
Harding’s red cheeks paled.
“And now at this time, we are providing the most esteemed committee copies of over two thousand requests Madame Endelle submitted to COPASS during the past five years, begging repeatedly for a thorough inspection of a Fortress that had not allowed any person within its walls for over fifteen years.”
“That is a falsehood. We have answering reports that once each year a thorough inspection was performed.”
“Then how do you account for twenty-three offspring genetically proven to be the result of Stannett’s repeated rapes?”
The galleries began a serious shout-down of Harding, supported by an answering roar from the hallways beyond.
Endelle crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. She really did like where this was headed. If COPASS even tried to incarcerate Jean-Pierre or Thorne, it would face a revolt.
A quiet masculine voice intruded, right against her ear. “So what do you think?”
She jerked her head to her right, and there, sitting on the edge of the narrow railing as pretty as you please, was Braulio. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Wanted to watch the doings.”
Endelle looked around. There seemed to be a glitch in the fabric of time, as though everyone else was moving very slowly. “What did you just do?”
“A very small manipulation of the space–time continuum. Wanted to have a little chat with you, is all. So how happy are you that I encouraged you to send Marguerite to the Superstitions? Now you’ll get access to some serious Seer shit.”
“You seem pretty pleased with yourself.”
“I am, but admit it. Sending her there is having some excellent payoffs. This show for one, and now you can start rebuilding your Seer supply.”
“I don’t like to mention it, Braulio, but those Seers are so screwed up, they can’t see shit right now. And to top it off, Marguerite folded her ass to who-the-fuck-knows-where, and she was supposed to be the second part of a powerful obsidian flame triad.” She then jerked her head in the direction of the current proceedings. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m on trial for my life, as are my warriors. So forgive me if I don’t fawn all over you right now.”
But he crossed his arms over his chest, which of course made his biceps flex and look all yummy through his long-sleeved T-shirt. “You can’t spoil my buzz,” he said. “Things are looking up. James sent a message.”
James. The powerful Sixth ascender who had sent Braulio to change things up. Much good either of them were doing. “What? He couldn’t come himself?”
Braulio shrugged. “Who knows? He could be here right now.”
Whatever.
“So what’s his message?”
“He said you’ll need to forgive Thorne.”
“What the fuck for?” Thorne was her right-hand man. He’d even given up his woman for her sake and for the sake of the war.
Braulio just shrugged. “How the hell should I know?”
She offered a disgusted grunt in response, which only made him laugh. Seeing that he was perched so prettily on the narrow railing, she flung her arm sideways, slugging him hard in the shoulder, which naturally caused him to fall right off. Except the bastard just levitated and moved back in.
“You think you’re pretty tough,” she said.
“I don’t think,” he corrected her. “I know.”
She laughed. “Well, we’ve got us one fine farce here.”
“Yep, but when wasn’t it a farce? I don’t see your buddy, Greaves, around.”
“You never will when one of his pals is in trouble. What do you think of Harding’s complexion?”
“Pretty shade of blue right at the hairline.”
“Yep. So, you sticking around this time?”
He shook his head. “Can’t. Serious time constraints. I only have time do this.” He leaned in, grabbed the back of her neck with his hand, pulled her toward him, then put his mouth on hers.
She meant to protest, to shove his sorry ass away from her, maybe spit a small firework into his mouth, but as his lips, so fucking familiar, touched hers, good old-fashioned sensory memory returned and her body lit on fire.
She didn’t want to, but she opened her mouth and let him in, the bastard. His tongue made quick work of her, lighting up what hadn’t seen much activity in way too long.
He drew back and looked her in the eyes. His lips curved. “Aw, I think you still love me.”
But that took all her fire and channeled it into her temper. “Fuck you.”
She was going to add a hand-blast, but time seemed to have resumed, Braulio had already disappeared, and silence fell on the entire assembled court.
Every eye, every camera shifted in her direction.
She realized her parting words to Braulio had just been shouted into the courtroom, in real time, and captured on tape.
Goddam that Braulio. She’d get him back if it was the last thing she did.
She glanced at Marcus and watched his eyes do a serious shit-not-again roll.
There was only one thing she could do. She waved an imperious hand over the entire court and in a voice that shimmered with her best resonance, she said, “Please continue.” Then she lifted her chin and stared at an astonished Harding.
Jean-Pierre was in Seriffe’s office, talking over the training ideas he had, when his warrior phone buzzed.
“Allô, Bev, how are you?”
“Uh … I guess you could say I, that is we, are mystified.”
“And why is that?” It was not like Bev to speak in riddles.
