The remainder of the video was a montage of images cut together from the hallway and exterior cameras, showing the rest of the abduction and including Albin's obviously human accomplices. It ended with a shot of the rear end of the black van as it drove away, leaving bodies scattered on the ground around the gate.
"Who found the bodies?” she asked, subdued.
"My security forces, when they rose for the night. Alexandra's room was empty, unused, as were those of Albin and Matias. Alexandra's ... former security chief immediately instituted a search of the house and grounds. His men reported back from the gate with the unfortunate news."
"Unfortunate,” Cynthia repeated. She drew breath to go off on him for his callousness at the human guards’ deaths, remembered the loss in his voice when he spoke of Matias, and said instead, “The human deaths. You didn't call the police. What happened to them?"
Raphael was watching her, and with that uncanny intuition of his seemed to understand the realignment she'd just worked out ... and the question she was really asking. “It has been some time, Cyn, since my people were reduced to scavenging bodies for sustenance. These,” he gestured at the monitor, “were cared for and sent to their families, if they had them. If not, they were cremated and scattered to the winds even as our own bodies are. Their families were compensated, to the extent money can compensate for life, and their funeral expenses, if any, were paid. I treat my people well, Cynthia. All of my people."
She nodded, not having really expected anything else. She looked down at the floor, thinking over what she'd seen and heard, then raised her head. “Albin spoke to the human abductors, not much, but a few words. It was Russian, wasn't it?"
Raphael gave her another one of those long, assessing stares. “It was,” he confirmed. “Nothing of substance. He asked the status of the gate, then ordered them back to the vehicle, saying he would bring Alexandra. The humans’ response was too low to distinguish."
"May I ask...” She had learned from her earlier mistake. “Why would Albin speak Russian?"
"Like many of us, Albin lived in several countries before coming to this one. Imperial Russia was one where he dwelt for some time."
She wanted to ask if that was why Raphael also spoke Russian, but didn't want to press her luck.
"Okay,” she said, thinking. “I'd like to see the room they were in, the one with the piano, and I'll want to follow the route they took out of the house. And also...” She drew a breath, knowing Duncan, at least, would not want to give her what she was about to ask for. “I'd like a copy of all the footage from that morning. That—” She gestured at the now blank screen. “—was edited together from several cameras. I want the actual feed, including any audio, from every camera you have. The gate, the hallways here, the room Alexandra was taken from, anyplace Albin might have been before he showed up in that room."
As predicted, Duncan's face flashed immediate refusal. He stood from the console and gave his master a beseeching look, but Raphael again held up his hand to forestall him. “Why do you need it and why can you not simply watch it here?” he asked.
"For one thing, I'm not familiar with your equipment, and I don't know if you even have what I need. I have specialized programs of my own that can go over the video frame by frame, letting me zoom in on details that might mean nothing to you, but which can tell me quite a bit. And I might be able to enhance some of the audio for you. The equipment is in my home office, which is more private and more secure than the office you visited, so you needn't be concerned about confidentiality. No one will see or hear it except me. If I think a sound or image can benefit from enhancement beyond what I can do myself, I will show you the segment and ask your permission before letting anyone else work with it. As for the other, I don't mean to offend you, my lord, but this place creeps me out a little bit."
Raphael blinked, then laughed. It was a genuine sound, not the harsh bark from earlier.
"Duncan,” he said, still smiling. “Make a copy for Ms. Leighton."
"Sire, please.” Duncan was in obvious distress.
"Make the copy, Duncan,” Raphael said softly. “Ms. Leighton has guaranteed its confidentiality and I'm sure she understands the negative consequences of betraying that guarantee.” He fixed her with a gaze which promised a very short future for anyone who crossed him. “Don't you, Cyn?"
"Yes,” Cyn whispered. “Yes, of course,” she said louder. “Thank you."
"I'll show Ms. Leighton the rest of the house while you make the copy, Duncan. Meet us out front when you finish."
"My lord,” Duncan agreed, bowing his head. He sounded so depressed Cynthia almost felt sorry for him.
"Come, Cyn,” Raphael said. “Let me show you the rest of Alexandra's cottage."
Cynthia followed Raphael up the broad staircase, around the balcony and through an open set of French doors. It was the room in the video, although it was much larger than it had seemed. The Steinway concert grand was at the far end of the room, near west-facing windows overlooking the front of the house and the checkerboard courtyard. What were probably genuine Louis XVI antiques were scattered throughout the room—brocaded settees, armoires and tables with fluted legs and carved reliefs of leaves and flowers. Cynthia located the security camera, barely visible within the deeply projected crown molding. She followed the line of sight of the camera across the room to the piano and beyond, to where Raphael stood at the window gazing down at the gaudy marble below.
Cynthia watched him silently for a few minutes, then crossed the room to stand next to him, trailing her fingers lightly over the keyboard as she went by.
He glanced around. “Do you play?"
"Not anymore. I took lessons for years; my first nanny insisted on it and no one else cared enough to stop them.” She shrugged. “I don't think I could even read a piece of sheet music now. I heard Alexandra playing, though. It was lovely."
"Yes. One of her many acquired talents. Born in the dirt, she worked very hard at being a lady.” He gestured around them.
"But you love her."
"Yes,” he whispered, closing his eyes briefly, before opening them to stare out at the brightly lit night beyond the window. “Sixteen,” he said, without looking back.
Cynthia frowned. “Sixteen what?"
He glanced over his shoulder. “You asked how old Alexandra was when she was turned. She was sixteen. I found her much later, in Paris during the Revolution.” He shrugged and turned back to the window. “I killed her Sire and made her mine."
"I see,” Cyn said, not knowing what else to say.
"It was a long time, ago, Cyn. A different time, a different culture. You would do well to remember that if you're going to spend time around vampires."
"I know. I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did.” He turned completely, giving her a wistful smile. “But I forgive you."
Cynthia bristled automatically and Raphael chuckled. “Delightful,” he said. He touched her cheek with one cool finger, sliding it over her jaw and down to her neck, where he stroked it twice over the gentle swell of her jugular. “Delightful."
Cynthia swallowed, torn between wanting those cool fingers to touch her some more and wanting to get as far away as possible. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “Are you going to wipe my memory of tonight?"
Raphael pulled his hand back, clearly unhappy. “You do know a lot about us, don't you?” He looked thoughtful, then tilted his head, as though listening. “Duncan is waiting for you downstairs. He has assembled Alexandra's security team and will stay with you while you talk to them."
"I'll need some privacy; they have to be interviewed individually."
"Whatever you need. Duncan will see to it.” He pulled a thick white business card from an inside pocket and handed it to her. “Should you want to get in touch with me ... for any reason ... you may call that number. I expect to receive regular updates on your investigation, and I don't have to tell you that time is of the essence. We will proceed with our own inquiries from this end, and should we discover anything pertinent to your own efforts, I will get a message to you."
Cynthia understood a dismissal when she heard one. “I should have something for you by tomorrow night, a place to start looking. I, uh ... thank you, my lord.” He seemed preoccupied, having turned again to stare out the window, and Cynthia took a step toward the door.
"The answer is no, Cyn."
She looked back at him. “My lord?"
He stood perfectly still, not even looking at her. “Your memories of this evening will not be erased. You will remember me."
"Oh,” she said, flustered. “Thank you...” But he was lost in his silent study of the night.
Raphael listened to Cynthia's footsteps as she walked around the balcony and down the stairs. Her scent lingered in the room; not perfume, but something lighter. Shampoo perhaps. Something fresh and clean that barely registered, even to his extraordinary sense of smell. His eyes shifted when he heard the side door open and close, looking to the right where the driveway curled around the house. He could barely make out the two figures, Cyn and Duncan, as they made their way down the drive. It was more their shadows he watched, not them. An engine started up and he smiled to himself. Duncan had ordered a car brought around so she wouldn't have to walk back through the trees. As the sound of the engine faded away, he turned back to the room that was so much Alexandra's. The entire house had been built and decorated with her in mind, but it was this room more than any other where she felt comfortable. She'd personally picked out every piece of furniture, selected every delicate fancy of porcelain crowding the tabletops. The piano had been the crowning glory; he could still hear her delighted laughter when she'd woken to find it installed, already tuned and waiting for her elegant hands. One of the few times, she'd exhibited a genuine affection for him.
