do is look around Hector’s quarters.” She glanced at Luca, silently asking if that was where he thought Hector had been killed, and he gave a slight nod. “If we find his dust, then we’ll know Luca’s assumptions are on target—as usual,” she added, not above a jab at her fellow Council members.
“Are you in charge now?” Theodore growled, though everyone had risen to their feet, himself included.
“No, she isn’t,” Alma snapped.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Marie muttered. “I said ‘let’s go look,’ not ‘I’m taking over.’”
“That’s what you
said
,” Pablo observed. “I’m not too certain that’s what you meant.”
There had always been a degree of tension between Marie and the other Council members, perhaps because she was a blood born and they feared her enhanced powers—much as they feared Luca—though of course none of them would ever admit to that. Jealousy came into play, too; blood borns matured until they reached the apex, the optimum physical and mental peak; for Luca, perhaps because of his size and the extra growing time he’d needed, his prime had occurred in his early thirties. For Marie, it had been at roughly age sixteen. Her skin was flawless, her teeth perfect, her hair thick and lustrous,her breasts nice and high. Even Alma, as beautiful as she was, looked like someone’s aunt compared to Marie’s youthfulness. Because of that, they were all alert to any sign of ambition in Marie.
God save him from politics, Luca thought wearily. It reduced ancient, powerful vampires to the emotional maturity of grade-schoolers.
Enoch nervously led the way to Hector’s quarters. When he reached out to open the door, however, Luca said, “Wait,” and he put enough power in his voice that all of them, even Marie, stopped in their tracks. Enoch visibly shivered, his eyes widening as he stared at Luca. Vocal compulsion wasn’t a rare power, but the level of strength needed for it to work on vampires as powerful as the Council members was something that made all of them take notice.
He moved ahead of all of them, and Enoch stepped back as he approached. Deliberately he opened Hector’s door and stepped inside. The first room, for the sake of camouflage should any intruder be able to enter the building, was a rather nondescript office. There was a desk and a long leather sofa, both well-used, with a thick rug covering the floor between them. One painting hung behind the desk; Botticelli, Luca noted, and likely not a copy. There were no plants, real or artificial, no knickknacks, just a jumble of papers and some files.
If any outsider were to stumble upon this particular room, it would give them no pause at all—unless they had an eye for art.
Hector’s suite of private rooms sprawled beyond this square, austere office, but as he had before, Luca immediately sensed the swirl of recent and deadly energy here, in this room.
“Is this necessary?” Nadia asked. “If he’s merely elsewhere, we’re invading his privacy—”
Ignoring her, Luca moved farther into the room. Hector had died here; he felt as if he were drowning in Hector’s life force, in his very essence. He allowed his mind to clear, to open, and then he thought of Hector. He captured and controlled the energy that danced here. There were many memories of the old vampire to call upon, and within those memories there was a particular energy that
was
Hector, his essence, his power.
There were energy pictures in this very room, as if Hector had taken a photo of his death and spat it upon the air. The murderer hadn’t been working alone; death lurked in the room—and in the hallway. The danger that Hector had sensed had carefully remained hidden. Luca knew who had taken Hector’s life, but still wasn’t able to discern the power in command.
Hector hadn’t gone easily; he’d fought for his life. The violence Luca sensed would have overturned furniture, broken lamps … but there was nothing out of place.
“Are you in charge now?” Theodore growled, though everyone had risen to their feet, himself included.
“No, she isn’t,” Alma snapped.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Marie muttered. “I said ‘let’s go look,’ not ‘I’m taking over.’”
“That’s what you
said
,” Pablo observed. “I’m not too certain that’s what you meant.”
There had always been a degree of tension between Marie and the other Council members, perhaps because she was a blood born and they feared her enhanced powers—much as they feared Luca—though of course none of them would ever admit to that. Jealousy came into play, too; blood borns matured until they reached the apex, the optimum physical and mental peak; for Luca, perhaps because of his size and the extra growing time he’d needed, his prime had occurred in his early thirties. For Marie, it had been at roughly age sixteen. Her skin was flawless, her teeth perfect, her hair thick and lustrous,her breasts nice and high. Even Alma, as beautiful as she was, looked like someone’s aunt compared to Marie’s youthfulness. Because of that, they were all alert to any sign of ambition in Marie.
God save him from politics, Luca thought wearily. It reduced ancient, powerful vampires to the emotional maturity of grade-schoolers.
Enoch nervously led the way to Hector’s quarters. When he reached out to open the door, however, Luca said, “Wait,” and he put enough power in his voice that all of them, even Marie, stopped in their tracks. Enoch visibly shivered, his eyes widening as he stared at Luca. Vocal compulsion wasn’t a rare power, but the level of strength needed for it to work on vampires as powerful as the Council members was something that made all of them take notice.
He moved ahead of all of them, and Enoch stepped back as he approached. Deliberately he opened Hector’s door and stepped inside. The first room, for the sake of camouflage should any intruder be able to enter the building, was a rather nondescript office. There was a desk and a long leather sofa, both well-used, with a thick rug covering the floor between them. One painting hung behind the desk; Botticelli, Luca noted, and likely not a copy. There were no plants, real or artificial, no knickknacks, just a jumble of papers and some files.
If any outsider were to stumble upon this particular room, it would give them no pause at all—unless they had an eye for art.
Hector’s suite of private rooms sprawled beyond this square, austere office, but as he had before, Luca immediately sensed the swirl of recent and deadly energy here, in this room.
“Is this necessary?” Nadia asked. “If he’s merely elsewhere, we’re invading his privacy—”
Ignoring her, Luca moved farther into the room. Hector had died here; he felt as if he were drowning in Hector’s life force, in his very essence. He allowed his mind to clear, to open, and then he thought of Hector. He captured and controlled the energy that danced here. There were many memories of the old vampire to call upon, and within those memories there was a particular energy that
was
Hector, his essence, his power.
There were energy pictures in this very room, as if Hector had taken a photo of his death and spat it upon the air. The murderer hadn’t been working alone; death lurked in the room—and in the hallway. The danger that Hector had sensed had carefully remained hidden. Luca knew who had taken Hector’s life, but still wasn’t able to discern the power in command.
Hector hadn’t gone easily; he’d fought for his life. The violence Luca sensed would have overturned furniture, broken lamps … but there was nothing out of place.
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