Midnight's Daughter
Page 30

“How do I do that?”
“Improvise.” He had his hand on his rapier, and I didn’t doubt he’d use it.
I sighed. “It’s okay,” I told my little groupie. “If he lets me die, Daddy will kill him for you.”
The thing must have understood something, because it shuffled back a few paces, letting Louis-Cesare get close enough to examine me. I lay back against the floor while he touched my cheek gently, then stroked along my throat. Light mental fingers danced past my tattered shields and suddenly I could breathe without pain. His hands were warm on my skin and his touch swept away the last of the confused frenzy. They made me feel steadier, anchored, and I realized that he’d hit me with a suggestion. Normally, that sort of thing wouldn’t work, but my shields were in shreds. And since it took most of the pain away, I didn’t feel like protesting.
I closed my eyes and let a wonderful numbness creep down my body from neck to knees. The room was spinning to the point that I knew I’d lost a lot of blood—enough to be dangerous even for me. I didn’t try to catalog my wounds, since I couldn’t seem to concentrate, and decided to use what little mental capacity I had for more important things. “Claire?”
“She was here, but not by the time we arrived. There is a note for you, when you are well enough to read it.”
“A note?” Trust Claire to find time, in the middle of a slave auction, to leave a note! The girl needed therapy. I laughed, but it hurt, so I stopped. “I feel well enough now,” I said, and made the mistake of trying to sit up again. The room did some kind of weird kaleidoscope thing and started to grow dim.
“Stay put!” I was told savagely. “You will never read it if you are dead!”
I decided he might have a point, and lay back again. The twisted hulk of the cage loomed over us, and I had to be careful not to move much or I came into contact with some of the hundreds of pieces of splintered wood that littered the place. I eventually identified them as the remains of the folding chairs the bidders had been using. Olga’s group must have gone nuts.
I’d lost Mircea’s coat somewhere and now Louis-Cesare tore my T-shirt in two. “We haven’t even had dinner yet,” I protested weakly, and he glared at me out of eyes lit by an inner glow. “Daddy’s turn gold,” I told him confidentially, and giggled.
“You should be unconscious by now,” he muttered.
“Dhampir,” I reminded him. Louis-Cesare didn’t answer, but he upped the amp on his suggestion. I found myself staring into eyes like starlit steel, some unsuspected poetic part of me whispered, or lightning cutting across a summer sky. They really were amazing, those eyes. “Pretty,” I observed, which seemed to startle him.
Olga appeared behind him, her bulk dwarfing him as if he were a child. She bent over to see me better, close enough that her golden beard tickled my chin. “She alive?”
“For the moment.” Louis-Cesare’s voice sounded strained.
“Good. That vampire, he not here,” Olga informed me.
“Where we hunt now?”
“I’m working on that,” I told her. She nodded, satisfied, and lumbered away.
Louis-Cesare began digging around in my chest for something. A bullet, I remembered vaguely. The auctioneers had had guns, and judging by where his impromptu surgery was taking place, someone had been a good shot. It had missed the heart, but not by much.
“We cannot take her along,” he commented. It took me a moment to realize he was talking about Olga.
“Sure we can.”
“You know nothing about her!”
“I know Drac killed her husband. I don’t think she has a chance of bringing him down, but it’s her right to try.” Humans might be willing to fight their battles in court, and for lesser things the magical community followed suit. But for this, someone would bleed. I just hoped it was the right someone, as the idea of Olga writhing away her final hours on one of Drac’s special poles didn’t appeal.
“She is a Bergtroll,” he informed me, as if there was any chance I’d failed to notice.
“Uh-huh. A really pissed-off one. You don’t want her to come, fine. You tell her. I’ve had about all the violence I want for today.”
Louis-Cesare looked like he was going to argue, so I distracted him with a pitiful groan. Too bad it wasn’t faked. He went back to surgery, and in return for my agreement to stay still while he patched me up, he filled me in on some of the stuff I’d missed. “It seems we disrupted an illegal auction featuring failed experiments by the Dark Fey. They gave them to a group of humans they use to do some of their errands as—what do you call it? A bonus,” he said, dropping the bullet he’d extracted onto the floor. “The prisoners said that there were no mages here, only humans. I believe the Dark Circle abandoned this location as too vulnerable, and that the wards we found were some they did not bother to remove when they left.”
“And what did the humans say? If they work for—” I broke off at a particularly painful dig.
“We would have asked them had your allies left any alive,” was the acerbic reply. Another little bullet hit the floor. No wonder I felt like crap. Even I usually manage to avoid getting shot twice in the chest on the same day.
Then what he’d said registered. I looked around and for the first time noticed that the man who had attacked the little crossbreed was now draped across a couple of cages—on opposite sides of the room. Pieces of the auctioneer and his staff were everywhere, with an arm still clutching a gavel about a yard away. While Louis-Cesare stitched me up, I watched Olga’s little troll, appearing unaffected by his obviously broken nose, tuck it into a basket alongside other mangled bits. Takeout, I presumed.
“Wait a minute.” My sluggish brain finally threw up the obvious question. “If this was some bargain-basement slave auction, why was Claire here?” The idea of her in what amounted to an odd bin was ludicrous.
Louis-Cesare didn’t reply, being too busy digging a .22 out of my thigh. Before I could press him, someone came into view who drove the words right out of my head. “Shit!” I tried to rise, but Louis-Cesare held me down.
“What is wrong with you?” I just stared past his shoulder at the new arrival. Either I was hallucinating or the threat wasn’t as great as it seemed. I really hoped it was the latter, since I was in no shape to defend myself.
The newcomer knelt gracefully beside me. I tried not to stare, but I don’t think it worked. At least he was worth it, being quite simply the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Golden hair spilled over his shoulders and in the dim room it seemed to glow with an inward light. Eyes so dark green they were almost black provided a startling contrast, especially framed by gold-tipped lashes. But his face was the most surprising thing about him. Faint laugh lines crinkled around his eyes, and his smile revealed even white teeth. Despite the perfection of the features, the first word I’d have used to describe him would have been “pleasant,” something I’d never have thought to associate with a member of the Light Fey.
The Fey’s otherworldly looks did not keep him from being attacked by a growling gray blur, however. “What do we have here?” The light, musical voice sounded amused, and a softly shimmering hand plucked the creature out of the air. “Ah. An infant Duergar. Is it yours?” I just stared as he held the poor Duergar securely by the nape of its neck. It tried to scratch him, but the Fey’s arms were even longer than its own and kept it just out of reach. “But this cannot be the fearsome warrior,” the Fey said, his eyes widening as they took me in. “She is too young, and far too pretty.”
“She is five centuries old,” Louis-Cesare replied tersely.
“As I thought,” the Fey said. “A mere child.” He lifted my hand to his lips and if the dried blood on it bothered him, he didn’t let it show. “I believe you are called Dory, am I right? I am known as Caedmon, at least in your world.”
The Duergar seemed to object to Caedmon touching me, and started flailing its sticklike limbs in a frantic attempt to scratch his eyes out. The Fey glanced at it. “They can be very useful: resistant to poison and most magic, fierce in battle, extremely loyal, and many are skillful smiths. I once had a wondrous belt with a gold buckle—exquisite work—made by one of their renowned artisans. But if you’ll forgive the observation,” he added, “this is a poor specimen.”
I grabbed the snarling thing away from him, and it quieted after wrapping two spindly arms around my neck. “It’s only a baby,” I said defensively.
Caedmon nodded. “True, but without the proper training and the supervision of its people, it will never acquire their skills. And I think it unlikely to be welcomed among them. There appears to have been some mixing of bloodlines. It would almost certainly be viewed as an abomination. It would be a kindness to put it out of its misery.”
I hugged the Duergar and fought not to gag. After a bath, he’d kind of look like Animal from the Muppets. I always liked the Muppets. “I think I’ll call him Stinky.”
Louis-Cesare rolled his eyes, but Caedmon merely smiled. “How apt.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, doubting he’d come to buy anything. The Fey tend to be a bit more particular about their slaves.
He gave an elegant shrug. “It seems we have a common purpose: I, too, am looking for your friend.”
“The Fey Council sent him,” Louis-Cesare explained, shooting the newcomer a dark look. Apparently, they’d met before I woke up, and it didn’t look like Louis-Cesare was impressed.
“To investigate this unfortunate matter,” Caedmon added. “I am greatly concerned for your friend. She must be found, and the sooner the better. I thought I had discovered her whereabouts, but was too late.”
“Why are you interested in Claire?” She’d never mentioned a connection with the Fey. And here I thought I was the one with all the secrets.