S Stirling - A Taint in the Blood

“Like the control rods in a nuclear reactor, the ones they slide in to absorb neutrons and slow down the reaction. We damp down their hyper-aggressiveness. In fact, I think it’s probably the human part of their heredity that lets them cooperate as much as they do. They’re solitary killers by nature, or at least the original breed were.”

“Adrienne said that they don’t want to breed themselves much more pureblood than she is.”

Peter nodded. “But they pay for it,” he said. “I think they have a lot of inner conflicts too.”

“Too?”

“The way we do because of the dash of Shadowspawn. It… twists us both up in different ways.”

“Speaking of which,” Ellen said quietly.

Jose was talking with his aunt Theresa, looking martyred as she brushed lint off his shoulder and adjusted his tie. Monica hesitated, then approached Adrienne; she was a little haggard again. The Shadowspawn frowned, then glanced at her sidelong with a slight smile and moved away from the group around her mother. Monica followed and their heads leaned together.

“If you ask nicely,” Ellen heard Adrienne say. “It’s really Peter’s turn.”

“Oh, I beg,” Monica said quietly. “Please.”

“Very well. But things will be energetic. Strenuous. Social events put me on edge.”

“That’s fine, Adri. Whatever you need is what I want.”

“Damn,” Peter said softly. “That’s sad. It’s also jumping her place in line, dammit!”

“I know it’s hard to miss out on the bite,” Ellen said.

“It’s been nearly a week. Damned right it’s hard. I can’t think straight.”

“Well, for you especially, lack of clarity of thought is a major downer,” Ellen went on dryly. “But what part of energetic and strenuous are you so sorry to skip?”

“There is that. Though,” he added, with the relentless honesty she’d noticed was one of his habits-“parts of that can be OK. I don’t mind the actual sex much, apart from always having…”

His voice trailed off. Ellen guessed, and her voice went even drier: “Apart from always having to be the girl?” she asked.

“Ah… well, I wouldn’t have phrased it quite that way…”

She laughed; the sound even had some humor in it. “Peter, I am a girl, and one who’s a submissive masochist at that, and I find it extremely wearing at times, Adrienne-style. But really… Monica was hit very hard by what we saw.”

Something spiky flashed into the forefront of her mind for a moment… a glyph, she thought. I wonder why? But it calmed her, somehow.

“You weren’t hit hard?”

“I was. Oh, yeah. It was grisly beyond words. But I’m better at… at compartmentalizing. And Adrienne took a full teeth-in-the-throat feeding from me right afterwards.”

“Misery makes you taste good,” he said wryly.

“Yeah. But she just sipped a little from Monica and it’s coming back on her.”

She went on: “More… interaction… will help. You know what I mean.”

I mean strenuous and energetic involves a fair bit of screaming, in pain and otherwise. Been there, done that. It is distracting and distraction is just what poor Monica needs now.

Monica fumbled something out of her handbag; her BlackBerry. She made a call on it, probably telling her mother she wouldn’t be home tonight and needed her to stay with the children, then smiled tremulously and seemed to relax a little.

Peter sighed. “I don’t suppose I can argue with that. I will now proceed to get gradually but thoroughly drunk. That and the hangover will distract me for a day or so until I get my dose. She’s probably going to be feeding more than usual, with all this activity.”

More guests arrived; some through the front entrance, others down the staircase, which meant they’d flown in. Some of those were corporeals too, like Adrienne’s three…

Coconspirators? Ellen thought. Which means their actual bodies must have been unconscious and carried in by their renfields. Maybe even in coffins… well, no, in padded boxes that look a lot like coffins, I suppose. And the postcorporeals must have something like that for safety when they’re traveling… anyway, ewww.

Adrienne stopped as she walked by. “I’ve known some of the postcorporeals to transform into a smallish creature and have themselves shipped FedEx,” she said.

Peter snorted. “Shipped?”

“It’s no hardship being boxed up if you’re a comatose rodent, hein? And you can use a nice secure sealed container of welded steel when you can go impalpable-just walk in through the side as a gerbil or a ferret, say. Curl up, and then step out the same way when you get to your destination. But I think I’ll keep my jet or whatever the equivalent is by the time I’ve had my Second Birth. Getting there is half the fun.”

When she’d passed by, Ellen went on to Peter: “Has it struck you how dependent Shadowspawn are on renfields? They’d have to hide in caves or sewers without them.”

“Yes,” Peter said, running a hand through his hair. Then he took a deep breath and forced himself to stop fidgeting. “But they can know who’s trustworthy.”

“It isn’t fair,” she burst out.

Unexpectedly, he laughed. It was a little slurred, but genuine. “No, it isn’t fair. There are so few of them, and they’re no smarter than we are-Adrienne is very bright, but she’s well above average for them, too. Most of them are arrogant and self-indulgent and unbelievably self-centered, judging by the ones I’ve met. It’s the damned Power.”

By now the great room had seventy or eighty people in it not counting the house servants; milling around, talking, drinking and eating canap?s off trays. Each Shadowspawn individual or couple-a few had teenage children in tow, looking sullen as you’d expect-was surrounded by an aura of their important renfields and…

“Show-lucies,” Ellen said.

“What?” Peter said.

“That’s what we are. We’re show-lucies. Trophies, as well as control rods. Notice how all the lucies are extremely good-looking and very well dressed?”

He smiled wryly. “Touch?. And thanks.”

“You’re a very handsome man, Peter.”

“That’s probably why I’m alive. No,” he went on a little pedantically. “It’s probably why she didn’t kill me in Los Alamos. If I’d been a quarter-ton of questionable hygiene like quite a few of my colleagues, I’d have been toast. But my brains are probably why I’m still alive.”

It might have been a cocktail party or reception anywhere, except for the odd touch-Jules disappearing into an alcove with his lucy, Mark… reappearing with blood on his lips and Mark looking flushed and rumpled, for example. Then Adrienne’s head came up; she nodded and made an inconspicuous signal.

The Shadowspawn present moved to either side of the doors. Ellen shared a glance with Peter, and got a nod from him too; the movement was slow and ragged and Adrienne was obviously restraining a shout of Hurry up, you idiots! with difficulty. Theresa had the favored renfields and lucies lined up behind them much more quickly.

The great doors swung open; the air outside was a little cooler, scented with flowers and warm dust. A file of the Gurkha mercenaries marched in wearing green dress uniforms with silver buttons and little pillbox hats; they split and wheeled into two lines on either side, and brought their rifles up to present arms with a smart stamp and crash of boots and smack of hands on metal.

T?kairin Hajime walked through, in a black sha-silk kimono and gray hakama-wide trousers like a split skirt. The haori jacket over it all was open at the front, and bore five kamon, House badges with the mon of his clan. His wife was behind him, in a rustling splendor of white and rose and crimson and intricate headdress; an attendant carried his swords, leaving his hands empty except for a fan, and there were several others behind him. He and his party stepped out of their sandals and a servant knelt to help them on with slippers.