Kristen Painter: Blood Rights

The halls they traveled were dim, the adjoining doors closed. Occasionally, Tatiana picked up what might have been a heartbeat or distant pulse, but for the most part silence shrouded the house.

At last, they stopped before a simply carved door, no different from the multitude of others they’d passed.

Rennata unlocked it with a long, ornate key, then stepped out of the way. Tatiana twisted the knob and pushed the door open. It swung slowly, revealing a narrow cell, austerely furnished. The crest of Algernon’s house hung over the bed and a pair of diamond-crusted slippers sat beneath it, the only two indicators that the occupant had some means. She looked at Rennata. ‘This is typical?’

‘Yes. While a comarré’s true home remains in their house of origin, most of their possessions are kept in the quarters provided by their patrons. Where they spend the most time.’

Tatiana turned back to the room. Only if the girl were dead would no invitation be necessary to enter her room. If the girl was alive, Tatiana would be knocked back. Entering would not be impossible, but the consequences would be horrific. Fatal, if endured long enough. She straightened, stepped forward, and crossed the threshold with ease.

Rennata swallowed and exhaled a shuddering breath.

An angry mix of satisfaction and disappointment welled inside Tatiana as she twisted to face the madam. ‘The girl is dead then.’

‘So it appears.’ Rennata rubbed a knuckle against the corner of her eye.

The need for sleep pulled at the edges of Tatiana’s consciousness. Time to wrap this up before she went comatose where she stood. ‘Does the girl have any living family?’

‘We are all her family. No comarré knows her birth parents.’

Tatiana’s brow wrinkled as she fought the creeping fog of daysleep. ‘I am certain there was someone. A sister … or an aunt, perhaps … ’

‘Every comar and comarré of her age is a sibling. Every older comarré her aunt, every older comar her uncle.’

Tatiana’s frustration grew. ‘There was one. No longer with you.’

‘Not that we remember.’

‘Ah, yes, I forgot you have your own sort of anathema. Those who leave are never spoken of again, isn’t that right?’ She waved her hand through the air. ‘Stricken from all records, that sort of thing? While I completely understand the need to remove the weaker members of your family, this is vital information. I’m sure the council will find a way to get it out of you.’

Rennata’s jaw tightened for a split second. ‘There was an aunt. All record of her has been destroyed.’

Tatiana couldn’t help but smile at how easy that had been. ‘Very well. Lead me out. I’m ready to go.’ She’d have to send word to the Nothos, redirect them to search for the ring. They might balk at being used as a lost-and-found service, but not for long if they valued their undead lives.

When they reached the great hall, Tatiana strode past Rennata, stopping only at the front door. She stabbed a warning finger toward the woman. ‘Don’t touch that room. The council will undoubtedly wish to inspect it as well. Her death doesn’t make her innocent, only dead.’

Rennata bowed her head. ‘Yes, mistress.’

Tatiana pulled up her hood and slid her sunglasses into place before charging out and slamming the door. She skidded to a halt on the shaded side of the portico. Her driver was already out and rushing toward her, umbrella at the ready to shield her from the sun’s killing rays.

‘Home, mistress?’ He lifted the broad stretch of silk above her as she stepped off the portico toward the car.

Secure in a wide circle of shadow, she nodded, too exhausted to say anything. Staying awake this long had been draining but very worthwhile. Her hand found the locket around her neck, her fingers smoothing across the single ruby on the locket’s front. The original was gone, this one the closest replica she’d been able to find.

Painful memories kept her focused. She kissed the locket and tucked it away. Things were going to be much easier once the ring was hers.

That fool girl. Rennata slumped onto one of the window-front settees, peering through the sheers until Tatiana’s car wheeled away from the house and down the tree-lined drive. Finally. She stood, shoved her cane into the umbrella stand, and strode back to the great room. She clapped her hands. A trio of comarré came forth out of the shadows.

‘Put a few of Chrysabelle’s oldest robes in the closet of that spare room, perhaps add a few insignificant personal items to the dresser drawers, a book, a drawing, that sort of thing. If the council comes, they will inspect more thoroughly. The crest and slippers alone will not convince them.’

Saraphina nodded. ‘What of her suite?’

‘Leave it be. No one but us can touch it anyway.’

‘Yes, Madame.’ Saraphina and the other two bowed and headed off to the work at hand.

‘Jessika.’

The girl stopped. ‘Yes, Madame?’

‘Fetch me paper and pen and find me a messenger going to the Americas.’ Times like this she wished the comarré ignored the nobility’s edict that banned modern technology. She had to get word to Maris immediately. Tatiana’s history in dealing with those who crossed her was dark and bloody. Maris would understand. Chrysabelle could not be allowed to damage everything they’d worked so hard to establish. Maris had done the right thing once. Certainly she could be counted on to do it again.

Hesitating at the door to her aunt’s house, Chrysabelle checked over her shoulder. Nothing moved but the water bubbling from the three-tiered fountain at the center of the circular drive. Satisfied she hadn’t been followed, she punched in the alarm code to unlock the entry.

The cab had dropped her off two blocks from the bridge into the private gated community of Mephisto Island, then she’d run the rest of the way, swimming the canal beneath the guardhouse and scaling the perimeter wall surrounding her aunt’s estate without incident. Ever since the occurrence at the hellhole otherwise known as Puncture, it couldn’t hurt to be too careful.

If she never set foot in Paradise City again, that was fine with her. For a town with such a lovely name, that place was remarkably deficient in anything close to perfect bliss.

The door slid open. She zipped in and punched the button to lock it again. Must be after 2 a.m. Hopefully, she wouldn’t wake her aunt—

‘You’re all wet!’ Maris’s iBot wheelchair was in balance mode, putting her at eye level.

Chrysabelle jumped, her heart thudding. ‘I swam the canal.’

Maris’s brows rose.

‘Don’t look at me that way. I’ll do what I see fit to keep you safe. Anyway, I was trying to be quiet.’

‘You were, love. Sorry to startle you.’ Maris grinned. Velimai, her aunt’s assistant, wavered behind her. Velimai was a wysper fae. Wavering was the closest she came to standing still unless she was in solid form.

Chrysabelle sighed. ‘But I still woke you and Velimai.’ Velimai signed yes.

Maris patted her side. ‘No, it’s this damn hip. Velimai, go on back to bed.’

Velimai signed good night and vanished into mist. Chrysabelle restrained a shudder. Wyspers were unstable creatures at best. The fae breed was small and wiry when not ethereal, light as a breeze and destructive as a hurricane. They could vocalize sounds but had no speech. Their screams were fatal to vampires, and clearly the reason her aunt employed one.

With the slightest twist of her upper body, Maris turned her iBot toward the kitchen. ‘Come on, you can tell me what happened over a cup of tea.’

‘Tea would be good.’ Chrysabelle kicked off her wet shoes and hung up her damp brocade jacket, then followed, her bare feet padding softly on the wood floors.