Kristen Painter - Blood Rights

Maris flipped on the light. ‘I’ll put some whiskey in it.’

‘Maris, you know I can’t partake.’

‘You’re not bound by those rules anymore, my darling.’

‘Yes, I know, but adjusting to that will take some time.’ Just like not calling every vampire she ran into mistress or master. Not that she hoped to be running into any more. Chrysabelle went to sit, then thought better of it. ‘I’ll get the kettle.’

Maris waved her off. ‘Have a seat. This kitchen is set up for me, you’d just get in my way.’ She winked, then looked at her niece a little harder. ‘Didn’t go that well, I take it?’

Chrysabelle sank into a chair and leaned her arms on the table. ‘The man you sent me to talk to wasn’t there.’

Maris sighed as she took out two cups. ‘Jonas always has been a tricky one. You’ll have to go back tomorrow.’

‘No. I mean, I can’t. They … might have found me. I need to gather my things and go somewhere else.’

‘Already?’ Fear flickered over her aunt’s face for a brief moment, then vanished, hidden by a mask of determination just as her signum were hidden under a layer of foundation. ‘Don’t go yet. I’ll call Jonas. Make one more attempt. I didn’t want to do this over the phone, but I can’t see another way.’

‘He’s kine – I mean, human. I don’t know how you think he can help.’ Human and he employed a remnant, Nyssa. Her hybrid of wysper and shadeux fae had apparently rendered her mute. In the world of vampire nobility, remnants didn’t even register.

Maris tsked. ‘Jonas is a tremendous resource. You’ll see.’

Chrysabelle sighed. ‘I don’t want to put you in any more danger than I already have.’

‘My darling girl, you worry for nothing. I can take care of myself and you.’ Maris added a scoop of loose tea to the teapot, put the pot and a sterling silver flask of single malt on a tray with the cups, and wheeled it to the table. ‘You should know that this house is as secure as money can buy, and thanks to my time at Primoris Domus and my talent for turning some of those comarré secrets into Lapointe Cosmetics, that’s an ungodly sum of money.’

Chrysabelle stretched out her hands, studying the backs of them – or rather the Lapointe foundation that still covered them. ‘That makeup certainly did the trick.’

Maris headed back for the whistling kettle. ‘Sometimes there are things about a woman best kept secret.’

‘Do you ever not cover yours?’

‘No. Never. I’ve put that life behind me. I don’t need to be reminded of it every time I look in the mirror.’

‘Sorry, I—’

Maris laughed softly. ‘My apologies. I didn’t mean to sound sharp. I just … I just don’t care to see them is all.’

Chrysabelle understood, a little. She knew Maris’s exit from comarré life had not been an easy one, knew that she’d chosen libertas, the comarré ritual of fighting for one’s freedom, but not the reason why Maris had nearly sacrificed her life to leave behind everything she’d ever known. Perhaps, like Chrysabelle, Maris had simply wanted more than a life of servitude. That was enough, wasn’t it?

They had their tea and chatted about the night’s events. Mostly about the human world and the club patrons’ desire to mimic vampires. Chrysabelle glossed over the vampire she’d stabbed, saying instead that she’d ducked out unnoticed when she’d seen him. She claimed he’d been fringe too, not the possible Nothos she’d encountered masquerading as nobility. Her aunt’s claims of security aside, Chrysabelle saw no reason to put Maris at unnecessary risk, especially if the hellhounds were already on Chrysabelle’s trail.

When they turned in, she resolved to give her aunt’s connection one more try, but after that she would move on, go underground if she could, and truly disappear until it was safe to return. Maris had been through enough in her life. She shouldn’t have to suffer through her niece’s troubles as well.

The next two nights, Chrysabelle barely slept. Every tick of the house, every breeze that sighed over the roof, every imagined footstep woke her. And every time she woke, she saw the face of the vampire she’d stabbed. The surprise in his dark, silvered eyes when her blade connected. The haunting look of disbelief. The pain – more than she’d expected, as if he carried it constantly within him. But worst of all, the hunger. That she’d not only seen, but felt the moment he’d laid his cold hand over her wrist.

He’d been five, maybe six nights without feeding. She hadn’t been comarré this long without learning to read temperatures. He’d probably planned to drink her dry, then take her body back to the council as proof. She should have killed him, but another death attributed to her would not help her cause.

And there was something about him that seemed broken. Not the way she’d imagined a Nothos at all. Nor had she ever imagined one of the Nothos to be so … so … magnetic. In the tales she’d heard, they were savage mutants, not the creature she’d met. She squeezed her eyes shut. Had she really just felt a minute hint of attraction to the monster that would have killed her? Maybe it was one of his powers. Just like the way he had changed his scent to portray himself as nobility. She breathed out. Yes, that was much easier to believe. Pretend he was Nothos. Lay the blame with him, not her fragile mind.

Light filtered in beneath the heavy drapes. Enough feigning sleep. She rose, donned her white cotton gi, and padded out to the balcony to begin her morning exercises. The sun glinted off the blue-green water of the bay. So peaceful, so beautiful. She pushed through each form, holding, tensing, feeling the strength in her muscles and taking comfort in her years of training. Slow and easy, but strong and exact. Now more than ever she needed the calm and center the movement brought to shut out the reality slicing toward her like an executioner’s blade.

Energized and sweaty, she showered, dressed in her usual white tunic and pants, and went out to start some coffee.

The rich aroma greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. Her aunt had beaten her to it for the first time in three days.

Velimai’s diminutive form flitted about the kitchen preparing breakfast. Maris set her e-reader down. ‘You’re up early. I figured you were still programmed to nights.’

‘I am. Mostly. I didn’t sleep well. Again. Finally decided to stop fighting it and get up. How about you? I haven’t seen you up this early either.’

‘A late night turned to an early morning. I haven’t been to bed yet, but I was able to finally contact Jonas. He knows of someone who can help you.’ Maris pushed a piece of paper across the table. On it were an address and a few instructions. ‘Go to this location at any time during daylight, but not within an hour of sunset. Tell him Jonas sent you.’

‘Any time during daylight sounds good to me. I’ll go this afternoon.’ She took the slip. If this didn’t work, she wouldn’t be coming back here. ‘Maybe we could have lunch together first?’

Maris narrowed her gaze and smiled gently. ‘You’re making plans.’

Chrysabelle turned away to get coffee and hide her face. Maris was too perceptive. Farther down the counter, Velimai sliced cantaloupe as rapidly as a machine. ‘I shouldn’t have stayed here as long as I have. It’s a wonder there hasn’t been some sort of movement already. How do you know your source won’t give me up?’

‘For one thing, he doesn’t know any details, just that you need help. And for another, he’s left the city. I don’t know where he’s gone, but I wired him enough money to ensure it was far away. You’re safe, my darling, I swear it. And I insist you stay here with me.’ Her aunt sniffed.