Despite the vampiress’ statement about the Bloodsword being able to heal me, I was surprised to wake up. The first thing I noticed was I felt like shit. The second was that I had a pounding headache. And the third was that I was handcuffed to my chair. I opened my eyes to the dimly lit interior of a private jet.
It was extremely upscale, with black shag carpet, fine oak furniture, and a fifty-thousand-dollar entertainment center. The jet had no windows, but I could hear the whine of engines, telling me we were in the air. There were a number of figures moving around the jet’s main cabin, all dressed similar to the vampires who’d attacked me, but no sign of Elizabeth Cambridge. I was woozy from being shot, as well as the frenzy the Bloodsword had pushed me into. Leaning forward, I felt a stab of pain in my chest and knew whatever healing was occurring wasn’t complete.
Looking to my seat, I saw it was a black leather recliner, very expensive, with elaborate magical runes sewn into the lining. I didn’t recognize their purpose but suspected they were designed to suppress what little magic I commanded. Given how much of a boost I’d received from the Bloodsword while fighting that vampire hit squad, I had to assume the only reason I wasn’t healed was because the runes were keeping me from accessing its power.
Great.
Blood magic had made me powerful but turned me into a fool, leaving me vulnerable to enemy counterattack. Spotting the Bloodsword propped up against another chair, I wondered if Christopher had planned for the weapon to betray me. I shook that thought away. The vampires had me dead-to-rights, and if not for the aid of the Bloodsword, I would have been taken down much faster. The fact that the weapon had opened up my mind to a forbidden form of magic I’d been able to use instinctually should have disturbed me. But as a prisoner of the Vampire Nation, I couldn’t help but wish I had access to a little more now.
“I don’t suppose I could get a cup of coffee?” I called out, rattling my handcuffs for emphasis.
God, you are an asshole, the female voice from earlier whispered in my head. I like that.
Who’s there? I asked, projecting my thoughts inward.
A friend.
Friends can speak to me face to face, I replied.
Soon, the voice cooed.
One of the vampires, a tall, leggy, brunette, walked over and smacked me across the face. It was all I could do not to slip back into unconsciousness. Say what you will about the walking parasites, but they were strong.
“Now, Minka, is that any way to treat our guest?” a deep, Ben Kingsley-like voice came from the back of the plane.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw a figure enter the cabin like he was stepping onto a stage. He was tall. Taller than me, with a short, well-trimmed goatee and flowing black hair trailing down over his shoulders. His mustache was anachronistic, large and waxed with the points coming out to both ends.
The rest of his attire was custom-tailored, with a long coat over an Italian suit that probably cost as much as my car. The coat was so large, it hung from him almost like a cape. There was a timelessness about the look that made it somehow fashionable, even if it was reminiscent of a seventeenth-century swashbuckler.
Behind the figure was Elizabeth Cambridge, still dressed like she was going clubbing, and glowering at me. I didn’t blame her. I had killed six of her associates, after all, but there was something else I noticed in her posture. She was worried about something, or someone.
“Welcome, Cleaver,” the man in the Italian suit said. “You have no idea how much trouble you’ve caused me.”
I looked up to the man, unimpressed. “I like to think I have a good idea how much trouble I cause the monsters of the world.”
His smile took on a cold edge. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
I cocked my head to one side. “A guy who needs to shave off that mustache. Who are you supposed to be? The Dread Pirate Burt Reynolds?” I knew who he was, of course, but I didn’t appreciate being kidnapped.
All of the other vampires on the plane stiffened, as if I’d insulted the Pope about his hat. The one exception was Elizabeth, who gave a half smile to my statement. Right before returning to her previous scowl.
The mustached man gave a low dark chuckle, the laughter not reaching his eyes. “Let me show you who I am.”
He grabbed me by my throat and made me meet his gaze. I didn’t have time to shut my eyes before I was forced into his crystal blue ones. They were the sign of Christopher’s vampire lineage, but purer and more hypnotic than all the others. That was when the vampire shoved centuries of horror into my skull.
I saw thousands of Turks impaled on wooden poles, their blood slowly draining to the ground, followed by a rampage of murder across Europe. I saw slave ships, their prisoners chained like animals, ripped apart like pigs for slaughter. I saw the streets of Victorian London, plied by broken women, stalked by a murderous madman with a knife.
My nose started to bleed as my mind rebelled against the atrocities I witnessed. The vampire continued to hold my throat, however, keeping me steady as he continued to show me sights that equaled or surpassed any I’d seen in the Red Room. Only his grip kept me from biting off my tongue, the horror too much for my brain. As I suspected, I was face to face with Dracula, Warlord of the Vampire Nation.
“Show respect,” Dracula commanded, putting his will in my mind.
What followed was an overwhelming urge to love and obey him. The vision had weakened my will, and I was bombarded with affectionate feelings. Dracula was like Elvis, Jesus, Christ, and Buddha all wrapped into one. I wanted to get down on my knees and worship him. His power was stripping away all of my free will, leaving me nothing more than an obedient husk to do with as he saw fit.
“Now do you know who I am?” Dracula asked, his voice echoing in my mind. He wanted me to grovel.
To kneel.
And I wanted to.
But the memory of the horrible things he’d done to men, women, and children kept me from doing so.
Focus, I commanded myself, struggling to resist his command. I was not going to be a vampire’s puppet. Not Christopher’s, not Dracula’s, not fucking Count Chocula’s.
No one’s.
“You’re a guy with a shitty mustache.” I laughed, grinning. It took every ounce of willpower in my body.
“I’m impressed.” Dracula let go of my throat, letting me collapse back into my chair. “It’s nice to meet someone who is deserving of their reputation. I expected my power to liquefy your mind. You must be one of those rare individuals who can resist mesmerism.”
“And what if I couldn’t?” I said, racked by a violent fit of coughs. Throwing off Dracula’s influence had taken every bit of my will, and I wasn’t sure if I could do it again. At least I had the small blessing that mesmerism grew more difficult once you’d failed against a subject.
“I’d have sent you back to your family to rape your siblings, kill your father, and then slit your wrists after confessing to it all on paper. Thankfully, that won’t be necessary.”
Some of the vampires laughed at Dracula’s statement, while others looked uncomfortable. I had no doubt he was serious about his threat and wondered how many others had suffered such a fate.
I clenched my fists, trying to raise my head up from where I’d collapsed. “That would . . . lead to war with the Red Room.”
The threat against my family infuriated me and allowed me to regain a bit of my strength. I didn’t mind if he killed me—that was a danger of the Game—but bringing my brothers and sisters into this was a bridge too far. I wanted to reach up and rip the immortal’s black heart out. The urge felt natural and pure.
What had the Bloodsword done to me?
Made you strong, the woman’s voice spoke. I am tired of vampires.
Was it the Bloodsword? Oh crap, it was.
“I was under the impression we already were at war, my dear Cleaver.” Dracula sat down in the chair across from me and gestured to Minka. Frowning, as if insulted by the request, she poured him a glass of blood from a decanter on a nearby table and brought it to him. “Or do I misinterpret the situation?”
I thought of the terrible casualties I’d inflicted on Ruthford’s plantation. “Ruthford and his men have been at war with the House for a long time. As for the ones I just killed, they ambushed me. It was self-defense.”
“You lying sack of—” Elizabeth stepped forward.
Dracula raised a hand, silencing her. “I do not speak of these things. Annabelle created Ruthford two centuries ago and it was his stupidity to believe your organization could be destroyed outright. The Wise will always compete with the Damned for domination of lesser beings. As for Elizabeth’s team, they were expendable.”
Elizabeth glared at her master. “The Blackguard served you well, Master.”
“And they died. Therefore, they are irrelevant.” Dracula’s tone was beyond dismissive, more like angry that she would even bring up their losses in my presence. His gaze on me intensified, making my headache worse. “As for you, Cleaver, this war is your fault for other reasons. Your treasonous plotting with the recently discharged herald Christopher Hang. The two of you unleashing all manner of chaos on the Vampire Nation and her allies. Tsk-tsk, very naughty. Between you two, we were jumping at shadows.”
I paused, processing that. “Wait. You think Christopher and I are trying to start a war?”
“Do you deny it?” Elizabeth pointed at me, hissing.
“We’re trying to prevent a war!” I snapped, not caring that I was surrounded by psychopathic monsters.
Dracula took a sip from his glass. “I find that very difficult to believe. You do have a certain reputation.”
A black man near the back, who was of medium height but very muscular, sneered at me. “Allow me to be the one to kill him, Warlord. I have spilled the blood of his line before.”
I mentally filed that statement away for future reference.
“Later, Joshua,” Dracula said. “I am interested in what the Cleaver has to say.”
This was all a big game to Dracula, and there was no way to talk my way out of this. But if he didn’t want a war with the House, I needed to do everything in my power to prevent one. I didn’t know what Christopher’s position was in the Vampire Nation right now, but I suspected it wasn’t good. Given I’d met with him under the auspices of his being a representative of the Council of Ancients, I wished I could conjure him up and punch him. I hated being hustled.
Still, I wasn’t about to let Christopher plunge the House and its hundred thousand employees into a battle with the nebulous numbers of the Vampire Nation. If Dracula didn’t want a war, I had to play on those feelings. Christopher’s quest to recover his wife and unearth his phantom conspiracy took a secondary priority, if it was anything more than a ruse.
“We met as part of an attempt to work out a truce between our two factions.” I took a deep breath. It was painful due to the half-healed wound in my chest. “He told me there’s a cabal of individuals who kidnapped his wife and have been manipulating events across the globe in order to start a war between the Vampire Nation and the House.”
I wasn’t happy revealing so much, but my situation wasn’t secure. I needed to somehow turn Dracula into my ally, even if I found him loathsome. If I couldn’t, I needed to get him to lower his guard so I could escape. From there, I could work on this problem from the outside. I swear, it was like playing chess without being able to see your opponent’s pieces.
Elizabeth, much to my surprise, responded first. Her posture shifted from suspicious to concerned. “Annabelle has been kidnapped?”
“So he says. I’m trying to find her. Well, I would be if I hadn’t been interrupted.”
That little dig caused her to lose all sympathy. “You little beater.”
Beater was a vampire slur for humans, coming from the fact that our hearts, well, beat. Personally, I preferred the human equivalent of bastard.
“What do you expect? He is a leader of the House,” Joshua said, crossing his arms. “They lie like they breathe.”
Dracula finished his drink, putting the glass to the side of his chair. “No, he’s telling the truth, at least as far as he knows it. Mortals give off certain smells when they lie. I have spoken to enough Committee members over the centuries to know which ones are capable of fooling a vampire’s nose. The Cleaver is not one of them.”
That was a backhanded compliment if I’d ever heard one. “Christopher came to me with the information that our recent troubles were being manufactured by a third party. I take it he doesn’t represent the Council of Ancients in this matter?”
Elizabeth snorted. “No matter his bloodline, he is unworthy of being a herald. Christopher Hang murdered and slept his way to the top of our organization. He would not be fit to be a voivode’s bellidix if not for his marriage to Annabelle.”
Which wasn’t an answer. That’s how everyone got their position in supernatural circles. Hell, a lot of regular circles as well. My father used to say more boardroom appointments were made with hookers and blow than PowerPoint presentations.
Dracula narrowed his eyes at me. “Christopher Hang was a member of the Council of Ancient’s staff. That was before he stole my sword and killed a dozen associates of mine on his way out. Forgivable crimes, if not for the fact that he was collaborating with your organization. Perhaps he is the individual behind all of our mutual troubles.”
“That makes no sense,” I said, wondering whether Dracula would tolerate being corrected. “I wouldn’t even know about the possibility of an agent provocateur if not for Christopher meeting with me.”
Agent provocateurs were the black sheep of the intelligence community. The worst of an already duplicitous bunch. They were the covert operatives whose job it was to incite rebellion, entice defectors, or goad enemies into making mistakes. Sometimes, they were involved in “false flag” operations, where they could pretend to be on one side, usually opposing, in order to get their enemies to fight one another.
I’d run dozens of these sorts of operations, but Christopher had always made it a point to avoid that sort of work. I would have discounted Dracula’s words—they came from the mouth of a madman, after all—but for the fact that Christopher used the Teutonic Knights as a catspaw. Then there was the fact that he was using me, after trying to kill me, no less.
He’d changed.
He wasn’t my friend anymore.
So why did I feel an obligation to him?
“Warlord, we need to investigate the possibility of Annabelle being in danger. You know what happened the last time she had one of her … spells,” Elizabeth said, her voice low and clear but holding an undeniable sense of panic. I wondered what sort of relationship she had to Christopher’s wife.
“We lost Europe,” Joshua said. “She should have been destroyed long ago.”
Dracula looked irritated, perhaps because he wasn’t used to being interrupted. Everyone in this plane was upset though, whether because of Christopher’s betrayal or the men I’d killed. It made me wonder if the so-called Warlord’s position wasn’t as secure as he pretended. “If Annabelle has gotten herself into trouble, Elizabeth, it is because of her choice to associate with questionable company.”
“But—”
“This discussion is finished!” Dracula hissed, burying his fingernails into his chair’s armrests. “I have indulged you far too much, daughter. Say anything further and I will have your head cut off and suspended from the bowsprit like Thatch.”
Elizabeth went silent, but I could see hatred burning in her eyes. Whoever Annabelle was to her, she was important enough that Elizabeth was willing to defy Dracula. Another useful piece of information to remember.
“Christopher isn’t on my side and he’s not on yours I bet, either,” I said, struggling to take control over my heartbeat and body. I was sweating like I was coming down from a high or an extensive workout.
The combination of the Bloodsword’s healing and Dracula’s mindfuckery had left me a mess. It was no wonder he could tell whether I was lying or not. I needed to relax if I was going to get through this conversation alive.
Dracula released his fingers from the chair and pressed them together. All trace of his earlier anger disappeared. His mood changed on a dime, and I wondered if he was putting on an act or he was genuinely insane. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your endorsement as meaning much.”
I cleared my head and stared at Dracula, risking eye contact. “I think Christopher’s a monster whom I want to kill. He betrayed the Red Room, betrayed the House, and is nothing more than a blood-sucking leech like the rest of you. He gave me the Bloodsword and Ruthford’s location because he wants to save your pack of murderers and scum. I don’t want war with you. It makes me sick that he’s fallen so low.”
It was ninety percent bullshit, but for the duration of the statement, I forced myself to believe it. I took up every bit of anger at his betrayal, his manipulations, and the attack to obliterate any positive feelings I had remaining. I gritted my teeth and projected more hate than I’d felt for anyone else before. I wanted him to believe Christopher was loyal, regardless of whatever crimes he’d committed. That was the only way we were going to prevent a war.
Dracula looked at me, pausing to rub his goatee. “You know, I think I believe you. Tell me, who does our erstwhile traitor think is manipulating events?”
“Protocol Zero.”
The weight of the words hung in the air for a second, no one reacting. Then Dracula burst out laughing.
“Is something funny?” I asked.
“Oh, my dear boy, you are out of your depth, aren’t you?”
“Excuse me?” I asked, tugging on my handcuffs. They were tied to the metal underneath the arm rest, but it wasn’t very well screwed in.
Dracula clasped his hands together across his chest. “Protocol Zero was one of the original thirteen Black Protocols drafted in 1948 by the Red Room and Harry S. Truman. It was created during the beginnings of the Cold War under the assumption that after the Black Sun was defeated, the greatest threat to the human race would be a secret takeover by vampires.”
I bit my lip. It wasn’t good when your enemy knew more about your organization than you. “Sounds … reasonable. If you were plotting that, I mean.”
“Ha!” Dracula laughed, the disdain thick in his voice. “As if I didn’t have better things to do than manage the affairs of cattle. A vampire exists to hunt mortals, not ranch them. Such a plan would also bring down the wrath of humanity’s gods.”
I raised an eyebrow. “They didn’t intervene during the last couple of Great Wars.”
“You’d be surprised,” Dracula said, looking as if he’d tasted something foul. “Protocol Zero authorized research and operations illegal under the House’s own laws. Its ultimate aim was to use sleepers and agent provocateurs across the world to trigger a war between supernatural factions, which would exterminate vampires worldwide.”
“Harry Truman was a cold son of a bitch, wasn’t he?”
“Better dead than undead,” Elizabeth said, her voice like ice. “Truman was a smart man. Enough so that he saw Pantheon Corp as a threat to the United States’s security, and the possibility of it taking over the democratic process—as it has.”
Pantheon Corp, my ex-wife’s company, was the world’s biggest manufacturer of everything. It was also a backer for the House, providing the vast majority of funds for our operations in exchange for access to magic, intelligence, and “favors” that were best not thought about too deeply. It was one of the few groups in the world that could match the influence of the House or Vampire Nation.
“Your father is a majority shareholder in Pantheon Corp, is he not?” Dracula asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Why do you ask?” I said, wondering what Dracula’s point was. My father, Nathan Hawthorne, had semi-retired from the Committee after my ascension. He still voted on the board but now served as the Red Room’s liaison to Pantheon Corp. It came with enough money that his previous billions were chump change.
“Because, Mister Hawthorne, if Protocol Zero were responsible for these events, then you’d know. It was your father who drafted it.”