I strained to keep from gritting my teeth. "Pale orange."
He thought about it. "Well, the most obvious answer would be to feed an animal on necro-infused flesh. If a rat gorged itself on the flesh of a vampire, the necromantic magic would show up in its stomach contents. Some of it would make its way into the blood stream. But, since it's obvious, it's also wrong. I've scanned animals that fed on undead flesh before and the power print showed a pure necromantic arch."
"The magic of the undead flesh overwhelmed the magic of the animal?"
Ghastek nodded. "Yes. To produce a blended power print, the influence of the necromantic magic would have to be very subtle. In theory—and this is only in theory—it would have to involve reproduction."
"I don't understand."
"If you ask me nicely, I might explain," Ghastek said.
"Could you please explain this to me? It's important and I would very much appreciate it."
Ghastek allowed himself a smile. It touched his lips and vanished in a flicker, as if it was no more than a muscle twitch. I showed him my teeth.
"You're much more pleasant when you talk like a human being," Ghastek said. My smile failed to disturb him. "The bravado is amusing, but it becomes tiresome."
I sighed. "I'm a merc. I walk like a merc, I talk like a merc, I act like a merc."
"So you admit to being a walking stereotype?"
"It's safer that way," I said honestly.
For a moment I thought that he somehow understood the deeper meaning of my words. Then he said, "We were talking rats?"
"Yes. And I did ask nicely."
"In theory, if I take a female rat and feed it undead flesh, while allowing her to mate and carry offspring to term, then repeat the process with the offspring, somewhere down the line the descendants of the original rat may display permanent influence of necromantic magic, which will produce a blended power print. Something along light orange on the m-scan."
"Thank you."
"Thank you." He smiled.
THE WATER OF SHIVA'S FOUNTAIN WAS REFRESHING. I splashed it on my face, fighting an urge to lay down on the lovely cold concrete. Nataraja's little test had sapped my reserves, but I had once again prevented the show of power he was trying to provoke. I sat on the rim of the fountain. "I'm tired. I feel soiled and in need of a shower. How are you?"
Derek gripped the rim with his hands and dipped his head into the water. He shook, flinging droplets from his wet hair and washed his nostrils the way shapechangers did when they wanted to clear a strong smell from their noses.
"That place reeks of death," he said.
"Yeah. You know, it's not wise to mouth off to Nataraja."
"Look who's talking."
"He expects me to mouth off. Still, it was pretty funny. What did you think of Rowena?"
"You don't want to know," he said.
"You're right. I probably don't. She bothers me," I admitted.
"Why? Because she's prettier?"
I winced. "Derek, never ever tell a woman that someone is prettier than her. You'll make an enemy for life."
"You're funnier than she is. And you hit harder."
"Oh, thank you. Please, continue to reinforce the fact that she's more attractive. If you say that I have a better personality, you'll find out how hard I can hit."
He grinned. We walked to our horses.
"Be careful on the way back," I said.
He gave me a puzzled look. "I'm the one protecting you. You be careful."
I shook my head. I finally got my knight in shining armor. Too bad he was a teenage werewolf.
"You think the People are gonna try something?"
"Not the People." I slowed down. "The Pack and the People lost roughly equal numbers and the murders took place right on the border between them. This string of killings feels carefully managed."
"By Nataraja?"
"By someone who would benefit from a war between the Pack and the People."
"Like Nataraja?"
"Would you let go of Nataraja already?" I frowned at him. "Nate above all is a businessman. Yes, he would like to diminish the Pack. In an outright conflict the People might even win, but it would leave them so weakened, a baby burp would knock them down. The war isn't cost-effective for the People right now, that's why we got invited into the Casino. For all of their posturing, the People are worried. Not only are they out six vampires, which are expensive to replace, but they also sense a deeper threat. Why do you think Ghastek is walking us home?"
"What threat?" Derek shrugged.
I had forgotten how good it felt to talk a theory out. "Have you ever heard people say 'pulled a Gilbert'? You know where the saying comes from?"
"No."
"About nine years ago a rogue Master of the Dead named Gilbert Caillard tried to take over the People by framing Nataraja in a sex-slave ring. Which is richly ironic—I doubt that snake ever had sex, let alone brokered it. Anyhow Gilbert's reasoning was that if the People were shamed and Nataraja got arrested, he could waltz in and take over the operation. He had power in abundance and almost pulled it off."
"You think he's back?"
"No, Gilbert's dead. Nataraja killed him and had his heart burned. He still carries the ashes in a little satchel on his neck. But this feels very much like a Gilbert. The plan has a certain brilliance to it: get the Pack and the People to battle it out and then come in and wrestle control from Nate's weak and hopefully dying fingers."
"Dying is good," Derek said.
"One, we have Pack people being torn apart by animals with necro taint, probably fed on undead flesh. Two, we have vampires being taken out by someone with advanced knowledge of vampiric anatomy. And three, Nate is scared. Look at the battlements. He doubled their patrols. See, the People prize power most of all. They don't exactly encourage violent coups like this, but if the victor offers his obeisance to Roland and makes the appropriate noises, he'll most likely get away with it. I think we have a rogue Master of the Dead on our hands." That had to be it. It made perfect sense.
"Who's Roland?" Derek asked suddenly, intruding on my thoughts.
"Roland? He's the legendary leader of the People. It's rumored that he's been alive since magic last left the world, which was about four thousand years ago. He's supposed to have incredible power, almost godlike. Some say he's Merlin, some say he's Gilgamesh. He has some sort of agenda and uses the People to achieve it, although the majority of them have never seen him. There's no proof of his existence and lay people like you and I aren't suppose to know about him."
"Does he exist?"
"Oh yeah. He's real."
"How do you know about him?"
"It's my job to know." And trust me, boy wonder, I know entirely too much. I know his habits. I know what food he likes to eat, what women he likes to take to his bed, what books he prefers to read. I know everything my father had known about Roland. I even know his real name.
The flow of people to the white arch of the gates had ebbed. It was late or early, depending on the way you looked at it.
Skeletal claws of fear iced my spine. The small hairs on the back of my neck and arms stood on their ends. A vampire. Close.
Derek's gelding neighed, but Frau remained stoic. I loved this horse.
I turned slowly and watched the bloodsucker descend down the snow-white wall of the Casino. It crawled headfirst like a mutated gecko, long yellow talons digging into the mortar. The pallid body, taut with dry, stringy muscle, dripped necro magic.
The vamp crept down until its head was level with mine and raised its face. It used to be female during life. Undeath had sharpened already delicate features, making it look like a concentration camp victim. The bloodsucker stared at me with haunted eyes. It raised a thin hand clutching a small object. Slowly it opened its maw. Its face twitched, trying to twist into a different set of features.
"I believe this is yours." Ghastek's voice said from the vamp's throat. The vamp's fingers opened and the object fell. I caught it: my throwing dagger. How considerate. He had even cleaned the bloodsucker blood off of it.