“Sabina Delgado y Aguilera,” the old vamp said, and I started. I had seen that name today. “Priestess of the sacred ground. You may speak to the challenge.”
A dandy, he flicked at his cuff, a bit of lace gleaming silken in the night. “There is no requirement for any to offer blood. The injured was either foolish or weak. She offered her neck to an attacker. Prey should be allowed to die. Thus has always been our way.”
There was a rustling in the crowd, murmurs of agreement. “I champion the fallen,” a voice said. Leo moved through the crowd, equally graceful—who among them wasn’t?—but with the grace of the bullfighter, strong and determined. I fluttered my long feathers in the still air, shaking off the last of the compulsion to gather.
“Leonard Eugène Zacharie Pellissier,” he said. I figured they all knew who was who, so the speaking was formulaic, like a legal process, with proper names and titles required. “Blood-master of the city, blood-master of Clan Pellissier, these seven hundred years.” Seven-hundred-year-old vamps were rare, to the best of my knowledge, and the priestess had to be older. A lot older. I hadn’t seen her lineage in the hall of records.
He stopped in front of the priestess, Sabina. “The old ways are dead and gone. When the humans found us, revealed us, proved the ancient myths were true and blood hunters were among them, the old ways changed. The old ways died.
“We may no longer build blood-families as we did in the past, not and survive in the human world. And we are not so numerous today that we can allow the oldest among us to die true-death. As the world has moved on, so must the Mithrans evolve to survive.”
“Pretty words. But my clan has suffered the death of our leader. As eldest, my blood is precious to my line,” Rafael said, “and needful to cement my rule. Why should I give of my own blood to save a scion belonging to my enemy? Why should I help you?” The air crackled with animosity, and I half expected Rafael to bare fangs or draw a sword and attack.
“We must stand together to defeat the rogue,” Leo said. “We may be enemies, Rafael, but the enemy of my enemy is my friend. We stand together against the humans who would destroy us. That part of the ancient ways must remain unchanged.” Softly he added, “I would give my blood for you, if you were attacked by the rogue.” The crowd breathed out, surprised.
“And because if we do not help,” Sabina said, “it is possible Katherine Louisa Dupre, who is not yet true-dead, may heal on her own, and rise as a rogue herself. And may then infect others of us, as the old tales say.” The congregation of vamps shifted position in what could have been a slow, complicated dance. Indecision was evident in their collective stance.
“That a rogue might infect another Mithran is a tale of old women and fools,” Rafael scoffed. “It was myth before I was turned.” He looked at a woman in a black silk evening dress, and she looked away. I cocked my head and gave a soft, twittering coo of surprise. Dominique, I remembered.
Sabina said, “I was myth before you were turned, Rafael. I have seen myth made reality. Now, in this time when light is thrown upon our dark and tainted past, an old rogue haunts the streets of our city, maddened in his sin.” Her words slid away on a softly released breath.
“Taint,” one of the gathered said.
“Sin,” said another.
I wasn’t sure what the words meant to them, but the tone was sorrowful, like the call of lonely birds in the night. I twittered again, and the priestess looked over at the tree where I sat. I stilled my voice and gripped the limb with my talons to still my movement.
Sabina turned back to the vamps and said, “As with other races who, at different times and places, sought to steal from God, our sin has cost us much. We must not allow it to destroy us before redemption comes.” Again the crowd murmured. Steal from God? I thought. How does a vamp steal from God? “Rafael Torrez,” Sabina said, “does your clan withdraw its challenge? Will you share blood with the dead?”
“Clan Mearkanis withdraws our challenge,” he said, with ill grace. “But we will not soon again accept the call to gather.”
“Are there other challengers?” When no one spoke up, the priestess said, “Acceptance is given. Open the casket.”