Looming high into the cold night, with gargoyles that watched from eaves, and a pair of sinister-looking, four-story wings that extended off on either side, the place appeared to be exactly like what you’d expect the king of the vampires to live in: spooky, creepy, threatening.
It was all that Halloween shit, except this was for real. The people in there did bite, and not just when they were asked to.
“Cool,” Trez said, feeling instantly at home.
“Sires, why do you not proceed inside,” the butler said cheerfully. “And I shall endeavor to get your bags.”
“Nah,” Trez countered as he headed over to the trunk. “We got a lot of shit—er, crap.”
It was kind of hard to curse in front of a guy in tails.
iAm nodded. “We’ll take care of this for you.”
The butler looked back and forth between them, smile still firmly in place. “Please do go in for the festivities, sires. We shall handle these mundane things.”
“Oh, no, we can—”
“Yeah, I mean, it won’t take—”
Fritz looked confused, and then slightly panicked. “But please, sires, you must join the others. I shall take care of this. This is my position within the household.”
The distress seemed so out of place, but it wasn’t as if it could be argued with without causing more upset: Clearly, the guy was going to throw a clot if they took their own luggage through that front door.
When in Rome…Trez thought. “Okay, yeah, thanks.”
“Yes, thank you very much.”
That endearing, wide-open grin immediately returned. “Very well, sires! Very well indeed.”
As the butler indicated the way to the door, as if the purpose of that grand, cathedral-like entrance was a mystery, Trez shrugged and headed up the steps.
“Do you think he’ll let us wipe our own asses?” he said under his breath.
“Only if he doesn’t see us go to the loo.”
Trez barked out a laugh and looked over. “Was that a joke, iAm? Huh? I think it was.”
After elbowing his brother, and getting a growl in response, he reached out and grabbed the heavy portal’s handle. He was a little surprised to find that it wasn’t locked, but then again, with that…whatever it was…all around, why would you need the likes of anything Schlage-ish? No squeak when he opened the way in, and that wasn’t a surprise. The place was landscaped to within an inch of its life, everything fully shoveled, thoroughly salted, absolutely ordered.
Then again, with that butler in charge? One dust bunny was probably a national emergency.
Stepping out of the cold, he found himself in a small anteroom with a mosaic floor and a tall ceiling, facing a check-in station that included a camera lens. He knew what that was for—and he shoved his mug right into its field of vision.
Instantly, the inner door, which could have lapped a bank vault when it came to heft, was opened wide.
“Hello!” a female said. “You’re here.”
Trez barely even noticed Ehlena as he took note of what was behind her. “Hey…how are you…”
He didn’t hear her response.
Oh…wow. Oh…what beautiful color.
Trez was unaware of walking forward, but he did…into the most incredible architectural wonder he had ever seen. Great columns of malachite and marble rose to a ceiling higher than the heavens. Crystal chandeliers and golden sconces twinkled. A bloodred staircase as big as a city park rose up from a mosaic floor that seemed to depict…an apple tree in full bloom.
As dour as the exterior was, the interior was absolutely resplendent.
“It rivals the palace,” iAm said with wonder. “Oh, Ehlena, hey, girl.”
Trez was dimly aware of his brother hugging Rehvenge’s shellan. And there were other people milling around, females, mostly, but he recognized Blay and a blond male, along with John Matthew, and, of course, Rehv, who was coming across the floor with the help of his cane.
“The party’s not for you two, but you can pretend it is.”
iAm and Rehv embraced, but again Trez wasn’t paying any attention to them.
Matter of fact, the rainbow-colored oh-my-God had completely disappeared, too.
Standing in the archway of what appeared to be a formal dining room, the Chosen that he’d seen up at Rehv’s Great Camp was talking to someone else who was also in a white robe.
Trez’s vision went tunnel and then some, his eyes latching onto her, and staying put.
Look at me, he willed. Look at me.
At that moment, as if she felt the command, the Chosen glanced over.
Trez instantly hardened, his body swelling with the need to go over to the female, pick her up, and carry her to somewhere private.
Where he could mark her.
iAm’s voice was exactly, precisely, what he did not need to hear in his ear: “Still not for you, brother.”
Fuck that for a laugh, Trez thought as his Chosen refocused on the female she had been talking with.
He was going to have her, even if it killed him.
And if it came down to that? Well, his life wasn’t really a party right now, was it.
When Qhuinn came back around, he was lying on top of the altar. The skull was right next to his head, as if the first Brother was looking after him as he recouped from the drinking. Blinking his eyes clear, he realized he was staring at a wall of names: Every square inch of the vast marble slab he’d stood against had been etched with names in the Old Language.
Well, except for where the twin pegs were.
As he sat up and swung his legs free, his back cracked loudly and his head swam. Rubbing his face, he jumped off and walked forward…until he could touch the carvings.
“You’re down at the far end,” Zsadist said from behind him.
Qhuinn wheeled around. The Brotherhood was once again standing down below, each of them smiling like a motherfucker.
Butch’s Bostonian accent rang out: “It’s a rush to see your name up there. You gotta check it out.”
Qhuinn turned back around. Sure enough, after heading down to the right, he found the cop’s name…and then his own.
His legs went loose and he lowered himself, going down on his knees before the precise lineup of symbols. Then he looked across the wall, the distinct names disappearing into nothing but a single, cohesive pattern across the marble. Just like the Brotherhood. No individuals in it; the group was the thing.
And he was part of it.
Goddamn it…he was there.
Qhuinn got ready for a transformative experience—like something along the lines of a great ringing bell of “You Belong” getting struck in his chest, or maybe a light-headed joy thing…or shit, a big-ass load of “You th’ Man” singing in his brain.
Didn’t happen. He was glad, yeah. He was proud, fuck, yeah. He was ready to get out there and fight like a mack bastard.
But as he got to his feet, he realized that in spite of that newfound wholeness, part of him remained separate and checked out. Then again, it had been a helluva couple of days—as if Fate had put his life in the pulse blender, and was busy making salsa out of his ass.
Maybe it was more because he’d never been good at the emotion thing? And nothing was going to change that.
At least he wasn’t running, though.
Going down to the Brothers, he got so many slaps on the back and chest bumps, he knew what a lineman felt like after practice.
And then it dawned on him…he was going home to Blay.
Holy Mary Mother of God, to borrow a saying from the cop, he was so ready to lock eyes on that guy. Maybe sneak off and tell him what it was like, even though he probably wasn’t supposed to do that. Maybe go up to his room after the party was over and…um, yeah…for a while.
Okay, now he was pumped.
Rhage threw his black robe at him. “So, welcome to the insane asylum, you sorry son of a bitch. You’re stuck with us for life.”
Qhuinn frowned and thought of John. “What about my ahstrux nohtrum position?”
“Gone,” V said as he robed up as well. “You’re a free man.”
“So John knew?”
“Not that you were getting this kind of promotion, no. But he was told that you couldn’t be his private soldier anymore.” As Qhuinn touched the tattoo under his eyes, V nodded. “Yeah, we’re going to change that—it’s an honorable-discharge thing, though, not a death or firing.”