I WALKED INTO the Casino covered in blood and carrying my son. To the left of me a vast gaming floor offered card tables and slot machines, reconfigured to run during magic. Men and women fed tokens into the machines amid flashing lights; the ball rolled around the roulette wheel; cards fell on purple velvet, all under the watchful eyes of Casino staff, most of them apprenticed to the People, dressed in black pants and purple vests. To the right lay the bar and the patrons drowning their sorrows or celebrating an unexpected win. They might as well have been deaf and blind. Straight ahead was the house counter flanking the stairway leading up and down.
A cacophony of noises hung in the air, a shroud of sound that drowned out voices and footsteps. For a brief moment nobody noticed me. Then the young journeyman at the counter looked up. His name popped into my head—Javier. I’d met him before, during my visits to the Casino. Ghastek had found him in Puerto Rico.
The journeyman’s gaze connected with mine. Javier mashed something on his console.
Shutters lowered, shielding the windows. Behind me the massive doors clanged closed. Nobody paid it any attention. A panel in the ceiling slid open, and four vampires dropped through. Gaunt, hairless, little more than skeletons wrapped in dry muscle and tight skin, they surrounded me on four sides, padding in their odd jerky gait in time with my steps. Their minds, each ridden by a navigator, burned in my head like four sharp red points of light. If they wanted to contain me, they’d need a hell of a lot more bloodsuckers.
The vamps moved into formation, one in front of me, its back to me, one behind, and two at my flanks. The light dawned. They weren’t there to contain me. They were my bodyguards.
Javier accelerated toward me. “May I escort you to the infirmary, In-Shinar?”
“I don’t have time for the infirmary. I need to see Ghastek.”
“Please follow me.” He headed toward the staircase, murmuring. “Belay medic at the main floor. I need medic at Legatus. In-Shinar and the heir are en route.”
A rapid staccato of heels clicking on marble came from the staircase. Rowena burst onto the scene. Her fiery hair fell in a long artful cascade down her back. Her dress, the deep brown of smoky quartz, hugged her perfect figure, staying just a hair on the right side of the line between professional and seductive. Her heels were four inches high. Her skirt was narrow. She was ten years older than me, and she ran down the stairs like a gazelle who’d spotted a lion in the tall savanna grass.
“Thank goodness. I was so worried.”
She rushed to me, green eyes opened wide, grabbed Conlan out of my bloody hands, and cooed. “There, there. Aunt Rowena has you now. You are all safe.” She turned and hurried down the staircase, carrying my son into the bowels of the Casino.
I looked at my bloody hands for a second, then glanced at Javier. “It’s good she was worried about me. We are distant cousins. You can see the family love.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the journeyman said.
At least he didn’t “lady ma’am” me. Thank goodness for small favors.
I hurried to catch up with Rowena. We went down the staircase, through the labyrinth of twisted, branching hallways, and into a cavernous room. Rows and rows of vampire holding cells filled the floor, set in widening sections radiating from the round platform at the center of the room. The bloodsuckers, secured by thick chains, snapped at us as we walked by, their eyes glowing, their foul magic polluting my mind like dirty smears on a window.
Ahead Rowena stopped, holding Conlan. My son sniffed at the vampires and grimaced.
“Daa phhhf!” Conlan declared.
Yep, phhhf is right.
We followed Rowena up the staircase to a room raised above the floor. Two-thirds of it was tinted glass. It served as Ghastek’s office, and from there he could survey his entire vampire stable. His predecessor had sat on a golden throne in the cupola of the Casino, but Ghastek was a scientist at heart. He never strayed too far from his subjects.
My vampire escort fell away and lined up in a row at the bottom of the stairs, sitting on their haunches like mutant hairless cats. Javier invited me up the stairs with a sweep of his hand. I climbed after Rowena into Ghastek’s domain. He stood with his arms crossed, silhouetted against a window, a tall thin man in a black shirt, charcoal pants, and expensive dark shoes. All of the Masters of the Dead dressed as if they anticipated being ambushed with a surprise board meeting, but since he’d become my Legatus, Ghastek had been steadily moving away from suits and corporate-slick toward clean and comfortable clothes, more suitable to a wealthy academic researcher than a captain of industry. As I entered, a vamp scuttled out of the small kitchenette on the side and set a cup of coffee on the polished black granite of Ghastek’s desk.
My Legatus peered at me, his eyes sharp on a narrow face. “What happened?”
“Sahanu.”
Ghastek pivoted toward the journeyman. “Initiate Counter-Invasion Protocol One, Sierra Delta, Target Group Charlie.”
“Yes, sir. The medic team is closing on the office. Should I ask them to wait?”
“Yes,” I said.
“No,” Ghastek said. “Send them in immediately. Aside from them, I do not want to be disturbed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That will be all, Javier.”
The journeyman made a shallow bow, or a deep nod, it was hard to tell, and left, closing the door gently behind him. Through the glass I saw him walk down the steps and park himself next to the vampires.
Ghastek faced me. “As I recall, we discussed this possibility thirteen months ago. We both agreed that it wasn’t a matter of if Roland would try to obtain your child but when.”
“The sahanu who attacked us didn’t want to obtain Conlan. She wanted to eat him.”
“What?” Rowena drew back. “His own grandson?”
“I’m sure that wasn’t part of the plan,” Ghastek said. “It makes no sense. Your son is too important to be wasted like that.”
“My father kidnapped a bunch of children, imprisoned them in a fortress, and brainwashed them into believing he is a god to mold them into fanatical assassins. Then he turned them loose in the world on a suicide mission without any supervision. You’re right, he couldn’t possibly anticipate anything going wrong with that plan. I need to call him.”
A woman hurried to the door, carrying a bag, two men behind her. Ghastek shook his head. The woman and the men went down the stairs and went to stand by Javier.
“We’ve been over this,” Ghastek said. “One doesn’t simply call your father. Especially not now and not from this place.”
“We’ve betrayed him,” Rowena said. “All of our contacts are cut off.”
“Do I look like an idiot?” I asked.
Ghastek raised his eyebrows.
“I know my father and I know you. He has spies among your people, and you figured out who they are ages ago, and now you’re sitting on them.”
Rowena smiled. Conlan wiggled out of her arms and padded across the floor to the vampire that sat motionless by Ghastek’s desk. My son and the bloodsucker stared at each other, their noses inches apart.
Ghastek grimaced. “I liked you better as a merc.”
“Well, too bad, because I spent two years knee-deep in Pack politics, and I know how you operate. Get me a phone number, Ghastek.”
Ghastek inhaled. “No.”
I spoke slowly, sinking menace into my words so there wouldn’t be any misunderstanding. “What do you mean, no?”
Ghastek leaned against his desk, braiding his long fingers into a single fist. “We are aware of three people who report to Roland. Of those three, one is a second-year journeyman and two are apprentices, both of whom are wavering in their devotion to your father since you personally singled them out with your goddess routine.”
The goddess routine involved me radiating magic during a tech wave. “You insisted on the goddess routine. You claimed it would boost morale.”
“It did. Do you really think that any of these three would have a direct line to your father? They don’t. They report to someone and that someone reports up to someone else and so it goes, up a very tall ladder that may reach your father or may terminate with the Legatus of the Golden Legion or any of half a dozen people in Roland’s inner circle. These contacts are best used for subterfuge and disinformation. I won’t let you throw them away so you can yell at your parent.”
“Be very careful with words like ‘let,’” I told him.