“With deplorable aim. I killed Ike for her and for Vlad, and even left my favorite short sword behind. Yet this cow whines that I have not killed Ray.” Marco spat on the floor. “Laurel is an encumbrance who would get in the way of my plans for you.”
“Plans?” I strove to keep my voice steady, to keep him talking, to stay calm.
But I nearly flew to the catwalk when a shadow startled me from the space under the stage. Triton, in-the-flesh Triton, rose from the shadows just enough to tug at my jeans pocket. He slipped something heavy inside the pocket, patted my butt, and melted into the darkness again.
“Who is there, Francesca?” Marco demanded, taking two swift steps toward me.
“A cat under the stage,” I blurted, winging it. “The thing startled me. That’s all.”
“You lie,” Marco snarled, sword raised.
Pandora meowed, loud and long. I smiled.
“Actually, I don’t.”
Pandora brushed past me and trotted up the stage steps.
With my heart slamming in my chest, I don’t know where I got a spurt of courage at that point, but whatever Triton had put in my back pocket pulsed and grew warmer. I followed Pandora up the five steps, intent on my mission to distract Marco. Did he know I could suck energy? Not unless Laurel had told him. She’d warned me not to try anything, but maybe that had been a hint, not a warning.
“You mentioned plans, Marco?” I stopped on the stage, subtly began drawing his energy, and prayed he didn’t notice. “If you had such big plans for me, why didn’t you come for me right after the villager uprising? I at least expected you to come after Normand’s treasure.”
“Ah, yes, you know me well,” he said, strutting to where Laurel cringed from him. “Come closer, or I will behead Laurel as I did Ike. Or shall it be Jo-Jo and his little friend?”
I gritted my teeth and took the smallest baby steps I could, still sipping his energy, the thing in my butt pocket pulsing with even more heat.
“Your story, Marco?”
“Sadly, the villagers turned on me, as you must have known they would. I was gravely injured by the fire, but my father—you remember my father, Francesca?”
“I remember.” I inched nearer, steadily sucking from Marco, even though each orange-flavored sip made my stomach churn. “Your dad was a Spanish soldier rumored to be a silversmith.”
“The rumor was true. He was a silversmith, and a very fine one in spite of the scandal in Espa?a.” Marco had drawn himself up straight, ready to take umbrage for any insult, but suddenly laughed. “Ah, yes, mi padre. A tender but stupid man. He took pity on me, hid me in his workshop. I begged him not to leave me where the silver would harm me. Do you know what he said, Francesca?”
I shook my head. I was less than ten feet from Marco, and the right side of my butt felt like a vibrating live coal, sending shock waves into bones, my skull. Hell, into my DNA.
“He said perhaps the silver would purify my soul and bring me back to him. Instead, the exposure made me immune. Or perhaps it was the exposure of being in his shop all those years before I was turned, but no matter. My flesh did not heal properly after the fire, but I gained strength enough to kill mi padre and feast on his blood.”
I gagged and snapped my psychic shield in place to keep from seeing more of the scene in Marco’s vivid memory.
“So you really are immune to silver?”
Marco shrugged almost humbly. “I did, of course, continue exposing myself to the metal over the centuries to ensure and build my immunity.”
I pulled a little more of his energy, my body throbbing now, a tuning fork on speed.
“Why have you shown up after all this time, Marco? You still haven’t told me your big plan.”
“It is the same as it ever was. I take you, Princess of the House of Normand, and together we rule. It is just as well that the magic symbols stopped me from reaching you before. We will have more influence now.”
“What magic symbols?”
He stared, his eyes unfocused, as if he’d lost his train of thought, then shook himself.
“You might be a pathetic excuse for a vampire now, but day-walkers are rare and have legendary powers. I have been chosen to teach you”—he paused—“to fulfill your destiny as King Normand’s daughter.”
Gads, Marco was slurring his words. Had he noticed? Whether it was me energy-sucking him or the thing in my pocket affecting him, I had to keep him talking.
“Marco,” I scoffed, “Normand wasn’t real royalty.”
“Normand,” Marco said slowly, “was a bastard son of the French royal house.” A pause. He was weakening. “It is the reason I gave myself to the vampires.” Another pause. “I could achieve power I would never have as the son of a soldier.”
Marco weaved on his feet. I took two steps closer to his side, almost within touching distance but out of Saber’s line of fire. I thought we had him, thought Saber would open fire. Instead, Marco whipped the short sword to my throat. His hand trembled, and
I felt the blade slice into the side of my neck.
Rage flooded my vision, my being.