Page 59 of Red Rooster

12

New York City

Lanny eventually came back to bed just before dawn; she felt the air mattress give beneath his weight. But he made no attempt to speak or touch her, and she drifted off before she had too much time to lament this strange distance between them.

When she woke, daylight streamed through the windows, and Lanny was gone. In fact, everyone seemed to be gone.

She sat up, blinking, and saw that the other air mattresses had been neatly made up, blankets folded, couch cushions plumped back up.

Colette sat at the kitchen table, dreads pulled up into a topknot, sipping from a cereal bowl-sized mug. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Trina got to her feet, self-consciously tugging at her rumpled clothes, and made her way to the kitchen. Colette had been kind enough to loan her some yoga pants and a silk robe to sleep in, but she didn’t relish the thought of putting yesterday’s outfit on again this morning.

“There’s tea,” Colette said, “and I started the coffee maker. I always got the impression cops lived off coffee.” She said it kindly, smiling.

“We do,” Trina said, and poured herself a massive cup. “Do you know where the guys went?”

Colette’s smile was small and pleased. “I’ve been meaning to reorganize and deep clean the basement for ages. It seemed like a good job for a bunch of restless hands.”

Trina snorted. “And they went willingly?”

“I let them know it would be in their best interest if they did.”

She smiled, and sat down across from her hostess. “Thank you for letting us stay. This is all happening really fast and I have no idea what I’m doing, and…” She shook her head. “Thank you.”

Colette’s smile slipped away, expression becoming more thoughtful, engaged. Trina wondered if this was the face she used when she was doing a reading for a customer. “How did Nikita find you? Was he looking?”

Was there any sense in lying? She didn’t think so. “I’m still not exactly sure. I was having these nightmares, and I think they were his nightmares. The snow, and the wolves, and Sasha howling like his heart was broken. And one night I was – well, for lack of a better term – Ipossessedhim. I think. Not on purpose. But I was in his mind. And he showed me what happened in 1942. I don’t understand how it happened, and I’m not sure he does either. But…”

“But what?”

Here, she hesitated. “Sasha thinks someone helped connect us. Psychically. And I think he’s right. I think it might have been Val.”

Colette’s brows went up. “Prince Valerian? Hmm. Could be.” She stared down into her tea, troubled now. “He’s always liked to wander. I haven’t ever known him to provide a connection for two people like that, but it’s possible. If he’s stronger, now.” A barely noticeable shudder moved through her, and she sipped her tea.

“You’ve met him?”

“Oh yes, child. Briefly. Here and there. But it was enough.”

“Enough for…what?”

“Enough to know that it’s a good thing he’s locked up, and I hope he stays that way.”

“Huh. Nikita seems to think along the same lines.”

Colette nodded.

“Can I ask why?” She thought of the flash of the sword, of the mirth sparkling in the prince’s eyes. She’d honed her instincts as a detective, and she’d met a lot of people, men and women both, and she’d learned to spot evil hiding behind a smile and a show of fake tears. Val was unsettling, yes, but he didn’t stir the kind of certainty that had pushed her past decorum and straight into terrible confessions. He seemed genuine, somehow. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

Colette set her mug down on the table with a quit click. “You don’t know who he is, do you?”

She stiffened. “He said he was Vlad the Impaler’s brother.”

“Yes. That’s the short answer. The long answer is that Vlad Dracul, of the first convening of the Order of the Dragon, had three sons. The eldest was half-mortal, birthed by his human wife. The second and third sons were purebred vampires, their mother was Dracul’s beautiful and mysterious Nordic mistress. The young ones were taken hostage by the Turks as boys, raised up by the sultan with the hope that they would eventually become rulers sympathetic to the Ottoman Empire’s expansion into Romania. Vlad Dracula grew up to become the Impaler; he launched a new crusade and ruled Wallachia with an iron fist. His little brother, Radu, grew up to become a traitor, and a brother killer.

“Both are dangerous. Both are wicked in their own ways. I wouldn’t care to meet either of them in the flesh.”

“Radu?” Trina asked.