Page 31 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

That evening, Antoine dressed again in his black jeans, t-shirt and leather coat. Comfortable, practical, familiar clothes. Maybe he liked the image, too.

“Do you have the list?”

“Indeed, sir. I have already sent it to your phone.”

“Thank you, Marcel. Efficiency as always. How many are there?”

“Ten on this list, sir, and I have more available should you feel it necessary.”

Antoine made a face. “It’s likely more will be necessary, unfortunately, but let’s start here.

Ten will take me at least a night or two.

” He didn’t know if he even had the capacity for ten; there was a limit to how many thralls a vampire could maintain at once.

Until now, he’d never seen a need to test that limit.

“Very good, sir. May I suggest you begin with the parks in the Cottage Farm district of Brookline.”

“Finding homeless people is never the problem in Boston. It’s finding the right ones.”

“Indeed, sir. Good hunting.”

“Are you ready for them all?”

“Of course, sir. I’ve stocked enough food for a small army, and equipment for the first dozen at least. More should arrive tomorrow.”

Antoine laid a hand on his shoulder, and the old retainer stiffened at the rare physical display. “Thank you, Marcel. I am sorry it has come to this.”

“I understand your reluctance, sir, but I, for one, am not sorry. In fact, I will be glad when your territory is better protected.”

Antoine let his hand fall away. “Even at the cost of the freedom of innocents?”

“It is regrettable, sir, but we will give them a better life than they had, homeless on the streets. Who knows, maybe even a longer one.”

“Or a shorter one, to die at the hands of some of Minh’s thralls.”

“That is always a possibility, sir, but life is capricious. ”

“A strange view to hold, when you of all people are so averse to being enthralled.”

Marcel ducked his head. “You shame me, sir. Allow an old man his hypocrisy. You are quite correct, of course. This business is distasteful, and it is a testament to your nobility that you see it as such. Forgive me for losing my perspective. I thought only of your security, and thralls would help ensure it.”

“No one else would ever call me ‘noble,’” Antoine replied. “Ensure you’ve set the perimeter alarms so you know when the thralls arrive, but don’t wait up for me, old friend. I might even sleep at Hopedale Street.”

Marcel kept his expression neutral, though his shoulders stiffened slightly. “While I appreciate your basement in that house has its… charm , given recent events, I believe this house to be both more remote, and more defensible.”

“You nag like an old hen, but I’ll give it some thought.” Antoine pulled his coat around him and pressed the button that opened the skylight. “Get some rest while you wait.”

“Very good, sir.”

He took the stairs up to the roof, looking east toward the city center. Wreathed in shadows, he leaped, the ground falling away swiftly.

His leap carried him even farther than he’d anticipated. There was no doubt he was stronger than before, after feeding on Minh, and his power showed no signs of abating. If anything, it seemed to grow—another oddity.

He soared over the train tracks, landing lightly on a suburban house, then took a couple of paces across the tiled roof before leaping again, crossing multiple streets at once.

The power difference was undeniable, but the Curia visited so rarely that there was a chance they wouldn’t notice the suspicious spike in his strength.

Otherwise, the questions would become awkward.

Antoine checked his watch. As the crow flies, it was three miles from Fisher Hill to the district Marcel had recommended in north Brookline—almost up to the river—and it had taken him little more than five minutes, certainly less than ten. Noticeable indeed.

He landed in one of the small local parks and let the shadows around him disperse.

The park was a typical municipal space: a few benches, some trees, a winding path, a place for people to exercise their children and dogs, or for lovers to stroll hand-in-hand.

Unbidden, the image of Cally came to mind—but that was ridiculous.

One did not walk hand-in-hand through a park with a marked chattel.

The park was small enough to offer only a few spots for the homeless, and its solitude was perfect for Antoine’s needs. He didn’t want witnesses for what he was about to do.

It didn’t take long to find a man asleep on a bench. He wore a US military-issue parka, threadbare from use, and army boots long past their polish. These were strong enough indicators that he would be on Marcel’s list; Antoine didn’t feel the need to check.

Slipping an arm around the man’s shoulders, he lifted him, and before the man fully awoke, Antoine’s fangs sank into his neck. A mental command for obedience traveled with the serum, and the man didn’t even struggle. His blood tasted sour.

Antoine raised his wrist to his mouth, biting down, then held it to the other’s lips. “Drink,” he said bitterly, hating himself.

The man grasped Antoine’s wrist, pulling it to his mouth, and sucked down some of his blood. A swallow or two was more than enough. “Stop.”

He released his grip on the man and sat on the bench to wait.

It wouldn’t take long. He didn’t watch as the man clutched his stomach, doubling over as agony seized him.

Only pained grunts filled the stillness of the park.

Antoine forced himself to listen, elbows on his knees as he stared at the path running past the bench.

Memories of his own transformation assailed him—the brutal anguish of it still vivid after all this time.

A small amount of vampire blood converted a chattel into a thrall.

Consuming a large amount of vampire blood, then doing it twice over, created a spawn, a new vampire.

The fresh vampire inherited the powers of its sire’s bloodline, but while its strength at ‘birth’ far exceeded that of a chattel, it was still only a fraction of its sire’s.

Antoine believed Belle had been as old as he was now when she had made him—though this was a guess, based on three-century-old memories of her strength and speed.

She’d never revealed her age, and he’d never been foolhardy enough to ask.

Nevertheless, it was quite the thought that he could create a spawn, and that spawn would one day grow to be as powerful as him.

The sensation of control came swiftly. At first, a tingle in his mind, like a presence was forming, but in only a few seconds, it had resolved itself into a fresh thrall bond.

He checked his watch: less than a minute since he’d shared his blood.

The last time he’d done this had been decades before, but he was certain it had taken far longer.

A mark of his new power levels, perhaps?

Maybe he would get through Marcel’s list in two nights if they all went this fast. And if he could find them.

The new thrall sat up, facing Antoine with complete obedience in his eyes. “Command me, Master.”

Antoine curled his lip in distaste. “Don’t call me that.

Call me Antoine. Go to my house in Fisher Hill, and obey the commands of the man there.

His name is Marcel. Collect what equipment he gives you, then patrol my territory.

” It was a simple matter to give the man a mental image of the house, another of the area he wished him to remain within.

He directed the man to an area of Allston; it seemed prudent to send him to a new location, away from where he might be easily recognized.

He’d pull thralls from Allston to patrol Brookline, and Brookline to patrol Allston.

A probably unnecessary precaution, but easy enough to do that it made no sense not to.

“Yes, Antoine.”

The new thrall turned and left, and Antoine tracked him briefly.

With a thought, he could see through the man’s eyes or send him new instructions.

What a rush of control! Such a heady sense of power.

The idea of domination, of having thralls at his command, stirred something dark.

Then the feeling vanished, replaced by disgust at himself.

Merde, I forgot to ask his name. But, of course, he could do so easily now.

He reached out to the man’s mind. His name was Noah.

He also confirmed that the man had no family, which was a relief.

On a whim, he searched Noah’s mind for knowledge of where others on Marcel’s list might be, and discovered two more possibilities.

One down. He turned and looked across the park, his eyes easily discerning the shape of another sleeping form on a bench in the shadows some distance away, one that Noah had known. He rubbed his hand over his face.

Suppose I better get on with it.

*

On the first night, Antoine enthralled eight without feeling any strain. He’d never tested how many thralls he could control at once, so had no point of reference. But whatever his limits once were, his surge in power let him command more.

The second night, he traveled farther north to a small park near his nondescript house on Hopedale Street. He quickly found two more and sent them off to Marcel.

He was feeding his blood to the third when Cally found him.

Antoine heard footsteps but ignored them at first. It was only when they continued unerringly toward him that he looked up, recognizing her immediately.

She was still far enough across the park that she wouldn’t have noticed him, especially with the thick shadows and sparse light.

Yet it was obvious she’d tracked him using the reciprocal nature of her mark—he still had no idea how that was possible.

The new thrall writhed, agony twisting her face. She wouldn’t be ready before Cally arrived. Awkward.

Cally strode up shortly after, using her phone’s torch to light the way. She shone it on the budding thrall’s agonized expression, then shifted it to Antoine.