Chapter Thirteen

Meeting with the vampire council on their turf would never be something I’d get used to. When they delivered warrants to me it tended to be either via Holden, or another messenger would meet Keaty and me at our office. Perhaps I had difficulty adjusting to the council because I usually only visited them when I was in some kind of serious trouble.

I had killed other vampires without sanction. I had not yet killed one who hadn’t had it coming, though. Every vampire who met their fate at my hands was a rogue themselves or consorting with one. Or, as was often the case, they happened to be making a dive for my throat.

Holden led me up the stairs of a beautiful old building that had once been a grand train station. I could see it for what it was, but the building was enchanted to appear to humans passing by as if it were in a decrepit state of disrepair. Even the most daring mortal would feel a terrible sense of dread upon venturing too close. Anyone who got past the front steps after those warnings was fair game as far as the vampires were concerned.

There was a very good reason vampires had been able to keep themselves a secret for millennia. They knew all the tricks and techniques to make it appear to the outside world as if they did not exist. Over thousands of years they had honed those techniques into an impenetrable web of secrecy. This was why they dealt with rogues in such a grave way. One rogue with a grandiose sense of self-worth who believed vampires should rule over humans rather than hide from them was all it took to put their entire society at risk.

It was one of the few things vampires and werewolves had in common, actually. They understood all too well that to be exposed to the scrutiny of the human public would be a disaster beyond repair. Society in general had enough trouble turning on the news every day to witness the atrocities committed by other humans. If people knew supernatural beings existed, it would result in mass genocide. Humans would always outnumber those in the paranormal community, and no amount of good PR or damage control could spin monsters in a positive light.

Even though I wasn’t human I felt the foreboding aura of the enchantment upon reaching the building’s top step. I tried not to let it show in my face, but any color I had from drinking the blood had long since drained away.

“Perhaps it won’t be as bad as you fear,” Holden suggested. Optimism didn’t suit vampires.

“Yeah, sure. And maybe you and I will go to the beach and get some color this weekend.”

“Touché.” Holden knew as little as I did about what to expect this evening. As a warden he was on a need-to-know basis about the goings-on of the Tribunal, and all he needed to know tonight was they wanted to see me.

We entered the building. Its busyness surprised me given the illusion of quiet from the outside. Vampires bustled about, but none of them noticed us, or at least they pretended not to. We walked through the wide-open hall that could easily be mistaken for any busy office building or bank on Wall Street. Workers carried paperwork in manila folders and moved in the clipped, efficient manner of honeybees. These wardens monitored all other vampire activity in the country. The agents in this building, be they wardens or sentries, would be sent across North America to deal with any number of problems or complaints that arose. While most rogue activity occurred close to home, they had sent me to different states on occasion. What I wouldn’t have given right then to be in Iowa or Oregon, or home across the Northern border with my grandmere. Of course none of those options were a remote possibility, so I followed Holden across the parting sea of fangs.

The building was resplendent on the inside. Much like Grand Central Terminal, which had been constructed as a sister building to it long before, it had vaulted ceilings with windows now covered over so no sunlight could sneak in. To make up for the missing light, panels of green and gold glass were inset in each window and illuminated from behind with soft yellow incandescence, giving the whole room a midday warmth. A short staircase descended into the main atrium, where the floors were tiled in black and white marble, creating the dizzying illusion of a giant chessboard. Brass posts divided the room along a far wall. Where in Grand Central they would have been ticket booths, here they designated private offices. The brass was polished to a high shine, winking false sunshine back at me.

Apart from the offices, there was a main common area that filled the majority of the atrium, where a maze of old wooden desks spread out like a corporate ocean. Everything that made a successful business operation was at work here, from the office drones to the executives. Vampires had long ago learned that organization made any good civilization run smoothly, and theirs was no exception. Phones rang at low tones throughout the room, and wardens spoke in hushed voices. Holden and I walked past all the lovely, modern edifices until we arrived at an innocent-looking door marked Private. My hands trembled as I pushed it open and stepped into the darkness.

The Tribunal was old school about their lair. It was reminiscent of a dungeon or medieval war room. Everything was kept dark with only torches on the walls to provide light, and a dampness that never went away clung to the air. We walked down many flights of slick stone stairs, traveling ever farther into the bowels of the city, before we reached our final destination.

I was thankful for the added gift of my supernatural agility, otherwise I would have slipped down the stairs on my ass.

We arrived at a set of double doors, the ones that often figured into my nightmares and were the reason I had a distrust of any that looked even remotely like them. Beyond them were the three vampires who held my life in their hands. This time Holden stood back to allow me to enter first. He could not follow me beyond this point. Only the Tribunal and a select handful of tribal elders were allowed to enter the decision room. The only other time you were allowed in was if you were up for discussion.

I sucked in a deep breath that tasted like mold and pushed open the doors, stepping into complete darkness.

“Welcome, Miss McQueen.” The voice was a soft, airy soprano with a delicate touch of a French accent making miss sound like mees. The greeting came from the only female member of the Tribunal, Daria. “We are pleased you could meet with us on such short notice.”

Their formality always unnerved me. If they were planning to kill me, did they need to be so pleasant about it?

“Tribunal Leader Daria, the pleasure is mine. I am at your council’s service.” I had to stop myself from saying beck and call. I knew the steps to this particular dance all too well. My eyes had adjusted to the total black of the room, and I could see her lovely face above me.

The Tribunal sat on a raised platform in handcrafted chairs that were too elaborately detailed to be thought of as anything other than thrones. Daria wasn’t the actual leader, so she was seated to the left of center. To the right was a man I’d never get used to looking at. Juan Carlos might be the most alarming creature—human or vampire—I’d ever encountered. His hair was the color of pure jet and cut shorter now in an attempt to look more modern, but it maintained some of its wild curl. No matter what efforts he made, Juan Carlos could never blend in with humanity.

Once a Spanish Conquistador, he had sustained a variety of irreparable scars during his human life. One old injury had split his upper lip, and it had healed into a menacing sneer, which curled up towards his cheek and showed one of his formidable fangs. The rest of his face remained beautiful, but it was hard to notice when you could sense his desire to devour you.

“Tribunal Leader Juan Carlos.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell him it was a pleasure to see him because, to be honest, he terrified me.

“Secret McQueen.” My name sounded as if it were on par with the likes of Mussolini or Stalin. His sneer deepened.

I turned my attention to the true leader of the Tribunal and all my terror slipped away. It wasn’t that I found him any less terrifying nor was he less powerful, but part of his gift was to put anyone around him at ease.

Where Juan Carlos’s beauty was an afterthought to his monstrous snarl, anyone who looked upon Sig could not help but fall in love. I did not know Sig’s full name, but I knew he was Finnish, or claimed to be now. He was older than Finland, and from what he’d said the country he was born in no longer existed. He’d never claimed to be a Viking as so many other Scandinavian vampires did. If anyone asked, he rolled his eyes and called the plunder and pillage of the Vikings that Norwegian occupation.

Sig was also the only member of the Tribunal who I saw to any great extent outside of these meetings. While Daria would occasionally show me some general interest, in the way one might visit a puppy or kitten they were thinking of adopting, Sig seemed to consider me more than a pet project. It was he who decided my targets and he who had assigned Holden to be my liaison.

I often suspected Sig knew exactly what I was because of the interest he showed me, but I had never been brave enough to ask.

Instead of allowing myself to be intimidated by Juan Carlos, I looked into Sig’s eyes. He smiled at me, the kind of smile given by a man who knows what he wants. Between Daria with her perfect straight blonde hair, who was wearing an original Coco Chanel evening suit, and fearsome Juan Carlos in his tailored Armani suit, Sig looked out of place.

He was splayed back in his throne, fingers laced together across his taut stomach, and his long, long legs stretched straight out in front of him. He wore nothing but a pair of brown leather pants. His feet, like his chest, were bare. His skin was so pale it practically glowed in the dark, and his blond hair light enough it was only a shade more golden than white. Daria’s, by comparison, looked almost brown. Like Juan Carlos, he’d cut it short to help him blend, but had bangs brushed across his forehead which had grown too long and were beginning to obscure his ice-blue eyes.

“My dear Secret.” He sounded pleased I was there. Juan Carlos made a noise of disgust. He had never approved of the interest Sig showed me. “As Daria has said, we are very glad you could join us this evening.”

I bowed my head, enjoying the cadence of the accent that remained in his deep, marvelous voice. I understood, deep down, the effect Sig had on me was not entirely real. While most of their psychic gifts helped enhance the thrall over humans and did not impact other vampires, Sig was a rare case. His persuasive charm was the reason he was in a position of such power. Other vampires trusted him.