Chapter 21

21

GAbrIEL

M y arrival at the citadel was a flurry of activity and orders that overwhelmed me. Once I'd done everything I had to—or, more accurately, once I'd done everything it was suitable for me to be seen paying attention to—Gwendoline had gotten me out of the scrum and up to my new office.

The office had changed. The citadel had its own background magic, just like most of the old buildings in the city, and like those buildings, it had its own personality. It was discreet and not quick to change, like an elderly and professional butler. Someone—either the building or, more likely, one of Gwendoline's people—had done good work on the office that had, until very recently, been my father's.

His office had been a foreboding thing of carved gothic furniture, heavy red velvet curtains, and large oil paintings of hunting scenes with frantic animals being pursued through darkening forests by dogs and men with spears or guns. Everything in the room had been designed to make my father appear larger than life and to make everyone else feel extremely small. The desk chair had practically been a throne on wheels.

There was no sign of the blood-red fabric now. Stormy but soft blue-grays were in its place, and the paintings had been swapped out for tasteful black-and-white photographs of Eldoria landmarks, as well as the forests and mountains around them. The furniture now tended toward pale wood and shining metal. All that remained of the old furniture was the massive desk, which had been enchanted so that now, instead of ebony, it was a creamy wood. The gloom and heavy-handed intimidation tactics were gone, but the bones of the room were the same. It was still meant to make the occupant's authority unquestionable, just less blatantly.

I was hardly an expert on set dressing, but the messaging was clear. Here comes the new boss, not quite the same as the old one.

A portrait took up the wall behind the desk, looming over the room. I stared up at it, quietly aghast. Vampires famously don't see their own reflections, but we do show up in photographs. Because of this, most of the images of my own face that I'd seen since the advent of home photography had been taken of me by my friends. Lissa often insisted on taking pictures of us before we left for a night out, so everyone could make sure they were happy with how they looked. In those pictures, I was generally happy or relaxed, especially since she kept taking photographs as the nights went on.

The version of myself who stared down from the portrait was neither happy nor relaxed. He was austere and grim, with perfectly groomed hair, and an impeccable suit in an old-fashioned style. He looked unfamiliar with the concept of laughter and wouldn't have approved of it if someone had taken the time to explain it to him.

He looked like my father.

With a determined set to my jaw, I took the painting down.

It was stupid, anyway, putting a painting of myself directly behind my desk. Anyone who was in a meeting in my office would already know what I looked like. I lugged the painting down a short hallway to a room bustling with activity. The records I'd taken from the school were spread out across every desk in the room. Vampires darted back and forth with folders and books. Someone had set some whiteboards on one wall, and code breakers were busy trying to figure out the cipher. The room was full of enough people talking quietly that it had become very loud. Gwendoline was perched at a desk near the whiteboards, who had no less than three computers in front of her. Despite the chaos, she appeared utterly unruffled.

"Can you get someone to find a map of the city?" I asked her. "I want to cover that thing." I waved a hand at the painting in its ornate frame, which I'd left leaning against the wall. As I approached her desk, the room got even louder, which I assumed meant everyone in the room was trying to listen in. Getting quieter to eavesdrop was an amateur move, and these people were extremely professional.

"Of course," Gwendoline said smoothly. "Vintage or modern? And do you have a preference for color?" I didn't even have time to stare blankly before she shook her head. "Forget I asked. I'll make sure it's dealt with."

"Thanks," I said. The murmuring got quieter abruptly. Apparently, the man in charge thanking an employee was enough to surprise these people. Given what my father had been like, that didn't surprise me.

The office felt better without the portrait in it. I sat at the desk and stared aimlessly around the place. There was so much to do, it was impossible to start. With a sigh, I began opening desk drawers at random, hoping to find some direction.

Most of the drawers were fairly empty. My father had generally maintained that paperwork needed to be handled by those lesser than him, so the only folders were sleek, black, executive things to be used as props. There was the odd jumble of rubber bands and paperclips that seemed to accumulate in every desk, as well as a surprising number of knives.

It was purely automatic to check each of the drawers for a false bottom. It was obvious there would be one, just like it was obvious that if I moved one of the books on the shelf, a small panel in the wall would swing inward to reveal a secret passage. It was merely a standard feature. There were, in fact, four drawers with hidden compartments, and two more compartments hidden in the carving of the desk's main body. Five of the hiding spots were empty. The sixth contained a small metal box the size of my palm, covered with filigree and frothy little sculptural bits.

I smiled.

My father didn't have the patience for puzzle boxes. That was my mother's forte. She loved the things and had passed that love on to me. She might as well have gift-wrapped it and put a label with my name on it.

I got the puzzle box open in a few easy motions. It was old but well-made, and all the mechanisms were still smooth. The note inside was written in Glagolitic script—a language my mother preferred. I wasn't as fluent in it as she was, but I could read it.

Gabriel,

If you've found this, then it means that the role of leadership is now truly yours. It will not be pleasant, but I imagine you will be very good at it. I do hope you will ignore most of the things your father attempted to teach you.

Roland believes that leading is about power. This is not entirely wrong, but it also isn't correct. Leading is about listening. You may choose to ignore what the people want, but you must always, always be aware of it. You must always project certainty. You must not let anyone see you being surprised.

Roland also believes that the way we feed is part of this. That we must drain the strong to maintain our power. That the blood is sacred and owed to us. This is, again, not entirely correct. The blood is a carrier, but it is not what we actually require for strength.

We eat life, Gabriel. By taking a creature's blood, we take some of its life force. We cannot draw in life force naturally as other creatures can. We must consume it.

You must always project strength and poise, because that image is one of the few things that keeps humans from realizing we are parasites, and that there are many more of them than there are of us.

Be careful, my son.

I narrowed my eyes. Vampires were comparatively weaker when they drank synthetic blood. Animal blood made them stronger, human blood even more so. But I hadn't been drinking human blood, had I? I'd fed off a witch. With Evangeline's new power, her blood was far, far richer in life force than the average human's. No wonder I was so much faster, stronger, more powerful. I'd entered my father's mind easily, all because of Evangeline.

A knock at the door shook me out of my reverie. I tucked the note into my breast pocket. "Enter."

The person who came in was carrying the huge picture frame. Gone was the austere painting of myself, and its place was a map of the city. The map was done in delicate pen lines on paper brown and speckled with age. It was big enough that I could only see the person's legs.

"You can just set that down by the wall," I said distractedly.

"Oh, I can hang it up for you. I don't mind," the pair of legs said. The framed picture floated away from them, drifting toward the wall. I ducked out of the way as the corner of the gilt frame nearly clipped me on the side of the head. On the other side of the room, Marcus smiled innocently at me. I heard the gentle noise of the picture frame settling onto its nails and shifting into place.

"How on earth did you get in here?" I asked the old witch.

His smile widened, showing a number of teeth that tipped past charming and into predatory. "I have my methods," Marcus said. "I would've scheduled an appointment with your flock of assistants, but I thought it was important for you and me to have a bit of a chat sooner rather than later."

I could feel a headache building between my eyes. "Is this about Morgana?" I hoped it was, but I suspected it wasn't.

"No." Marcus prowled across the room and sat in one of the slightly uncomfortable chairs across from me. He kicked his feet up onto the edge of the desk and pulled out his pipe-shaped vape. Pressing a button on it, he inhaled, then blew out a cloud of noxiously sweet pineapple-scented smoke. I was grateful I didn't need to breathe and could therefore be spared the full brunt of that chemically saccharine stench.

"I want to know what exactly you think you're doing," Marcus said.

"Marcus, I don't have the time for this," I said. "Can we just cut to the chase?"

He watched me, eyes sharp behind his glasses. "Fine," he said finally. "If you'd like. Have you recognized yet that it was deeply stupid to leave Evangeline, or do you need someone to explain that to you?"

I'd tried extremely hard not to think about it, in fact. It was fairly close to the top of the list of things I was trying not to think about.

"Do you really think Evangeline would be happy with a life defined by court politics?" I asked.

"Do you think you will be?" Marcus asked mildly. I clenched my jaw hard enough to feel it all the way up to my temples, and he took another draw from the vape.

"I have a duty," I said through clenched teeth. "I have a responsibility to my people."

"Yes, you do. To all of them. And that includes Evangeline." Marcus's calm demeanor infuriated me. He took his feet off the desk and leaned forward, examining my face. "You've been sharing dreams," he said.

"How the hell do you know that?"

He sighed, shaking his head like a disappointed teacher. "Again, Gabriel, I do have my ways. Have you figured out what it means yet?"

"I've been a little busy."

"Of course, of course. I'll just tell you, then, shall I?" The bastard was enjoying this, I could tell. "Sometimes, when a vampire burdened with telepathy cares for someone very, very deeply, they… Well, they yearn. When their barriers are down—for instance, when they sleep—their mind seeks out the mind of their beloved."

I was gripping the arms of my chair hard enough that they creaked. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying your mind will still reach for hers," Marcus told me placidly. "She'll be a part of your life, and you'll be a part of hers."

"For how long?" I asked.

"Until you stop loving her," Marcus said. His expression gentled then, going softer, and sympathy creased the corners of his eyes. His eyes were sympathetic. "I haven't known you long, Gabriel, but I suspect you're not someone who falls out of love quickly."

So, I couldn't truly leave Evangeline. She would never be free of me.

"You two have a bond," Marcus continued. "It's undeniable. You simply get to decide if you want to embrace it together, or be miserable separately."

I hoped my floundering wasn't as obvious to him as it was to me. I wasn't optimistic in that regard.

"Besides, she's going to need your help," Marcus added, then tucked his vape back into his pocket. He stood and headed for the door. "Especially now that her magic is going wrong."

"Wait." I crossed the room in an instant, putting myself between him and the door. "Her magic is going wrong?"

I listened with growing horror as he explained. That's what she'd wanted to tell me, wasn't it? Just before I'd ended things, Evangeline wanted to tell me something, and I'd brushed it off.

"Stop that," Marcus said sharply. "Self-flagellation won't achieve anything. If you want to help, then help."

"You say that like it's simple."

"I'm well aware it isn't," he replied. "But that doesn't mean it isn't worth doing it. So? The clock, I'm afraid, is ticking."

I made the decision quickly. "Wait right here," I told Marcus, then dashed out of the grand office and down the hall to find Gwendoline. I had to elbow through her flock of business-formal lackeys to get to her, and I pulled her into a side room, glancing around to make sure we were alone.

"You know where my study is at the manor," I said to her urgently. "I assume you also know where I kept all of the policy suggestions my father ignored."

"In the filing cabinet underneath the carving of the stag," she said promptly. "Yes, I've snooped, don't give me that look. If you didn't want me to snoop then you shouldn't have let me in there by myself."

"You've read all of them, haven't you?" I asked.

"Skimmed them."

"Then, you know which ones are tenable." I waited for her to nod. "Good. Implement as many of them as you can. Prioritize the ones that would be difficult for a successor to undo."

"Where are you going to be during all this?" Gwendoline asked, a minute frown settling between her brows.

"Officially? In a period of mourning for my dear departed father, out of respect for his love of our traditions. During which I'll be reflecting on the past and future of our community."

She tilted her head to the side. "All right, not bad. A little rough around the edges, but I can definitely polish it. What about unofficially?"

I grinned at her. It almost certainly looked manic, but Gwendoline only raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

"Unofficially? I'm going to go be with the woman I love."