Blood and Lace: Chapter 24

 A soothing electronic chime heralded Della’s entrance into Roger Sharp’s cigar shop. The emporium was exactly how she remembered, a surprisingly spacious and modern interior belied by the small storefront. But there was a strangeness now, even though nothing was outwardly different.

It’s me, she thought suddenly, I’m different. The Della of previous visits had known her place and her strength, but the woman entering the store now was in utter flux, her position among those of the blood uncertain at best.

She took a few steps deeper into the shop. Glass shelves with brass fittings wrapped around the walls, all of them teeming with a bewildering variety of cigar boxes and cigars in every earth tone imaginable. The cigars possessed a cloying stench that filled the space. Most humans seemed to love that smell—which confirmed to Della that most humans couldn't smell. The lighting was dim, but the recessed fixtures still seemed to catch every inch of exposed glass, which had been polished to a streakless shine. It dazzled the eyes.

Roger had once confided in her that all of it was intentional. The lights and strong tobacco scent were designed to strain vampiric senses. As she blinked to get her bearings, she had to acknowledge it was a clever defense.

After a moment of adjusting, she made her way to the counter at the back of the store. Two humans, a man and a woman, stood behind the counter in identical black slacks and button-ups. Their bland good looks and unbuttoned shirt collars indicated their status as blood servants. Roger used a rotating staff of five or more, and Della didn't recognize these two…though it had been more than a month since she’d last visited.

“Good evening,” the woman said brightly, her voluminous curls swaying in response to a friendly nod. “How can we assist you tonight?”

Della took in the slight tension around the woman's eyes and the way her hands were clasped a bit too tight. She glanced at the man and noticed the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. These people were nervous, if not scared. That was not typical behavior for Roger’s staff. Could this be a trap? Her instincts briefly stirred before she rejected the idea. No…in an ambush her foes would have attacked while she was still disoriented by the interior.

Della decided to press on. She acknowledged the woman’s words with a faint smile. “I am a member in long standing,” she informed the clerk. The woman’s tension visibly increased when Della spoke the phrase marking her as a vampire. “I’m hoping to speak with Mr. Sharp tonight,” she added.

The suppressed look of relief on both their faces was unmistakable. Apparently they were pleased she wouldn't be calling upon either of them as blood servants. How curious.

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman—Stephanie by her name tag—asked.

“No. But he’ll want to see me. Tell him it's Loradecia.” Without waiting for a reply, Della wandered over to the shelves and pretended to study the selection of cigars. After a second’s hesitation, Stephanie headed into the back.

“Loradecia?” Nicholas’s voice was a whisper in her ear.

“My middle name,” she murmured. “Now hush.”

Roger was one of the few people who knew her full name. Until she had a better grasp of the situation, she would endeavor to remain hidden and unseen; it was safer for her and any humans that might be questioned.

“By the gods.”

She turned at the hushed effusion. Roger Sharp stood in the doorway across the room. He looked thunderstruck. He was such a meticulous planner that it was highly rare to see that expression. Della took a moment to savor it.

“Hello, Roger.”

He came around the counter, his gaze never leaving her face. Already he was winching up his jaw and rebuilding the unflappable demeanor he was known for. Della marveled at how quickly he assumed his default look of shrewd calculation. It went well with his stocky build, graying hair, and perfectly tailored dark suit. Despite his impeccable modernity, Roger’s face—deep-set eyes, wide mouth and rounded chin—would forever make Della think of the patrician planters of her youth.

“It is…good to see you. Loradecia.” Only a lingering shock in his eyes betrayed the emotions her arrival had stirred up. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Matters that require a degree of privacy,” Della said.

He tapped his chin with a thumb, likely mulling the odds that she intended him violence. After a moment he gave a faint nod and gestured behind him. “Let’s use the members lounge. It’s currently unoccupied.”

Della inclined her head and followed him through the door in the back.

Roger led her along a short hall and through another door into a richly appointed room that might have been furnished in the gilded age. Converted gas globes threw feeble illumination across dark-paneled walls and opulent leather chairs. Humans trying to navigate the space would probably trip over a side table, but to vampire eyes the lighting was tasteful and intimate.

She stepped onto the thick Persian rugs covering the floor and immediately breathed easier—the aroma of cigars was carefully ventilated from this space. A quick glance confirmed that the doors to both side rooms stood unlatched. Some customers wanted privacy when partaking in the use of Roger’s servants, but none were here now. 

“Is all to your liking?” Roger asked carefully. 

Della physically confirmed the additional rooms were empty, then returned. She nodded. He smiled politely and shut the main door behind him. They stared at each other over a leather couch.

“Signal check.” Nicholas’s words were marred by faint static but otherwise clear. “Please give a sign you can still hear me.”

“I hear much these days,” Della replied, her gaze on Roger, “but right now I'm interested in what you may have heard. Regarding me.”

Roger raised his eyebrows. “My dear…until this very moment I had assumed you were dead or staked.”

“But no official announcement to that effect?”

“Not as such.” He placed his hands behind his back. “Envoys have spread word of an assault on Lord Layne’s estate. It was described as an assassination attempt led by yourself and aided by your closest allies.”

Della made a noise of frustration akin to a growl. “Lies. Assassination was never our aim!”

“Indeed?” Though seemingly unruffled by her anger, she noted he took a small step back. “Perhaps you can shed some light on what actually transpired?”

She gritted her teeth to stop the automatic reply. Roger had a way, with manners and mildness, of extracting exactly what he wanted. But after two centuries of association, Della understood that information was just another commodity to him. She had come to barter, not gift.

“First I would hear of the city,” she said, “for I have only recently returned. In fact, you are the first of the blood I have approached.” This was a calculated overture. Though not quite friends, she wanted to make it clear she valued her prior association with him.

He considered her words with a bland expression, but finally nodded with an absent air. “There have been…significant changes since the attack.”

“It was not—”

“I have already invited you to correct the record, my dear.” He looked pointedly at her. When Della remained silent, he continued. “Drus has been named Lord Layne’s Chamberlain.”

Della’s fists clenched even as she schooled her face to appear stoic.

“Drus?” Nicholas’s voice in her ear was so surprised he likely hadn't intended the outburst. She might have spared him the shocking revelation if she’d told him sooner—perhaps she’d find the strength to share the details later. For now she prayed he would keep his silence.

“An odd choice.” Her voice sounded strained to her ears. “Drus has made it clear from the start that he holds our laws in contempt.”

“That seems to be the idea,” Roger answered drily. “Two days after the report of your…whatever-it-was…at his lordship’s home, we received notice of Drus’s appointment. With it came word that all prior edicts have been rescinded.”

Della’s mouth went dry. Even in her present state, with her gentler emotions sequestered, a rime of ice formed in her belly. She had anticipated this—it would have been foolhardy to hope for any other outcome after seeing Lord Layne in the flesh—but not this fast. It should have taken months for the city’s laws to unravel.

“I admit I was surprised,” Roger continued, as if he were reading her thoughts. “The corpus of a century swept away in a night. And now”—a contemptuous flick of his hand punctuating the point—“we are a ‘free city,’ Della. All prohibitions on killing have been lifted.”

The anger roiling inside her was joined by sudden understanding. “That’s why your blood servants are so frightened.”

A flicker in his eyes betrayed Roger’s feelings on the matter. It was like seeing the door of a furnace cracked open for just a moment. “There is no way this move wasn't planned,” he said in a low voice. “Our kind do not, as a rule, travel easily. Yet as soon as the announcement was made…”

“An influx of outsiders?”

His lip curled. “Libertines. At least three sizable groups. All within a few days. They had to have been notified ahead of time. And whoever did that informed them about my shop…and your sanctuary.” He gave her a significant look. “It’s said that the largest group now occupies Lynnwood.”

“Yes.” Her answer was practically hissed. A sharp pain against her palm warned her she was starting to manifest claws. For a moment she pictured those claws shredding the Victorian red flock wallpaper in her entry hall, as if she were already destroying everything in her tainted home to cleanse it.

With a feat of will Della banked the rising flames in her mind. The fantasy of rage dissipated, leaving her restive but in control. She would not repeat her past arrogance. This time she would carefully plan before giving rein to her darker impulses.

“Don’t come calling until I've dealt with the vermin,” she managed to say in an even tone. “But what of your blood servants?”

“There may no longer be laws, but there are still customs—and these unlicked whelps don't even respect those.” His haughty expression might have been seen through the window of a passing carriage, the face of an aristocrat discussing gutter trash. “I’ve already had two of them ask what the price is to drain a human completely—like I'm a butcher offering cuts of meat! I turned one away just before you arrived.”

“Urâciuni,” she spat.

He nodded. “The Libertines of winter will become the ferals of Spring, to be sure. In the meantime, I’ve had to spend most of my waking hours at the store to ensure the safety of my staff. I would withdraw them entirely, but many of my more retiring clients depend on them. It would be a disaster if they had to resume feeding on their own.”

“Della.” Nicholas’s voice in her ear, low and urgent. “A leech—um, vampire, is getting ready to walk through the front door. Dressed like a frat party reject.” Despite the ominous portent, Della almost smirked at the irony. She wasn't the only one trying to adjust her words.

She tilted her head, regarding Roger. This information presented a small window of opportunity. Was it more important to maintain absolute secrecy, or hint that she possessed hidden power? What would be more valuable in her dealings with him?

He looked at her quizzically. “What is it?”

“You’re about to have company,” she told him. There was an indrawn breath through the earpiece, but Nicholas didn't speak. A moment later a faint electronic chime sounded through the walls. “Most likely another Libertine,” she added.

“How would you know that?”

Instead of answering, Della allowed a corner of her mouth to lift.

“I’m going to check the cameras,” Roger muttered, and stepped out in an air of vague consternation. After a moment’s thought, Della smoothly sank onto the sofa to wait. She listened for any conversation coming from the front, but the sound-proofing was excellent.

“Okay, this is weird.” Nicholas's voice was oddly subdued. “I’ve got another vampire. And this one isn't going anywhere near the store.”

Della frowned. “Explain,” she whispered.

“I’m not sure. She’s just…wandering around. Maybe—God, another one.”

“Nicholas…”

“No, I think it's okay. Doesn't seem to have anything to do with us. But it's creepy as hell watching them prowl around like…B-movie monster rejects. We don't do operations in the city center, but I can't believe that this is normal.”

“It’s not.” The vampires he was seeing had to be new to the city. Libertines or other opportunistic filth. No one that she knew would brazenly stalk the streets. How far had word of the city’s new status spread?

Before Della had a chance to query Nicholas further, the door opened.