Chapter Three
The Council of Elders met in Johndrow's penthouse. Despite recent trouble, his security was among the best available, and his flair for entertaining was unmatched. Since his lover, Vanessa, had been returned to him, he had seldom been seen beyond the confines of his own walls. Security had been tightened. In addition to the gnomish guardians traditionally employed by the Council, Johndrow had added his own staff. They were dark, slender, and very dangerous, and their services had not come cheaply. Money wasn't an object – security was.
Besides, the occasion of this gathering was of a more personal nature. One of the young ones, a girl named Kali, wished to address her elders and receive their blessing. She was unlikely to get it, Johndrow knew, but the old ways still held sway, and certain matters required their attention, even when the outcome was already known.
In this case, it would be a request for support in a blood quest. Vampirism wore the twin badges of gift and curse. Some came to it gracefully, willingly, and without regret. Others were dragged in screaming and clawing for the life that would be forever denied them. Almost all who came to the blood grew to be pleased with the powers and benefits of their new existence. This did nothing to ease the anger of those who had never been given a choice. If that anger and bitterness could not be overcome, there was only one course open. Seek out the one who made you and destroy them – or reach final death in the attempt. To ignore such a call led to madness, and there was no shortage of the insane among the ranks of the undead.
Johndrow himself had tracked and destroyed his maker. It was something he rarely spoke of and even more rarely dwelled upon. It was too easy to return to the anger, and to feel that even final death did not erase such a debt. He understood Kali's rage only too well, but it would not matter.
Most of the members of the Council were content. They had been seduced, brought to the blood slowly and with, if not love, at least respect. They did not feel or understand the rage, and they would not condone it in others. Blood quests drew attention to the darkness. They were messy, dangerous, and too often ended with the young ones either enslaved to a much more powerful sire, or destroyed utterly. Conflicts between powerful undead were avoided at all costs; sending this girl on a quest to kill one of their own would seem like an act of aggression on their part, and the sad fact was, Johndrow knew, that they'd grown too timid to face the thought of their scripted little lives being disrupted.
He would vote for the blood quest. Vanessa would, as well, and Joel. Probably Ligaya. That left too many opposed. The Resendez brothers were just back in town, and unlikely to vote on anything that might disrupt their efforts to get their own house in order. Lydia and her Adriana would oppose the quest because they would not understand it. Nystrom and Grimshaw would claim it was bad for business. Andrew Corwyn was a wild card, because he would normally side with his own lover, Meredith, who was not present. Corwyn still wore spectacles; an affectation carried over from his human life that he believed made him look more intelligent. He was not a violent type, and without Meredith's wiser mind involved, there was just no predicting what he might say, or do. Copper and Alicia Contreaux were still down in Louisiana, which was a shame. While Copper had come willingly enough to the darkness, Alicia had not, and both of them had first-hand knowledge of the worst of their kind. Sometimes they seemed less like a council and more like a nest full of bickering old hens.
He stood and watched as they entered, greeting each in turn. Vanessa flitted up and down the main hall like an elegant butterfly, her heels impossibly tall, her skirt enticingly short, and her grace intoxicating. She captivated them, one by one, and in doing so gave Johndrow the leisure to gauge their mood. He suspected they had all come ready to enjoy his hospitality, but with their minds firmly set. As Lydia and Adriana slipped through the door last, late as always and awash in apologies and dark, exotic perfumes, Johndrow fell in behind them. In his wake, a dark form melted from the shadows, and then a second. They stepped up to either side of the elevator and pressed their palms tightly to the wall. Turning to face one another, they spoke very softly. Johndrow could not hear their words, but he felt them. They crawled over his skin and vibrated through the air. He did not look back, but he knew that, had he done so, he'd have seen nothing but a smooth wall where the elevator should have been.
