Crown of Briars Read online

  Zoe focused her attention on each vampire in turn, searching for the figure with the most obvious authority. Her eyes eventually landed on a man that had stepped aside from the gathering. Nothing about him was physically imposing — his shoulders were narrow, and the line of his body was slim — but the air of subtle confidence about him suggested that ignoring him was something you did only at your own peril. His face was beautiful in a classic, aristocratic sense; his tousled black haircut had probably cost him more than the average person’s paycheck.

  More importantly… his aura was intense. There was a deep crimson hunger within him — Zoe could feel its pull, even from where she was. The seigneur had forced his hunger to heel with such perfect control, however, that she knew instinctively just how difficult it would be for her to manipulate it. Not impossible, she thought. But if I tried an unanchored spell on him, he’d definitely smear me before I managed anything useful.

  Another stray thought occurred to her. “I always wondered how any vampire even survives in Montreal,” Zoe muttered to Simon, while they were still out of earshot. “There’s got to be a cross on every corner here. How are they standing in a fucking cemetery?” She flicked her eyes toward the nearest stone cross; only one of many that were currently within line-of-sight.

  “House Belmont — from France — has never exhibited much of a problem with Catholic imagery,” Simon said softly. “They often infiltrated the Church itself, at the height of its corruption. The most common lineage in Montreal is House Cloutier, an offshoot of that bloodline. They came across with the original settlers to Quebec, and eventually claimed independence from the continent.”

  Zoe eyed the seigneur, who had turned his attention more fully in their direction now. “Isn’t he House Belmont?” she asked, searching her limited knowledge of the man. “From… Paris?”

  “Belmont, yes,” Simon confirmed. “Jean Belmont — but don’t call him that unless he gives you leave.”

  Zoe shot him a sardonic look. “Thanks for the heads-up,” she said. “I was thinking of calling him Jimmy, but you’ve helped me see the error of my ways.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I know you’re helping. I’m not entirely out of the loop, though. You can skip the common sense parts.”

  Simon squeezed her shoulder. “Everyone thinks you’re mortal, and you’re currently sick, so you can ignore conventions a bit. But yes, I suspect you should stick to monseigneur.” His lips turned upward just a little bit. “Act more tired than you are, and lean on me some. He’ll use an elevated tone, but you don’t have to match him. If you act like an unschooled mortal in over her head, I can probably get us what we need without drawing too much of his interest. He’s consolidated a lot of power in a very short time… but I think it’s safe to say that he has a long way yet to go. It’s best that neither of us becomes too tangled up with him.”

  The warlock expanded his polite smile in the seigneur’s direction as he spoke. Zoe noted the focus of his aura, and she found herself suddenly even more appreciative of his presence. Simon had managed to remain a mostly neutral figure within the city, well apart from its sometimes-dangerous political intrigues. Zoe had always assumed that the Lady’s protection was responsible for that, but over the last little bit, she’d slowly begun to suspect that Simon’s keen social acumen was equally at play.

  “I can do the mortal secretary act,” she confirmed. “As for the rest…” Zoe intentionally allowed her foot to catch on a hard bit of ice. Simon caught her quickly against him — the heat of his body soaked through even the many layers that they were wearing. Zoe shot him a tiny, secretive grin. “My hero.”

  That flicker of desire came and went again. Simon took a breath, and slowly set her back on her feet. “Good,” he mumbled. “If a bit distracting.”

  Zoe graciously resisted the urge to prove just how distracting she could be. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  The seigneur deigned to nod in Zoe’s direction as they approached. Technically, Simon’s stature meant that he should be acknowledged before her — but the seigneur was from the continent, where one always first deferred to ladies present. “Mademoiselle Carter,” the vampire greeted her. “Veuillez m’excuser. I do hope your health is improved.” Both his English and his French were heavily Parisian-accented — noticeably more cultured and more highbrow than the colorful array of local accents to which Zoe had become accustomed. The Parisian accent was also considered distastefully arrogant by many native-born Quebecois; someone like Jasmine would despise it.

  Zoe made a show of being flustered as he addressed her directly. “Um… still a little under the weather,” she said. “But better than yesterday, for sure. Thank… thank you.” She did her best to follow Simon’s advice and keep her tone casual. Thankfully, the seigneur had already acknowledged her injury himself, implicitly letting her off the hook for her social fumbles.

  Her underwhelming response seemed to do its job. The seigneur switched his attention almost instantly to Simon, discarding her as comparatively inconsequential. “Monsieur Leclair,” the seigneur now greeted Simon. His aura honed upon the warlock, and Zoe realized that the vampire lord held a much greater respect and wariness for the man than she’d expected. “Quelle surprise. Comment puis-je vous aider?”

  Simon smiled pleasantly. “I doubt that I am entirely unexpected, monseigneur,” he replied in English. The seigneur didn’t frown, but Zoe noted a moment of dissonance in his aura at the unexpected choice of language. “I did, after all, send one of your less polite subjects to the Briars. As to how you may help, I retain an interest in the ultimate fate of his other impolite companion.”

  “Ah, yes,” the seigneur acknowledged, as though Simon had just reminded him of something he already knew. But Zoe saw his wariness spike, and she knew that the seigneur hadn’t realized just how Simon had dispatched of the other vampire. The revelation that he was capable of dragging impolite vampires away to Arcadia wasn’t precisely a direct threat, but it was certainly a reminder of his power — and one which the seigneur duly noted. “These unruly children did overstep my laws. I would have disciplined them myself, but you were of course within your rights to do so in the moment.”

  Simon narrowed his smile. A quick, bright anger rippled across his aura, and Zoe blinked. She knew she’d missed something, but she wasn’t quite sure what. Whatever it was, the seigneur had missed it too, so she didn’t feel too oblivious. “I have no doubt whatsoever that you shall ensure your other subjects understand their limits.”

  Now the seigneur had taken notice. His cold silver eyes met Simon’s, and Zoe felt the delicate nuance of the situation whoosh over her head.

  “…mais oui,” the seigneur murmured. “Disruptive elements are bad for business. A calm city benefits us all. I shall endeavor to remind us all of that truth.”

  Zoe felt the air sharpen. Simon’s aura flickered with anger again, and she wondered if he’d remembered his own advice. We don’t want to get dragged into his business. She exaggerated a shiver, and burrowed herself a bit further against Simon.

  “That’s… all good,” she said. “Um, thank you. Um. I’m so sorry, I think the cold is really getting to me.” Zoe pinched Simon hard through his coat; he took a breath, and his anger dampened noticeably.

  The seigneur smiled paternalistically at Zoe. “Bon,” he said. “All is well.”

  The disdain the vampire’s aura made her want to punch him too, just a little. But it was easier to remind yourself to stay calm when your goal was to look stupid and powerless anyway.

  “Where is Vivienne?” Simon asked the seigneur. “I have offered to watch Madame Carter, so I shall need to be quick. I would prefer her back indoors soon.”

  The seigneur gestured to the great stone cross behind him. “She is on the other side,” he said. “La Voûte shall no doubt be pleased to see his employee.”

  Er… what? Zoe barely stopped the confusion from reaching her face. The seigneur stepped aside to rejoin his retinue. As Simon help
ed her around the great cross, she saw that Dorian had beaten them to the punch. The secretive bastard currently stood, straight-backed, over the familiar female body on the ground before him.

  Vivienne’s body was not at all what Zoe had expected. The vampiress was still in the clothing she had been wearing when she’d attempted to abduct Zoe; a large bloodstain covered the front of her coat, but Zoe suspected it was simply more evidence of her Scorpio-induced fit of vomiting. The red-haired vampire was otherwise curled up on the ground, as though sleeping. Her pale face showed no sign of struggle or pain. There was something off about her, though… Zoe’s Witchsight pinged at the edges, as though reaching for an idea that was just on the tip of her brain.

  Dorian turned as they approached. His blank aura, as always, showed nothing — but Zoe saw him frown visibly as his eyes settled on her. “Que se passe-t-il?” he muttered at Simon. His voice was low and tight.

  “Hey!” Zoe snapped her fingers in front of him. “Don’t talk like I’m not here.” Her eyes narrowed. “Monseigneur called you, didn’t he? And you were going to let me know… when?”

  Dorian didn’t even have the good sense to look embarrassed. “When it was necessary,” he said. “You need more rest. You shouldn’t be here.”

  Zoe staggered away from Simon, a deep red flush creeping up her cheeks. “Tabarnak de câlice!” she hissed. Her French may have been relatively unimpressive, but the profanity had its intended effect. Dorian blinked, and took a step back. “You are really starting to piss me off. Don’t you ever tell me what I can and can’t do. I agreed to go with Simon before because it made sense — not because you have a right to dictate my life to me. I have been there before, Dorian, and let me tell you, you would not be flattered by the comparison!”

  Dorian seemed genuinely taken aback for a moment. Zoe had intended to press her advantage, but she stopped as Simon put a warning hand on her shoulder.

  “Perhaps not here,” he murmured. “The vampires aren’t far.”

  Zoe closed her eyes. She breathed in sharply — but nodded slowly. When she opened her eyes again, she focused them on Dorian. “Later,” she promised him. “You hold onto that shocked little who me expression. You’re gonna need it a lot more before I’m done.” She turned to look at Simon, lowering her voice. “Anyway, you should talk. You looked like you were about to throw down with the fucking seigneur himself, in full view of a bunch of his people.”

  Unlike Dorian, Simon had the grace to display a bit of embarrassment. Anger still seethed beneath the surface of his aura, though. “Yes,” he said. “That would have been unwise of me.” He set his jaw. “I only realized the full extent of things as I spoke with him. We knew that monseigneur intentionally led Vivienne to ask her questions so that he could buy them — but that is not all that he did. He suspected that she would attack your office in some way. I believe that he baited her into it. Her desperate gamble embarrassed the Cloutier bloodline; it also gave him free reign to execute her, along with anyone he now accuses of having supported her. He will argue that he has been forced into taking a stronger hand with his subjects.”

  Simon’s fingers dug into her shoulder. “You were bait, Zoe. Maybe he didn’t know it would be you that paid the price, but he didn’t prevent what happened either. If you’d actually died, it would have been a success beyond his wildest dreams.”

  Zoe listened to him, feeling oddly detached. The details swept over her, and she noted them down one-by-one. Huh, she thought. No wonder Simon had lost his head. The seigneur hadn’t pulled the trigger on her, so to speak, but he’d certainly set her up to walk straight into the bullet.

  “I’m cold as hell,” she said. “And I’m getting less and less fond of the company. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

  I’ll be pissed later, she thought. About all of this.

  Zoe rubbed at her arms, turning to regard Vivienne’s body more fully. Next to her, she was aware that Simon had done similar — probably opening his own Witchsight.

  There really wasn’t much to suggest what had killed her. Zoe frowned. There was still something nagging at the edges of her Witchsight. She wasn’t used to feeling like she had to focus in order to see something.

  Simon shook his head. “I can’t see anything,” he said. “She might have died by mundane means.”

  “No, there’s something here,” Zoe told him. “But it’s like… it’s trying to get away from me.” She knitted her brow, reaching out toward the body with her magic, feeling for any remaining blood in the vampire’s body.

  Vivienne had very little left in her; she’d been forced to very thoroughly purge herself of blood. It didn’t seem as though she’d replenished herself afterward, which Zoe found extremely odd; the vampiress should have been starving, desperate for anything she could get her hands on. Surely, she hadn’t gone a full day without drinking blood?

  Zoe’s magic snagged on something — a minuscule amount of blood in the vampire’s stomach. There was something wrong with it, though; Zoe thought she felt something elusive attached to it. Is this the anchor to a spell? she wondered.

  “I think… she drank another Scorpio’s blood,” Zoe said softly, puzzled. “I think there’s a spell anchored to the blood. Maybe one to hide what happened, magically-speaking. That could be why this body looks so stupidly ordinary.”

  She reached out with her magic, prodding at the spell — it was hard trying to unpick its knot without being able to see it, but as she got a grasp on it, she became certain that she was right. “Yeah, I’ve got it. Give me a second, I’m gonna pull it loose.”

  “Zoe,” Simon said suddenly. “Wait. Slow down—”

  It was an instant too late.

  Something dark and terrible seized on Zoe’s magic, climbing its way back along the connection to her body. Her Witchsight saw it as a greasy black smear — a stain that crawled its way along the edges of her fingers and up her arm. Where it touched, her blood hissed in her veins.

  Poison, she thought distantly. The same thing I did to Vivienne.

  I know this spell.

  I know who cast it.

  Next to her, Simon flared his magic. Hot, golden fire burned away at the smear, cutting off its path between Zoe and the body. The black poison evaporated instantly, like a piece of flash paper in a candle flame.

  The damage had already been done, though. Panic battered at her mind, as the burning in her arm continued to twist upward. Zoe breathed in against the sensation, forcing herself to compartmentalize. You can do this, she thought. It’s just like riding a bike. You don’t forget, right?

  She hadn’t gotten on this bike in years, of course. And if she fell off, it would instantly kill her. But sure, that sounded right.

  Zoe sat down in place, slowly and deliberately lowering herself to the ground. Step one: buy time. Minimize movement; lower your heart rate. The cold, wet snow sent a shiver down her spine, but she consciously ignored it, blocking it out.

  “Simon,” she said, with a sudden unnatural calm. “Would you please find something to make a tourniquet? I need it on my arm, somewhere just above the elbow.”

  “What is going on?” Dorian demanded. He moved forward to kneel next to her, looking her over for injuries. Zoe remembered belatedly that he had no Witchsight, and had therefore seen absolutely nothing of what had just occurred.

  Simon probably had very little understanding of what the spell had done himself — the human body and its humors were very far outside of the average Sagittarius’ understanding. Still, he responded to the urgency in her voice — he carefully pulled her arm free of her borrowed coat, exposing it to the chill air. He tugged the scarf from her neck and neatly tied it around her arm, pulling it tight enough to hurt just a bit.

  “What’s the nature of this?” he asked Zoe. She felt how much effort it cost him to keep the alarm from his voice.

  “Blood magic,” she said shortly. “Poison. It’s strong — made to kill.”

  Dorian’s eyes flickered
with apprehension. “I’ll get one of the leeches,” he said. “They ought to prove useful for something today.” Zoe was dimly surprised to hear the slur cross his lips. She’d never heard Dorian use anything less than professional language to describe a client, even in private.

  “No,” Zoe said slowly. “It would probably kill them.”

  “J’m’en câlice,” Dorian said shortly. “They should not have meddled with my affairs, then.” Zoe’s approximation of his current mood notched further downward. The tiny, hysterical voice currently shouting from the bottom of her mind dimly noted down the date for later, so that she could mark the day that Dorian Moreau first swore in front of her.

  Much as the idea of choking the seigneur on her poisoned blood currently appealed, Zoe shook her head. “I’ve lost too much blood already. I can handle this. I have handled this.” She focused her Witchsight on the veins in her arm, which had begun pulsing a slow and steady black. “It’s a game.”

  “A game?” Simon’s voice registered horror, in spite of his best efforts. Zoe felt her heart speed up; the two very upset men next to her were starting to break her calm.

  “I’m gonna need you both to chill,” Zoe said. “Like now. It’s been years since I did this, and if you keep freaking me out, I will fuck it up.”

  Dorian, to his credit, went instantly still and composed.

  Simon… tried. Bless him, he really tried. But while he managed to keep his face still, Zoe could feel his aura lashing out in abject panic, scintillating between emotions as he envisioned worst-case scenarios.

  “Simon,” she said, with an edge to her voice. “Take a walk.”

  The warlock’s green eyes widened behind his glasses. “What? No.”

  “Dorian,” Zoe said. “Make Simon take a walk.”

  The lawyer rose fluidly back to his feet. A second later, he hauled Simon up by the arm, shoving him sharply forward. At first, she thought the warlock might resist — but she met Simon’s eyes directly, and something in her gaze must have convinced him to obey. He took a long, deep breath. A ripple of agony flickered through him. She understood. She’d seen his soul — she knew what he was thinking.