Part 7 (2/2)
Desideriel Merovech didn't look the sort who favored scribbling in a book all day. When did she find time to mix her perfumes or bewitch those d.a.m.ned roses?
”No, it's done automatically. Magically. But there's only one keeper of the book. And should she lose it, or someone steals it from her? Well.”
That final word said it all.
Ivan paced away from his mother. Aware the room was settling and growing quiet, he turned and cast a look to the former vampire slayer.
Ravin shook her head and shrugged. They'd talk later. They must.
The meeting was called to order by Nikolaus, who served as the co-chair alongside the witch Abigail Rowan. As usual, Ivan stood off to the side and listened, but he was rarely invited to partic.i.p.ate. He wasn't an official member of the Gray Council. And the only way to a.s.sume a position on the council was by an opening, which meant the death of a current member, all of whom were immortal. Though his parents had insisted he sit in on meetings so he could learn, and he'd been accepted, everyone knew vacancies were not frequent.
Though with the war raging, every day was another opportunity for such an opening.
Most immortals weren't really sure how to take Ivan. Half witch, half vampire? Which side did they relate to? The witches were generally repelled because he was a vampire. The vampires were curious because he could do magic.
All members of the council had no prejudices toward the others, but they still were reluctant about Ivan. He never pressed the issue that he was probably more powerful than the entire council combined. He merely wished an end to this war, as they all did.
”Last week, Eglantine's crew brought down the entire Zmaj tribe,” Francois DeMere, former Nava leader and five-century old unbaptized vampire, announced.
The council members seated around the oval mahogany table shook their heads. They kept tabs on all the vampire tribes and the various witch alliances. Eglantine Richards led one of the leading witch gangs. She had been around for centuries and was responsible for dozens of vampire deaths.
”They left the bodies in a dump yard,” Francois reported. ”Some were not completely burned to ash. The local news station reported on it as if it were a satanic ritual.”
”Now that's fine,” Nikolaus chimed in, ”but we can't afford when mortals begin to label it witchcraft. We need a resolution, people.”
”We're recruiting task forces daily,” Francois said. ”But there are simply not enough unallied vampires or witches willing to police their own. It's too dangerous. And thanks to the Stone corporation, the armored suits manufactured for vampires against witches puts them on the top right now. The witches are merely fighting for their lives.”
”Not true,” Gerard Langdouc, another vampire, said. ”There exist organized cadres of witches hunting vampires in Europe, Russia and right here in the U.S. If we attempt to mark a victor in this war right now, it would come up a draw.”
Abigail Rowan sighed heavily. Her utterance echoed the thoughts of them all, and for a moment everyone sat in silence.
A flash from down on the street captured Ivan's attention. He spied a young woman riding her bicycle through the farmer's market. Long hair captured the sun in many different shades of blond, chestnut and pale red. Like Dez's hair.
And there, a brilliant red flag, flickering above a stack of fresh vegetables, made Ivan lick his lips. That dress. It was almost as if she had not worn anything after the rain had soaked the thin fabric to her curves. His fingers had strayed low to the base of her back. There, where those s.e.xy indents had teased him to trace out a design of his desire.
He wanted more. And this was not the fixer thinking he needed more to successfully complete a task. No, Ivan Drake wanted more.
”What if the Protection spell were reversed?”
The entire room looked to Ravin, who had suggested the bizarre idea.
Ivan shook off his straying thoughts. Reverse the Protection spell? Now that was an interesting idea. And for his mother, a witch, to have suggested it was remarkable.
”If the witches no longer held such incredible power over the vampires,” Ravin said, ”then perhaps both sides would step back and regroup. If the vampires are given no reason for defense, then they would not kill. Nor would the witches. We could go back to living peaceably among one another.”
”Too simplistic,” Francois challenged.
”We've never lived peaceably,” Emmanuelle, a newer member, said. ”And I for one have no desire to be enslaved by a vampire for my blood and magic.”
”It wouldn't happen that way,” Nikolaus said. ”We've all learned from the past. Vampires have no more desire to enslave witches than witches do of drinking blood.” He angled an eye at the witches who sat across the table from him. The witches did drink blood, Ivan knew. Once every century, if they wished to maintain their immortality, a witch must drink the blood from a beating vampire's heart. Sources, the witches called the unfortunate vampires. Ash, was what the vamps called their fallen comrades.
”It's something to take under consideration. We need to act, people. Sooner rather than later.” Ravin announced a break.
Nothing had been resolved, but it had been over two hours, and everyone was restless.
”Good idea,” Ivan said to his mom, as they strolled out the room and headed toward the elevators. ”Is the Protection spell in the Grande Grimoire?”
”Yes, I suppose so.” Her dark eyes took in her son's neat appearance as she gave him a smirking smile. ”What are you thinking, Ivan? Don't do anything rash. It would have to be voted on by the council first.”
”Don't worry, Mom. I'm not sure I'll ever gain access to the grimoire. But I'm certainly enjoying the challenge.”
”I knew it.” Nikolaus Drake joined the two from behind and spread his arms around his son and wife. ”The witch who guards the book has caught your eye?”
His father never let up. ”Maybe.”
Ravin suppressed a squeal. She didn't do things like squeal in delight; the woman was a leather-wearing, chopper-riding witch who'd once slain vampires for fun. But Ivan could see definite delight in her eyes.
”I'm ready for a grandchild,” she suddenly announced.
That confession threw Ivan way out of reality. He didn't know what to say to that. What had become of his hard-as-nails mother?
”Me, too,” his father added. ”After you steal the book from her, are you going to sweep her off her feet and marry her?”
”Wait. Stop.” Ivan pressed the elevator b.u.t.ton and then spread out his hands before him. ”I just met her. She's pretty, and yes, I'm attracted to her. But she's a job. Okay? And who said anything about marriage? I'm young. I've centuries in front of me. And Mom, you'll still be young when you finally get your grandchild, so don't push.”
His parents appropriately bowed their heads, conceding.
The elevator opened and Ivan stepped inside.
Ravin thought she was whispering, but Ivan's ultrasensitive hearing picked up his mother's quiet remark. ”This is the one,” she whispered to her husband. ”I can feel it.”
Chapter 7.
T he radio was tuned to a local pop hits station. Dez liked the energy of the music and always played it softly when working in the still room.
Crus.h.i.+ng pale violet heliotrope petals she'd stolen from the gala in her favorite marble mortar, she drew in the cherry scent. Cherry and vanilla were her absolute favorites.
She'd been brewing spells and ointments for centuries. For a time she'd been a healer, utilizing herbs and plants and spellcraft.
She had taken a stab at alchemy in the seventeenth century, didn't like it; too messy and the metallic, chemical odors were oftentimes worse than roadkill.
The end of the nineteenth century had seen her extracting the poisonous wormwood oil to create the popular absinthe. But after she'd seen the results the wicked green fairy had on men-and real fairies-she destroyed that processing equipment and settled back to what she most enjoyed, creating perfumes.
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