Blood Haven: Chapter 9

Penumbra

The wedding reception was in full swing and everyone, even the persnickety bride, admitted the evening was one to be remembered. Allana took in the laughter and gaiety below as she came down the sweeping stairs to the lobby. She tipped her head in recognition as a prominent couple passed by, the gentleman raising his champagne glass in greeting. After all of this, they were assured of the Senator’s gratitude and support for a while yet. Indeed, the soiree could open similar doors with his other colleagues; the mystique of having her wedding in the most exclusive establishment in the city would draw on many an heiress going the family way. A wry smile formed on her lips at that thought -- they would have to get used to pink and white roses in the club after all.

Sure enough, she barely made it to the foot of the stairs before being accosted by another member of high society, beneficiaries of a shipping dynasty based in the state. Allana mingled with her usual affable smile, made the appropriate sounds of congratulations at the nuptial announcement, inclined her head to the conspiratorial proposal, and demurred with an invitation to consult at a different time.

“First, and for now, let us enjoy this wedding!”

With that, she moved on to yet another waiting trio, yet another supplicant currying her favor.

From the other side of the room, Darrin watched her descent and progress through crowd. Unlike her, Allana had gone up to change from her afternoon wear. She hadn’t seen the need to; her linen ecru suit was adequate for the occasion, once she popped off a few buttons come sundown. Some might deem the plunging neckline risque, but she couldn’t care less. Darrin couldn’t help giving her lady an appreciative once over. Allana chose a high collar dress with a sheer bodice and slightly flared skirt in soft aubergine. Her hair hung in a slick ponytail and her only adornments were a pair of diamond rosette earrings and pearl drop necklace between her breasts.

Power, especially when wielded by beauty, was a strong attractant. No one exuded both quite like Allana. Darrin caught the ever constant rise and fall of the other woman’s chest, the action so natural and so contradictory. Darrin knew it was as unconscious to Allana as it was to every living being. Still, Allana was the only Vampire she’d ever known who practiced the motion of breathing. Darrin watched how she schmoozed and mingled with practiced ease, pulling the humans into her sway. They always failed to recognize their hindbrain instinct. Allana was easily the most dangerous predator in the room, yet she triggered no alarm in the Alderman whose hand she shook.

But then, the Vampire was very adept at suppressing her baser instincts.

She looked across, and their eyes met. Darrin fought the reflexive jump in her stomach and replaced it with an easy grin. Allana turned away, just in time to intercept yet another well wisher. Darrin watched her circle the hall, each pass bringing her slowly closer. She left her perch by the bar and purposefully strode into the mass. Soon they were a few feet apart; she knew Allana could sense her approach, even if the her back was turned. Darrin wrapped an arm around her waist, and nodded to the patron before them.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to steal her for this dance.”

He grinned and winked, no doubt scintillated by this small display of intimacy. Their relationship was no secret in the city -- one more reason why the club was an acquired taste in society -- but they still got all sorts of reactions to that fact. Allana yielded easily to her embrace and followed her lead as they joined other couples swaying to the intimate waltz.

Darrin allowed herself a moment to enjoy the close contact between them before murmuring. “Have you been avoiding me?”

Allana raised an eyebrow as they made a pass around another couple. “Have I? What makes you think so?”

“You’ve been damn hard to catch these days, lover.”

She seemed to consider the accusation as they completed a spin and turn. “ It has been busy, we have been busy.”

They both knew what she alluded to, and Darrin couldn’t parry that. She made a sound of concession to that and her arm drifted lower down the other woman’s back.

“Well then, I’ve just cleared my calendar.”

She brought them flush together, closer than the waltz had allowed, and they gave up the pretence of even that. Their feet slowed to a simple sway side by side, and the other couples were obliged to move around them. It was easy to lean lower, as though whispering to the other woman, and nibble on her ear.

“Matter of fact, I’m ready to leave if you are.”

They gaze held for a long moment and she began leading them off the floor, when Allana blinked and disengaged from her embrace. Darrin watched her walk away, confused. She would have given chase, were she not distracted by the scene over her shoulder.

The two men were involved in a heated discussion. Their formal attires marked them as guests of the event; both nursed a drink in hand, yet their expressions were increasingly tense. Darrin’s eyes narrowed as she recognized one of them.

Armand Assante, now he was awfully far from home.

In truth, Allana was not the only Vampire Master in Louisiana. She wasn’t even the first. But She had an understanding with Yezelda and the House Assante. The Vampire Coven could do what it pleased with the rest of the State, but New Orleans was hers. The venerable Matriarch seemed to have no problem with this arrangement, having made her domain up north in Monroe.  New Orleans had garnered a reputation as a sort of ‘no man’s land’, housing all sorts of creeds and practices. The unspoken rule in the City was to leave as few casualties as possible. It was one that Allana encouraged and used her many dealings with the political elite to ensure. However, this practice was not as popular beyond the city limits and was becoming a growing difference between both estates.

They didn’t have a Triste problem in New Orleans, arguably because of the unofficial self-policing among the Vampires, but piling bodies were a surefire way to raise the hunters’ attentions. Especially when the trail starts from outside. At least three recent murders had been linked to Armand’s visits to the city and, as far as Darrin was concerned, that was two deaths too many. Of course, her public relationship with Allana put her on a very awkward philosophical fence. On one hand she had taken down a good number of Vampires. On the other hand, she was being protected by a Master. Still, there were lines that should not be crossed. Darrin could not call herself strictly neutral any more, but she had no problem going against anyone who crossed those lines -- Human, Shifter, Vampire or Triste.

Armand Assante had no regard for humans, and saw them like most others of his kind saw them: prey. He clearly had no regard for the way they did things in the city, and Darrin knew a clash was brewing. She had no role to play in Vampire politics, didn’t care for their intrigues, and was ready to go toe to toe against this monster. And so, there was a purpose to her step to belie her easy smile as she approached the duo.

“Evening, gentlemen. I hope you have found everything to your liking.”

She gestured to the jollity around them, picking off a fresh tumbler from a passing tray. Armand wore the scarlet cravat bearing his Coven insignia, but the other was unfamiliar. He was dark skinned and built like a prizefighter, nearly bursting out of his tuxedo suit. They both looked her over with varying expressions -- one nonplussed, and the other with open dislike.

“This is none of your concern.”

Darrin shrugged and swirled her drink. “Au contraire, Armand. This is my house, and everything that goes on in my house is my concern.”

The darker man was raised an eyebrow. “Then, you are Darrin Hartford.”

She tipped her drink his way. “At your service, although we haven’t been properly introduced.” They all measured gazes for a moment, and then she dropped the smile. “Look, you two clearly have a difference of opinion, the reasons for which I do not care. However, we do have house rules in this establishment. You are welcome to address your differences outside.”

She gestured in the general area of the doors, her stance casual and relaxed. The rule was more than simple words, and a magical binding that would be instantly enforced if either one of them chose to act otherwise. Being one of the only two not affected by the spells, Darrin was ready to hurl the glass in her hand through the throat of the first man made a move.

The darker man cleared his throat and stepped back. “It would be rude to be an ungrateful guest. My differences, as you called it, with Assante can wait until after this lovely soiree.” He turned aside, completely ignoring the presence of the Vampire, and tipped his head toward her.

“I never did catch your name,” Darrin murmured and he smiled lightly.

“Du Corvier.”

He blended into the crowd, leaving the other two in standoff. Armand had a nasty temper, Darrin mused, taking in the way he clenched and flexed his hand before her. She imagined what he wanted to do with those hands and let her smile deepen.

“Do you have something to say, Armand?”

Calling him by name the way she did, wouldn’t help matters. She knew this, but couldn’t help stirring things up. Yep, a fight was in the offing. The Vampire composed his expression to a bored, yet slightly disgusted mask. As though he could barely stand to look at her.

“You overestimate yourself, Hartford, you are nothing you think you are.”

“I beg to differ, Assante.”

Allana materialized beside her lover, causing the man to flinch. But she paid him no regard, concentrating on the other woman. “She does not overestimate her abilities, and neither do I.”

“Devereux,” Assante began but she cut him off without a glance his way.

“Enjoy your evening, give my regards to Yezelda.”

That was as much a dismissal as any, and he had no choice but to comply. When they were alone, Allana wrapped her arms around Darrin’s neck. They stood still, once again creating an eddy in the crowd.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” Darrin finally ground out from between clenched teeth. The Vampire nodded. She cupped Darrin’s face and pulled her closer. They stayed lip-locked for several moments, until Allana ended the kiss as abruptly as it had begun.

Darrin watched her walk away yet again, fingers pressed to her bruised lips, her expression a mix of annoyance and frustration.

She glared in the direction Allana had taken but there was someone in her view. It was a woman; her back was turned but something about her was eerily familiar. Darrin took a few steps closer but she began walking away. She hastened, pushing past people as a strange urgency overcame her.

“W- Hey!”

The woman turned around and Darrin felt her stomach drop. No, it was impossible… But then, she faded into nothing. Darrin blinked and looked wildly into the crowd.

Was that an illusion?

She couldn’t have seen who she just saw...

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The Vampire Armand Assante was furious. His anger rolled off him like droplets on a steel blade, only to sizzle and spark in the cool night air. It bounced off his shadow, everyone in the House knew to disappear and fade from his attention. Someone was going to bear the brunt of this rage, but it was a matter of who would be the unwilling tribute.

Tonight it was Tomas, his most recently Turned. The hall doors had banged open and caught him mid-stride. He stopped and turned aside; throat tightening with terror. The lissome pretty-boy had earned his immortality more as a punishment for his Sire’s indiscretions. The sight of him was a sharp reminder, and ample fuel for Armand’s fury. Tomas quivered, knees bending from the sheer psychic force that pushed from all sides as the older Vampire bore down on him.

“M-master -- ”

“Who gave you leave to speak,” Armand muttered, his white gloved hand locking painfully around the Childe’s jaw. The blow came so fast, Tomas had no time to register pain before his neck jerked sideways, giving way to the momentum that slammed him across and into the walls. If Tomas were human, he would certainly be dead, but his new station made him quite hard to kill. And his Master soon made it abundantly clear, over and over again.

When the fog of rage finally lifted, and that face no longer remotely looked like that human bitch, or anyone for that matter, Armand stepped away from the prone body and peeled off his soggy gloves. He cast them aside on the broken marble floors and turned around, taking in his spattered suit.

“Be in my bed within the hour.”

The broken and battered form twitched in assent and he walked away.

Yezelda looked up from her knitting as doors far below slammed shut and shook her head. Armand’s anger was like a summer lightning storm; destructive, unpredictable and, without any consequence, utterly unnecessary. And this was the Segundo, next only to her in rank and power. Her hands twitched around the rods. No, this was what was left to Assante when her Heirs rushed headlong into an ill-fated battle of their own folly.

Yezelda resumed knitting, deft fingers undoing the mess she’d made of the line. Responsibility was hers in the end; after all, they were her creations. It was as much her fault for making hot-heads as it was theirs for being so ... troublesome. Unlike them, she had learned virtue of patience. Now, she was forced to bide her time with this barely capable spare while hoping that one of his offspring might turn out useful.

He rapped twice on the study doors, the words ‘enter’ barely out of her lips before they swung open.

Yezelda surveyed his petulant frown as he strode in. “It is not good to use the young so roughly.”

Armand scoffed, making for the decanter behind her chair. He poured two tall glasses of Sangria. “The boy was made for rough use. He has no value otherwise.”

Isn’t that your failing, she mused, eyeing him dispassionately.

“Nevertheless, I won’t have you constantly destroying the architecture. Find a better way to relieve your emotions or leave them at the gate.”

Armand grunted and set one glass by her table. “I wouldn’t be so angry, if not for that coño sucio -- ” He broke off, and drank deep from his glass.

“I take it then, that the evening did not go as planned.”

Being a partner to the Senator’s trade consortium, Armand had received an invitation to his daughter’s wedding. Mind, as a nominal partner, his attendance was both obligatory and beneficial. Land rich, the Assante were by no means hurting financially. What they sought was influence in the political stage, and a close relationship with the powers that be. It had continued to elude the clan, never mind that the State was in their grasp. And the reason was because, despite the fact that the Capitol was in Baton Rouge, everyone who was anyone revolved around New Orleans.

Revolved around Her.

The Senator was one of the most senior in his ranks, and certainly one of the most powerful in the country. It had taken Armand nearly a year to get this close; tonight would have been his perfect chance. Distracted by the Soiree, and without his usual guards, the Senator would have been adequately vulnerable to all sorts of persuasion. Armand was particularly gifted with the powers of suggestion, it would have taken very little to plant the right seeds.

But then, that human bitch had the gall to show her face, to speak to him!

The glass in his hand gave way under his squeezing grip and he ground the shards in his fist, heedless of the pain.

He looked up to meet his Master’s flat stare, and his pique rose yet again. There was no expression on her face, but there was no need. This was yet another failure on his part.

“Devereux sends her regards,” he shot back, knowing it would bring a response.

“Ah,” was all Yezelda said, but he had felt the tremor in the air. She began knitting yet again.

“That is all you have to say,” he muttered, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Indeed.”

“On and on, she constantly taunts and insults you.”

Yezelda shrugged. “She sent her regards, hardly an insult.”

He watched her knit for a moment. “She killed your Scions.”

The words came out with a careless chuckle and the knitting paused.

“They crossed the line --”

“That is not the point!” He roared, jumping off the chair. “We are Assante! We are one of the great Lines of the night, yet we fade in obscurity. We molder in this backwater, while she glories in the spotlight.” He gestured to the balls of yarn scattered at her feet. “You sit here, knitting, while she’s worshipped like a Queen… you are the Queen, not that impostor!”

It was a good thing that Armand had his back turned to her, else he would have been scorched by the fire in her gaze. She froze in place, while he paced, reliving that memory. It was all five years ago, when Allana Devereux had made the Assante destitute.

There were powers and there were Powers. No Master would ever admit it, but every single one knew that it was not equal. Not even at the top of the chain.

She remembered that stormy night, and how every door in the mansion had torn off its hinges long before the Vampire even approached. Yezelda stood in the great hall below, watching as the single figure strode down the walkway and up the stairs. She was completely naked, and the rain left puddles in her wake. In one hand, she held a sword; the other hand grasped the five heads of Yezelda’s Scions. She stepped into the hall, into the light, and it took all of the Master’s will not to backtrack. Her hair was black with blood; it ran off her body and dripped down her blade. Clearly she had slain more than the ones in hand.

“Good evening Yezelda, I am Allana. You have heard of me, but we have not been formally introduced. And so, I have come to pay my respects.”

With that, the awful crackling in the air ceased. So did the thunder and lightening. It was as though she had been the storm itself.

“I see.”

Allana inclined her head, her lowered sword remained turned away.

“I came across a few strays on my way; allow me to return them.”

She released her hold and the heads bounced off the floor. Yezelda watched as one rolled closer, revealing the face of her beloved Raul. Her hand twitched, Allana looked up and their gazes locked. The air hummed and shivered; no words were said in that instant, but every artifice in the house cracked. Yezelda was first to blink, she shut her eyes for a long moment. She was so easy to underestimate, this Allana Devereux. And her successor was her equal, all but in name. Perhaps that was why the Master hadn’t protested more strongly when Raul had insisted on hunting down the upstart who had suddenly claimed control of New Orleans.

Yezelda opened her eyes, her blank expression never changed but her whole form seemed to sag. “Well then, I appreciate the courtesy.”

Allana nodded once, and then blinked out of space.

Yezelda watched Armand’s mouth move with increasing ferocity.

“I will -- ”

“You will make no move against Devereux, nothing that can be interpreted as an action by Assante reneging our understanding.”

Her voice cut like a whip through his fervor. He reached out a hand, as though in supplication.

“But why, Yezelda?”

“Because it is my command.”

Armand deflated and sank back unto his chair. “I don’t understand… she is but one Vampire.”

“She is a Master.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “Be it that, she is but one. She has no clan, no family. There is nothing to fear.”

Yezelda made a sound of disbelief, and continued her knitting. “All the more reason to be cautious, all the more reason to be wary.” The uncomprehending fool! She would give everyone in her House as it stood, to go back in time. To say these words to her beloved Raul.

“Do you not understand? If you go against Devereux, you will be destroyed. Nothing can stand in her way, because she has absolutely nothing to lose.”