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Even so, he felt vaguely uneasy, an unusual state for him. He had such confidence in his plans that he wasn’t used to even the smallest wiggle of anxiety.
If he could locate Owen Stannett, he’d put him on the future streams just to be sure. But Stannett was off the grid and had enough power to hide from Greaves, unless of course Greaves really wanted to find him. Not yet, though.
As for the tigers, he was well satisfied. He lifted a hand and signaled to the trainers and drivers to take them away. “Send them to General Leto at the viewing platform. I want him to have a look. Get his approval.” He was in full inspection mode, but not just where the parade was concerned. Unfortunately, tonight he had to deal with … Leto.
He was disappointed in the truths that had emerged over the past several weeks about his dearest Warrior-of-the-Blood-turned-general. And yes, even a little surprised, despite the fact that he was rarely surprised by anything. The human-vampire nature was a restless thing, seeking for some kind of communal oneness and connectedness that could never really be achieved.
Leto had taken dying blood on the first day of his defection. What truer statement could there ever have been of purpose and intention? He had all but sold his soul to be part of Greaves’s glorious mission to transform both Second Earth and Mortal Earth into the paradise he envisioned.
He felt really sad that Leto would not be part of the new world he would create. The pyramids of Egypt, the Great Wall of China, all the great European cathedrals combined would be nothing to the monuments he intended to build, or rather have built, by the great supports of Mortal Earth.
Some would call it slavery. He would herald such acts of sacrifice as the finest form of service for the good of all.
He was nearing the fulfillment of all things. The vibration of his growing power sang in his veins, a strong powerful composition full of cymbals and drums and trumpets. His army was almost complete and beautifully well trained.
Greaves was the coming one. He could feel it now, chosen by destiny to transform all six dimensions. This first part of his plan was essentially just the beginning.
Still, he sighed. All well and good but there was just something so lowering about discovering an unhappy and unsuspected truth.
Leto was a spy.
If Greaves hadn’t been bereft of a heart he would say his heart was just a little bit broken. Absurd, of course, but he’d always liked Leto in an essential way. There was nothing of either the simpleton or the braggadocio about the man. There were times he even had feelings toward him, and Greaves had never been particularly homosexual. He’d always preferred women, but Leto was wonderful to look at. He had incredible blue eyes, very sharp and piercing, the color clear like crystals.
He sighed. Perhaps he’d had a little crush on the man after all. How else could he have explained being so blind to his activities for nearly a century.
Leto also had kept his hair warrior long and constrained by the ritual cadroen. From the first, Greaves had approved this affectation because it was a constant reminder to his followers that he had successfully turned a powerful Warrior of the Blood, one of Endelle’s own elite force.
Leto had been a feather in Greaves’s cap, at least until the truth had finally surfaced, or rather when Greaves, just to make certain of his general, had sent a very gifted IT hacker into Leto’s files. He really should have done it sooner, but Greaves preferred to trust those closest to him until proof surfaced to the contrary.
But Leto’s conduct had become erratic over the past few months, ever since Alison’s rite of ascension, actually. Leto had several times stopped taking dying blood until Greaves forced it on him. Leto was in that state even now, pretending that he wasn’t gripped with the resulting cramps because he’d refused to imbibe his allotted portion of the addictive substance. Maybe that’s what had forced Greaves’s hand, what had prompted him to finally set one of his dogs on Leto’s trail.
But that trail had unearthed the unhappy news that Leto had been deleting files for years, which had been causing a corresponding amount of chaos at his Estrella Mountain War Complex for the past two decades. In terms of a scheme, not half bad, really. But what else had Leto been up to? Naturally, Greaves had set more than one of his trusted counterintelligence workers on the entire host of Leto’s activities, especially anything from the past year, which encompassed Greaves’s push to a final, decisive battle that would cover all seven continents of Second Earth.
And now he knew the truth.
How utterly unfortunate.
Greaves looked down the long avenue lined by enormous wintry trees, not yet leafing out. He loved everything about the location. He’d spent a fortune lighting the route since the event would begin in the late afternoon and continue into the night to best display the fireworks. The forecast was perfect: snow on the day before the event. He wanted everything cold and gray, preferably overcast. Steely skies would be absolute perfection.
He drew his phone from his pocket and mentally touched the screen. He was rarely forced to make personal calls, but this one was necessary since Casimir couldn’t be reached with a simple bolt of purposeful telepathy. Casimir, as a Fourth Ascender, had sufficient power to create an almost impenetrable mist around his Paris apartment.
Greaves hadn’t wanted to bring Casimir into his plans, but the advent of royle wings with Warrior Medichi and his woman, Parisa, had forced his hand. He needed a powerful ascender on staff, but loathed having to ask for help. Casimir was an undisciplined vampire who tended to act in his own best interest, despite his professed alliances.
He really despised the man on so many levels, but right now he needed him. Leto was one powerful vampire; only a Fourth Ascender would have a shot at rendering Leto unconscious so that Greaves could turn him over to his specialty death vampires. Neither Greaves nor Casimir, under the current law of the land, given their respective power levels, could directly murder anyone. There was, however, nothing on the books against assisting the occasionally necessary process.
Casimir picked up on the third ring.
“Five minutes, at the platform. Just fold directly to it.”
“No greeting, Darian? I’m disappointed beyond words.”
Greaves didn’t make use of profanity, or at least not very often, but right now he knew a strong impulse to let loose. Casimir’s manners, how should he put this, bugged the shit out of him. Always, the man attempted to get up a flirtation.
But rather than let Caz goad him into a display of temper, he drew a very deep breath and smiled. “Five minutes,” he said quietly. He mentally thumbed his phone and put it back in his pocket.
