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“Because we have a councilor who is dying, and the cause seems to be a sudden onset of age.”
That surprised me. Vampires didn’t ever age—and when they turned from human to vampire, they stayed at whatever age they’d been when they’d undergone the vampire ceremony. Which meant that if they were twenty when the ceremony was performed, but ninety when they died, they reverted to how they’d looked at twenty. The human population had been trying to uncover the scientific reasons for this switchback for years, but so far with little success.
Of course, there were psychic vampires who could drain the life force of their victims, thereby causing the sudden onset of age or even death, but surely Hunter and the Cazadors would have been able to track one of those without my help. “How would one vampire get that close to another without alerting them to their presence?”
Vampires might not be entirely human, but they were still flesh-and-blood beings with a heart and circulatory system. And all vampires—even the freshly turned—were extremely sensitive to the sound of blood pumping through veins. Which was no surprise given that their survival depended on a regular supply of the stuff.
“It’s not another vampire.”
Which also suggested it was something other than a flesh being—hence Hunter’s sudden reappearance in my life. And while there were plenty of mythical creatures who existed by feeding off the energy of the living—whether that feeding consisted of blood, energy, or even souls—we certainly weren’t talking about an ordinary victim here. This was a councilor—although she hadn’t said whether it was the local vampire council or the high council that ruled them all—but you didn’t generally rise to that level without a few hundred years under your belt. Which meant most of them were not only extremely dangerous, but more than a little knowledgeable about the darker things that haunted this world.
“I can’t imagine anyone—human, nonhuman, or even a creature from hell itself—being able to feed from a councilor without him knowing about it.”
“You and me both.”
She tapped her bright fingernails against the desk, but it was a sign of anger rather than frustration. Those nails were almost long enough to be weapons, and I had an odd feeling she was imagining them ripping through someone’s neck. Possibly mine, if I didn’t come up with an answer.
“Whatever this is,” she continued, “it attacked during the day, when Pierre was asleep. It wasn’t a physical attack, as such. He would have been aware of that. This is more abstract. His energy was drained, but he remained unaware.”
My frown deepened. As much as I hated to admit it, I was intrigued. Of course, anything game enough to take on a councilor and get away with it wasn’t exactly something I wanted to get involved with.
But it wasn’t like I had a choice, and she wasn’t actually asking me to kill it. I was only the hunter, and I intended to do my damnedest to keep it that way.
“So if Pierre isn’t sensing anything or anyone, how can you be sure this is an actual attack?”
She reached into her purse—which I hadn’t actually noticed until now, and that said a whole lot about the state this woman got me into—and withdrew her phone. She pressed a button, then turned it around for me to see. “This was Pierre Boulanger two weeks ago.”
He had dark hair, dark eyes, an imposing nose, and seemed to possess the sort of distant arrogance often found in those of royal blood.
“And this,” Hunter continued, “was Boulanger when I saw him not two hours ago.”
It didn’t even look the same man. In this photo, he was stooped over and could barely manage to look at the camera. It was as if the weight of his head were too much for his neck. His black hair was shot with gray, and his unlined face was now seamed and littered with age spots. And his eyes were the eyes of a madman.
I met Hunter’s gaze again. Her green eyes were assessing. I wasn’t entirely sure why, because she was the one who’d all but blackmailed me into helping the vampire council hunt down the prey that eluded the Cazadors. If she didn’t think I was up to helping, why even come here? “So you’re dealing with some sort of succubus?”
Hunter shook her head. “I spoke to Pierre when this attack first happened, a week ago. He could not remember sexual dreams.”
“And now?”
“He is, as you guessed, lost to madness. He remembers nothing.”
“I think the key word here is remember. I don’t know much about succubi, but I imagine that if one decided to target a member of the vampire council, then maybe it’s also decided to cover its tracks.”
“A succubus would not have the strength to erase Pierre’s memories; nor do they drive their victims mad. A succubus is not at fault.”
“Then what do you think it is?”
“If I knew, the Cazadors would already be on the job.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a business card. “You have an appointment with Catherine Alston at eleven o’clock.”
I accepted the business card. It was one of Hunter’s, and on the back she’d scrawled an address. It was a city address—a penthouse apartment in the Green Tower, which was the latest of the government backed eco-building projects, and it had a price tag to match its credentials. But most old vamps also tended to be obscenely rich. I suppose it was one of the benefits of living so long.
I shoved the card into my pocket. “So why am I going to see Catherine Alston when Pierre Boulanger was attacked?”
“Because Catherine woke up this morning with a head of gray hair and an old woman’s face. Whatever is attacking Pierre is now after Catherine.”
“And you wish to stop this before Alston goes the way of Boulanger?”
“Catherine can wither and die, for all I care.” Mirth briefly touched Hunter’s lips but did little to crack the ice in her eyes. “She is not the reason I wish to see this matter resolved quickly.”
