AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It was a short walk to our destination. We walked a few blocks to Billymarks West. Well known to Chelsea locals, it was a dive bar, lit up with neon beer signs and tucked away without the typical New York flair. It was rather dark and the perfect place for vampires to blend into the background. I was finding that this rule didn't apply if you happened to be with Stefan. His imposing presence and blond good looks caused heads to swivel and conversation to grind to a halt. How many times do you see an almost angelic looking man enter a hole in the wall bar in New York City? He was almost too impossibly perfect. I knew it from the very first time I saw him standing on the sand in Bali.
Despite my attempts to overlook their stares, jealousy surged through me. Feeling my possessiveness, he gripped my hand tighter and pulled me closer to him. He ignored the stares and stalked down the long, narrow bar until we reached the last booth. Nigel didn't look up from his token bottle of beer. He simply gestured to the seat across from him.
Sliding across the worn vinyl seat, Stefan pushed the satchel across the table to Nigel. He nodded and removed it from the table, putting it on the seat beside him.
"What can I get ya?"
We all looked up to see wiry, dark haired man with heavy black framed glasses at the end of the table. He totally ignored Stefan and Nigel, choosing me as his main focus.
"We'll both have a Tanqueray and tonic. Thanks," I said, giving the man a distracted smile.
The man stood transfixed at the end of the table. He tore his eyes from me long enough to glance over Nigel and Stefan. Even though a small part of me was human, I blended with them perfectly. And we stuck out like a sore thumb. From our glossy hair to our pale, luminous skin, we screamed ‘look at me’.
"Did you not understand her order or do you need to have her repeat it?" Nigel asked harshly. He finally ripped his gaze from the beer bottle to glare at him.
Frightened by the intensity of Nigel’s stare and voice, the poor man yelped and spun on his heel to hide behind the relative safety of the bar to fix our drink order.
"Josephine. Stefan." Nigel nodded to each of us. His tousled light brown hair spilled over his shoulders and his ruggedly handsome face was solemn.
"Nigel." Stefan inclined his head. They both sat like sentries on each side of the booth, too beautiful and still to be human.
"You read the text?" Nigel questioned softly, his voice thick with his Australian accent. His hazel eyes flickered to mine. "And you. Have you read it?"
"No, I haven't had the stomach to read it. Stefan told me the gist of what was inside." I shivered. The conversation stopped when the wiry man slid two glasses in front of Stefan and myself. He didn't make eye contact with anyone before backing away and resuming his position behind the bar, nervously wiping down the bar top.
"I had two copies of the book prepared. One is in my safe, the other is hidden for security," Stefan replied. His long fingers danced over the rim of the glass. "A new Council member is still to be appointed tomorrow?"
"Yes. Nothing has changed," Nigel answered cryptically. "Josephine is troubled about something. What exactly is bothering you, love?"
"What happened to Silvio Armeni and Reginald Sylvester?" I blurted out. Picking up my glass, I sipped it, enjoying the pleasant burn of the gin as it hit my stomach. It was a nice buffer to help deal with the emotions that came rolling off of Stefan and Nigel.
Stefan's mind pressed seamlessly into my own. I sensed his shock and nervousness at my question. He had expected me to question Nigel, but my subject matter had caught him off guard.
Nigel smiled dryly. "Little lady, questions like that could get you killed in the wrong company."
Raising an eyebrow, I propped my arms on the table and spoke in a barely audible voice. "But I'm not in the wrong company. Look, I know little about the politics I’m going to have to learn to live with. If I'm going to survive, both of you need to tell me how this works instead of keeping me in this ‘need to know’ holding pattern."
Stefan and Nigel stared at each other. Stefan's mind was secured to the point that it was comparable to Fort Knox.
Nigel’s expression was impassive as he resumed twirling the beer bottle around on the table. His desolate hazel eyes met mine across the table. "Silvio Armeni, Reginald Sylvester and Kian Ahearne assumed their vision for the Board nearly 2,000 years ago. They wrestled control away from the East Slav vampires in Kievan Rus who attempted to govern at the time. They've set the rules we as the Council follow and enforce today."
"The Cliff Notes history lesson was nice, but it didn't answer my question. Where is Silvio and Reginald today?" I demanded. Swallowing another drink of liquid courage, I dragged in a deep breath and tried to force my lips into something that resembled a smile. "Nigel, I need to know."
Nigel laughed bitterly. He appraised me for a moment before giving Stefan a meaningful look. "She is so much like Armes, Stefan. Armes amused Kian with her impetuous nature. She was a fascinating creature. Headstrong, smart and curious. It's likely what kept her alive as long as it did."
"And it is also likely the catalyst in her early demise. Josephine is all of those things you described, Nigel. You understand why I fear for her safety?" Stefan queried. His tense shoulders slumped over the chipping formica.
Nigel leaned back in the booth. The worn vinyl squeaked under his shifting weight. "Yes. I fully understand and can feel your genuine concern for her. You have bonded with her. A calculated and dangerous move, my friend.” He focused back to me. “Josephine, to answer your question, Silvio and Reginald issued a written statement 20 years ago that they no longer wanted to handle the monotony of politics. It went on to describe their growing desire to still govern, yet longed for the tranquility seclusion had to offer. They appointed Kian as the solitary member who would pass their deciding wishes along to the Council to be carried out."
"That's a tidy little set up for Kian, isn’t it? For the last 20 years it's been radio silence from two of the founding Board members. And no one questions this?" I tried to make sense of the logic. How had Kian pulled this coup off? Not just once, but twice if you counted the East Slavs.
Stefan took my hand. His large palm rested against mine as his fingers wrapped around my hand, completely swallowing it. "Who exactly are we to interrogate, vackra? Kian? If we question him, we either need to be prepared to go to battle or to die."
"All along I thought American politics were bad. What you have is comparable to a dictatorship," I marveled. "The only difference is that Kian pretends the other founding fathers are kicking their heels up and getting away from it all. It’s fucking absurd."
I exchanged glasses with Stefan and drank his with renewed vigor. The strong alcohol quickly numbed my mind. It was preferable to logical thought right now.
"Yes." Nigel agreed. We all sat in silence. The low roar of the bar filled the lull of our conversation. I took in the other patrons, suddenly envious of their lives. They drank their beer, dealing with their ill-fated love lives, issues with their job. How many of them had a lunatic for a father? How many had to watch their back, waiting to feel the knife sunk into their flesh?
