Brooke lounged in the estate's spacious bar area, glass of blooded brandy swirling delicately in one hand. Around her other vampires drifted, the low hum of conversation settling over her ears like a blanket, insulating her in her thoughts. She watched, only partially paying attention, her mind drifting to more troubling matters.
After the showdown in the assembly chamber she still felt the residual tingle of adrenaline from the confrontation, and the small kernel of fear that had been planted in that room. War – something that for the longest time seemed impossible – now loomed on the horizon. Brooke was an expert fighter in the training ring with duelling rods, but she'd never struck a blow in anger. Hopefully if a conflict did erupt the guards would do the fighting.
She didn't want to die.
But then her thoughts darkened further when she thought back to seeing Capper with that tramp. Not long after the assembly she'd spotted the two of them making their way down to the training pits, and the sight had pricked that little angry part of her brain that just couldn't grasp it. She thought she'd made it clear to him that running around with a stranger was no substitute for his duty to the clan, but apparently not.
Even if they hadn't been teetering on the edge of a war with Clan Baelock, he shouldn't have been spending so much time with an interloper from a backward ice-ridden black hole like Iron Hollow. She couldn't be trusted, and if Brooke knew one thing, it was that the girl's story was nothing more than a smokescreen.
Taking a long, slow sip from the brandy, she let it rest against her tongue, the fire burning as her thoughts raced. So what to do? If Capper wasn't going to find out what this stranger wanted then someone else would have to do it for him. The simplest solution would have been to lock the interloper in a cell with the clan's interrogators and wait until she screamed. But that was a little tasteless, and the clans of Veridian Shores had long ago abandoned those barbaric practices.
Shame, she thought wistfully.
But then, how to do it? Some closer surveillance would certainly be a start, but it wouldn't do for an Elder-blood to be creeping around following another. She had better things to do with her time. She needed someone else to do the leg work, but someone who wouldn't go blowing the whistle to the Elders the instant they discovered something incriminating. This needed a delicate hand, and most importantly, she didn't want to throw Capper to the wolves in the process. If she could get this girl out of the picture she could remove his bizarre infatuation. Then maybe he'd see sense.
That left her with a quandary. She sat there for several minutes, dimly registering the ebb and flow of the bar: the groups of Elder-Bloods tucked into dark, smoke-filled corners, their voices humming in the air; the odd off-duty guard making reports and thralls gliding silently back and forth, serving drinks and removing empty glasses.
Then a feline smile split her features when she spotted Finbarr's lumbering bulk enter the room, and an idea occurred to her. The big guard had shed his bolt-thrower, clad in the simple black fatigues of his rank. He moved slowly and carefully between the other vampires, as though he thought he might break anything he collided with. A justifiable concern, perhaps, for someone of his size. He may not have looked like the best informant, but he had one thing that Brooke knew she could use.
She pretended not to notice him as he wandered over to the bar itself, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him glance in her direction. He ordered a beer with a name she didn't recognise, something prevalent among the guards in their rowdier nights, and he slumped into a bar seat with a long sigh of exasperation.
Brooke left it for a few seconds, taking another sip from her brandy, then put her plan into motion. She swivelled to face him, lounging back and leaning one elbow on the bar. With the slightest motion she turned and displayed the slit in the side of her dress that exposed her thigh. Predictably, she saw his eyes flash down for an instant and his face tightened with awkwardness.
"Long night?" she enquired sweetly.
Finbarr took a hasty slug of his beer before he could muster up the courage to respond. "Oh, well...you know, no more than usual. Had perimeter patrol detail."
Brooke could feel her attention wandering already at just the mention of the guard jargon but she forced herself to persevere.
"Time to unwind," she said, raising her glass to him. "So, off duty now?"
"For a little while at least." He shrugged. "What brings you here?"
"I've got a lot to think about."
Finbarr nodded his understanding. "The Baelock thing?"
"Yes, the Baelock...thing," she said. "But more than that. I've been thinking about our new guest – the stray from Iron Hollow."
"Oh yeah," he murmured, taking another gulp of beer. "I've had to do a couple of shifts keeping an eye on her around the mansion."
"And what do you think?"
"I dunno." He lolled his head from side to side. "She doesn't say much to me. It's an easy shift. Just walk about and make sure she doesn't go poking around where she's not allowed. The only person she really talks to is Capper."
"You don't think that's strange?"
"Not my place," he said quickly. "I just do what I'm told."
"Fair enough." Brooke ran a finger delicately around the rim of her glass, letting a few seconds of silence pass between them. Then she locked eyes with the towering guard. "Well, I've got a favour to ask of you, Finbarr."
His eyes widened. "Oh..."
"And you're right, it's not your place to question the Elder-Bloods, but it is mine, and I'll need your help to do it."
"You need me?"
"I do." She smiled disarmingly. "Gliss and Capper have been spending a lot of time together. It's not really appropriate for someone of his status, so I'd like to know why. She's not from our clan and we need to know what she's really doing here, in this city."
"But..." Finbarr looked uncertain. He took a slow drink from the beer and placed it down on the bar, staring at her, his features crumpling in thought. "If she's with Capper he'll find out...won't he?"
"I wouldn't bet on it." She let out a derisive snort. "You might not have noticed but I think he's having too much fun with our new guest. He's not going to figure out anything."
"Oh." Now he looked quite uncomfortable, and Brooke knew what she was about to ask would only compound that feeling. Still, she was willing to bank that a combination of his natural obedience and his attraction to her would see her through.
"Don't worry," she assured him. "This a request from an Elder-Blood. There are no consequences."
"I'm listening."
"I need you to watch them."
"Them?"
"Yes, both of them. When Capper and Gliss are together I need you to keep tabs on what is going on. Whatever they're talking about, whatever she's trying to get from him, I need to know about it. We need to know about it."
"But...my duties in the guard-,"
"I'll deal with that," she said. "As far as the other guards are concerned you've been given orders from an Elder-Blood and that's all there is to it. It's beyond questioning. Do you understand?"
"I do."
"Good." She reached forward and placed a hand on his arm. His body stiffened at her touch and she couldn't help but notice the solid mass of muscle concealed beneath his featureless guard jacket. "Just stay calm and don't let them find out what we're doing. This is important for the security of the clan, Finbarr."
"I understand."
"You're a good man," Brooke told the towering guard. "I don't trust her, and Capper shouldn't either. He's not thinking with his head right now."
"Whatever you need," Finbarr replied, nodding. "What do I do if I find something?"
"Then tell me. Only me. I'll deal with this discretely."
"Alright." He glanced around. "So...when do I start?"
Brooke grinned. "I think you can finish your drink at least."
With that she drained the last of her blooded brandy and placed it gently down. Giving a nod of thanks to the barman she stood, letting her hand rest on Finbarr's brawny shoulder for a moment as she passed behind him. As she strode from the bar she allowed herself a predatory smile. She was certain Gliss's motivations had nothing to do with the well-being of Clan Glaive, and when she proved it that usurping little scruff would be turfed out into the street before she could blink.
Striding from the room with a fresh spring in her step, Brooke made her way from the bar and out into the rolling vastness of the atrium. The chandelier gleamed overhead, illuminating the blaze of Glaive Elder-bloods, and even a handful of Elders themselves deep in humming conversation. Away from the formalities of the assembly chamber she knew alliances would be forged, factions pitted against each other right at the time Glaive needed unity the most.
Now that she'd placed Gliss under some watchful eyes she could turn her attention to getting that unity, one way or another. Casting her eyes over the clientèle she noted quickly that there was no sign of Jocasta, but that didn't matter so much. He was impregnable – she'd have better luck persuading the sun to fall from the sky.
There were other people she might have more chance with. She could see Marshall spreading his bravado to anyone who would listen, and she spotted Isobel – one who might be swayed, along with three or four other sympathetic faces. The powerful presence of an Elder named Brugen thumped in one corner of the room that the others were giving a wide berth. He was tall and slender, with the bearing of a preying mantis. Leaning against one of the support pillars he watched with impassive eyes, deflecting advances from the younger vampires around him.
But there was no sign of Capper anywhere. That didn't surprise her unduly, but she had wondered if now, after his close encounter with the Baelock Clan he might have reviewed his opinion of the politics.
Evidently not.
And she had a grim suspicion as to where he might be instead – chaperoning his new best friend around the mansion no doubt. Perhaps she should have sent Finbarr straight to work rather than letting him idle his time away at the bar.
Shunting her mind from that particular problem, Brooke focused on the one in front of her. She lit a long, satin-black cigarette, inhaling the delicate flavours of rosewood and cinnamon before plunging into the verbal melee.
She might as well have been back in the assembly chamber as the same debates ignited again. Brooke sparred with half a dozen individuals as she drifted toward the Elder in the far corner, fielding furious arguments against inaction, demands to support a retaliation against Baelock, and altogether more subtle inquiries into her stance. Why did she want to keep a dialogue with Glaive's greatest rivals in the city?
With the ease of experience she deflected the questions, neatly skewering the clumsier arguments and wriggling away from the others. Time and again she extracted herself, trying to reach the Elder – the one source of real power in the room.
Before she could close the final distance between herself and Brugen, yet another vampire stepped forward to block her path. A tremor of annoyance shot through her when she looked into Marshall's eyes. He wasn't alone either; he'd dragged Isobel along with him. Hopefully the other Elder-Blood hadn't been foolish enough to fall for Marshall's bluster.
"What is it?" she sighed in exasperation.
"Why hello to you too," Marshall chuckled. "Quite a display you put on in the assembly chamber, Brooke. Never would have taken you for a pacifist."
"And I never would have taken you for a suicidal maniac," she replied smoothly.
Marshall's face darkened. "Is it mania to stand up for our clan?"
"Maybe not, but that's not what you're doing."
"Explain that to me."
Brooke snorted derisively. "I shouldn't have to. Since when did you become a warmongering fool, Marshall? Why are you so hell-bent on fighting it out with Baelock?"
"Because diplomacy is a slow death," he hissed. "The Elders will sit and talk, and talk, and talk. While they do Baelock will just grow, and grow, and grow until they're strong enough to roll over every clan in the city. We should stop them now while we still have a chance. We don't have to do it alone."
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" She gave him a withering look. "I thought diplomacy was a slow death?"
"We could work with others temporarily," he persisted. "Pyre, Greybane, Furick – all of them would give their fangs to stop living in Baelock's shadow."
"I agree it seems strange," Isobel put in softly. Brooke turned her gaze on the other vampire as she continued. "But you have to admit, a temporary alliance would be the logical safeguard against Baelock's aggression."
"Are you hearing yourselves? You think Pyre would work with us?!" Brooke shook her head in amazement. "They hate us. They'd like nothing more than to have Glaive and Baelock destroy each other so they can sneak into the void."
"I'd bet they hate Baelock more than us."
"You can't possibly wager the future of our whole clan on that assumption!" she snarled back.
"It's more of a chance than we have sitting around here being bled dry. Every day that passes without an answer to their insults brings us a day closer to being destroyed anyway. If we can forge some kind of alliance then maybe we can stop Baelock growing stronger." Marshall stepped forward suddenly and grabbed her arm. "Brooke, we need you! You're the diplomat in this place. You can talk anyone into anything. You could bring them around."
She wrenched herself free, her skin tingling from Marshall's touch. "You're delusional, Marshall."
"Am I? Think about this, Brooke. At the Synod all the clans will be there, all of them watching and waiting to see where we'll jump. They're all expecting this Synod to end in a bloodbath and all they care about is surviving it. We can give them another option. That's our best chance of gathering support."
"They'll never agree," Brooke said, looking pleadingly at Isobel for support. "They'll simply see this as a play for us to take over, for us to run Veridian Shores instead of Baelock. It means nothing to them."
"It will mean something to the ones who help us." Isobel shrugged awkwardly. "Brooke, I understand your reservations but...the one thing we are all agreed on is that we cannot face Baelock alone. If they choose to continue on their current path we'll be wiped out."
Indecision twisted in Brooke's mind as she listened. On the face of it Marshall's plan was insane. The animosity that existed between the vampire clans was deep and inborn. They all hated each other equally – the thought of getting even two clans to cooperate was almost unthinkable, never mind three or four.
But then another thought forced its way into her mind. Yes, it was unprecedented for the clans in Veridian Shores to form alliances, but there was more to this... Was it just her instinctive dislike for the other vampire that made her resistant? Right now she couldn't be sure.
For as long as she'd known him Marshall had been a self-serving blow-hard with an arrogant bark and a toothless bite. This was the first time she'd ever actually thought that he believed in what he was saying. Some primal instinct of self-preservation seemed to have kicked in, and now he genuinely thought allying themselves with a gathering of other clans was the best way to protect Glaive.
Brooke wasn't convinced. The vampire clans distrusted one and other universally and many smaller groups had already started killing each other. If the situation with Baelock could be diffused there need be no more power games. She would sooner stick with the one devil they knew rather than dance with several more.
"I..." she struggled for the words. "I'll give it some thought, but I promise nothing. Do you understand? I'm not going to the Synod to gather an army and start a war with Baelock."
"I'm not asking you to." Marshall's shoulders seemed to sag, as though the effort of presenting genuine emotion had left him drained. "Just keep in mind what I said. If we don't push back soon Clan Glaive may not have much of a future left."