Page 10 of The Rogue's Curse

He bolted down the hall and into Julian’s office, which was slightly smaller than Olivia’s. They’d arranged the computer to face a handsome wooden bookshelf, which was a marginally more impressive view than the dingy white walls on the other three sides of the room. Julian had pulled another chair closer, which he offered to Olivia. Paris crouched behind them as the screen illuminated.

Smiling from the monitor, with a name labeled Ophelia Klein, was a lovely copper-skinned woman with braids pinned back from her face. “Thank you for taking my call on such shortnotice,” she said. “I’m contacting youon behalf of Lady Demirci.”

His mouth went dry. “Is everything all right?”

“That’s not for me to decide, Mr. Rossignol, though your current circumstances lead me to say no, everything is not all right. After Lady Demirci was informed of your failure to kill Carrigan Shea, she has decided to intervene more directly,” Ophelia said.

He winced. Her voice was even and matter-of-fact, but it felt as if he’d dropped his pants and heard a disappointed oh.Olivia, ever the loyal cheerleader, said, “It wasn’t a failure, it was—”

Julian touched her hand lightly and said, “How does she intend to intervene?”

“We are dispatching one of our top investigators to assist you.I’ve sent Ms. Pierce the flight information, but you should expect him to arrive in approximately two hours local time. Mr. Volkov will be your liaison to the Crown. He will be authorized to connect you with appropriate resources, as well as to take decisive action without seeking further approval.”

He stared. “And when you say decisive action, you mean that he can kill.”

“That is precisely what I mean,” she said, that chipper demeanor never faltering. “He is both permitted and encouraged to do so as necessary. We hope that with his help, you will be able to clean up this situation before it creates any further distress.”

When the screen went dark, Olivia slowly turned to stare at him, her brown eyes wide with fear. “Did they just send us an assassin?”

“It sounds that way,” he said.

Suddenly, Olivia surged out of her seat. “I thought he was like…a consultant or something. Shit. I need to straighten up and get him an office and—”

“Olivia,” he said firmly. “This place could be a literal abattoir, and it would still be more impressive than the shitshow that he’s going to walk into.”

Her face pinched in an adorable frown. “I’m still going to get a room ready.”

“Suit yourself, cherie,” he said, shaking his head. She was a whirlwind, convinced if she stayed busy enough, she could stave off the worst from happening.After she left, he glanced at Julian, who looked somber. “Is this a good thing or a bad thing?” Paris asked.

“I don’t know,” Julian said. “But we have to do something.”

Paris nodded. “I’ll make sure our reports are in order to share with him.” He excused himself and returned to his office, where he had spent way too much time over the last month. For endless hours, even when the rest of the court was sleeping through the day, he stared at maps and lists and pictures, trying to figure out the path to victory. Every day, he came up short.

This was not a battle like the Midnight War. The Shieldsmen had been capable foes who had spilled plenty of Auberon blood over the years. But they hadn’t killed humans along the way. Carrigan Shea and his monstrous court killed as they pleased, and he was entangling more and more people into his court. Some were enthralled, while many more were turned. He was a hurricane of collateral damage.

The newly formed Durendal had to be exceedingly careful. After Shea manipulated Jonas Wynn into doing the dirty work of attacking the Auberon strongholds, he’d gotten his hands on files and databases that led to many of the Auberon connections. That was how the Night Rose clinic had been destroyed, along with their clubs and even a handful of completely mundane businesses. They had to assume that all their secrets were revealed. That exposure forced them into hiding, to be careful in a way they’d never had to be before. And their attempt to assassinate Shea had certainly not earned them any goodwill.

This place had been a lucky find, paid for by pooling together some of the savings of the stubborn few who remained. They had done their best to renovate the aged complex, though preparing for battle had taken priority over interior design. But this was no way for them to live long-term. Those who were not in the field fighting and tracking every night were holed up in the compound for safety. They were surviving, but if this persisted, they would eventually crack.

As it was, many of their allies had followed Eduardo. He felt proud that most of the Shroud had stayed by his and Julian’s side, but they had lost Dragomira and Jean-Michel. While Draga was fiercely loyal to Eduardo, Jean-Michel had brushed against death’s cold shroud much too closely, it seemed. After recovering from being nearly killed for the third time in as many months, Jean-Michel had apologized and said he treasured his head enough to leave the fight. Paris had been particularly sad to see Elsa Wolfe and her wife, Verity, leave town. Her talents with blood brewing might have been useful, if for no other reason than to boost morale.

But he couldn’t force anyone to stay any more than Eduardo could force him to follow. At least they’d been able to recruit a few new vampires, including several loyal veravin who had been itching for their chance to be turned for years.

Still…all these efforts weren’t enough. And if the Crown could get them through this, then he would sing their praises and silently nurse his wounded pride.

Shortly before midnight, he showered, shaved, and dressed in the best of his surviving clothing. When he emerged from his room, he found Nikko and Olivia chatting quietly in the hall. His heart ached, and he brushed past them while shoving down his frustrations.

“Paris!” she called. “Sasha and Kristina went to pick up Mr. Volkov at the airport. They should be here in fifteen minutes.” With that, she rose for a kiss on the forehead from Nikko, and scurried down the hall muttering about coffee and drinks.

Nikko was already dressed for battle, with body armor under his shirt and a holster loaded with stakes across his back.Of all of them, Nikko seemed the least bothered by their situation. He worried about Olivia, but killing unruly vampires was one of Nikko Baudelaire’s greatest joys. As long as he could fall into bed with his clever human paramour before sunrise, Nikko was perfectly content to hunt every night.

“Phoebe and I are taking bets on who gets a kill tonight,” Nikko said, sweeping his long hair back in a ponytail. “What’s your prediction?”

“Impress me,” Paris said.

At that, Nikko chuckled. “That’s a hard request.” He started to walk away, then turned back with a smile. “I had another idea. Misericorde.”

“Mercy blade,” Paris said. “Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. And I don’t feel particularly merciful toward Shea.” Since they had splintered from the Auberon, their tiny caste of warriors had been unnamed and unmoored. Dominic had wanted to call them the Shroud, as most of them had remained together. But this was something new, and using the old name was a painful reminder of what they had lost. No one liked Paris’s suggestions of Shitstirrers or Deathwish, but they had yet to find a proper title.

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