Page 11 of The Storm
The man was, in all ways Max could see, exactly like others of his race. He was fine-featured and attractive. His scent was designed to be alluring to the humans around him. Grigori were perfect predators. Once they touched a human, the man or woman would do nearly anything the Grigori wanted. Often, their victims wept and fought against being rescued.
But Grigori also had a nearly manic energy, a crackling kind of magic that careened out of control. They had all the power of angelic blood with none of the control.
Except for this man.
“What are you?” Max said. “You’re not like the others.”
“There are more of us than you might think.” The man kept his hands in his pockets. “My name is Charles, and Cassius was my sire.”
“Cassius is dead.”
“He is,” Charles said. “Which means that for the first time in my life, my brothers and I are truly free.”
* * *
Max left the bar,following behind both Vilem and Charles, unwilling to let the Grigori out of his sight. He had to admit he was intrigued. Charles was unlike any Grigori Max had ever stalked. He exuded a concentrated focus. Max could see him resisting the advances of the human women who propositioned him. They were drawn to his scent and magic, intoxicated by it, but Charles ignored them. Max could see the effort, and it astonished him. It was the first time in his life he’d seen any Grigori exhibit control.
“You’ll see,” Vilem said. “You’ll see when you meet Josef and the others.”
“Others?” Max asked.
“I allowed Josef to bring two friends with him. None of them have been out of the compound before,” Charles said. “They’re very disciplined, but they need experience around humans if they’re ever going to live anything close to a normal life.”
“Is that your goal?” Max asked. “For them to live a normal life? What does that mean for Grigori?”
“For us?” Charles frowned. “It means not being monsters.”
According to Charles, Grigori whose fathers were dead had free will and could be taught—disciplinedwas the word the Grigori used—to live peacefully. It was a struggle against their nature, but it was possible.
“Those like Josef and his friends are our hope,” Charles said. “They were young when Cassius died. Young enough to have no memory of violence. Their identity has not yet been set. They were willing to live by my rules.”
“What about your brothers who don’t want to live by your rules?”
“They’ve fled Dresden,” Charles said. “Or I killed them.”
Charles and Vilem walked north toward the narrow streets of the Jewish Quarter. They passed a line of quiet restaurants in neat reconstructed buildings and turned right into a narrow residential complex that looked more empty than occupied. There was a small garden on the corner, and graffiti decorated a plywood fence propped against a broken wall. Prague was in a constant state of repair these days.
They entered the courtyard and headed for a set of heavy metal doors that looked like a holdover from the communist era. More graffiti. More plywood. Max went on alert the minute he ducked through the doorway.
Vilem was a lamb. Though Charles seemed legitimate in his manner, all this could be a trap. He brushed a thumb over his wrist, activating histalesm.
“I understand your caution,” Charles said quietly. “But please trust me. I want peace with your people. That’s all I’m looking for.”
“So you say.”
They climbed two flights of stairs, Max keeping them in his sights the whole way.
“You’ll see,” Charles said. “When you meet the young ones, you’ll see. They’re not like the others.”
Charles went right when they reached the second floor and walked halfway down the hall. Max looked around and listened, but he didn’t hear a sound. The complex appeared to be under construction. There were various tools parked in corners, and much of the ragged industrial carpet had been torn up. There were no human voices or scents at all. The whole building felt deserted.
The Grigori knocked twice on a door before he opened it. “Josef?”
There was no answer, and something cold slithered along the back of Max’s neck. An unfamiliar energy lingered in the narrow entryway. He turned and saw a flash of dark hair disappear at the far end of the hallway.
A woman?
Charles walked farther into the flat. “Xavier? Paul?”
