House of Cards

CHAPTER 18

Cara led them into a Rockefeller Center conference room, then slipped out again, leaving one of every sentient race there. Kaimana was waiting for them, his black eyes very large and drinking in the low light greedily.

Daisani took the lead, easily confident. "Strength in numbers. What a very human sentiment, Kaimana."

"It is." The selkie got to his feet as his five guests fanned out to take seats at a round conference table. Janx and Daisani chose the chairs closest to Kaimana without argument from the others; even at a table without a head there were positions of power. Margrit sat on Janx’s right, across from Daisani, whose mouth quirked curiously at her selection.

A surge of satisfaction burst through her at the vampire’s faint change of expression. She upset the expected balances and alliances at the table by claiming that seat. Alban sat beside her, though beside was misleading. Margrit could stretch her arms out fully without touching either of the men she sat between.

Malik, mouth held tight with displeasure, took the final chair, allied neither with his employer nor managing to sit directly across from Kaimana as the effective second head of the circular table. Alban held that spot, his mass great enough even in human form that Malik seemed reluctant to make an issue of the fact.

"And we have a human to thank for it." Kaimana bowed toward Margrit, whose mouth curved wryly. Four other pairs of eyes turned to her, the knowledge of what she was and was not legible in their gazes. Human. A woman. A lawyer. A pawn. The only one of any of those things in that room, though she had no doubt both dragon and vampire would cheerfully assure her that everyone was a pawn.

"We’ve respected the laws of the Old Races for centuries." Kaaiai’s Pacific lilt made his words into music, but inexorability lay beneath them. "Even slipped into exile, into non-existence, when the only way to retain our numbers was to cross a forbidden barrier and interbreed with the human race."

Margrit, beneath her breath, asked, "Do you all sound like this in your native languages, or is this just courtroom talk?"

Alban chuckled and Kaaiai broke off, frowning. "I’m sorry?"

"Nothing." Margrit put a brainless smile into place and shook her head at the selkie. "Sorry. Go ahead."

He frowned a moment longer, while Janx and Daisani exchanged amused glances, then began again with the same pomposity. "We are tired of living in shadows, unacknowledged among the only peoples who might know us for who we truly are."

"And what are you?" That came from Janx, his voice unusually measured. "Half-breeds? Quadroons? Octoroons?" He took his gaze from Kaimana long enough to wink at Margrit, whose hands flexed against the tabletop of their own will. Janx looked pleased with himself as he returned his attention to Kaaiai. "How far does the blood dilute and remain true, selkie lord?"

"Half-blooded children are full selkie," Kaimana answered. "Born to either skin, able to change when and where they will. Quarter-blood breeds true half the time, with a stronger propensity for it among women. We don’t know why. The chances of being a skin-changer fall off dramatically after that. We’ve kept very careful breeding records for centuries. Most of my people are close to full-blooded."

"And how many are you?" Daisani steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, lips pursed with curiousity. "I tasted five hundred heartbeats this evening alone." He unlaced his fingers, gesturing dismissively. "I have no dispute regarding your worthiness to call yourselves one of the Old Races. Your grace, your eyes, the scent of your blood…the vampires name you purebloods."

Malik inhaled, a sharp soft sound, and even Alban stirred with surprise. Triumph, quickly tamped, flashed in Kaimana’s dark eyes as he inclined his head toward Daisani, whose expression remained pleasantly neutral as he awaited the answer to his question. Margrit wet her lips, breath caught in anticipation as she realized what he’d done. Whatever numbers the selkies laid claim to, Daisani’s recognition of their legitimacy played him into the position of their first supporter, a political move that would not, could not, go unremarked. Only Janx seemed unimpressed by Daisani’s pre-emptive move, his jade gaze slipping from vampire to selkie and back again.

"Thank you. Tonight’s showing is perhaps a single percent of our strength. Perhaps not so much as that."

"Fifty thousand…?" Margrit didn’t realize she’d asked the question until all eyes turned her way. "How’s that even possible? I thought you’d been decimated."

Humor sparkled across Kaaiai’s face. "Reports of our demise were greatly exaggerated." His amusement faded and he turned his attention to the other curious members of the quorum. "We lived at the edges of the sea, at river deltas and lake sides. Our natural habitat was the most appealing land for humans to settle. We had time to see and appreciate the changes that humanity could force on us, all unknowing. We began retreating long before our numbers fell as far as the histories were led to believe."

"You lied." The two words were almost a question. Incredulous, Alban shifted forward in his seat. "You lied to the memory-keepers?"

"We permitted you to believe the obvious and inevitable had happened," Kaimana allowed, then lifted a broad shoulder in a shrug. "We lied.

"Our numbers did fall. Further than we even imagined they might, far enough that we saw no other recourse than to mix with the coastal humans in order to save ourselves. We kept apart, living in small villages, struggling to retain our old ways of life. Human blood gave us our numbers, but our hearts belonged to the Old Races. We abided by those traditions, living in exile from both humanity and you."

"Until?" Janx spoke again, evidently more to take the table than any need to prompt Kaimana.

"Until Margrit Knight named herself our cousin, and gave us heart by telling us there was strength in numbers."

Margrit snorted loudly enough to gain the group’s attention again. "What? That never occurred to you before? There’s fifty thousand of you, and you didn’t think, gee, we could strong-arm our way back into soci …You didn’t," she said in amazement at Kaimana’s faint, rueful smile. "You really didn’t? What’s wrong with you? That’s not-" she shot a quick, bemused glance at the heavens "-human."

Reversing her gaze, she looked around the table at the five representatives of different races. "How do you do it? How do you live beside us, breed with us, and still retain this alien innocence that thinks so differently than we do?" She gestured at Alban, then at Kaimana. "Gargoyles don’t lie, selkies don’t think of strength in numbers, God knows what dragons and vampires and djinn, oh my, don’t do. None of you make war? None of you think in terms of anything but isolated survival? How’ve you lived this long?"

"You’re quick to judge, Margrit." Alban’s voice was edged with hurt recrimination.

She rose to her feet, exasperation driving her to motion. "This isn’t judgment, it’s bewilderment. I honestly don’t understand how you can live beside humans and not learn from them, unless you’re deliberately keeping your heads in the sand. God forbid I should hold them up as shining examples, but look at those two." She snapped her fingers toward Janx and Daisani. "Like it or not, they live in the human world. They manipulate and power-play and hoard and make the best of their situations, and they’re successful at it. The rest of you, what are you doing? Pretending the nasty humans will go away and leave you to your ancient rituals and pastoral ways of life if you only hide your eyes and pretend you can’t see them for long enough? That’s like hoping all the wars will stop if you don’t read the news about them. It’s possible, but it’s also possible a million dollars will rain down on my head tomorrow. It’s just not very damn likely. Don’t," she added, noting an impish gleam in Daisani’s eyes, "get any ideas."

He actually thrust his lower lip out in a laughing pout. "Oh, very well. If you insist." Margrit sank back into her seat, explosion over, as Daisani continued. "Miss Knight is right, of course. We as a group of peoples do not participate in the human world, nor announce ourselves with such firmness as you have, Kaaiai." He turned his palms up in invitation. "What do you intend to accomplish here by doing so?"

"Legitimacy amongst the Old Races. Allies, if necessary." The air in the room seemed to tighten, Janx, Malik and Daisani each hearing what they wanted to in Kaimana’s words. Only Alban remained unaffected, watching the selkie leader with a calm expression. "A reconsidering of our traditional way of life," Kaaiai stated more quietly. "A new look at the exiling offenses and whether they are…relevant concerns in the modern world."

Another wave of anticipation washed through the room. Janx and Daisani meeting eyes and holding some wordless consultation within the space of a moment. Margrit watched them curiously, wondering at the weight of unspoken communication there. Janx’s expression changed minutely, a flicker of eyelashes, no more, before Daisani turned his attention back to Kaaiai as if nothing had passed between dragon and vampire.

To her right, at the same time, Alban’s chin lifted, faint motion that spoke volumes from a creature born to stone. Beyond him, Malik stiffened, the one reaction out of four that struck Margrit as actively negative.

"Are we five to make this decision?" Alban asked. "Without regard for what the rest of our people might say?"

"I wouldn’t complain, Stoneheart," Janx said. "This is to your advantage. I think your lawyer would advise you to accept responsibility here and now, and deal with the consequences later." He arched an eyebrow at Margrit, who sighed.

"Of course that’s what I’d advise. I don’t think he’ll do it, though. Self-promotion isn’t exactly his strong suit. How many gargoyles are nearby? I know Biali."

"There’s an enclave in Boston," Janx said, after Alban’s silence stretched out. "Half a dozen or more. One or two in Philadelphia. Several in Chicago, in D. C. A few in Atlanta. One in Baltimore, heaven knows why. There are others, but those are the closest. The oldest is in Chicago."

"Remind me to ask you, not him, if I ever need to know where dragons are," Margrit said to Daisani, then turned her attention back to Janx, who smiled toothily at her. "Oldest as in older than Alban, or oldest of the others available?"

"Both. Biali’s older than Korund, for that matter."

"Biali," Alban growled, "chooses passion over intelligence. He should not be trusted at a quorum."

"Speaks the gargoyle who left Europe over a broken heart," Janx said. Alban curled a fist and Margrit stretched to put her hand on it, wondering too late if the gesture would be welcome. His fingers tensed, then relaxed, and she withdrew her hand again, hoping his response was a positive sign. "Find a suitable replacement or carry the onus of deciding yourself, Stoneheart. Malik seems to have no qualms about thrusting himself into a position of power."

"Malik is not exiled among his own people."

"That was a lot more diplomatic than I would’ve been," Margrit said beneath her breath. Malik, silent throughout the proceedings, bared his teeth at her as if he were a dragon or a vampire, not a djinn at all.

"Three days hence," Daisani said with finality. "It’s enough time for Malik and Alban to establish themselves or find other proxies before we gather and decide the fate of the selkies. Margrit, you’ll be our moderator." Delight warmed his thin face, making him almost handsome. "Our token human." His smile faded and he rose to his feet. "Now. If you have a moment, Margrit, I’d like to speak with you."

At her side, Alban exhaled as though defeated, and when she looked at him he was moving away, the others following suit. She clenched her teeth and waited for the room to clear before falling in step with Daisani, who remained silent until they left the building. "You lied to me, Margrit."

Margrit locked her knees against collapse, and nodded, wishing Daisani had chosen a stretch of ground nearer the ice rink to confront her. She didn’t trust her legs to hold her, and the chance to lean against the railing would have been welcome. Alban walked several feet ahead of them, less a pillar of support than she might wish. "Only a little." Her voice was scratchy and she cleared her throat, managing a smile. "I was sort of impressed with myself."

Daisani’s expression wiped her smile away. "How much of this were you aware of?"

"Kaimana wouldn’t tell me what he was planning. He wanted to talk to you and Janx, but I didn’t know he was going to have an army of loyal followers show up. He thought if I knew what was going to happen, you’d consider it a betrayal." She laughed. "And that that would be bad for me."

"He’s right. How do I know you’re telling me the truth now? You’ve successfully lied to me once already."

"I really didn’t. I just didn’t tell you everything, and you weren’t expecting that. I wouldn’t dare try again. Scout’s honor." She held up three fingers, then folded them down again, hand trembling. "You were still fastest off the mark. Accepting their legitimacy. Offering yourself as an ally." Her voice steadied as she spoke, edge of hysteria fading from it. "Or a leader."

"Not at all." Daisani shook his head once, then abruptly turned and walked away. Margrit cast one wild glance at Alban, then ran a few steps to catch up with the vampire. "Our peoples don’t accept leaders from other groups. At best I might be a power behind the throne."

"I’d think that would suit you just fine. Either way, the economic potential is-"

"Staggering." Daisani’s typical front of good cheer re-emerged. "Oh, not within the context of human society, perhaps, not really. But as a position of power within the Old Races, for accomplishing anything I might want done…"

"Like what?" Margrit demanded, boldness overruling wisdom. "What do you want, Mr. Daisani?"

He stopped and peered the scant distance down at her. "Even if I were inclined to answer that, my dear Miss Knight, I wouldn’t do so with your gargoyle lover hanging about. I trust we’re not going to have a repetition of today’s fatuous behavior in the future, are we?"

Margrit swallowed down a panic-induced apology, hoping understatement would prove more effective-and dignified-than gibbering promises. "No."

"Very well." He nodded as if satisfied, then gave her a brief smile. "Do pass on my regards to your housemates, Margrit. Lovely girl, that Cameron Dugan. Strong and vital." He strode across the plaza, covering distance rapidly for a man his size, and didn’t look back.

Margrit stared after him, alone for a handful of seconds before Alban joined her, lines etched deep around his mouth. She transferred her gaze to him, then jerked it back to Daisani. "Did he just threaten to eat Cameron?"

"I doubt he’d put it that way," Alban said, but grimaced when Margrit shot an accusing glare at him. "Yes."

"How do you kill a vampire?"

"What?" Alban lost his usual aplomb and gaped at her.

"How do you kill a vampire?" Her voice came out high and thready, but full of anger. "Is it really holy water and wooden stakes? Garlic? Silver crosses?"

"Margrit, can you think of anything that wouldn’t die if you thrust a stake through its heart?" A hint of humor colored the question, but faded quickly. "Wood isn’t the important part. I don’t know if you’ve seen how fast he can move."

"I have. So it’s managing a kill shot that’s important, rather than the specific tool used?" Margrit set her jaw, watching Daisani, little more than a silhouette in the distance, climb into his chauffeured Town Car. "That’s good to know."

"Margrit, you’re not going to-"

"Like I could. I’m not kidding myself. Still, I’d rather know he’s got a vulnerability than be completely unarmed if I need the information." She folded her arms around her ribs, scowling at the gargoyle. "So you’re talking to me now."

His expression grew wary. "Janx told me how you’d solved your dilemma with Malik. Margrit, I’d intended-"

"It doesn’t matter." She pressed her lips together until they hurt. "It doesn’t make any difference, Alban. I did what I had to."

"What you thought you had to."

She shrugged. "There’s no difference."

He caught his breath and held it a moment, then exhaled deeply. "Perhaps not. And you’re now more embroiled with our people than ever before."

"I’ve been telling you all along that there was no way out. I wasn’t even looking for a way out. That was all you. It’d be easier if I’d never met you, but I did, and now I know the things I do, and there’s no going back." Margrit thinned her mouth again. "Like I said, you guys aren’t much of a fairy tale. You can’t undo me knowing about you."

"But the life you had…. I am saying this poorly." Alban’s voice deepened. "Perhaps I made mistakes in trying to protect you the way I did. But I found there was hope in me, when Janx told me of your decision. I…do not want you to leave my life."

A sharp combination of relief and annoyance danced through her. "Fine way you have of showing it." She knotted her arms around herself more thoroughly, staring up at the gargoyle as guilt and apology appeared on his features. Her acid faded and she stepped forward to put her arms around him instead of herself.

The cool scent of stone enveloped her as he closed his arms around her shoulders, carefully. His heartbeat, slow and steady, sounded like the pulse of the world, never-ending and reassuring. The tightness of tears congregated in Margrit’s chest, making it hard to breathe. It was easy to remember sensuality when she thought of Alban’s touch, but his solid presence brought safety, as well. For a few moments she felt as though she was shut away from the world, left in a warm dark cocoon where exhausted emotion could rest a while. Alban, it seemed, could stand there forever, holding her safe against all comers, and she had never been so glad for refuge.

"Tell me." His low voice tickled her ear where it was pressed against his chest. "Tell me what’s happened that I’ve missed, Margrit. Tell me why…" He hesitated, then murmured, "Tell me why your detective has left you."

Margrit muffled a rough sound against Alban’s suit jacket. "My boss is dead. Russell Lomax. He was murdered yesterday morning, and Janx probably had it done, because Russell used to put Janx’s men away on Daisani’s say-so." The words, once started, flowed freely, her speech almost too quick with misery for even Margrit to follow. "And there’s no obvious connection between Janx and Daisani except the tiny, tiny detail that they’re Old Races and ancient rivals, which I can’t exactly tell Tony. So he’s furious with me, and I can’t blame him. Even if I could, how the hell do you put people like them in jail? Not only is it probably physically impossible, they’re not human. Applying our justice system to them is facetious."

Alban set her back a few inches, his hands on her shoulders as he studied her. "Even when they commit crimes in the human world?"

"I don’t have a good answer for that. There ought to be some kind of balance, some kind of price, but knowing what I know, I can’t see throwing them in one of our prisons and tossing out the key. It’d be like slapping handcuffs on a shark for eating a surfer."

"Sharks aren’t rational, thinking creatures capable of making moral decisions."

Margrit gave another sharp laugh. "Haven’t you been trying to impress on me that your people have different sets of morals from humans? That you don’t actually think like we do?"

"And haven’t you been trying to convince me that the only way for us to survive is to become more like you?"

Margrit dropped her head forward, thumping it against his chest. "I think if you want to survive as a people you’re going to have to do something as drastic as the selkies have done. I don’t know if that means becoming us. It shouldn’t. They seem to have kept their sense of selves and their way of thinking. There’s got to be a point in between. A place where…" Her shoulders dropped with defeat. "A place where it’s not impossible for you and I to try being together."

"It’s not impossible." Alban lowered his voice further and touched Margrit’s chin, lifting her gaze to his. "If you can forgive my foolishness, Margrit…"

"Alban." Janx’s voice cut across the distance. "I do hate to disturb your little lovers’ chat, but my liegeman has disappeared again, and I’d like you to find him."