Lover At Last(83)

So he could only assume she was an independent contractor, hired for a specific purpose.

Except why was she still on his own property?

He checked the digital readout on the lower right-hand corner of the screen. Four thirty-seven. Ordinarily, hardly a time to rejoice, as it was still too early to go out. But daylight saving time had kicked in, and that human invention to manipulate the sun actually worked in his favor six months out of the year.

It was going to be a little hot out there, but he would deal with it.

Assail dressed quickly, pulling on a Gucci suit along with a white silk shirt, and grabbing his double-breasted camel-hair overcoat. His pair of Smith & Wesson forties were the perfect accessories, of course.

Gunmetal was forever the new black.

Grabbing his iPhone, he frowned as he touched the screen. A call had come in from Rehvenge, along with a message.

Striding out of his room, he summoned the leahdyre of the Council’s voice mail and listened to it on the way downstairs.

The male’s voice was all about the no-bullshit, and one had to respect that: “Assail, you know who this is. I’m calling a Council meeting, and I want not just a quorum, but perfect attendance—the king’s going to be there, and so will the Brotherhood. As the eldest surviving male of your bloodline, you’ve been on the Council roster, but recorded as inactive because you stayed in the Old Country. Now that you’re back, it’s time to start going to these happy little get-togethers. Call me with your schedule, so I can work out a time and location for everyone.”

Coming to a halt before the steel door that blocked off the bottom of the stairs, he put the phone in one of his inside pockets, unlatched the lock, and slid the way open.

The first floor was dark because of the filtering shades that blocked out all light, and the huge open space of the living room appeared like a cavern in the earth rather than a glass cage perched on the shores of a river.

From the direction of the kitchen, he heard sizzling and smelled bacon.

Walking in the opposite direction, he went into the burled walnut–paneled office he’d given his cousins to use and entered his twenty-square-foot walk-in humidor. Inside, the temperate air, which was kept at a precise seventy degrees, and a humidity of exactly sixty-nine percent, was perfumed with the tobacco from dozens and dozens of boxes of cigars. After due consideration of his lineup, he took three Cubans.

The Cubans were the best, after all.

And were another thing Benloise provided him with—for a price.

Sealing up his precious collection, he reemerged into the living room. The sizzling had stopped, the subtle sounds of silver on china replacing the hiss.

As he came around into the kitchen, his two cousins were sitting on bar stools at the granite counter, the pair of them eating in precisely the same rhythm, as if there was some drumbeat, unheard by others, that regulated their movements.

They both looked up at him with the same angle to their heads.

“I’m leaving for the evening. You know how to reach me,” he said.

Ehric wiped his mouth. “I’ve tracked down three of those missing dealers—they’re back in action, ready to move. I’m making a delivery at midnight.”

“Good, good.” Assail quickly ran a check of his guns. “Try to find out where they were, will you?”

“As you wish.”

The pair of them bowed their heads in a joint bob, and then went back to their breakfasts.

No food for him. Over by the coffeepot, he picked up an amber-colored vial and unscrewed the top. The lid had a little silver spoon attached to it, and the thing made a tinkling noise as he filled its belly with coke. One hit per nostril.

Wakey-wakey.

He took the rest with him, putting it into the same pocket as his cigars. It had been a while since he’d fed and he was beginning to feel the effects, his body lagging, his mind prone to a fuzziness that was unfamiliar.

The downside to the New World? Harder to find females.

Fortunately, uncut cocaine was a good substitute, at least for the time being.

Slipping a pair of nearly opaque-lensed sunglasses on, he went through the mudroom and braced himself at the back door.

Throwing the thing open—

Assail recoiled and groaned at the onslaught, his weight weaving in his loafers: In spite of the fact that ninety-nine percent of his skin was covered by multiple layers of clothing, and even with the dark glasses, the fading light in the sky was enough to make him falter.

But there was no time to give in to biology.

Forcing himself to dematerialize into the woods behind his house, he set about tracking the woman in the near darkness. It was easy enough to locate her. She was on the retreat, moving with speed on those cross-country skis, winding her way through the fluffy pine boughs and the skeletal oaks and maples. Extrapolating from her trajectory, and applying the same internal logic she had demonstrated on the security tapes from the previous morning, he was soon out ahead of her, anticipating right where her…