Chapter Nine
Later that night, Aubrey stared at Morshiel across the ornate Louis XIV boxwood table. They sat in a makeshift suite of luxury in an underground cavern running below the Tube line—a network of caves which had remained secret and uncharted by Blaise and the Literati. Aubrey found the domicile as bizarre as its chief occupant. He’d studied Morshiel for centuries, but he’d never quite grasped his character. How was it possible for decadence and beauty and decay and sheer charisma to blend so seamlessly?
Aubrey kept telling himself he was far superior to Morshiel in strength, intelligence and moral fortitude, but then he’d fall under the mesmeric power of Morshiel’s compelling eyes…
…and he’d have to remind himself of his superiority all over again.
“I’m still not sure I understand what’s brought you here,” Morshiel said, his tone implying he really could care less one way or another.
“I would think it was obvious,” Aubrey said. “I want the woman. I’m willing to do whatever it takes in order to have her. She is power personified.”
Morshiel gave a viperfish smile. “And you’re willing to betray my clone in order to have her? Yes, I see that I state the obvious. What will I get from the deal?”
“Nothing much. Just the service of the most brilliant mind in the history of western civilization. Me, in other words.” He smiled into Morshiel’s laughing eyes. “Then there is the crystal, Blaise’s demise and the full and complete power of Sanctuary, the underworld, all of London, if you choose it.” Aubrey quirked up one brow in a subtle challenge.
Morshiel pointed his finger significantly at Aubrey and began to laugh. “I like you.”
“He lies, Morshiel,” a harsh whisper cut through Morshiel’s mirth, originating from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Morshiel made a hissing sound. “Quiet.”
Aubrey followed the direction of Morshiel’s sharp gaze and saw the demon—or ghost, as Morshiel called her—hovering like a dark blue and gray mist before a large, elaborately carved armoire. Morshiel looked back at Aubrey, his gaze warm. Aubrey had been surprised to learn Blaise’s clone never retracted his fangs, even in the midst of polite conversation. Aubrey found that habit both unspeakably crude and exciting at once. Blaise had taught them to control their primal instincts. It had always been the Literati’s prime directive. To see a creature that mirrored Blaise almost perfectly, yet who flaunted his bestial nature, was stimulating, for some reason. Perhaps the fact that Morshiel dressed the part of a refined aristocrat only added to his enigmatic charisma.
Morshiel picked up a bronze pitcher. Aubrey’s nose had told him the contents of the pitcher was human blood even before he saw the thick, crimson liquid flowing into the goblet. His refined senses also told him the blood all originated from one human. The amount in the pitcher suggested that human was definitely no longer in the world of the living.
Morshiel offered him a cup. Aubrey nodded his head in thanks but didn’t drink.
“You must forgive Shirian her rudeness,” Morshiel said affably as he sat back in his chair, a picture of confident male ease. Aubrey would have thought that the absence of gleaming, waving black hair would diminish Morshiel’s appearance in comparison to Blaise, but he was mistaken. Morshiel’s face was so compelling that the lack of hair only made Aubrey twice as aware of the power of his unusual eyes. Morshiel was dressed—inexplicably—as a seventeenth century French courtier. The velvets, lace and rich brocades pleased Aubrey’s sensual nature. Blaise was such a beautiful man to behold, and Morshiel was his twin, after all. It had always pained him to see Blaise treat his appearance with such disregard. Morshiel, on the other hand, seemed all too aware of his raw masculinity and abundant good looks.
His clear lack of vitessence was repulsive, on the other hand. Aubrey had been mortal once, however, and he recalled all too well what it was to admire a creature’s beauty with no obvious evidence of either the grossness or refinement of the soul.
Aubrey shrugged and toyed with his heavy goblet. “Shirian comes by her suspicion honestly, at least. Blaise is your mortal enemy, I am his sworn friend, and Shirian is an Egyptian princess who was fed the milk of subterfuge as a newborn,” Aubrey said, repeating what Morshiel had told him minutes ago about the other presence in the underground chamber with them. In truth, he knew for a fact that Shirian’s lust for power was nurtured in the very womb of her witch mother, but he didn’t betray his intimate knowledge of the cunning demon to Morshiel. He’d summoned and communed with the demon on multiple prior occasions, although he had not yet successfully been able to subjugate her entirely to his will. In fact, he’d only located the secret chamber with Shirian’s help. Her dramatics at the present moment in regard to pretending suspicion and animosity toward him for Morshiel’s sake amused Aubrey.
He held many cards that neither Blaise nor Morshiel were meant to see.
“I would be shocked if Shirian didn’t warn you against me. I assume she only echoes your doubts, but you’re too much of a gentleman to put it so bluntly,” Aubrey finished.
If a smile could be lethal, Morshiel’s was. Aubrey blinked. He’d come prepared for Morshiel’s power, but he’d underestimated him. It kept creeping up on him unaware.
“I’m glad you recognize it,” Morshiel said. “You seem a gentleman yourself. How is it that you put up with my clone? He’s a savage.”
“They say opposites attract.”
It wasn’t until Aubrey saw the gleam of interest in Morshiel’s eyes that he realized he’d been flirting.
“If you are so attracted to my clone, why seek to betray him?
“I’ve never before had a reason to betray Blaise. I don’t do it easily now. But I’m a scientist as well as a magician. I’ve been investigating the Sevliss princes and their clones in depth for over three centuries now.” He paused, fiddling with his goblet, deep in thought. “I have reason to believe that a great change is on the horizon for you and Blaise—a magnificent opportunity for you and me. My magic has hinted at it; the appearance of the crystal heralds the change…as does Isabel Lanscourt. The stars are aligning, so to speak. The time has come to act.”
He paused dramatically, noting that he had Morshiel’s full, focused attention.
“Despite my fascination with the Sevliss princes and their clones, Blaise keeps what he knows rather close to the chest, I’m afraid,” Aubrey continued. “I long to travel, to meet the other princes and their clones in person, but I am bound by some unknown magic to stay in the general vicinity of Britain. It appears Blaise’s territory is my own, as well. Perhaps you are familiar with this dictate?”
Morshiel waved his hand irritably, stirring the lace at his wrist. “It is the same with the Scourge and me. That is Usan’s work, curse his magic.”
Aubrey’s eyes narrowed. “Usan…the Magian? One of the beings that watches over Blaise and you?”