“Once international travel became quicker and easier,” he continued, “it became Bonarata’s habit to visit every couple of decades. He stopped doing it”—a faint smile crossed Larry’s lips—“about forty years ago.”
He quit sounding like the voice-over in a documentary for a moment to add, “I did some research on Bonarata after our visit to Prague. Called a few friends in Italy. I have quite a file on him. I think a psychiatrist would have a field day.”
He cleared his throat and resumed his storytelling. “Most often, Bonarata would announce his visits and require them to stage celebrations as he culled vampires he thought looked to be too powerful. A few of those he kept alive and took for his own use, but mostly he just staked them out in the sun. He also killed promising fledglings. He made sure that none of Marsilia’s people were too loyal to her.”
Larry pursed his lips. “Marsilia put herself in a sort of hibernation—a thing old vampires can do.” He smiled darkly. “We have an eye on one or two who’ve been sleeping for centuries.”
“So does Bran,” Adam said.
“Maybe I will compare notes with him.” Larry returned to his story. “Marsilia’s people roused her for his visits—but such wakings are only half-effective. It can take an old vampire decades to truly awaken from a hibernation. I have not been able to find out if she did this because she thought she would save her people that way, or if she was just trying to escape the misery of her situation.”
“Interesting that she decided to reawaken now,” said Adam thoughtfully.
Larry smiled at Adam. “Isn’t it just. Starting a decade ago, really. When you came to the Tri-Cities with your pack, making the supernatural community here much, much stronger than it had ever been before.” He looked at me. “You came here about the same time, didn’t you?”
“When did you come to the Tri-Cities?” I asked before he could put those two events together.
Larry just gave me an amused look. When he spoke, he resumed his prior subject. “At other times, Bonarata would conceal his presence, but the goblins always knew. At those times, he would just watch Marsilia’s people—who were primarily under the leadership of Stefan and Andre.” He tapped the table. “You remember Andre, don’t you, Mercy?”
“Of course,” I said.
I’d killed Andre after he set a demon-possessed vampire out to hurt the people I loved. Stefan and Wulfe had conspired to keep my involvement in Andre’s death from Marsilia. Stefan, I think, because he cared about me. Who knew why Wulfe did anything. It was not something that I talked about even now, but it didn’t surprise me that Larry was suspicious.
Larry gave me a thoughtful look. I don’t know what he read on my face, but he returned to his story with a shake of his head. “One or the other of them might have been able to handle the seethe—though neither was someone I’d consider a leader. Together, they were a near disaster. Maybe Marsilia thought it was better that way.” He appeared to consider it.
“But, even so, about forty-five years ago, the vampires organized themselves and seized control of the Tri-Cities’ supernatural community—a control that only waned when Mercy stood on a bridge and claimed us for her own.” He smiled at me with sharp teeth. “We goblins appreciate that more than I’ve told you, I think.”
“You’re welcome?” I said, and his smile widened.
“I always found it odd that the two of them managed that,” said Adam. In answer to my raised eyebrows, he clarified his reasoning. “Stefan’s name in the vampire community is the Soldier, Mercy. Soldiers take orders, they don’t give them. And Andre...”
“I’ve always thought it was Wulfe,” said Larry slowly. Then he spoke more briskly. “But I wasn’t here then. Bonarata came on one of his stealth visits around forty years ago and found that Marsilia’s seethe was thriving, with money and power enough to survive without his support. He disliked that. As you know, the vampires’ hold on our fair cities used to be based on a Mafia-style protection racket.”
“Like ours,” I murmured. “Except we don’t get paid.”
Adam laughed, turned, and kissed me on the mouth. “I knew we forgot something.”
Larry cleared his throat. “Bonarata, in a plan that now sounds strangely familiar, decided to strike terror into the hearts of the nonvampires who were supporting and giving their money to Marsilia’s seethe. He brought in an artifact that he had stored away for a rainy day—the Soul Taker. Obviously time had made him complacent about it, though he wasn’t fool enough to take it up himself. It was the right tool for the job, because it does hunt down folk with a little, just a little, magic in their blood. No one knows why.”
“Zee thinks that it is collecting sacrifices for some ancient god,” I said. Though I didn’t go into the gathering souls part of it because I didn’t want to get Larry off track.
Larry grimaced. “That sounds even worse than I thought. At any rate, he sent it off to kill folks, and it did. And some bright person thought to ask one of the more powerful fae, a Gray Lord, for protection. Once she’d had her attention drawn to it, that one of the Gray Lords summoned Siebold Adelbertsmiter.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know if it was a smart move or a stupid one. Neither does she, because she’s dead. At any rate, that news came to Bonarata in some fashion.”
Larry stopped and gave me a hard look. “Mercy, it is important that you know this. I know you think he’s your friend. But no one wants the Dark Smith to get his hands on the Soul Taker.”
“I’ve got that,” I said.
Larry nodded. “Bonarata does not, either. He killed the mortal child the Soul Taker had taken possession of and had one of the goblins drop the body and a replacement artifact on Uncle Mike’s doorstep. Uncle Mike being the only one my goblin could be sure would call Zee to deal with them, instead of stealing the sickle for their own use and leaving Zee still on the hunt.”
Larry gave a little cough. “Uncle Mike called me this morning and let me know that Zee is perturbed none of the goblins told him that he’d been given the wrong sickle. But since I was not here then, he will let matters lie.” He paused.
“If Bonarata pulled the Soul Taker out of play forty-odd years ago,” Adam said, “why did he bring it back now?”
“Higher stakes,” I said. “Getting rid of us is worth the risk of losing control of the artifact.” I looked at Larry. “Even to Zee.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know the Dark Smith stayed,” Larry suggested.