Chapter 12: The Importance of Contact

The bartender at The Sanguine Queen didn’t warm up to Kitara immediately, eyes narrowing when she winked and flirted at him in the nights that followed. Through regular eavesdropping and a few choice comments, she learned the reported raids on human facilities weren’t oversights like she’d originally thought. Ostragarn was stealing human tech.

They just didn’t know why.

Storm, for his part, finally got the hint and stopped messaging her. Only then did Kitara begin sending him updates about her findings.

A few nights later, Kitara sat alone in The Sanguine Queen, purified drink in hand. When she’d appeared, Scarlet and Jamal had been present, but the surly vampire quickly made excuses for them to leave. That invitation also clearly did not extend to Kitara.

Even if it did, Kitara wouldn’t have joined them. The territorial power-based hierarchy of Ostragarn made them all suspicious of each other, and Jamal’s skepticism wasn’t unusual. But their coven proved inconvenient at times. Scarlet spoke more carefully with Jamal around, even following his lead on occasion when it came to cagey responses.

Kitara stayed anyway, sipping her drink, and accepting refills from the vampire waitresses with their red eyes and red smiles. She observed the crowd and the Maker’s friends for any semblance of routine—or lack thereof.

When her phone buzzed, she checked it out of habit and frowned. Storm took the hint earlier in the week and stopped bugging her every hour, but it must have been to plan his next move.

Glancing around to ensure no one read over her shoulder, Kitara opened the message.

I’m done with this game of you keeping me in the dark. Either start doing what I ask, or I’ll tell my dad what’s going on and you’ll never work another Sleeper mission in your life. I’m calling you tomorrow around 4 to debrief. You’d better pick up.

Adrenaline-fueled rage surged through Kitara’s limbs, hot and violent, and she barely avoided breaking the glass in her hand. The audacity of the silverblood was bold, even for him. This was untenable. Rather than trusting her expertise and trying to work with her, the man threatened her with his father.

And Cornelius Avensäel was nearly as much an enemy as the Netherlings surrounding Kitara now.

Dark, dangerous power writhed beneath her skin, threatening to erupt, and warning bells sounded in her mind. She had to get it together. She couldn’t lose control here. Kitara shuttered her thoughts and pushed the power down deep. The effort made her vision swim.

She wouldn’t let the darkness of her father’s blood overtake her too. She’d fought too long to let a pretentious silverblood ruin everything now. No, she wouldn’t break over this. She wouldn’t let his silverblooded ego screw up the first chance she’d had in decades to escape the tedium Cornelius had trapped her in for so long—

Another immortal slid into the booth beside her, his bold aura oozing from every pore, distracting her from the rage-induced maelstrom in her mind. His aura eclipsed every other immortal in the bar—not like Storm’s, but as a show of importance. Power. Some had it, some wanted it, and some flaunted theirs to the world. Annoyance spiked in Kitara again at the thought, and she forced it down, locking away the whispering darkness coiled within her.

“What are you waiting for?” the immortal asked with a lilted accent.

“Nothing.” Kitara didn’t spare him a glance. “People-watching.”

“This is an ideal place to do that,” he said, his voice as neutral as her expression.

The lights reflected off something, catching her eye, and she turned. As he toyed with the rim of a bloody glass, the lights flashed over his hair again. The strands were nearly white, paler than even Kitara’s platinum-blonde.

He probably bleaches it for effect.

“What are you waiting for?” Kitara asked, brow furrowing.

He tilted his head, studying her with a similar air. “Nothing. I’m observing, like you.”

“How’s that working for you?” she asked with a half-smile.

“Well, I’m in your company now, so I’d say I’ve been successful.” He grinned, the dim lighting reflecting off of too-white teeth. His aura and bright blue eyes implied he wasn’t a vampire, though she couldn’t rule it out entirely.

Too-white teeth, too-white hair…definitely a fan of bleach.

“Does that work on all the girls?” Kitara rested her arms on the table.

“Some,” he admitted, sipping from his ruddy glass.

Valorn, probably.

“What made you think it would work on me?”

He stroked his chin. “Optimism, perhaps?”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” she said with another smile, leaning back against the booth.

“Word gets around,” he said with a shrug. “I heard about your…dramatic arrival.”

She donned a wide-eyed expression. “Dramatic? Me?”

He snorted. “A Dor with luminescent green eyes and a body that would tempt angels? I know it was you.”

“I’m flattered.” Her lips curled into a sarcastic smirk. “You must know why then.”

“I heard. I also heard you think the Maker was involved,” he replied.

“Maybe. You know him?”

He snorted. “He doesn’t meet with strangers.”

“Guess he doesn’t make new friends then.”

A deep chuckle escaped his lips. “I guess not.”

“You know anything about him?”

“Nothing you don’t, I imagine. Grants favors, makes things happen, hence the moniker. Well-connected and anonymous to anyone who doesn’t know him personally. Some think he’s the most powerful immortal in Ostragarn.”

“I’ve been told to try and make contact with a group of his friends who meet here occasionally.”

He cast her a sidelong look. “You know, the rumor is the Maker joins them occasionally, incognito.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Kitara made a conscientious effort to keep her pulse steady. “That’s news to me.”

“They say it’s to keep his people honest and leave everyone else guessing.”

“Well, whoever they are, if they can help me with my…concerns, I don’t care who I talk to.”

He snorted. “Depending on what they think of you,” he said, his voice low and serious. “If they think you’re a threat, well…”

She tensed. “Are you…warning me to avoid them?”

“Not at all. I am only suggesting you reconsider publicly threatening your ex’s killers, then insinuating the Maker was involved. People who threaten the Maker tend to disappear.”

“Maybe Erik threatened him?”

“Your ex?” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “It’s possible. The Maker has a complicated web of connections. Many say he knows secrets before their owners do, and some don’t take kindly to that.”

Kitara’s forehead wrinkled. “He’s clairvoyant?”

“Some think so. But who’s to say? Maybe he has reliable sources, and his reputation has been blown out of proportion. Some speculate he’s not a single ‘Maker,’ but rather multiple Makers.”

Kitara narrowed her eyes in scrutiny. “And you? Do you believe that?”

The immortal smiled knowingly in response. “No, not really.” He stood. “While I’d much prefer your lovely company, I have a previous engagement. Enjoy your night.”

The next afternoon, just before four, Kitara settled into her desk chair with a blanket and a cup of coffee. Normally, she rose in the early evening, but tension and anger woke her earlier today. Caffeine didn’t affect immortal systems. Much like alcohol, they burned it off too quickly. But Kitara liked the bracing bitterness of the drink.

An incoming video call roused Kitara more than ineffectual coffee or synthetic drugs could. Accepting it, she smiled. “Hey, Dev.”

After nearly losing her cool in the bar yesterday, Kitara needed something to soothe her tension.

Her curly-headed friend’s image beamed at her from her screen. “Hi!”

“Thanks for making time for me,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

Devika snorted. “I can always make time for you. I know your schedule is unpredictable. You okay? You look…cold.” Devika knew well of Kitara’s aversion to low temperatures—and her psychological response to a rough night.

Kitara nodded. “So far, anyway.” She gestured to the blanket with a shrug. “Guess I needed to see a friendly face.”

The Historian’s expression softened. “I can’t imagine what it must be like, surrounded by enemies all the time.”

Kitara’s phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced down, even though she knew who waited on the other end. “On all fronts,” she muttered, silencing it. She refocused on Devika. “Question for you: have you ever heard the Fallen referred to as Dor?”

“Doruri,” Devika corrected. “Dor is singular, Doruri is plural. And yes, it’s a Romanian word. I even hear some AIDO immortals use it occasionally.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s…complicated. It’s conceptual and emotional and a state of being all at once. The best way I could describe it is…a feeling of longing. Of wanting to belong. Of missing something or someone. The nuance of it is beautiful, but the emotional aspect makes it difficult to translate into English.”

“I guess the description makes sense,” Kitara murmured. “Wanting to belong, longing for something.”

“Technically, we don’t use the word the right way,” Devika continued. “It loses some of its meaning the way we translated it, but somebody heard it and felt it aptly described the Fallen’s state of being. There are similar words in other languages: ‘тоска’ in Russian, ‘saudade’ in Portuguese…”

Kitara’s phone buzzed again. This time she ignored the call without looking at it. “Good to know. I’ll use it while I’m here then since I’m fraternizing with the locals.”

“Not a bad idea.”

A text message came through. She glanced down at the message.

Final warning, Kitara.

Another call, and Kitara subsequently treated it like the others.

Devika noticed and furrowed her brow. “You need to get that? You don’t have to ignore someone for my benefit…”

“I’m not, don’t worry,” Kitara hurried to reassure her. “It’s Storm. I’m proving a point.”

“What kind of point?”

“That I don’t cave to idle threats.”

Devika gaped at her. “He threatened you?”

Kitara nodded. “He doesn’t like not calling the shots. And maybe Cornelius doesn’t like me, but they need me out here, so I don’t think they’d pull me without actual wrongdoing on my part.”

“He has been in an incredibly bad mood lately…”

Kitara’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“Well, I’ve been hanging out with the head Engineer of headquarters lately, Alasdair. He came into the library the other day to work on our machines—it doesn’t matter. Anyway, he’s…friends with Storm. So I see him every once in a while. Alasdair made a comment about him having a stick up his butt.”

“Storm hasn’t let on you’re working with me, has he?” Kitara asked, alarmed.

“I don’t think so. He played it real cool when Alasdair introduced us.” Devika grimaced. “Which reminds me… Alasdair introduced me to Zayne the other day too, and I think he recognized me from Spokane.”

“Zayne Dragić? Phoebe’s son?”

Devika nodded. “But that’s not the tricky part. He asked me to help him put together some information for a presentation he’s doing about Moriah Orinokë. Apparently she and his mom were friends?”

“Stars,” Kitara muttered, rubbing her head. “That’s a complication we don’t need.”

“I think I pointed him away from any…suspicious factoids, even implied he’d do more justice to her by focusing on the lesser-known aspects of her life, but…”

“There’s no reason to think he’d make the leap that I’m suddenly around,” Kitara pointed out, though she wasn’t certain who she was trying to reassure. “It could just be a coincidence.”

“Apparently it’s an entire seminar on influential Emissaries and Ambassadors, so she’s just a small part of it. They asked him because his mom couldn’t be there to do it.”

“Did Storm say anything about it?”

“Outside of questioning how I caught Philemon’s attention in the backwater? No.”

“Guess I’m not the only one he’s a constant dick to then,” Kitara muttered.

“Even if Storm suspects anything, what’s he gonna do? Bring you up in the middle of a cafe? He can’t, not without risking his job.” Devika’s expression darkened. “And trust me, he’d definitely be risking his job, because I’d report him immediately.”

“If Storm does say anything, tell me,” Kitara said after a beat. “And let me try to handle it before you do anything. I don’t want you to put a target on your back.”

Devika snorted. “I’m not afraid of him.”

It’s not him you need to be afraid of.

“Regardless,” Kitara said, shaking her head, “we don’t want anyone else to put two and two together, and I don’t want you to risk your job if Cornelius gets wind of it. Let me handle Storm.”

“If you say so.”

“I just don’t want you in harm’s way, that’s all,” Kitara added. “Given everything that happened with Phoenix—”

“You have enough to worry about,” Devika cut her off with a soft laugh. “Remember, I’ve got friends in high places too. I’m not a teenager anymore, Kitara. I can handle myself.”

Another text came in, and Kitara glanced at it.

I tried to give you a chance.

A dark coil lifted its head within her, and Kitara forced it back down.