CHAPTER 31: BEFORE THE BALL
“Quicksilver is an apt title for Uncle Trickster’s servants. It's shiny, beautiful, ever-shifting, and incredibly poisonous. The Fifth God is a being of wonder and terror. Creating spectacles and stories for those he deems worthy. Driving those he doesn’t insane with lies and laughter. The Players and their kindred orders, like the Amalgam Paupers and the Vermilion Blades, are not to be trifled with. Nations, Armies, Kings, and Gods all rue the day they challenged the Fifth and his servants.” - Kit Kent’s infamous ‘Threat lecture’ to Lord-Mayor Francis of Tameford
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:: A hut somewhere outside Vindabon ::
“Immortal? That is impossible?” growled Dietrich.
Scapin scoffed and pointed to the bloody package sitting on the table between them. “You ripped off his arm, and you saw how much blood he lost. Our friend Cole the Paladin is the Homunculus Knight.”
Clenching his jaw, Dietrich was torn. On the one hand, the whole idea was insane and defied anything close to logic. But on the other, it offered an explanation and excuse for events. Dietrich had never understood how the Paladin faced Petar and won. When he’d frozen Dietrich, Cole had been half-dead from exhaustion. Not someone who could face a cohort of powerful vampires and walk away seemingly unscathed, as Yara had testified.
If Scapin’s insane story about Countess Gens Silva and her Homunculi creation was true, then things would make more sense. Looking to his thrall, sleeping by the small fire he’d made for her, Dietrich asked, “Did you know the Paladin was this ‘Homunculus Knight’ before tonight?”
Shrugging, Scapin drummed his fingers on the old table. “I had a suspicion, one that my superiors share, but little more than that. Officially the Knight was destroyed by Voivode Suillia, but the appearance of a scarred giant who survived the impossible in the Blood Duchies was too much to be a coincidence. What really confused us, though, was his status as a Paladin. The Homunculus Knight is an abomination in the eyes of the Tenth and his servants. So the idea he’d end up a Paladin of Master Time? Utter madness, until tonight confirmed it.”
Slowly accepting this impossibility, Dietrich asked. “So what do we do? He escaped us and will warn the Temple. They’ll be hunting us by dawn.”
Looking out one of the huts' small windows, Scapin’s smile intensified. “The seed I planted will buy us time. The city is weak; the riot and the war strip it of defenders. The Tenth Temple urgently calling for the remaining soldiers to leave the city on a hunt is exactly the sort of thing the Quicksilver Players will be leery about.”
Nodding, Dietrich accepted this. While he was no political player, he still was intelligent enough to understand the logic to Scapin’s actions. Dietrich had sharpened his claws on the whelps of Glockmire and their idiotic games. Now he was getting a private concert from a true expert.
“My disposal of the Ghouls will also help muddy the waters,” Scapin added. Referring to Dietrich’s sprung trap of frozen flesh. “We couldn’t fully erase evidence of our fight, but confusion is sometimes more useful than clean misdirection.”
Despite himself, Dietrich had been impressed with the necromancy Scapin had used. While the magical art was usually used to preserve dead flesh, the opposite could be done. Scapin had reduced the thirty-four ghouls into sludge and shattered bone with a single spell.
Scapin seemed to consider something for a moment before speaking. “Our next step will be decided tomorrow. Argentari, the Quicksilver Player, should make contact at midnight. But no matter what aid he provides, if any, we’ll need other options. The Archduke will want the Homunculus Knight, and I doubt the Players will hand over a Paladin, even one they think is ensorcelled.”
Letting out an annoyed sigh, Dietrich said. “The Alukah and her immortal protector. This isn’t going to be easy.”
“You could certainly call for aid Dietrich.” was Scapin’s reply. It dripped with false innocence, and the Scarlet Knight glared at him.
“Difficult but not impossible. This task has been given to me. With my steel and your guile, we will succeed.” was his response.
Stroking his goateed chin, Scapin shrugged. “Hopefully. Dawn is coming quickly. Do you think we will be safe here?”
Dietrich nodded, glancing at the hut’s door and to one of the far corners. “The root cellar will suffice, and the new ghouls will keep watch.”
Standing in a line before the door were three corpses. A husband and wife and a child. They’d died quickly to reinvigorate Dietrich and Scapin. Their bodies now repurposed as wardens of their stolen home.
Standing up from his chair, Scapin looked at the severed forearm on the table. “Perhaps… I might be able to play even this revelation to our advantage.
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Dietrich and Scapin stood at a crossroads shortly before midnight. Between them was a bottle of quicksilver capped by a wax seal that glowed faintly. Staring out at the surrounding fields, Dietrich watched for any sign of danger. He didn’t like to be this exposed, with only snow-covered farmland in every direction.
“Will they come?” he asked, glancing at the quicksilver bottle.
Scapin started to say something but stopped and held up a finger. “Listen.”
Dietrich did, pushing stolen blood into his ears. The sound of hoofs crunching over snow became clear. Looking in the direction of the sound, Dietrich watched as a carriage slowly traveled down the icy road. Nodding towards the carriage, Scapin said, “That answer enough?”
Ignoring the mockery in Scapin’s voice, Dietrich waited for the carriage to arrive. It was a nondescript vehicle of polished wood pulled by two horses. One white, the other black. As it reached the crossroads, the Quicksilver bottle started to vibrate. Ending when the wax seal on the top cracked with a small noise.
The carriage stopped, and the coachmen stepped off the driver’s seat and opened the passenger door. Dietrich raised an eyebrow at the coachmen’s appearance. He wore a gray uniform and a bizarre mask. It was like someone had sculpted a mirror over a face. Giving the impression of features but distorting them with rippling reflections.
Two men exited the carriage. Both wore masks, but the identity of one was clear to Dietrich. Portly and tan-skinned Alexo Argentari was unmistakable even with his mirror mask. The old man standing next to him was a stranger, though. His mask was different. Made of some dark wood that drank in the little light of the Carriage’s lanterns.
Scapin bowed to both. “Thank you for meeting us on such short notice. The urgency of the matter requires it.”
Argentari nodded. “Your bodyguard caused a stir last night. The Tenth Temple is calling for a cleansing force to be assembled. Asking any Temple or Noble who can contribute to help hunt your Scarlet Knight.”
Dietrich forced himself not to bristle at the notion he was Scapin’s creature. Scapin, for his part, just wore his exaggerated smile. “Removing anyone capable of stopping the thief from seizing control of Vindabon.”
Argentari coolly answered. “That is a possible interpretation of, yes. But the news a Paladin faced a Scarlet Knight just outside the city is more than reason enough.”
Accepting the point, Scapin reached into his cloak and pulled something out. “True, but can the Paladin be trusted? He’s been subverted by the Natalie girl, and I wonder if he’s even human anymore.”
The other masked figure shifted at those words but remained silent. Argentari made a noise of derision. “A bold, bold claim. I’m not anywhere close to being convinced of this ‘pseudo-alukah’ nonsense.”
Scapin tossed a bundle of cloth onto the ground right by Argentari’s feet. “Maybe this will help my case.”
Nodding towards the bundle, Argentari signaled for the Coachmen to pick it up. The servant did as instructed and unwrapped the severed forelimb. To his credit, the Coachmen merely jumped in surprise, not dropping the arm. He showed it to his superiors, who made noises of disgust.
Scapin pointed at the arm. “Notice the number of scars covering it.”
Argentari did and then glared at Scapin; the expression could be felt even through his reflective mask. “You give me the severed arm of a torture victim as evidence? Is this some sort of threat, Scapin? I expected more from you.”
Shaking his head, Scapin explained. “That belongs to the Paladin. He lost it in the fight with Dietrich here.”
The unknown masked man stepped back like he’d been struck, and Argentari grabbed the limb from his Coachmen. Examining it, he scoffed. “So you maimed a servant of Master Time? I’m still missing the point you’re trying to make.”
The old masked man leaned down to examine the limb. Growing very still after a second or two. The black-masked man spoke then for the first time then. “I saw the Paladin today. He had both his arms.” Looking at Scapin, he continued. “But I recognize these scars. Either this is a very convincing fake for reasons I cannot guess, or… He regrew the arm in less than a day.”
Scapin nodded and spoke. “Lilu’s kiss is an incredibly dangerous relic. Granting a fraction of an Alukah’s power at an incredible price. Using Necromancy to graft a stolen limb to a strong host isn’t impossible. Something the servants of Master Time would have easily noticed. Your Tenth Temple is subverted and its champion corrupted. Let us deal with the thief before Vindabon falls and the Archduke faces a potential rival.”
Argentari and Black-mask looked at each other, and Dietrich felt a slight stir of power. A barely perceptible charge in the Aether he only noticed because he was looking for any threat. It tasted of telepathic communication, and Dietrich was fairly certain the two men were conferring in the privacy of their minds. The little mental conference went on, both men occasionally making violent gestures but otherwise being still. Throughout it, Scapin just watched his vulpine grin never wavering.
It must have taken an hour before Argentari finally broke with his colleague and addressed the Vampire. “We will accept your offer of aid under certain stipulations. Both of you will agree to be Marked while you are in the city. You will also work with the Players to do this quickly and quietly. We need to remove this infection cleanly, and it pains me to admit your offer proves our best option.”
Before Dietrich could object, Scapin clapped his hands together. “Agreed! Now when shall we strike?”
Argentari paused and then said. “There will be an excellent opportunity during the Solstice.”
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:: In Vindabon, a day later ::
Things had not gone well in the aftermath of Black-tongue and Big-nose’s suicides. The Weinstadt Guard Tower had locked down as soon as possible, but the infiltrator had still managed to escape. Slipping literally right past Cole’s nose. A bitter fact the Paladin was loathe to accept.
The prompted suicides also raised all manner of questions. The loyalty the two servants had displayed was uncanny. That type of loyalty couldn’t be bought. It was either earned or forced. At Cole’s prompting, the two bodies were delivered to the Temple, where Nyami could properly examine the spells laid upon them. Even in death, the Geases left an imprint. Something a talented Magi specializing in mortuary magic could read.
Nyami’s initial impressions weren’t anything revolutionary. The Geases were meant to force secrecy and protect House Louon. They lacked anything as powerful as a self-harm trigger. The Hierophant promised she’d dig deeper, but she was doubtful anything more could be found. Except for perhaps information on the Magi that created the Geas, but even that was unlikely.
Outside the Heart-stealer hunt, little was going as planned. The City and Temples had been lethargic and dismissive of Morri’s warnings. They’d doubled the guard around the city gates and ordered more outrider patrols but nothing else. A response Morri had characterized as “Great for Bandit hunting, grossly negligent for a Vampire.”
In the face of all these setbacks, Cole and Natalie focused on their next objective. The Ball and exposing the killer at it. First, they scoured the Temple archives for information on House Louon. Mina and a reluctant Alia helped the search while Iron-teeth returned to his position. The records of both Temple and City painted the picture of a powerful, respected House that had not fared well over the last half-century.
House Louon was originally from Guyenne and moved to Vindabon a little over three hundred years ago. The reason for the move was partially political, partially economic. Louon had lost some petty political squabbles among the Guyenne nobility and much of their valuable land with it. A normally disastrous turn of events offset by their mercantile success in Vindabon. Hence the relocation to the City of Music and Dreams.
But in the past few decades, those centuries of prosperity had ended. The House suffered several setbacks and embarrassments. Predominantly caused by a long chain of questionable decisions. Marrying children off erratically. Investing in magical research that turned out little better than a scam. Alienating old friends with aggressive political maneuvers.
A pattern that culminated in the disastrous Battle of Milda. Where Holy League forces commanded by Grafling Louis Louon faced a smaller force of Goblin Kozaks. Only to be badly beaten in a humiliating defeat. Since then, the family had stayed relatively quiet. Engaging only in some safe politicking and middling philanthropy. Predominantly funding small clinics in the City's more destitute sections.
All this information was easy for Natalie to find and put together. Less so for her allies. Cole was useful in some matters but lacked the social intelligence to make certain leaps. Mina was too timid and would focus on details, forsaking the full story. Alia was great at noticing some patterns but completely oblivious to others. Leaving Natalie in the interesting position of being the political mind of the group.
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“I don’t get this,” whined Alia for maybe the fifth time. “The dead Grafling walked right into that ambush. He ignored his scout reports and led his army into unfavorable enemy-held terrain. I’m no soldier but isn’t this basic strategy? “
Cole peered over her shoulder and examined the report filed by a Temple Priest assigned to the army. “It is strange. The Priest does note that Louis Louon was acting erratic in the weeks before the Battle. Getting into shouting matches with his officers, drinking heavily, something to do with his Wife as well.”
Natalie plucked the source from them both and scanned it quickly. She’d figured out how to use spent blood to speed up her reading. A curious technique she was proud of learning all by herself. “His wife was a Battlemage assigned to the Army. She also died at Milda. They apparently made a pretty good battle couple in a previous campaign. Which weirdly went well, even with Louon in command.”
Frowning, Natalie went over to some of the other records they’d gathered and the notes she’d been taking. Double checking the hunch she was developing. “The Grafling was in his mid-thirties when he died. I looked through the death records and every incident involving the Family. The Louons tend to either live long or die before forty. Usually under questionable circumstances or in the shadow of questionable decisions.”
Mina looked up from her book, eyes wide and curious. “That sort of sounds like an inherited condition.”
Natalie nodded. “Yeah, a curse or an illness. Something that messes with their minds before killing or getting them killed.”
Frowning, Cole asked. “Is that the source of all this? Our killer is experiencing some sort of inheritable madness?”
Natalie and Mina shrugged at the same time. Fast footsteps pulled the group's attention from that line of thought. A woman in her thirties with short brown hair and a slightly bored expression approached. She was a priestess by her dress, and she smelled vaguely of chemicals. Reaching their little alcove, she asked, “You’re the Paladin and Guards?”
Cole nodded, and she pulled a scroll from her person. Setting it on the table, she said. “I’m Priestess Rihan, Corpse-tender. Nyami asked me to look at the two bodies you brought in. They were a little interesting.”
Rihan turned to leave, and Cole asked. “What was interesting about them?”
Looking at him like he was stupid, Rihan gestured at the scroll. “It’s in the report. Read it, or get someone to read it for you.”
Cole took a deep breath. The Priests and Priestesses who worked with the dead often chose that path for a reason. A violent lack of social skills or graces was often one of them. “Yes, but I’d like to hear it from the expert. So you can answer any questions I have now instead of me interrupting your work.”
Rihan seemed to consider that and accepted it. Opening up the scroll, she rattled off the key details. “Death by self-induced suffocation. Blank 1 was mid-thirties, and Blank 2 was late forties in age. Both were in reasonably good health, which was surprising considering their history.”
Looking up from the scroll, Rihan explained. “They had signs of starvation during their youths. You can tell from the bones if you know where to look. Similarly, they had the organs of older men. With their lungs, in particular, being in rough shape. Which is where things get interesting.”
“They had signs of long-term exposure to bad mold and other nasty stuff. But something was treating them with surprising efficacy. Considering how much black gunk I found in their lungs, you’d think they would be dead or wheezers. But their bodies showed no signs of that outside the lungs themselves. I’m guessing magical healing and fairly powerful stuff as well was used.”
Cole and Alia looked at each other, seeing the same thoughts in each other’s eyes. Cole spoke for them both. “Mold? They had mold infections in their lungs?”
Rihan gave him another annoyed stare. “Yes, that was what I said, wasn’t it?”
Ignoring her salted words, Cole asked. “Was the infection getting better before they died? Like were their signs of recent improvement?”
A raised eyebrow that might have conveyed surprise was Rihan’s reaction. “Yes, actually. It was barely noticeable, but I just assumed the treatment was working.”
Checking her scroll again, Rihan shrugged. “These two both had rough childhoods. Starvation, injury, disease, all of it ending once they were teens. They lived healthy lives except for the mold, which seemed to have been treated shockingly well. So as I said, it's interesting.”
A bitter chuckle escaped Cole. “More than you know, Priestess Rihan. Tell me, have you ever seen someone infected with Hellspawn?”
That actually got the Priestess to drop the scroll in surprise. Picking it up quickly, she said. “Are you implying?-”
Cole nodded. “Corrupted black mold was part of the infestation I faced in the Warrens. I suspect these two were exposed to it. Whatever treatment they received turned it from a death sentence into a nuisance.”
Accepting this with muted shock, Rihan set the scroll down and left without another word. Alia frowned at the quick departure and asked, “Where’s she off to?”
Mina sighed from beside her. “Rihan’s always been like that. Probably off to do more tests. The only reason she isn’t a Magi is it would require too much socializing.”
Looking at her new girlfriend with confusion, Alia said. “Don’t Magi spend most of their time researching or in magical practice? They don’t seem the most extroverted bunch.”
Nodding, Mina said. “Exactly. Hopefully, she might have more information soon.”
The great bells of the city started to ring then, and Natalie got up from her seat. She started to pack up or put back the texts with the efficacy of someone used to juggling dishes. Cole let out a weak groan and got up to help her.
Laughing at his dismay, Alia said. “Come on, Sir Paladin. It’s a clothes fitting, not an execution. Go try on outfits with your pretty girlfriend.”
Natalie finished her work and took Cole’s arm. “I do honestly believe he’d prefer an execution over this.”
Letting himself be steered away, Cole grumbled. “Only if it was mine.”
Natalie let out a snort of laughter despite herself. Leaving Mina and Alia to guess at whatever shared joke they weren’t party to.
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Cole squirmed as Engelbert Schneider fussed over his dress clothes. The tailor was busy making final adjustments to the dark doublet Cole was apparently wearing to the ball. Forced into the suit, Cole held out his arms and let Engelbert work. Wrist cuffs were changed, and appropriate creases were calculated. Keeping silent throughout the ordeal, Cole stared off into the middle distance, willing it to be over.
As Englebert removed a pin, he chuckled. “How can I make you less tense, Sir Paladin? I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone not say a word for an entire fitting.”
Cole resisted the urge to shrug. “Call me Cole, and I’m not one for parties or pageantry. They are an exercise in excessive nothingness.”
Engelbert chuckled at that. “If being a Paladin isn’t a long-term career, I think you have a future in poetry. But I will have to disagree with you. Balls and the like are often excessive, but they aren’t pointless.”
Grunting in acquiescence, Cole moved his legs so Engelbert could adjust the pants. “I suppose you are right. Political squabbles should take place in silk, not steel.”
Laughing again as he worked, Engelbert quipped. “You assume my thoughts are much loftier than they are. No, no, I think parties aren’t pointless because they keep my wife and I employed.”
Shifting in embarrassment, Cole tried to find his word. “Yes… I see that is also important.”
Clapping Cole on the back, Engelbert smiled. “You sure are an awkward one, aren’t you? Pantheon’s writ, when I saw you come into the shop for the first time, I was struck dumb. The ‘tattered man’ is back again. You aren’t at all what I expected from the night of the riot.”
A little uncertain how to react, Cole just nodded in agreement. “Master Tailor, do you ever get lost in your work?”
Pausing his quick stitching, the tailor replied. “Call me Englebert, and of course. I’ve spent more than one night working on something well into the morning. Why?”
Cole shrugged, feeling the garment settle on his broad shoulders. “It’s similar when I fight or do my duty. I get lost in it. I’m still me, just a… different version.”
Engelbert considered that. “Suppose that makes sense. Violence is an art, I guess. Never would have thought that till I saw you with those two thieves. Took them down quickly and cleanly. You coulda killed them, right? But you didn’t.”
Cole nodded, thinking of the night of the riot. “I’m a bringer of rest and defender of the living. Killing those I could spare goes against my purpose.” The acrid taste of hypocrisy filled Cole’s mouth even as he spoke. The panicked eyes of the mercenaries came back to him. Shoving that doubt away, Cole looked to Engelbert. The tailor had stopped his work and just stared at Cole.
Shaking himself from whatever stupor had him, Englebert chuckled nervously. “I saw it then. I wasn’t serving Sir Cole in my shop; I was standing before the Paladin.” letting out another chuckle, he stepped back from Cole. “Anyway, your suit is done.”
Engelbert guided Cole out of the dressing room and towards the large mirrors set aside for clients to observe themselves. Cole almost tripped upon seeing himself. Gone was the Tattered Man or the Paladin of Death. In its place was a Knight of a Noble Court. Cole honestly didn’t know if he liked or hated it.
The doublet and pants were predominantly dark blue with lighter blue sections. The buttons were hidden in the fabric, and the belt was rich leather with a shining buckle. A stylized hourglass in silver thread covered much of the chest, while the pants were tucked into polished black boots. Over one shoulder was a small black cape that covered much of Cole’s right side. It combined military airs and aristocratic extravagance.
Reaching up, Cole checked to see the various pockets hidden under the cape. They were small but serviceable for his needs. Engelbert saw the gesture and smiled. “Plenty of pockets like you asked. So what do you think?”
Stretching slightly, Cole said. “The collar is a little tight, but that’s all I can complain about.”
Englebert pulled over a stool and got up to adjust the collar. Nodding in appreciation, Cole looked back at the mirrors. It had been twelve years since he’d worn clothes like this. Then his face hadn’t worn so many marks. Reaching up, Cole touched his face for a moment. Feeling the scarred skin and the memories associated with each patch.
Pushing through the momentary melancholy, Cole said. “Thank you Englebert. It’s… good.”
The old tailor just nodded. He knew more was in those words, but they weren’t for him to dig out. He led Cole from the dressing chambers and back towards the shop's front. He gestured to a nearby chair and said. “Now the eternal constant of serving couples.”
Cole frowned, and Englebert just smiled. “Waiting on your partner.”
True enough, it was nearly an hour before the creak of hinges alerted them to Natalie and Philomena’s arrival. Getting up, Cole turned to greet his lover. Any words he might have had were struck from him. An angel in red entered the room.
Natalie wore a long red dress and a short white lace mantle. The dress covered her from neck to toe and hugged her curves in a way Cole couldn’t help but notice. It lacked sleeves, but Natalie wore white gloves, and her shoulders were covered by the mantle. The lace giving the faint impression of feathery wings. Her neck held a black choker that covered her stigma and framed her throat with a small blue gemstone.
Smiling up at him, Natalie twirled, sending the dress fluttering in a red current. “How do I look?”
It took Cole a few seconds to remember how to breathe, let alone speak. Frowning, Natalie stepped closer to Cole. Her proximity rattled Cole’s mind free, and he spoke. “Incredible. You look incredible.”
Looking him up and down, Natalie’s lips pulled in a grin. “You don’t look bad yourself.”
Cole chuckled and took her hands. Bringing her in for a kiss. It lasted a long wonderful moment until a cough from nearby interrupted them. Philomena had a wide smile on her face, and Englebert looked amused. “That can wait till after the ball. Now can we get you two anything else?”
The couple shook their heads, and coins were exchanged. They changed from their dress clothing and let their respective Schneider package them up. Natalie was more than a little miffed she needed to take off the dress. The logic of not staining or ruining it before the ball was barely enough to convince her.
As they prepared to leave the store, Cole and Engelbert shook hands while Philomena whispered something into Natalie’s ear. Cole didn’t hear it, but the way it got Natalie fidgeting was enough to pique his interest. Leaving the shop with their purchases, Cole took Natalie’s hand and watched her as they walked. It always amazed Cole how full of life she was, even if she was technically dead.
Looking at Cole, Natalie licked her lips and tried to say something. She seemed to take a few attempts before finally managing to say. “Forever is a long time.”
A little confused, Cole nodded. “Yes, yes, it is.”
Burying her face in the dress box, Natalie took an annoyed breath and tried to explain herself. “Theoretically, the two of us could live for a very long time. You are completely Immortal as far as we know. While I’m the divinely ordained Undead curse-bearer. So… what I’m saying is we will hopefully have very long lives. And I know things change and people change and….”
Natalie sighed and looked at Cole. “I guess I’m saying I’d like to spend the next century or two with you at least.”
Smiling down at her, Cole kissed Natalie’s forehead. “I couldn’t agree more” a lump had formed in his throat, and Cole tried his best to swallow it down. It was something he wouldn’t admit even to himself. How much the idea of spending an eternity alone scared him. A fear Natalie’s words soothed like a poultice on a cut.
Taking Cole’s hand, Natalie smiled, ensuring she kept her fangs hidden by her scarf. As she walked, the words of Philomena echoed in her mind. “Make sure to hire me for the wedding dress.”
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They returned to the Temple and their apartment. The Ball was tomorrow night, and Natalie was almost vibrating with a mixture of excitement and nerves. Pacing around the apartment, Natalie couldn’t help but smile. Going to a Solstice ball in Vindabon was literally a childhood dream of hers. An impossible idea barely constructed from Barnabas’s stories and her books. Now she had a dress, a wonderful partner, and a grand gala to attend.
The only problem was she wasn't going for the sheer joy of it. A murderer needed to be caught. Something that Cole was focused on while Natalie acted the giddy teenager. He’d managed to get a genealogical text from the Temple. A constantly updated tome filled with information on the great families of Vindabon. Which thankfully included House Louon.
Unfortunately, House Louon was a fairly fecund family. Aside from the main branch were three cadets, each closely connected to the original line. All of them had multiple living generations. With the family elders, including Graf Isac Louon, his cousins, and younger siblings. While their various broods of children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren filling out a prodigious family tree.
Using the disappearance of Michelle Stine, Cole tried to figure out which members were likely to be the killer. Since she’d been a nanny, Cole assumed the killer had been either an adolescent or a parent. Most likely, a parent since the family madness started in the mid-thirties. Cole made a list of the family members who were in that age range, had young children at the time of the murder, and were still alive.
Five names filled out the qualifications, and two more failed the last part. Not as bad as Cole feared, but still enough to make this difficult. Setting the text down and folding up his notes, Cole looked at Natalie. She had picked up the invitation card and was studying it.
“What’s wrong?” asked Cole.
Glancing at him, Natalie voiced the question that had been bothering her for a minute. “Do nobles dance differently than commoners?”
Getting up from his seat, Cole shrugged. “Slightly; it depends on the event and how pretentious they want to be.”
Chewing her lip, ignoring the sting of her fangs, Natalie said. “I don’t know if I can dance like that.”
Rolling his shoulders, Cole said, “I can. Let me teach you.”
Glad she wasn’t using her false-life, Natalie stepped close to Cole and took his offered hand. Cole, for his part, just smiled. Natalie might not be truly blushing, but he’d learned her body language well enough to know she should be.
Slowly, Cole guided Natalie through the steps of a basic courtly dance. One hand on her back, the other in hers. The large Paladin moved fluidly, slowly increasing the speed until they reached a full ballroom pace. Natalie felt a large, almost silly grin spread across her face as she kept up with Cole. Just as Natalie was certain she had the basics down, she tripped.
Cole quickly caught her and brought them back into the dance. Pouting slightly, Natalie asked. “I’m a supernaturally agile Vampire; how are you better at this than me?”
Shrugging, Cole changed the dance slightly and said. “Vampires like Balls, in my experience. I’ve been to more than a few in my time. Besides, it's not that different from fighting.”
Spinning Natalie in a gentle twirl, Cole was surprised to see the amused smile on her face. “Not so different from fighting, huh?”
They kept dancing, and Cole added. “Yes, keeping your arms and legs in all the right places while tracking your opponent’s movements.”
A laugh escaped Natalie as they moved to another style. “I guess the principles of love and warfare overlap,” she said, pressing herself close to Cole.
Smiling up at him with a hunger that wasn’t for blood, she asked. “I’m sure other… activities are equally effected by your skill. Shall we try a different dance, my love?”
Letting out an amused breath, Cole kissed her and said. “Only if you take the lead this time.”