The Sleeper and the Silverblood

On foot, Kitara led them through Bucharest. Normally, she would have run counter-surveillance to ensure they weren’t followed, but there wasn’t time. She couldn’t shake a tail by slipping into a crowd of humans, either—not with two bloody angels following her.

“If I’m compromised because of this, I will make the rest of your lives hell,” she muttered, more to herself than to the angels.

She gestured for Storm to wait as she scanned the parking lot. Finally, she led them to the stairs of the run-down building. Kitara glanced around, pulled out the key, and let them in. She flipped the light switch as they entered and shut the door, locking it behind them.

“Put him there,” she said, gesturing to her couch. “And neutralize that paralytic before he suffocates to death. You’re lucky you both weren’t stabbed with it.”

Storm didn’t answer as he settled Declan on the couch and concentrated on his friend’s injuries. Kitara left him to it, heading for the kitchen and the small, lone window there. She pulled the blinds aside to observe the dimly lit parking lot and the streets beyond. She remained there for a while, watching and listening, ignoring Declan’s labored breathing as Storm did…whatever he was doing.

Could he heal the damage?

All Valëtyrians possessed some level of ability to heal others and healed quickly themselves. But the Myragnar didn’t. It balanced the power in the Valëtyrian-Myragnar relationship, since the Myragnar relied solely on Valëtyrians for healing despite their range of purported metaphysical abilities.

Still, most Valëtyrians were classified as selective Healers—limited to a specific field or type of ailment. Only a handful could heal anything and everything, capable even of pulling some immortals back from the brink of death.

Those Valëtyrians—the comprehensive Healers—worked in Valëtyria’s long-term healing wards. They couldn’t be spared anywhere else. Even headquarters only employed one for emergencies, and other facilities did without. Valëtyria registered any immortal born with comprehensive abilities on their Healer rolls regardless of whether that individual wanted to be a Healer or not. Every comprehensive Healer was vital, necessary for the survival of both Valëtyrians and Myragnar.

Kitara glanced back into her living room. Declan’s breathing came easier now, and the light flickering between Storm’s fingers indicated he was, indeed, a Healer.

Finally, after an interminable silence, Storm sat back on his heels. “You’ll be okay.”

Kitara frowned. His file didn’t mention he could heal at all, not even selectively. Either he coincidentally specialized in healing poisons and paralysis, or he was a comprehensive Healer.

And Kitara didn’t believe in coincidences.

But an unregistered comprehensive Healer? Silverblood or not…why?

“I still can’t feel my legs,” Declan muttered.

“Yeah, paralytics and poisons are tough,” Storm replied. “You’re still experiencing the effects, but they’ll wear off soon.”

Kitara turned away from the window. “Good. Now I can eviscerate you two without guilt.”

Storm narrowed his eyes at her. She noticed with some relief that he wore blue colored contacts, though who knew how or where he acquired them.

“What the hell were you doing in the dark strip?” Kitara snapped. “You could have killed us all.”

“You don’t answer your phone,” he said, his lip curling.

“I don’t—are you serious?” she asked, aghast. “You risked me, your friend, and yourself trying to prove a point? You are an idiot. And you’d better believe I’ll report this kind of infraction straight to the Commander—”

“To which I’ll promptly respond that you went radio-silent, and I came to check up on the AIDO’s asset,” Storm retorted, dropping any pretense of keeping Kitara’s cover intact.

“You’re a Sleeper,” Declan breathed. “Stars, now it all makes sense—”

“Shut up, Captain,” Kitara snapped. “You’ll be court-martialed when they find out you escorted Storm Avensäel out of headquarters.”

To his credit, Declan didn’t cow to the threat. “I suspect they’ll do the same to you for following us. Protocol dictates that, regardless of the circumstances, you don’t risk your cover, even for AIDO allies.”

“Protocol?” Kitara spluttered. “Protocol puts Storm’s life far ahead of mine. His father would have my head—”

“So we’re in agreement then,” Declan interrupted her. “Nobody’s reporting anybody. We all made it out alive, right?”

“Don’t they teach you anything?” Kitara demanded. “Netherlings won’t necessarily drop you in a bar, but outside? They were definitely trying to capture you. You could have ended up chained in a dungeon somewhere, being drained dry! ”

“Kinky,” Declan drawled.

“This is not a joke,” she chastised him with a frosty look. “What if I hadn’t been there to help? You literally walked into a den of snakes and volunteered to get bit.”

“Stars, you sound like my dad,” Storm muttered.

Kitara stepped back, stung by the comparison, and attempted to quell her emotions before dark, destructive power surged under her skin again. “I have nothing in common with your father.”

“Other than keeping me out of the loop? Underestimating me? Being infuriating beyond comprehension? Yeah, you’re nothing alike,” Storm drawled.

“Underestimating you? Who was it, exactly, that saved your ass back there?”

“Enough,” he snapped, and her eyes narrowed at his tone. “I’m a Major for a reason. I didn’t have to go the Academy, you know—I could have been unprofessioned and still been more significant than anyone in the AIDO.”

“Right, resident celebrity and all,” she sneered. “Your life must be so hard.”

He frowned. “You don’t know anything about my life.”

“I know your ego almost got your friend killed.”

“I told you, I had it handled—”

“You’re lucky you’re not dead!”

“And we have you to thank for that,” Declan interjected before Storm could launch another barb. “I don’t know where you came from, but I’m really glad you showed up. So…thanks.”

Kitara ignored him. “What was so important it warranted risking this entire op?”

Storm’s nostrils flared. “I told you; I’m done being kept in the dark.”

“And you realized you couldn’t involve your dad like you threatened, so this was your backup plan?”

“What else was I supposed to do, Kitara?” He clenched his fists. “You won’t answer your phone, you don’t include me in your plans, you concocted some…infiltration scheme so harebrained I’m surprised it hasn’t gotten you killed already—”

“That redheaded vampiress you met? She’s a contact intrigued by the idea of my ex getting butchered. And because I met her, I’m one step closer to our target. Stars, you were a terrible choice for this position. I can’t believe the High Council went along with this.”

Storm’s eyes widened, his frustration turning to anger. “Fuck you, Kitara. You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“I know you’re in way over your head. Now stop trying to prove something and respect the fact I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have.”

Declan stepped between them. “Okay, okay. Why don’t you just…calm down for a minute—”

Kitara rounded on him. “Do not tell me to calm down,” she snapped. “That has never worked out well for any man, anytime, anywhere.”

The Guardian held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to imply you were overreacting. I just meant we should take a step back and consider the situation. I agree this was an unnecessarily dangerous situation—”

“That’s an understatement,” Kitara muttered.

“I’m not in the Sleeper program,” Declan said, ignoring her. “But I know a thing or two about being part of a unit. And if I’m reading this situation correctly, Storm is your handler?”

Kitara didn’t confirm or deny, but he pressed on anyway.

“Yeah, he shouldn’t barge into the middle of active ops. But his job is to make sure you’re safe, and he can’t do that if you keep him in the dark.”

He glanced at Storm, his expression hardening. “And in my experience, a good handler trusts their operative enough to make judgment calls when necessary. They have to strike a delicate balance between independent action and control, because they’re the ones there in the moment.”

“Whose side are you on, man?” Storm grumbled.

“The AIDO’s,” Declan said without hesitation. “And if I’d known this was your plan, I’d never have offered to help you with it. And—Kitara, was it?—Kitara, you’re clearly the experienced agent here. They wouldn’t have assigned you to HQ otherwise. But he won’t learn to trust your instincts if you don’t give him some explanation for your decision-making.”

He looked between them, expectant, then waved his hands between them. “Discuss.”

With a long, exasperated exhale, Kitara turned to Storm. “The ex-boyfriend angle explains my sudden appearance and my knowledge of his death,” she muttered. “Ostragonians understand revenge almost as much as they understand a need for power.”

Storm crossed his arms but nodded for her to continue.

“They also know Sleepers exist. They’re wary of newcomers, especially ones without an obvious agenda. But I came in spouting rage and revenge and what they think they know about AIDO agents contradicts that type of entry. It’s…a chess game,” she explained with a shrug. “They expect Sleepers to infiltrate quietly and slowly. By taking such a brazen and, some might say ‘crazy’ approach, the last thing they’ll suspect is an AIDO operative.” She scowled. “But that only works if I don’t have angels showing up in dark bars right after I get settled in. Happy now?”

Storm considered this for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth. “I suppose that makes sense,” he finally conceded.

She gave him a jerky nod. “You have your explanation. Is there anything else you want to know?”

“Just…put it in your report,” he mumbled, looking away. “We need to get back to the AIDO before anyone realizes we’re gone.”

Kitara gave Declan a once-over. “You up for the trip back?”

“I’m stiff, but I can fly. We’ll be okay.”

“Fine. Go. And I’d better not see you out here again.” That last bit she aimed at Storm.

The silverblood ignored her. He helped Declan to his feet, and they shuffled to Kitara’s front door.

Before they departed, Declan turned back. “Thanks. I mean it. You’re right, they could have killed us.”

“Learn from it,” Kitara said in staccato. “Don’t come to the dark strip again.”

“C’mon, Dec,” Storm muttered. “Let’s go.”

Without another word, Storm pulled his friend through the front door, and they were gone.

After the angels’ unexpected appearance—flirtable or not—Scarlet avoided the dark strip for a few nights, which meant Jamal did too. Kitara appreciated the respite. Putting on a facade for vampires—bubbly or surly—exhausted her. The Maker’s group of friends occupied their normal VIP section of The Sanguine Queen. Kitara took up residence in a dark corner booth of the establishment to observe them.

A spear of awareness swept through her as an aura registered in her mind. Kitara barely had time to palm her anti-toxin into her drink before someone joined her—the white-haired immortal.

“It’s you,” she said.

“It’s me,” he replied, deadpan. “Hello, Sabine.”

He must have asked Blake for her name, and Kitara cursed herself for not possessing the same forethought. “People-watching again?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not exactly. You looked lonely; I thought I would keep you company.”

Kitara snorted. “I have no problem being alone, thanks.”

“Mm.” The immortal made no movement to leave.

“You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” Kitara pointed out.

“Baylen,” he replied as he watched the patrons of the bar despite his assertion to the contrary. “At your service.”

“Careful tossing out that line,” she said with a laugh. “Someone might think you’re serious.”

Baylen smiled but didn’t retract the statement.

“Is there something you want?”

“I have some information you might find useful,” he said.

Kitara leaned back and crossed her arms. “Generous of you. What do you get out of it?”

“Maybe a favor in the future. Maybe nothing. You interested?”

The Sleeper considered for a moment, weighing her options. “As long as I’m not some kind of blood sacrifice for your favor.”

He almost laughed. “No blood sacrifices in your future.”

“Okay, then. What do you know?”

He leaned in. “Rumor has it, the General has become very interested in the Doruri recently—the Fallen.”

That explained his apparent altruism.

Kitara’s forehead creased. “The General?”

The Netherling raised an eyebrow, surprised at her ignorance. “The one who’s organizing everyone?”

“I thought the Maker was doing that…” Kitara admitted, her mind spinning.

“I don’t think so. The Maker prefers to work behind the scenes, pulling strings and orchestrating events from the shadows.”

“You don’t think he wants to seize power in Ostragarn?”

“It’s unlikely. It’s not really his style.”

“Then what does he get out of any of it?” Kitara muttered, more to herself than the Netherling.

Baylen shrugged. “Could be he’s just bored.”

She snorted. “Too busy fielding requests from the general populace?”

“Perhaps. That does seem to interest him more.”

“So…why would this General suddenly be interested in the Doruri? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Baylen tapped his fingers against the tabletop. “One of my sources indicated he might be attempting to…restore them.”

Kitara blinked in surprise and sat back a little. “That’s not possible.”

“Maybe not. But other bits I’ve gathered don’t make any sense either. He’s raided human facilities for rare materials, contracted with an arms dealer not for weapons, but for manufacturing equipment, which indicates mass production of something.”

That matched the recent rumors Kitara had gleaned too, but the explanation for the seemingly unconnected events unnerved her more than she could have imagined.

“So why is this of sudden interest to you? And why should it interest me?”

“You haven’t been here long. Keeping abreast of the current climate in Ostragarn ensures survival. The vampires have their own hierarchy. But the rest of us…we’re at the mercy of the whims of Ostragarn’s most powerful players. Some of them are clever. Others…not so much. Until we know which one the General is, clever or not, those of us outside his immediate circle of influence are at risk.”

“And of course you can’t go investigate yourself,” Kitara drawled.

“A random Ostragonian asking questions raises suspicion. But a Dor asking questions about Doruri-related rumors wouldn’t.” Baylen leaned forward and met her gaze intently. “Being Doruri yourself and new to the area, you may be better equipped to find out what Itzal’s up to under the guise of trying to suss out your place in the hierarchy here.”

“That’s his name? Itzal?”

He nodded. “In fact, I’m surprised no one else has approached you yet.”

“I haven’t been here very long,” she hazarded.

“Still. You made quite a statement with your entrance.”

“Not to those I needed, apparently,” she muttered.

Baylen raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“I’ve been waiting to talk to the Maker’s friends, but they don’t seem interested.”

“Those blowhards?” He snorted, his gaze flickering toward the VIP area. “They don’t help anyone meet the Maker.”

Her brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

“They’re low-rung messengers, mostly,” Baylen replied with a note of mirth. “I don’t think a single one has even met the Maker, much less become a ‘friend.’ The Maker would not entrust even his shoe size to such loudmouths.”

“But how do you—” She broke off and stared at him. “Stars, you actually know him.”

He traced the rim of his glass for a prolonged, silent moment. “I do.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

He snorted. “If I mentioned it to everyone I’ve spoken to for less than fifteen minutes, his secret identity wouldn’t be secret for long. It takes time to vet people, and no one else can know we had this conversation. I thought you might partner with the vampires’ coven, but I’ve since reevaluated.”

Kitara shook her head, unsurprised. “I’m better off alone, and I won’t mention this discussion. Does Blake know?”

“Maybe, though the Maker prefers to keep various parts of his network ignorant of the others,” he explained. “Still, if the deception came to light, I imagine it’s the last anyone would see of them, given how Ostragonians feel about lying for power.”

“But you know they’re lying.”

“And for now, their deceit benefits me by allowing me to work under the radar. All eyes are focused on them, so no one gives much thought to a regular patron paying for mid-shelf drinks while the egotists are flashing bottles of Dom and gold-rated blood.”

“I knew they seemed too conspicuous to make sense,” Kitara muttered.

“And it was that overheard observation that resulted in this conversation.” Baylen gestured between the two of them. “You’re clever enough to read between the lines. You did get the right people’s attention. Mine.”

She side-eyed him. “So trying to find out what the General—Itzal—wants with the Doruri…it’s some kind of test?”

“In a way. The Maker won’t do business with those who jump to conclusions or prove themselves untrustworthy. So for now, you work with me and then…we’ll see.”

“Does he know about me? Know I want to see him?”

“I keep information like that to myself. If it all goes sideways, it’s better for all involved.”

“Reassuring,” she muttered. “So if I find the information you want, you’ll introduce me?”

He chuckled. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Her own past had taught her that a web of deception often concealed uncomfortable truths, and a collection of smaller truths could cleverly disguise a great lie. After all, her true identity hid behind a carefully-crafted mask of deception.

Kitara met Baylen’s gaze. “Restoring the Fallen…it is impossible, you know. You’re probably just sending me on a wild goose chase.”

His lips quirked in a half-smile. “The Maker would say the impossible is his specialty.”

Baylen hadn’t said explicitly how he knew the Maker; for all she knew, he was a rival setting up his own network. And if he wasn’t—if he was a friend of or worked for the mysterious Netherling—being in his good graces would get her closer to unmasking the immortal behind the scenes. She couldn’t pass up the opportunity to use Baylen to further her own agenda. After all, this was her assignment. Get close to the Maker. Find out who he is.

She drained the rest of her drink. “I’ll consider it.”

“Of course,” he replied smoothly. “I understand your caution. All I ask is that you keep our conversation between us.”

“Understood.”

Baylen’s lips lifted in a wry smile, and he straightened. “Very good. I’ll be in touch.”

Kitara opened her mouth to reply, but the immortal vanished with a subtle pop! as the air rushed to fill the space he no longer occupied. Stunned into silence, she stared at the empty spot. No immortal she knew of could disappear that way. How had he done it?