The World of All Souls Read online

She is a prize, Matthew.” Domenico watched over Matthew’s shoulder as the golden-haired witch departed between her guardian vampires. “I can see why you want her. The spirited ones taste best, don’t you agree?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Matthew said, controlling his temper with difficulty.

  “Come now, you’ve tasted a witch or two in the past—and human women, too,” Domenico said archly. “Don’t pretend to be so pure. I know you too well.”

  Matthew had a sudden image of Domenico hunting Diana and had to remind himself that she was with his mother and Marthe. He stifled the urge to make sure of her safety and focused instead on his desire to throttle the other vampire.

  “Domenico, I am rapidly losing patience with you. Deliver the rest of your message and then hide—somewhere very far away from here. Because if I catch the faintest whiff of you around Sept-Tours, I will destroy you.”

  It was not an empty threat, and both vampires knew it.

  Across the twelve feet that separated them, Domenico Michele and Matthew de Clermont faced each other with the watchful hostility of former friends. They had known each other nearly twelve hundred years, since the time Matthew had restlessly prowled Europe looking for ways to occupy himself. The worst of his newborn hunger and anger had passed by the ninth century, and Ysabeau had taught him to read. That simple gift had been his mind’s salvation. But his body could find release only in hard physical activity.

  For vampires the two most satisfying forms of physical activity were hunting and war. Both involved strategy and strength and were therefore useful in curbing potentially destructive behavior. Between the time Matthew drank so thirstily from Ysabeau’s veins and the time he met Domenico, there had been no shortage of war in France. He’d spent years fighting in civil wars, boundary disputes, and then in the endless armed squabbling that followed the death of Charlemagne.

  But everywhere Matthew fought in France, he found himself under his father’s critical scrutiny. Philippe de Clermont had been fighting for thousands of years by the time Matthew was reborn, and he was one of the greatest warriors who’d ever lived—making his mark on Greek, Roman, and French legends with every stroke of his sword. Since Roman times Philippe had adopted France as his own, and whether it was his former Roman allies, the Huns, or France’s own avaricious nobility in danger, Matthew’s vampire father was invariably on the front lines. His son found Philippe’s fierce attachment to France perplexing. Matthew had been born there, and even he didn’t feel such a strong sense of connection to the place.

  Given his extensive experience on the battlefield and devotion to the cause, it was no wonder that Philippe found little to praise in Matthew’s early, amateurish military efforts. Matthew had the strength, intelligence, and speed to be a formidable warrior, but his heart wasn’t in it. As a human, Matthew had been trained to build fortresses—not lay siege to them. His father was forgiving of his failures and slip-ups at first. As the centuries passed, however, Philippe grew sharper in his criticisms and Matthew increasingly resentful of his father’s high expectations.

  At the end of one distressing conversation, Philippe had suggested Matthew find himself another war and a different general.

  “Go to sea,” Philippe commanded from his horse as Matthew stood exhausted on the field below, covered in gore. “Fight the Saracens. The Venetians are so desperate for men they will take anyone who can stand upright.”

  Matthew had boarded a ship in Venice at the first opportunity. When the sails lifted and they headed into the busy sea-lanes of the Mediterranean, he found that he liked maritime life. He liked the quiet sound of the water on the ship’s hull, the smells of the sea, and even the companionship of the humans on board. It was during a mission to fight the Saracen pirates who were annoying Venetian merchants that Matthew first encountered Domenico Michele.

  The vampires had been the only two otherworldly creatures on a ship full of warmbloods who lacked either their intelligence or their strength. Matthew became the de facto leader aboard the vessel, though he was neither the captain nor a high-ranking officer. His fellow sailors avoided him during the day so as not to be disquieted by his white skin that never burned or weathered or to be made to feel inferior when he easily completed a task in minutes that three men might struggle over for an hour. At night, however, they gathered around him like moths to a pale, cold flame, eager to listen to his songs, share his wine, and hear his tales of the French wars.

  Domenico was a different story. The humans on ship avoided him at all hours and whispered about his involvement in the disappearance of two deckhands. One of the missing crew, the navigator insisted, had been attacked by the Venetian soldier. He had seen the deckhand bleeding from a wound in his neck and then watched as Domenico threw him overboard.

  The sailors quickly drew their own conclusions.

  Matthew heard the whispers and had initially been wary of the other vampire. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, given the close quarters, and two vampires were always harder to ignore than one. Besides, if Domenico was feeding on the crew, Matthew had no wish to associate with him.

  But shipboard life offered few amusements, and Domenico shared Matthew’s irreverent sense of humor. Matthew found himself laughing at Domenico’s jokes and pranks, reminded afresh of how difficult it was to be a newly reborn vampire. The Venetian was only a few decades old, full of the lust for blood and revenge that shaped the early life of the reborn. It had to be excruciating, Matthew thought, to be cooped up on a ship full of humans with no way to escape the smell of flesh and blood.

  Though he had outgrown his own urges toward vampiric excess, the memories of his more spectacular bouts of youthful, self-destructive behavior were still clear enough for Matthew to listen with sympathy to Domenico’s troubles. Matthew advised the younger vampire how to behave so that he was less likely to devour his shipmates and expose both vampires to the humans who surrounded them. Grateful for the companionship, Domenico began following Matthew around with the devotion of a younger brother. His attentiveness had been flattering at first and, combined with the sailors’ fondness for him, had helped Matthew’s bruised ego recover from his encounters with Philippe.

  Domenico’s devotion quickly grew tiresome, however, and began to make Matthew uneasy. Everywhere the older vampire went, he found the Venetian watching him with sharp, dark eyes. Domenico started adopting some of Matthew’s turns of phrase and imitating the way he walked. Domenico called him “brother,” and asked too many questions about Matthew’s family in France.

  On a crowded ship pursuing Saracen pirates across the Mediterranean, there had been no way to rid himself of Domenico’s presence. But as soon as they were in port, Matthew had slipped into the shadows and put as much distance as possible between himself and Domenico. Through the centuries he’d succeeded at keeping the vampire at arm’s length. His only failure, until now, was not making sure Louisa stayed clear of Domenico as well.

  Now the Venetian was nipping at his heels in his own house, and Matthew was determined not to make that same mistake with Diana.

  Watching as Matthew’s coolness gave way to impatience and contempt, Domenico felt his irritation mount. He was no longer a fledgling to be ordered around by the likes of Matthew de Clermont. He had been doge of Venice, a seasoned warrior, and he was rich beyond his wildest dreams. He deserved Matthew’s respect—not a hint of which was being shown to him. Not even the witch had given him his due. How dare anyone treat him, a member of the Congregation, in such a fashion?

  “I’ve come to make you see reason,” Domenico said severely, dragging his self-importance around him like a cloak.

  “You are going to make me see reason?” Matthew said contemptuously. Domenico’s harebrained schemes were notorious.

  “You must stop this affair with Diana Bishop or you’ll plunge us all into a war with the witches,” Domenico snapped.

  Matthew lo
oked unimpressed. “And what do the esteemed members of the Congregation suggest I do instead?”

  “You have three choices. You can make her one of us and rid her of her power.” Domenico’s eyes glittered. “You can leave her to the witches to deal with as they wish. Or you can start this war and turn your back on all your kind forever.”

  Matthew snorted. “I cannot believe we are the first creatures to cross these old lines. No one would be ridiculous enough to start a war over the two of us. Go find someone else to frighten, Domenico.”

  “The witches are ready to start a war over this, ridiculous or not.” Domenico’s voice grew thoughtful. “Perhaps you aren’t the first to have broken the covenant, but you are the first to make anyone want to enforce it. I wonder why?”

  The French vampire exhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring as if to rid him of a noxious scent. Domenico was getting too close to what Matthew himself suspected. If the Venetian arrived at the answer to his question, it would lead him straight back to Diana—and that was something Matthew could not allow.

  Domenico’s tone was now wheedling. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on? I’d love to know.”

  “What, have your talents for eavesdropping failed you?” Domenico had always liked listening at keyholes.

  “There’s one thing I know with certainty.” The Venetian’s voice became vicious. “If you start this war, you’ll only end up having to make Diana one of us eventually.”

  The muscles in Domenico’s arms stood out in high relief, and Matthew noted his tension with satisfaction—just as he had noted every change in Domenico’s face and bearing since he had lounged against the chestnut tree. Matthew smiled to himself and relaxed a fraction. So long as Domenico was anxious, he’d be too distracted to figure out what Matthew believed was the heart of the mystery.

  This was all about Diana and her power.

  What troubled Matthew was that he still didn’t understand why her power was of such interest.

  “I would never make Diana a vampire.”

  “Are you sure? I’ve seen the way you look at her. Other vampires are bound to be curious about what you see in her and cross the line with your witch. One will forget himself, try to taste her, maybe get a bit rough. He won’t mean any harm, you understand, but warmbloods are not as resilient as we are. She’ll be on the edge of death, and it will be up to you to decide. You’re brave, Matthew, but I don’t think you have the stomach to let her die. Given the choice of death or rebirth, you’ll pick rebirth. Why not do it now and get it over with?”

  Matthew growled.

  “Of course,” the Venetian continued casually, examining the château behind Matthew as if looking for the closest entrance, “if you can’t bear to do it yourself, I’d be happy to lend a hand.” Domenico licked his lips. He had always preferred women’s blood. And for him the blood of women of distinguished lineage, like Diana, was even sweeter, with a taste more subtle and yet more satisfying than any other. Unfortunately, since the deaths of highborn wives and daughters were more difficult to conceal, he was continually plagued by angry husbands, brothers, and sons seeking revenge.

  The French vampire’s eyes darkened to pitch. “Be very careful when you speak of Diana, Domenico,” Matthew hissed.

  The last time Domenico had received such a warning from Matthew was in Jerusalem, where he had bad-mouthed the French vampire’s spouse in a tavern. “Be very careful before you even think my wife’s name in future,” Matthew had told him, drawing beads of blood from his neck with the tip of his sword. Matthew had been exceedingly angry, Domenico reflected, considering that it was an arranged marriage to a human woman he didn’t particularly like.

  The de Clermonts had arrived in Jerusalem with the first Crusaders in 1099, decades before the covenant was sworn. Back then vampires, witches, and daemons had been happy to meddle in human politics. Philippe and his two eldest sons had been crowned kings of Jerusalem in rapid succession. The four de Clermont men founded the secretive military order of the Knights Templar, managed the order’s vast financial resources, and maintained its reputation as the pride of western Christendom. Domenico still couldn’t figure out how the family had accrued so much power and influence in a quarter of a century.

  All Domenico had ever wanted—in Jerusalem so many years ago and now at Sept-Tours—was to belong to their charmed circle.

  He’d bungled his chance in Jerusalem. He was willing to admit in retrospect that flying to the aid of Matthew and his beloved older brother Hugh had been naïve. In 1122 he’d heard the two were in prison and that the de Clermonts were losing their grip on the city, so he’d commandeered a hundred Venetian ships and sailed to their aid. By the time Domenico arrived, the two vampires had long since escaped captivity.

  Even so he’d helped the de Clermont family out of a difficult situation. Jerusalem was under siege, and Domenico’s Venetian ships had clearly played a crucial role in restoring the family’s control. But Matthew, his brothers, and his father held a different view, attributing the turn of fortune to a combination of their own military skill, the resources of the formidable Knights Templar, and (as Hugh de Clermont had bluntly put it) dumb luck.

  Their lack of appreciation for his contributions had wounded Domenico so deeply that he’d gone on a two-year rampage, feeding freely off the city’s people and threatening to reveal that not only Jerusalem but also the Templars were ruled by a family of ancient vampires. His bad behavior earned him the undying enmity of the de Clermont clan. To get him out of town, Philippe and Hugh granted him bits of Jerusalem and trade agreements that provided the foundations for Domenico’s current fortune.

  Now, centuries later, Domenico was being made to feel once again like a newly reborn vampire. Matthew was no more impressed with his lofty position or his generous offers to intercede with the Congregation than he had been with Domenico’s offers of assistance in the twelfth century.

  Domenico changed strategy.

  “Just think for a moment about what you’re doing,” he said earnestly. “The covenant has held for nearly nine hundred years. It’s a simple set of promises: no politics, no religion, and no love between witches, daemons, and vampires. Is she really worth breaking the oath you made so many years ago?”

  “Autre temps, autres moeurs, Domenico. The covenant was formed in a time when we needed to set limits. The Crusades proved that. Too many creatures were letting personal ambitions rule their actions.” Like you, Matthew thought. “We didn’t require a mutual promise to behave properly before that time. Maybe we no longer need it.”

  “As long as there are families like yours that don’t obey rules they expect others to follow, there will always be a need for the covenant and the Congregation. If Hugh had been more reasonable—”

  “You were the primary reason for the covenant—not me, and certainly not my brother.” Matthew cut the Venetian off. Matthew avoided the memory of Hugh, whom he had worshipped with the passionate devotion that Domenico had once lavished on Matthew. It was always Hugh who stood up for him with Philippe and gave Matthew the books that he treasured. After dedicating himself selflessly to Jerusalem and the family’s Templar project for centuries, Hugh had been burned at the stake in the fourteenth century by the French king. Matthew swallowed hard around the pain and rage that accompanied any thought of his brother.

  “Me?” Domenico snarled. “The de Clermonts brought this on themselves, parading around Jerusalem for so many years and starting that infernal order of knights. Why did your family deserve to control Jerusalem?”

  “We didn’t deserve it, Domenico,” Matthew said patiently. He’d tried to explain this to Domenico in 1123 and again in 1313 outside Ferrara when the Venetian had refused to help save the Templars—and Hugh—from pope and king. “The Holy Land was being treated like a playground. Witches were flooding in to stake their claim and join the new order of Knights Hospitallers, the d
aemons were fighting for the Turks or waiting in Sicily to see which way the wind was blowing, and the vampires were fighting each other for control of territory. My father took the situation in hand and saved the city. Then he and my brothers came up with a better idea to manage Crusader affairs so that entire families weren’t financially ruined. That’s the only reason we created the Templars.”

  “I see. The de Clermonts amassed all that wealth and power as a favor to the rest of us? Not so the vampire Templars could fight the witches’ Hospitallers? Not for the money?” Domenico snorted. “Don’t insult my intelligence.”

  “Believe what you want, but it was your actions in Jerusalem that made the covenant necessary. The de Clermonts swore to it because we had no choice—your charges of impropriety and fraud against us nearly started a civil war among the city’s creatures. It took my father forty years to extricate our family from the political life of Jerusalem.” And his mother had never recovered from the savagery of the situation. Domenico’s failed attempt to start a civil war in the city had led to outright civil war in the de Clermont family, and Ysabeau had been forced to leave Jerusalem against her will.

  “You never extricated yourself from the Templars, though.” Domenico had always wanted to be a member of the order and knew that Matthew had blackballed him. He also knew that the Templars were very good at keeping their secrets. The only thing Domenico lusted after more than the blood of highborn women was their secrets—and those of their families, too.

  “It was the family business, for Christ’s sake,” Matthew said furiously. “Did you give up your merchant empire when you swore to uphold the covenant? Have you given the business up since then? Of course not.”

  “Where did all the Templar money go, Matthew?” Domenico’s eyes flickered over the outlines of Sept-Tours. “There was enough of it to build more than one castle.”

  Matthew’s mouth tightened with distaste. Avarice was another of Domenico’s flaws. “As I recall, Domenico, the king and the pope seized our property and gave it to the witches seven hundred years ago. Ask the Hospitallers where the money is. I don’t have it.”