Cadre of Ten

The Cadre of Ten, the archangels who ruled the
world in all the ways that mattered, met in an ancient keep deep in
the Scottish Highlands. No one—human or vampire—would dare trespass
on angelic territory, but even had they felt the need to give in to
the suicidal urge, it would have proved impossible. The keep had
been built by angels, wings a prerequisite for access.
Technology could’ve negated that advantage, but
immortals didn’t survive eons by being left behind. The air above
and around the keep was strictly controlled, both by a complex
intrusion detection system and by units of highly trained angels.
Today’s security had turned the sky into a cascade of wings—it
wasn’t often that the ten most powerful beings in the world met in
one place.
“Where is Uram?” Raphael asked, glancing at the
incomplete semicircle of chairs.
Michaela was the one who answered. “He had a
situation in his territory that required immediate attention.” Her
lips curved as she spoke, and she was beautiful, perhaps the most
beautiful woman who had ever lived . . . if you didn’t look beneath
the surface.
“She makes Uram her puppet.” It was a murmur so low
that Raphael knew it had been meant for him alone.
Glancing at Lijuan, he shook his head. “He’s too
powerful. She might control his cock, but nothing else.”
Lijuan smiled, and it was a smile that held nothing
of humanity. The oldest of the archangels had long passed the age
where she could even pretend at being mortal. Now, when Raphael
looked at her, he saw only a strange darkness, a whisper of worlds
beyond either mortal or immortal ken.
“And are we not important?” A pointed question from
Neha, the archangel who ruled India and its surrounds.
“Leave it, Neha,” Elijah said in that calm way of
his. “We all know of Uram’s arrogance. If he chooses not to be
here, then he forfeits the right to question our decisions.”
That soothed the Queen of Poisons. Astaad and Titus
seemed not to care either way, but Charisemnon wasn’t so easily
appeased. “He spits on the Cadre,” the archangel said, his
aristocratic face drawn in sharply angry lines. “He may as well
renounce his membership.”
“Don’t be stupid, Chari,” Michaela said, and the
way she did it, the tone, made it clear she’d once had him in her
bed. “An archangel doesn’t get invited to join the Cadre. We become
Cadre when we become archangels.”
“She’s right.” Favashi spoke for the first time.
The quietest of the archangels, she held sway over Persia, and was
so good at remaining unnoticed that her enemies forgot about her.
Which was why she ruled as they lay in their graves.
“Enough,” Raphael said. “We’re here for a reason.
Let’s get to it so we can return to our respective
territories.”
“Where is the mortal?” Neha asked.
“Waiting outside. Illium flew him up from the
lowlands.” Raphael didn’t ask Illium to bring their visitor inside.
“We’re here because Simon, the mortal, is growing old. The American
chapter of the Guild will need a new director within the next
year.”
“So let them choose one.” Astaad shrugged. “What
does it matter to us as long as they do their job?”
That job happened to be a critical one. Angels
might Make vampires, but it was the Guild Hunters who ensured those
vampires obeyed their hundred-year Contract. Humans signed the
Contract easily enough, hungry for immortality. However, fulfilling
the terms was another matter—a great many of the newly Made had
changes of heart after a few paltry years of service.
And the angels, despite the myths created around
their immortal beauty, were not agents of some heavenly entity.
They were rulers and businessmen, practical and merciless. They did
not like losing their investments. Hence, the Guild and its
hunters.
“It matters,” Michaela said in a biting tone,
“because the American and European branches of the Guild are the
most powerful. If the next director can’t do his job, we face a
rebellion.”
Raphael found her choice of words interesting. It
betrayed something about the vampires under her tender care that
they’d seize any chance of escape.
“I grow tired of this.” Titus stirred his muscular
bulk, his skin gleaming blue-black. “Bring in the human and let us
hear him.”
Agreeing, Raphael touched Illium’s mind. Send
Simon in.
The doors opened on the heels of his command and a
tall man with the sinewy muscles of a street fighter or foot
soldier walked in. His hair was white, his skin wrinkled, but his
eyes, they sparkled bright blue. Illium pulled the doors shut the
instant Simon cleared them, cloaking the room in lush privacy once
more.
The retiring Guild Director met Raphael’s eyes and
nodded once. “I am honored to be in the presence of the Cadre. It’s
not a thing I ever thought to experience.”
Unsaid was the fact that most humans who came into
contact with the Cadre ended up dead.
“Be seated.” Favashi waved to a chair placed at the
open end of the semicircle.
The old warrior settled himself without any fuss,
but Raphael had seen Simon in his prime. He knew the Guild Director
was feeling the kiss of age. And yet, he was no old man, never
would be. He was a man to be respected. Once, Raphael might’ve
called such a man a friend, but that time had passed a thousand
years ago. He’d learned too well that mortal lives blinked out with
firefly quickness.
“You wish to retire your position?” Neha asked with
regal elegance. She was one of the few who continued to keep a
court—the Queen of Poisons might kill you, but you’d admire her
refined grace even as you took your last agonizing breath.
Simon remained coolly composed under her regard.
Being Guild Director for forty years had given him a confidence he
hadn’t had as the young man Raphael had first seen take the reins.
“I must,” he now said. “My hunters are happy for me to stay on, but
a good director needs always consider the health of the Guild as a
whole. That health flows from the top—the leader must be eminently
capable of undertaking an active hunt if necessary.” A rueful
smile. “I’m strong and I’m skilled, but I’m no longer as fast, or
as willing to dance with death.”
“Honest words.” Titus nodded approvingly. He was
most at ease among warriors and their kin—for though he might rule
with brutal strength, he was as blunt as the hard line of his jaw.
“It’s a strong general who can give up the reins of power.”
Simon acknowledged the compliment with a slight
nod. “I’ll always be a hunter, and as is custom, I’ll remain
available to the new director till my death. However, I have every
faith in her ability to lead the Guild.”
“Her?” Charisemnon snorted. “A female?”
Michaela raised an eyebrow. “My respect for the
Guild has suddenly increased a hundredfold.”
Simon didn’t allow himself to get drawn into the
dialogue. “Sara Haziz is the best possible person to take my place
for a number of reasons.”
Astaad settled his wings. “Tell us.”
“With respect,” Simon said quietly, “that is no
concern of the Cadre’s.”
It was Titus who reacted first. “You think to defy
us?”
“The Guild has always been neutral for a reason.”
Simon’s spine remained unbending. “Our job is to retrieve vampires
who break their Contracts. But through the ages, we’ve often found
ourselves in the middle of wars between angels. We survive only
because we are seen as neutral. If the Cadre takes too much
of an interest, we lose that protection.”
“Pretty words,” Neha said.
Simon met her gaze. “That makes them no less
true.”
“Is she capable?” Elijah asked. “This, we must
know. If the American Guild falls, the ripple effect could be
catastrophic.”
Vampires would go utterly free, Raphael thought.
Some would slip softly into an ordinary life. But others, others
would murder and kill. Because at heart, they were predators. Not
so different from angels when all was said and done.
“Sara is more than capable,” Simon said. “She also
has the loyalty of her fellow hunters—I’ve had a significant number
of them come up to me this past year and suggest her name as a
possible successor.”
“This Sara is your best hunter?” Astaad
asked.
Simon shook his head. “But the best will never make
a good director. She is hunter-born.”
Raphael made a note to find out her name. Unlike
normal members of the Guild, the hunter-born came out of the womb
with the ability to scent vampires. They were the best trackers in
the world, the most relentless—bloodhounds tuned to one particular
scent. “And Sara?” he asked. “Will she accept?”
Simon took a moment to think. “I have not a single
doubt that Sara will make the right decision.”