And now for something completely different.
Yes, I know that last week's chapter had Marco in San Francisco. But there is so much going on this book, trust me, we're going to need a lot of recap.
I don't have to worry about spoilers. I have barely begun to spoil.
However, there will be some conclusions picked up from the last novel that will be spoiled here, but I suspect that, if you've paid attention to the other chapters, you've seen it coming.
At the end of book 3, Jennifer Bosley was ... upset.
Now, she's ready for war.
Three items to discuss before the chapter begins...or two and a half, depending on how you look at it.
- Please remember the Dragon Bundle IS STILL GOING. You can pick up THIS ENTIRE SERIES for around $10
- If you already have the series, you can preorder this book right here. It comes out in ONE WEEK.
- Please vote in the Dragon Awards
Chapter 3: Recruitment
January 1st, New York City
Lady Jennifer Bosley, President of the New York City Vampires Association, was not only powerful, but very, very rich. “Old world, old money, I can buy and sell China ten times” rich. If anyone had known she existed, or if she had all of her money in the same place under one name, she would have been one of the top ten richest entities on the planet, including nations.
Like many other wealthy vampires, they tended to buy entire apartment complexes, and leave the outside alone, turning the inside into a luxurious palace. On the outside, it looked like a gang-ridden neighborhood had declared war on her building. Inside, it looked like a modern-day palace. Her office was the size of a large living room. The carpet was Persian, the tapestries were European, the paintings were by old masters—some of which Amanda knew as having gone missing during World War II—and the bookcases had nothing but first editions.
Usually, Jennifer Bosley came into her domain very relaxed. The first time Amanda Colt had met her here, Bosley came in wearing a dark green track suit—she knew she was rich, and she didn’t need to prove it to anyone.
Today, however, Bosley had left Amanda waiting in the center of her office, and didn’t come into a room like a woman who owned the place, but like a soldier who needed a brawl. Bosley was even wearing dark camouflage pants and deep green top. Her form was curvy, and it still showed in the unflattering outfit, and she no longer moved with the effortless grace of the undead, but with long strides of a woman in a hurry.
Her blonde hair terminated at the base of her neck, with her hair at the sides tucked behind her ears. Her full lips were unadorned, and her brown eyes seemed to just cut through whatever she saw.
She was also smoking.
Bosley threw herself onto the edge of her desk. “Hello, luv,” Bosley said, her usually posh British accent reverting to something more “urban London.”
“Hello, Madam President.”
Bosley smiled around her cigarette, and drew on it deeply. She took it out, blowing the smoke off to the side. “Call me Jen. You and I need to talk.”
Amanda Colt nodded slowly. She wasn’t entirely certain what to do with herself. Even though she had been in Bosley’s offices before, she still wasn’t used to it. She had only dressed in a long-sleeved sweater and jeans. She was about 5’6,” with long red-gold hair that went to the small of her back in a golden fall, eyes that were a warm, liquid Frangelico brown with her Siberia-pale skin.
“What can I help you with?” she said, only slightly accentuating her Russian accent.
“You’ve got some support on your side, don’cha? I remember ’earing about it before the summer.”
Amanda nodded slowly. “Da. You have met Enrico, you know we have … resources.”
Bosley nodded. “See, what I mean here is, well…” Her eyes locked on Amanda’s, and started to glow a deep, burning red. Her fangs came out around her lips, and she talked through them as though she’d had millennia of practice. “Those little bastards blew up my professional offices, and tried to bury me. Your war is now my war, and I want to kill the little blighters before they even realize that we’re at their throats.”
Amanda nodded carefully, shocked that Bosley had gotten this riled. She had always been the most controlled, self-possessed vampire Amanda had ever met. Hell, Bosley had once claimed that the source of her power came from being purely pragmatic.
“Are you sure you wish to go there?” Amanda asked. “I would hate for something to happen to you.”
The glow in Bosley’s eyes faded, and a corner of her lips quirked up. “Concerned fo’ the state of my soul, are ya?” She popped the cigarette back into place, and rolled over the top of her desk. She reached into a drawer, and pulled out a cross. She pressed it to her skin, and waited.
After ten seconds of silence, Amanda shrugged. “I guess you are good.”
“After a fashion, luv.” She placed the cross back in the drawer. “We’re at war. War isn’t de facto immoral. And if this isn’t a just war, we’re probably all quite screwed.”
“You seem quite angry.”
Bosley smiled, and her eyes narrowed. “Oh, luv, you ’ave no idea.” She tossed herself back into the seat, resting combat boots on the desk. “Now, tell me what you know.”
Amanda finally relaxed enough to sit down in the chair across from Bosley. “You have noticed the increase in devil worship?”
Bosley smiled. “Where would you want to start? The headlines, or the French Revolution, when the Terror really got dark? Dipping bread in the blood of the freshly decapitated.” She grimaced. “It was tacky even then. You can talk about the rise of Moloch—America’s Cold Spring ’arbor back in the twenties, when they sterilized, euthanized, and murdered…what do they call the retarded now?
“Inconvenient.”
Bosley nodded. “Sounds right. You’ve got your eugenics, your World War II, Soviet Lenin worship, making communism a religion, Hitler’s Norse gods, Obama worship… I can go on forever. What are you thinking of? Vampires in the gulags and the camps?”
Amanda shrugged. “All of that. Remember The Council?”
Bosley nodded. “The big boogeyman, The Council? The black helicopters of the vampire world?” She sighed. “I know of it.”
Amanda nodded. “The demon from September, ‘Mister Day’? He was one of them. As was Nuala.”
Bosley nodded. “Yes. I had heard of a Mister Day that made political connections.”
“He also managed to get into the United Nations.”
Bosley’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me that The Council…is now a council? A UN council?”
Amanda nodded. “That is what we surmise.”
Bosley grimaced. “We’re going to need more guns.”
Again, please remember
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