The flash of disappointment took her by surprise, and yet at the same time, Narcise felt a tide of relief sweep over her. "That's why you asked if David and I were lovers," she said wryly, a twinge of annoyance replacing her relief.
"No," he said.
She waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. A heavy silence descended, one in which the drumming of her heart seemed to grow louder, filling the chamber, and his as well, and she swore she could hear them beating in tandem. Warmth and softness flooded her, and if she didn't know that it was impossible for a Dracule to enthrall another Dracule, she would believe it was happening.
"And so," he said after a long moment, breaking the connection, "these are your private apartments-where you sleep? Where you paint, and entertain?"
"I do very little entertaining, as you can imagine," she replied, picking up the charcoal, then choosing one of the heavy pencils instead. There was a place that needed a darker shadow, but it was at the outside corner of his eye and required a delicate touch. "But I paint and draw here. There is another larger room where I practice with my sword."
"Does Cezar allow you any freedoms? Do you ride, or shop, or visit the cafes and museums?"
"I do not leave this premises without him," she replied. "I haven't been on a horse in years. He brings entertainment here, and the seamstresses and cloth merchants. He's afraid to go above ground very often."
"It must be related to his Asthenia. Despite my generous bribes, no one has even a suspicion of what it is," Cale said. "Do you?"
She shook her head. "Do you not think I would have found a way to use it by now if I did? It is an immensely well-guarded secret. I do not believe there is anyone beyond Cezar and Lucifer himself who knows."
"But what of his makes?" Cale asked. "Would it not be clear from them?"
It was a logical question, for when a Dracule sired, or made, a new vampire, his or her Asthenia was passed on to the new immortal. In addition, the immortal gained a unique Asthenia of his or her own. Thus, the further down the evolution from Lucifer's personally invited vampires, the weaker and more vulnerable the makes were, for the more Asthenias they acquired.
But Cezar was much too smart to make such a mistake. "Contrary to what my brother implies and wishes for people to believe, he has not made any vampirs himself. At least, of which I'm aware."
That surprised Cale, for his brows rose in shock. "How can that be true? He is known for his clan of loyal servants-most of them makes-and for his influence over even the mortal world in Paris."
"But it is true. For many years, he held three Dracule captive and forced them to sire vampirs for his use. Early on, he used me in the same manner." She spoke matter-of-factly as she reshaped the line at the lower part of his ear.
Cale seemed to digest this for a moment. "Very clever. And if the sires of the vampires are under Moldavi's control, then so are the makes themselves. But you are his sister, and you cannot guess what his Asthenia is, even now?"
"All I can suspect is that it is something so common that it keeps him away from the mortal world unless the environment is very much controlled."
"Then I must count myself flattered that he accepted the invitation to visit my club."
"He admires you-your business acumen, and your wealth."
Cale nodded. "Many do," he said with that sudden smile. "I am gifted in that way. But I think your brother is more interested in my Chinese contacts, and the partnerships for the opium I can help him get."
"Cezar won't allow himself to be weak enough to become an opium eater," she told him. Then she added, "Perhaps you could sit again, monsieur. I cannot seem to get this particular..." She squinted, forgetting what she was about to say as she tried to imagine the shape that the now-absent hat had made above his right ear.
Cale sat, an amused smile softening his mouth. "So he does not want the opium for himself?"
"Oh, he does, but he doesn't indulge very often. He avoids anything that lessens his control of himself or a situation."
"I have come to that conclusion."
"Now, if you could cease from speaking for a moment, monsieur," she commanded. "I must get your mouth."
"I will if you will continue talking to me."
"Very well. Cezar wants the opium for his own occasional use, but also so he can use it to influence and control not only his allies, but also the powerful people in Paris. Mortals and otherwise. They'll buy it from him, or he'll gift them with it in order to get what he wants done."
Silence descended again as she concentrated on making the shape of his mouth perfect. With an artist's detachment, she drew the lips and shaded them, the top lip always darker than the bottom because of the way it was formed and the way it slanted out and curved into the seam of one's lips...but as she finished, her femaleness began to take over. Remembering how those lips had molded to her palm, the slip of his tongue over the sensitive skin there, and the delicate brush of his mouth, hot and tender...she had to close her eyes for a moment to steady herself.
"When you trust me enough, you'll kiss me," he said, reading her thoughts with uncanny ability. Her eyes shot open and were captured by his. "And," he added, "you'll tell me what was in the little lead box in the other chamber."
Narcise licked her own lips nervously, and felt his eyes slip to her mouth. If nothing else, the man owned his control. His desire, his taste, for her was palpable, undulating through the chamber. Her own want made her fingers shake so that she couldn't finish the stroke.
"Feathers. Brown sparrow feathers," she said softly, ignoring the sharp slice of pain from Lucifer's Mark. Even though it was no great secret-many of her rivals obviously knew what was in the lead box, and Cale could easily find out himself. But he asked, and she wanted to give him the information freely. She wanted to give him something of herself. "The first thing I saw when I woke the morning after...the morning after Luce visited me...was a sparrow, singing in the tree outside my bedroom window."
He nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Narcise. That's a beginning. And that's all I need from you now."
He looked as if he were about to say something more, but then his body tensed. At the same time, Narcise turned to look toward the door. She heard the footfalls, too. By the time Belial and Monique entered the chamber, Cale had stuffed the peach pits back into his mouth and replaced the hat. He was holding a cup of the coffee, and a piece of the sweet bread David enjoyed in the other hand.