“A single being got in,” Lara continued. “A mad god. The Hunger. The first Hunger. They managed to constrain it, but it began driving the city mad by its mere presence, inflaming every unfulfilled desire of the people who lived there, spreading like a sickness from one to the next.The other sorcerer-kings fled to the defenses of their own citadels, leaving Laris to face the Hunger alone except for his daughter and apprentice, Thana. They were not strong enough to banish the Outsider, and they could not kill it, but they knew a spell for binding immortal beings indelibly with mortals. Their plan was to contain the Outsider to a mortal shell that would inevitably wither into death, taking the Hunger with it.”
I took a moment to do a few mental calculations just to begin to figure out the mix of forces that would be needed for a spell like that, and it made my head spin. Those ancient wizards knew things that the White Council did not let out into the world of wizardry at large today. Hell, which might be just as well, if this story was going the way I thought it was. “How’d that work out for them?”
Lara smirked. “Badly. The Hunger was bound into the prison of Laris’s body and will, but it also took possession of him. It did unspeakable things to Thana before she turned the tables and bound Laris in irons for the rest of his natural life.” She shifted her weight from one hip to the other, glancing up at me. “The Hunger had the last laugh. The child it sired on her was Sethre, the first of my kind, born knitted in soul to an infant Hunger—a larva of the original dark god. These larvae seek to secure and protect their hosts in order to prolong their own lives—for they are still bound to die with their hosts. Sethre sired many sons and daughters, and they bred more. And so, our kind spread. Some four thousand years later, here we are, all caught up.”
I shook my head. “May I ask questions?”
“Of course.”
“How long do your kind live?”
“We are biologically immortal, as far as can be determined,” Lara said promptly. “However, our…appetites generally expose us to greater than average levels of risk. Speaking from a strictly mathematical standpoint, vampires who do not master their appetites generally do not live beyond their second or third century before some violence or mishap befalls them. My father is currently the oldest vampire of the White Court. He says he is two thousand years old, though I have my doubts.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Harry, I’m shocked.”
“Hah,” I said. “Talk.”
She opened her mouth and then rolled her eyes up a little. “Shall we say more than two centuries and less than three?”
“All right, cradle robber,” I said. I frowned. “I don’t suppose you have access to these spells your grandcestors used?”
“Harry, it was scores of centuries ago. Little enough remains of that time at all—anywhere. And the White Council took possession of the sorcerer-king’s spell books centuries later. If anyone has them, they will.”
Oh, they certainly would. At least copies of them. Knowledge of how to create new races of vampires and God only knew what else. The Merlin would have that locked away in the deepest dungeons of the Edinburgh complex, along with every other potential superweapon the entirety of the world’s wizard population had been able to lay their hands on over the centuries. I’d never have been able to get to that kind of thing, even when I’d been in the good(ish) graces of the Council.
“How confident are you in the truth of this story?” I asked her.
“It’s family history,” Lara said. “But it’s something close to holy among our kind. I’ve never had any reason to think it’s been doctored.”
“Phew,” I said, folding my fingers over my nose, thinking.
Lara turned toward me, her expression remote—but I had seen enough clients trying to hold things in that I could tell that she had everything riding on her next question. “Can you use this?” she asked. “To help Thomas with his Hunger?”
Outsiders.
The Hungers were baby Outsiders.
And I was starborn. I still had little idea of what that really meant, but I did know one thing for certain: I had been given power over Outsiders. My magic could affect them when another’s could not.
Maybe I wasn’t helpless here.
Maybe I could save my brother.
“Maybe,” I said slowly. “By God. Maybe.” I frowned. “But…”
Lara tilted her head. “But what?”
“How would you feel,” I asked slowly, “about an experiment? More specifically, about being one.”
Lara arched a delicate black brow.
“An experiment with intentions,” I corrected myself.
Lara frowned, an expression no less stunning than her smile. “I am fairly sure I already regret this.”
“I have some things to prepare,” I said, bouncing lightly on my toes. “The New Year’s Eve party. Can you arrange for us to have some alone time?”
