Blue-Blooded Vamp

Page 10

“In fact, I think maybe you’re in the wrong place altogether.”
“And what might be the right place?”
“I wouldn’t be knowin’ that.” Dicky’s lips tightened and his eyes were now as serious as life and death.
“This is a waste of time. This guy doesn’t know anything.” My aggressive tone earned me a sharp glance from the Recreant.
“If you’ll be excusing me, I’ve got thirsty customers,” the Brit said. “And I’ll be asking you to leave once you finish your pints.”
My mouth fell open at the dismissal. Erron kicked my ankle. I rounded on him but he shook his head with an expression that threatened pain if I caused a scene. “Let’s go.”
I slammed my pint on the bar and grabbed my jacket off the barstool. Erron had already turned to go, trusting I’d follow like a good girl. Part of me longed to stay and show these assholes who they were dealing with. But I could feel their eyes on me. Could feel the magic hanging heavy in the air. Powers gathering, waiting for me to try something. These chaps might look like barflies, but there was serious magic in that room. Erron, Adam, and I could have probably handled ourselves well enough to survive the brawl—especially if I let Giguhl come out to play—but to what end? We’d still be leaving without the information we needed.
So with my pride dragging behind me like a piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe, I stalked toward the door.
“Oy!”
I kept going, figuring whoever had called out was trying to get someone else’s attention.
“Oy! Mixed-Blood! Hold up!”
I turned slowly, my eyes narrow and my fists ready to defend. The bartender rushed around the other end of the bar. He waddled toward me, his expression inscrutable but his movements anxious.
“What?” I snapped. Behind me, I felt Adam’s presence looming like a threat should the mage step out of line.
“What’s this, then?” he demanded when he reached me.
“What’s what?” I’d run out of patience. If he wanted to talk, he’d have to work for it.
He lifted a hand. My arm shot out to stop what I thought was a strike. He paused and pulled back. “Relax, bird. I was just pointing to your back.”
I frowned. “What about it?”
He frowned as if I was being purposefully obtuse. “What’s your name?”
Jesus, this guy and his twenty questions. “I’m Sabina Kane, who the fuck are you?”
“Sabina Kane,” the bartender repeated with a smile. A genuine one this time. “Well, well. This changes things, then, doesn’t it?”
“Listen, Mr. Belvedere, I’m tired and my patience ran out about a week ago. You got something to say to me, then say it.”
“I think you and your friends need to come back to my office.”
Adam stepped forward. “Two seconds ago you kicked us out of your bar. Why the change?”
“You know what? I don’t give a shit,” I said. “Let’s go.”
“Sabina…,” Erron warned.
Dicky ignored the Recreant and cocked an eyebrow at me. “You got a mouth, don’t ya?”
“So I’ve been told,” I retorted. “Come on, Adam.”
“I got a message for you.”
I plastered on my poker face. “Bullshit.”
“Don’t be like that. Can’t blame a bloke for being careful. These are dangerous times we live in. Can’t trust just anyone who walks in off the street.”
I crossed my arms. “So why do you suddenly trust us now?”
The corner of Dicky’s mouth lifted. “Because Abel told me a female bearing two eight-point stars on her back would come looking for him.”
Cold sweat bloomed on my skin along with fear in the pit of my stomach. “How in the hell would he know that?”
I’d always had the star mark on my right shoulder, but the one on my left? That one I’d earned only a few days earlier. Somehow, when my sister had died, her birthmark had transferred to my left shoulder. Probably there was some mystical significance to the transfer, but it hadn’t yet revealed itself. Until that happened, I used it as a talisman—a symbol that my sister, though dead, was still with me in spirit. She had my back now.
“I’m sure I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Regardless, he said you’d go by one of two names.”
I frowned. “What was the other name?”
“Maisie Graecus.”
My skin crawled like someone had just played hopscotch across my grave. Hearing my twin’s name thrown about so casually made my stomach lurch. But hearing that Abel was expecting one of us to come find him made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. Neither Maisie nor I had ever met Abel.
Giguhl’s head popped up from the bag. “What the fuck?”
Dicky’s eyes narrowed at the cat. “You’re lucky Abel’s a friend, girl, or I’d kick your ass out again for bringing a demon into my bar.”
I let that pass and squared off with the male. “So what’s this message?”
He shook his head. “Not here.” He waved us back toward the hallway. “It’s not safe.”
“You know what else isn’t safe?” I said, my tone dripping menace. “Jerking me around. I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me who Abel really is.” Something told me that if Abel knew that much about me, I’d better find out his real identity sooner rather than later.
He crossed his arms and chuckled. “Now who’s jerking who around?”
“What do you mean?” Adam said. “It’s a fair question. If Abel really left a message for Sabina, then you obviously know his real identity.”
The bartender raised a brow. “That’s the rub, see. Because when Abel told me the names of the females who might show up with the twin birthmarks, he also said another interesting fact. One that leads me to believe you’re lying about not knowing who he really is.”
I raised my hands in an inpatient gesture. “Well?”
“After he told me the names of the female who’d come looking for him, he said I should treat the one who showed with respect because”—he leaned in to whisper—“she’s his daughter.”
The floor fell out from underneath me.
“What do you mean?” Adam demanded. “Are you saying Abel is Tristan Graecus?”
“Well fuck me sideways,” Giguhl said. “The dude we’re looking for is your dead dad?”
A hush fell over the bar. Dozens of gazes burned into us. A few mages even rose like they were expecting a fight—or looking for one.
“I think we’d better take this conversation someplace more private,” Adam said. He came up behind me and put a steadying hand on my shoulder. Good thing, too. I was either going to hurl or fall down. Or both.
“I already told ya that,” Dicky said, looking annoyed. “Come along, then.”
As the bartender led us back to his office, shock completely robbed me of the ability to speak or think clearly. I had that feeling you get when you pray that you’re in the midst of a particularly fucked up nightmare. But something told me no amount of pinching would make this moment less real. Tristan Graecus was alive?
What. The. Fuck?
The office was little more than a cramped storage room with a paper-strewn table, kegs of beer, and nothing but crates to use as seats. Good thing I liked Erron and loved Adam because I was basically wedged in between them. I held the bag containing Giguhl close to my chest, partially out of concern for space and partially because I felt the need to hang on tight to something I could trust.
“There now,” the bartender said with a relieved sigh. “Now we can speak openly. We’ll begin with introductions. The name’s Richard Green, but you can call me Dicky seeing as how you’re Tristan’s daughter and all.”
“You know Erron and Sabina,” Adam snapped. “I’m Adam and the demon’s name is Giguhl. And you can start by telling us how the hell you know so much about Tristan Graecus.”
He obviously still hadn’t forgiven this guy for his earlier treatment. I liked to imagine his indignation was for my benefit, but I knew the bombshell about Tristan Graecus had to be affecting him pretty badly, too. After all, he’d grown up believing my father was a revered martyr to all of magekind.
“I’m the unofficial leader of the expat mages in Rome. It’s my business to know lots of people.”
“Who is the official leader?” Adam asked.
“There aren’t many native mages in the Eternal City. Most left when things started getting hairy—or hairier, I guess—with the vamps a few months ago.”
That made sense. Mages and vamps had always been sworn enemies, but it wasn’t until last October that the hostilities had coalesced into an actual threat of war. Even though I knew all this, hearing the tensions had also affected mages and vamps abroad surprised me. I’d never given much thought to how the actions of the American dark races might influence the actions of those abroad. But it made sense, I guess, since although the centers of power for the races existed in the States, their reach extended worldwide. And since Rome had always been vampire territory, it wasn’t a surprise the mages had fled.
“You said Abel is Sabina’s father?” Erron prompted.
Dicky’s face tightened with suspicion. “Yeah. I’m going to need some proof that you’re really Sabina.”
My mouth fell open. “You need proof? Fuck you. You need to prove to me that you’re telling the truth. How do I know you don’t work for Cain?”
Dicky threw back his head and laughed. “Sure, a mage working for the father of the bloodsuckers. Are ya drunk, girl? You came here looking for me. What I want to know is why you’re looking for Abel if you didn’t know he was your father?”
I took a deep breath to quell the cocktail of annoyance and panic stewing in my gut. “Assuming Abel really is Tristan Graecus—”