Midnight Marked
Page 31
I’m watching, Ethan said.
I turned my attention to the rest of the room, searching for magic, a forgotten alchemical symbol, some hint of that metallic magic. But there was nothing. Just the prickly air of excitement, of sensual anticipation. Considering the number of vampires in the room, I presumed there would be blood.
I looked up at Ethan, working my features into an expression of total adoration. If this is the appetizer, what’s the main course?
Ethan sipped at his cognac, kept a hand on my hair, stroking, his eyes on the room. The hallway door opened, and the butler escorted a young man inside. He was tall and leanly built, with dark skin and hair in short braids. He wore black slacks and a white button-down shirt, and his eyes glimmered with excitement.
I believe he would be the entrée, Ethan said.
Two female vampires with tan skin, high cheekbones, and straight hair pulled into high knots rose together from a sofa with an ornate back. They wore black silk dresses that snugged their bodies to midcalf, where the fabric pooled around their bare feet as they walked toward the young man. They were beautiful, and the man stared at them with obvious desire.
They took his hands, guided him toward a round, tufted ottoman in the middle of the room. They unfastened the buttons on his shirt, let it fall to the floor.
His neck and arms were dotted with scars, which the women caressed and flicked with eager tongues. It wasn’t hard to guess the scars’ origins; he’d given blood before, many times.
As the women lowered the donor to the ottoman, the butler appeared at our side. “If you’d come with me?”
Ethan kept his eyes on the ottoman. “And why would I want to do that?”
“Because Cyrius wishes to have a word with you.”
Ethan rolled his eyes, playing at a man unaccustomed to being beckoned, which wasn’t much of a stretch. But I caught the tightening of his jaw.
“I’m trying to relax, and I don’t know who Cyrius is. If he wants to speak with me, he can do so here.”
Trouble?
Cyrius runs La Douleur, Ethan said. I’ve not met him, but I know his name.
Another vampire entered the room—an enormous woman with freckles, brown hair, and silvered eyes that were focused on us. A katana in a lacquered black sheath was belted at her waist, and she probably had five inches and eighty pounds on me.
Good, I thought, as I met her threatening gaze. That might make us even.
Steady, now, Sentinel.
I won’t move unless I have to, I assured him. But I hoped that I’d have to. Even vampires bored of posturing.
“Now,” the butler insisted, all pretense of politeness—and the British accent—gone. “Or we do this here.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “This was once an establishment of some gentility.” But he put aside his drink, rose, held up a hand for me.
I nodded, rose obediently, and followed Ethan and the butler to the door where the vampire waited. When I looked back, the vampires had descended on the man on the ottoman, and the scent of blood rose in the air.
The man in the fedora was gone.
• • •
We were marched into the hallway again, then through the open door at the far end into an enormous concrete room, probably a dock for the store that had once filled the slip. A rolling overhead door was open, letting in an astringent, chemical breeze.
There was a desk in the middle of the space piled with papers, and white cardboard file boxes lined the walls, some bursting with paper.
“Excuse the mess.” A man emerged from columns of boxes. A human of medium height, with pale skin, a round belly that hung over camouflage pants, and a gleaming head bounded by a perfect semicircle of dark hair. “We moved recently. Still organizing our inventory and whatnot.”
Ethan and I didn’t respond, but we watched him walk to the desk, pull out an army green chair, and take a seat. It creaked with his formidable weight.
He linked his hands on the table, looked up at us. His eyes were gray, and they narrowed as they took us in.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” he said. “You’re Ethan and, whatsit, Merit? From Cadogan House? Glamour don’t work on me,” he explained, “which makes me perfect for this job.”
So our cover was blown, and thank God for it. Playing meek was absolutely exhausting.
Ethan let the glamour slowly dissolve and flutter away. I rolled my shoulders with relief. The magic might not have had mass, but it still weighed heavily on my psyche.
I felt the vampire move closer, and I slipped a hand to my katana. The feel of the corded handle beneath my fingers was comforting.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” he said, gesturing to the vampire behind us. “She’s very good with that steel.”
There were many ways to bluff. You could preen and exaggerate your strengths, or you could let others believe you were less than you were. I opted for the latter, and managed to stir up a worried glance as I looked at the vampire over my shoulder.
She unsheathed her katana and smiled at me, lifting her chin defiantly. The steel of her sword was smeared and cloudy. She hadn’t cleaned it recently. Catcher, who’d given me the sword I carried, would have my ass in a sling for that.
I swallowed heavily, playing up my fear, then looked back at the man again. He looked very pleased.
“I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage,” Ethan said, understanding exactly the game to be played. “I take it you’re Cyrius?”
“Cyrius Lore. I manage this club.”
I turned my attention to the rest of the room, searching for magic, a forgotten alchemical symbol, some hint of that metallic magic. But there was nothing. Just the prickly air of excitement, of sensual anticipation. Considering the number of vampires in the room, I presumed there would be blood.
I looked up at Ethan, working my features into an expression of total adoration. If this is the appetizer, what’s the main course?
Ethan sipped at his cognac, kept a hand on my hair, stroking, his eyes on the room. The hallway door opened, and the butler escorted a young man inside. He was tall and leanly built, with dark skin and hair in short braids. He wore black slacks and a white button-down shirt, and his eyes glimmered with excitement.
I believe he would be the entrée, Ethan said.
Two female vampires with tan skin, high cheekbones, and straight hair pulled into high knots rose together from a sofa with an ornate back. They wore black silk dresses that snugged their bodies to midcalf, where the fabric pooled around their bare feet as they walked toward the young man. They were beautiful, and the man stared at them with obvious desire.
They took his hands, guided him toward a round, tufted ottoman in the middle of the room. They unfastened the buttons on his shirt, let it fall to the floor.
His neck and arms were dotted with scars, which the women caressed and flicked with eager tongues. It wasn’t hard to guess the scars’ origins; he’d given blood before, many times.
As the women lowered the donor to the ottoman, the butler appeared at our side. “If you’d come with me?”
Ethan kept his eyes on the ottoman. “And why would I want to do that?”
“Because Cyrius wishes to have a word with you.”
Ethan rolled his eyes, playing at a man unaccustomed to being beckoned, which wasn’t much of a stretch. But I caught the tightening of his jaw.
“I’m trying to relax, and I don’t know who Cyrius is. If he wants to speak with me, he can do so here.”
Trouble?
Cyrius runs La Douleur, Ethan said. I’ve not met him, but I know his name.
Another vampire entered the room—an enormous woman with freckles, brown hair, and silvered eyes that were focused on us. A katana in a lacquered black sheath was belted at her waist, and she probably had five inches and eighty pounds on me.
Good, I thought, as I met her threatening gaze. That might make us even.
Steady, now, Sentinel.
I won’t move unless I have to, I assured him. But I hoped that I’d have to. Even vampires bored of posturing.
“Now,” the butler insisted, all pretense of politeness—and the British accent—gone. “Or we do this here.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “This was once an establishment of some gentility.” But he put aside his drink, rose, held up a hand for me.
I nodded, rose obediently, and followed Ethan and the butler to the door where the vampire waited. When I looked back, the vampires had descended on the man on the ottoman, and the scent of blood rose in the air.
The man in the fedora was gone.
• • •
We were marched into the hallway again, then through the open door at the far end into an enormous concrete room, probably a dock for the store that had once filled the slip. A rolling overhead door was open, letting in an astringent, chemical breeze.
There was a desk in the middle of the space piled with papers, and white cardboard file boxes lined the walls, some bursting with paper.
“Excuse the mess.” A man emerged from columns of boxes. A human of medium height, with pale skin, a round belly that hung over camouflage pants, and a gleaming head bounded by a perfect semicircle of dark hair. “We moved recently. Still organizing our inventory and whatnot.”
Ethan and I didn’t respond, but we watched him walk to the desk, pull out an army green chair, and take a seat. It creaked with his formidable weight.
He linked his hands on the table, looked up at us. His eyes were gray, and they narrowed as they took us in.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” he said. “You’re Ethan and, whatsit, Merit? From Cadogan House? Glamour don’t work on me,” he explained, “which makes me perfect for this job.”
So our cover was blown, and thank God for it. Playing meek was absolutely exhausting.
Ethan let the glamour slowly dissolve and flutter away. I rolled my shoulders with relief. The magic might not have had mass, but it still weighed heavily on my psyche.
I felt the vampire move closer, and I slipped a hand to my katana. The feel of the corded handle beneath my fingers was comforting.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” he said, gesturing to the vampire behind us. “She’s very good with that steel.”
There were many ways to bluff. You could preen and exaggerate your strengths, or you could let others believe you were less than you were. I opted for the latter, and managed to stir up a worried glance as I looked at the vampire over my shoulder.
She unsheathed her katana and smiled at me, lifting her chin defiantly. The steel of her sword was smeared and cloudy. She hadn’t cleaned it recently. Catcher, who’d given me the sword I carried, would have my ass in a sling for that.
I swallowed heavily, playing up my fear, then looked back at the man again. He looked very pleased.
“I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage,” Ethan said, understanding exactly the game to be played. “I take it you’re Cyrius?”
“Cyrius Lore. I manage this club.”
