by M. A. Grant
“Are you sure?” Atlas asked quietly.
“Radu’s location data placed him here,” Cristian said, gesturing to the door. “We’ve at least got to check that it’s the right place.”
Atlas didn’t argue. Instead, he led them inside with a sigh.
“I didn’t expect this,” Cristian remarked as he stepped past Atlas and peered around.
The bar wasn’t a claustrophobic hole-in-the-wall, and it was moderately busy for such a late night. It was brightly lit, and the white paint made the interior gleam and appear bigger than it logically was. Handmade furniture—thick wooden tables and slat-back wooden chairs—were painted in a wide variety of bright, cheerful colors. Woven mats and linens decorated the tables, and drying herbs hung from the thick wooden rafters overhead. They weren’t too strong or oppressive, just enough to keep the space fresh while not torturing a vampire’s keen sense of smell.
Atlas hadn’t said a word yet. He’d closed the door behind them and stepped up beside Cristian. Some of the clientele glanced their way, but seemed unconcerned about the newcomers. Although, considering what a tightly held secret the bar was, Cristian guessed that anyone who found their way there was likely considered friendly company by everyone else.
“Should I let you go first?” Cristian asked Atlas, only partially teasing.
Atlas shook his head. “You go,” he said quietly. “They’re trying hard to not look too interested. Maybe if you talk to the bartender, it’ll put them at ease.”
“You could order for us,” Cristian protested.
“I don’t think it’s wise for us to be speaking English exclusively,” Atlas remarked, careful to keep his voice low. “I’ll find us a table.”
His observation forced Cristian to reassess the situation. The bartender’s interest when they walked in made sense, but Cristian had clearly missed the other patrons’ reactions. Maybe he was too used to being nearly invincible in any place he walked into. Maybe he hadn’t questioned his safety in the rural town because Mihai had given him blanket permission to go where he wanted, when he wanted, with no repercussions. Or maybe the difference was that these vampires would only look at a donor with genuine interest...and Atlas was a specimen to behold.
Might as well test the theory. Cristian reached out and slid his hand into Atlas’s, darkly amused when some of the other patrons dropped their gazes and tried to return to their previous conversations. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to be alone right now,” he said, “because they weren’t looking at me.”
Atlas’s fingers twitched in Cristian’s grip, but he didn’t pull away. His small show of trust seemed a victory in itself. “Of course they weren’t,” he grumbled. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Cristian led them farther into the bar, weaving around to avoid the occupied tables, and drew up when they reached the beautifully worn well-loved serving table that had been converted into the bar’s counter.
“Welcome,” the bartender told Cristian, not bothering with English. She’d seen Atlas when they walked in, but now that they were at the bar, she dismissed him quickly and focused on the vampire he was with. Another reminder they weren’t in Scarsdale anymore. “How can I help you?”
“I’ll have a glass of your house red,” Cristian said. He turned to Atlas and raised a brow. “Anything for you?”
To his surprise, Atlas took a moment to look at their selection before replying, “A local IPA is fine. She can pick.”
Cristian relayed Atlas’s order in Romanian. The bartender nodded, but gestured them away. Despite her distrust, they needed to see if she knew anything about Radu. By the time she’d prepared their drinks, Cristian had thought up an appropriate excuse for jumpstarting a conversation.
She handed Atlas his beer and set down Cristian’s wine. “Anything else?”
“Actually, you might be able to help me,” Cristian said, channeling all his charm into a bright, friendly smile. “I was supposed to meet Radu Dunării here about a week ago, but some business came up and I couldn’t make it. I’ve missed him by phone ever since. Do you remember if he was here?”
The bartender’s expression shuttered at the mention of Radu’s name and she shook her head as she stepped back, putting physical distance between herself and Cristian. “I can’t recall. Good luck finding him.”
Cristian shrugged and launched into new light-hearted banter about how good it was to be back in Romania. By the time he finished paying the tab, the bartender didn’t look nearly as nervous. Cristian picked up his wine, Atlas his beer, and they made their way to a larger table away from everyone else.
“So much for subtle,” Atlas said as they settled in and began drinking. “I didn’t think you’d blurt his name out in front of everyone.”
“No point pretending privacy with this many ears listening in. Hopefully someone saw him and will want to talk. And I didn’t think you drank on the job,” Cristian said, eyeing the way Atlas’s throat worked as he swallowed a long pull of his beer.
“My job is to do what you say,” Atlas said. “To be the best donor you could ask for.”
“Oh?” Cristian croaked around the sip of wine that had gone down wrong. He knew Atlas was playing a role, but that didn’t make it any easier to ignore the want digging in under his ribs.
Atlas nodded and laid a hand on the table. He tapped with a finger, but Cristian couldn’t figure out why until he looked up and found Atlas watching him intently. Once he was sure Cristian was watching, Atlas looked back down to his finger, tapped it, and tilted his head. In the same fucking direction.
“Oh,” Cristian said again, silently chastising himself for not figuring it out sooner.
“I didn’t know it’d be so different over here,” Atlas told him, feigning astonishment as he looked around the bar.
He was good at pretending, and his act would be convincing to everyone in the bar. Cristian was the only one who knew better, who knew exactly how Atlas was cataloging the other patrons as he talked about the decor around them and asked Cristian about their plans for the next few days. He tapped every now and then, directing Cristian’s attention to a woman watching them closely, to a man whose furtive looks warned he either wanted to kill them or make a move on them, and even to a quiet man drinking by himself and paying no attention to anyone else. Atlas laid careful groundwork with his words so Cristian could tie it into the conversation.
They were down to the last few sips of their drinks when Atlas leaned forward over the table, close enough Cristian could catch the hint of hops on his breath, could admire the lazy smirk curling his lips. “I guess subtlety is overrated,” he whispered. “You were right.”
The distracted man Atlas had pointed out earlier made his way across the bar toward them. He paused as he neared their table, glancing from Atlas to Cristian. “May I join you?” he asked Cristian in a deep, gravelly voice that chewed through the flowing vowels.
“Please, do,” Cristian encouraged, using English to key Atlas in to what was happening.
Their unexpected guest took the empty chair at the end of the table and set his glass down on the carefully patterned linen. “You asked about Radu,” he said. He sounded a little unsure, but he’d asked the question in English, which meant he was willing to play by Cristian’s rules in this conversation.
“I did,” Cristian agreed. Beneath the table, Atlas shifted and pressed the toe of his shoe against the side of Cristian’s foot. He didn’t speak up, which meant he was allowing Cristian to control the discussion. He trusted Cristian to not fuck this up. Cristian smiled and flung himself into the task, willing himself to not disappoint his partner. “Did you see him in town last week?” he asked their visitor.
“I was here with him last week,” the man said.
Cristian feigned delight and dug out his phone. “Oh! He sent me a picture, but I didn’t see you in it,” he babbled, pulling up Ileana’s pi
cture and showing it to the man.
He smiled a little when he saw it and nodded. “I was the one who took it.”
Cristian squinted at the screen. “I don’t recognize anyone else,” he admitted.
“I’m not surprised. We don’t get to meet up very often,” the man said. He offered Cristian his hand. “Mircea. I’ve worked with Radu before.”
His hand was callused and his grip firm when Cristian shook. “Daniel,” he lied as he introduced himself, before gesturing to Atlas. “And this is Joseph.”
Mircea didn’t offer to shake Atlas’s hand, but his nod was friendly. “Nice to meet you both.” He looked at their empty glasses. “If you’re both done, I’d be happy to show you around town.”
“Sounds great,” Cristian said breezily. Atlas didn’t look as thrilled, but he didn’t argue as they rose from the table and headed to the door.
This time, Cristian didn’t miss the way the attentive woman’s eyes followed them, or the downturn of her pretty mouth as they exited the bar. Outside on the street, Mircea stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and tilted his head to the left. Cristian gestured for him to lead, and hung back a few steps with Atlas. He stayed alert as they walked down the narrow streets, but didn’t hear anything scrambling around in the dark. Mircea wasn’t much of a talker. Cristian had a feeling his silence was planned though, so he kept his own mouth shut.
They eventually reached a small house on the outskirts of the town. Mircea pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He toed his shoes off inside the door and glanced back at them. “Come in,” he invited, before heading farther inside.
Cristian glanced at Atlas, who frowned. “He’s the only one in there,” Cristian told him quietly.
“I figured,” Atlas said. “I’m just curious why he couldn’t talk anywhere else.”
“Let’s find out.”
They stepped inside the small, cozy space and took off their shoes. The small entry hall led to an archway, which flowed into the open living space beyond. Mircea was at work in the kitchen area, only separated from the rest of the house by a worn dining table set. A wooden bench with cushions was set up near a bookcase, and a carved wooden screen separated the bedroom from the rest of the house. A tiny bathroom was tucked into the only enclosed corner of the room, which reminded Cristian more of a closet than anything else. There were only a handful of windows, but they were either boarded up, or the shutters outside were closed and latched tightly.
“Please,” Mircea said, “sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Cristian sat at the kitchen table. Atlas stood behind him, hands resting lightly on the back of the chair. If Cristian leaned back, he could feel the warmth of Atlas’s fingers through his shirt.
“I’m guessing there’s a reason you didn’t want to talk to us in the bar,” Cristian said with a lightness he didn’t feel.
Mircea snorted and turned away from the counter with a mug of coffee in hand. “Good guess,” he agreed. “Do you want any?”
Cristian shook his head no at the same time Atlas replied, “No, thank you.”
Mircea nodded and took the seat across from Cristian. He kept his hands wrapped around his mug, even as he took a moment to examine Cristian and Atlas more closely. “You’re not from around here,” he said at last.
“From New York,” Cristian said. He wasn’t willing to give up more unless he had to. “Why didn’t you want to talk in the bar?”
“Sanda, one of Grigore’s people, was there. She would have listened in and reported back anything she heard.” He grimaced and fiddled with the handle of his cup. “She’ll probably report back anyway. You caught her eye.”
“Which can’t be a good thing,” Atlas said.
Cristian hummed his agreement. Grigore was the ispán in the North Mihai had mentioned, the one Emil had been placed under. It was odd that another one of Grigore’s people would be in this area, so far from home. Had Mihai sent Emil into Grigore’s county to help run it, or to keep an eye on the man?
Mircea glanced up at Atlas’s bland tone and cracked an unkind grin. “You should sound more concerned. Sanda answers to Grigore, and if he gets involved, neither of you will enjoy your stay here.”
Well, Mircea’s seriousness gave Cristian a solid idea of the level of power Grigore had. Cristian, hoping to confirm his suspicion, leaned back in his chair before saying, “I’m not worried about any of the ispáns.”
“You should be,” Mircea bit out. “Radu keeps a close eye on his father’s ispáns. He doesn’t underestimate threats against his family.”
Atlas’s fingers flexed against the chair back as he held himself back from speaking, and Cristian smiled at his eagerness. Now they were getting somewhere. “He isn’t,” Cristian agreed, “but my visit is sanctioned by Voivode Mihai himself. We’ve been granted uncontested travel throughout the territory. Grigore would be a fool with a death wish if he acted against me during my visit.”
“If he acted against you,” Mircea agreed, pointedly. He gestured to Atlas. “But you are not traveling alone.”
Cristian had centuries of practice in controlling himself, in wearing a flippant affect to prevent others from keying in on his weaknesses. But Mircea’s honest, plain warning cut through his defenses with shocking ease. He didn’t realize his entire body had tensed until Atlas’s hand curled around him at the sensitive join of his shoulder and neck. A finger brushed along the tendon of his neck, soothing and reassuring, and Cristian forced himself to take a slow inhalation.
“I realize,” he said, carefully deliberating each word, “that donors are treated differently here. But I did not think the voivode would tolerate such threatening behavior from any of his ispáns.”
“He may not know how Grigore behaves,” Atlas murmured. “Could be why he put Emil there.”
“Emil was placed in the county ages ago. His presence has changed nothing in Grigore’s operations. Radu’s visit with me was unexpected. I don’t think Emil knew about it.” Mircea said.
“Why did Radu need to come this far away from the county for a meeting?”
“He came to speak to one of the donors who wanted to escape Grigore’s county. Terrible things have been happening there, enough for others to notice.”
Dread uncurled in Cristian’s gut. Others could mean anyone from other ispáns to Council members. “When was the meeting?”
“The night I took that picture. He asked me to help him find a quiet place to hold it, so I helped. We’ve fought together before. We trust each other. I didn’t know what I was getting involved in.”
“How bad was the news he heard?” Cristian asked.
Mircea eyed Cristian and something dark crossed his expression. “Radu hasn’t told the voivode what he learned yet, has he? He hasn’t shown him the memory of our meeting?”
“No—”
“He’s missing,” Atlas said quietly. “We’re trying to find him.”
“He’s missing?” Mircea asked. “And you are certain the voivode hasn’t seen him since our meeting?”
“He hasn’t,” Cristian said. “Worse, the Council is sending a team to speak to him about problems in his territory, so he won’t have time to find Radu.”
“It seems too simple for Radu, and the information from our meeting, to disappear as the Council arrives.” Mircea swallowed, before sitting up a little straighter and holding Cristian’s gaze full on. “Please, let me share my memory of the night with you. You can ensure the voivode knows of it.”
“I—” Cristian’s protests died when Mircea held his arm out across the narrow table, offering his wrist freely. “I can’t promise—”
“Sanda should not be this far outside of Grigore’s county,” Mircea said. “If Grigore is involved with Radu’s disappearance, she could have come for me instead. This memory cannot be lost. Please, help me.”
Atlas’s grip on his shoulder tightened, and Cristian hated how his nose burned with the cloying, hot tar scent of Atlas’s worry.
“Mr. Putnam?” Atlas asked.
No, he hated that more. Hated how easily Atlas could slip between his roles, how he did it like it was breathing. Cristian, for all his centuries of experience with it, could never glide between his different faces so effortlessly. It was a failing he needed to learn to correct, and it had taken a damn human to make him realize the depth of the flaw.
He didn’t bother to respond to Atlas. He reached out and took hold of Mircea’s forearm, adjusting to find a more comfortable angle. He took one last glance at Mircea and asked, “Are you certain?”
“Yes,” the man said. “I’ll let you in, but won’t reach back.”
On that assurance, Cristian bit deeply into his wrist.
* * *
Luca’s arm hung protectively over the back of Florica’s chair. She had never relaxed, despite their best efforts. It was a shame.
To anyone outside the table, it would appear a night out for friends longing to catch up. Cheerful smiles and laughter, drinks they hadn’t really touched, and even a photograph. Radu wanted a picture of Florica in case she went missing as she feared she would.
Now, with the bar nearly empty and the bartender having stepped outside for the night’s delivery, Radu had taken up Florica’s invitation to feed. Whatever he saw in her memories was enough to make him lean closer across the table, his gaze intent on her and her partner. “How many are missing?”
“I—I don’t know, exactly,” she stammered. “At least ten in the past month. And there are more I haven’t seen for a while, but haven’t been able to check on. He...he knows I’m asking around.”
