by Ilana Waters
Oddly enough, both my parents were reluctant to discuss his bloody past in detail. I imagine my mother didn’t find it one of his more attractive qualities. And Titus probably didn’t talk to me about it because he knew he’d catch hell from my mother if he did. Not that he didn’t relish a fight—I think he did it just to avoid the aggravation. Or was it possible he was ashamed of some of the things he’d done? Unlikely.
Regardless, I ended up learning most of what I knew about my father in the library. Imagine reading a history book one day and discovering your sire was one of the most brutal generals in the Roman Empire. I assure you, it is not as glamourous as it seems. But that’s my father, isn’t it? Magnanimous Personifus Terrificus.
“Hey—cut it out!” I heard a weary female voice over my shoulder and turned to look. A balding man with a loosened tie and large cigar was trying to grab a cocktail waitress by some very intimate parts. From the way he was wobbling about on the seat in front of his slot machine, it was clear he’d had too much to drink. However, I got the feeling he wasn’t much more of a gentleman when he was sober.
“Awww, c’mon, sweetheart.” He grinned and pulled on the waitress’s skirt as she tried to remove his hand. “What’s it there for if not for squeezin’, eh?”
“I told you, if you keep this up, I’m going to complain to management.” The waitress was pretty—in her thirties, I’d say, but with bags under her eyes. A cursory glance inside her mind told me she was a single mother with two young children.
The ass-grabber just laughed. “Go ahead—complain. What do you think they’re going to do? Kick out a customer or fire a crappy waitress? Your call, sweetheart.” Then he slapped her in the offending area—hard—and went back to his slots.
I saw the waitress wince when the man hit her, but she quickly recovered and headed back to the bar. Before she got there, I waved my hand, motioning to her.
“Excuse me—” I started.
“Yes?” She made a quick, polite smile that did not reach her eyes. Tucking her empty tray under her arm, she took out a pen and pad from her apron. “What can I get you, sir?”
“Me? Oh, nothing. It’s just . . . was that man bothering you?”
The waitress turned for a moment, but the boorish man was still absorbed in his slots.
“That guy? Oh, never mind him,” she said. “We call him Lousy Larry. He’s always trying to mess with the girls. Last week, he grabbed a friend of mine so hard, it left bruises. I think he’s done worse stuff too,” she whispered, “but we can’t prove it.”
“Why not make good on your threat and complain?” I asked. “I can have a word with the owner, if you like.”
The waitress grimaced and shook her head. “It’s just something I say to try and fend him off. But Lousy’s right: the casino would only fire me, and I really need this job.” I saw images of bills and childcare expenses flash through her mind.
Out of nowhere, Titus appeared on my right. “If you’re done rescuing damsels in distress, Joshua,” he said, “perhaps we can move on?” He gave a stern look to the waitress. “Don’t you have patrons you should be helping?”
The waitress’s eyes went wide, and the color drained from her face. “Yes sir—right away, Mr. Aurelius, sir!” She turned sharply and headed back to the bar, nearly tripping on her five-inch heels.
“Was that really necessary?” I hissed. “And how long were you watching, anyway?”
“Long enough to know my son has no time to dally about playing Don Quixote,” Titus replied.
“Well then, are you going to do something about it?” I asked.
Titus tilted his head ever so slightly to one side. “What would you have me do, exactly?”
“You threatened to break a man’s thumbs earlier, and possibly kill him. Surely you can at least throw that cad out as well.”
Titus smirked. “Why should I? He’s not costing the casino any money.”
I was about to say something in outrage when my father cut me off, as usual.
“Besides, I thought we had more important business to discuss.”
“We do, but—”
“Then let’s go to dinner, where we can discuss it. You’ve barely eaten since we left New York, and you’ll need your strength. If there’s time later, perhaps one of us can deal with the cad.”
Go to dinner. Or rather, I will enjoy a meal and my father will watch, vampires being unable to consume human food. I gave one last glance over my shoulder at the waitress’s tormentor. Leaving such vulgar behavior uncorrected was regrettable, but we really did have to get on with saving my mother.
We took the private elevator up to my father’s suite, which included an enormous dining room. I imagined this was to keep up appearances. Although it was unlikely anyone would guess that the casino’s owner was a vampire, there was no harm in having a dining room to shore up pretenses.
As we sat down with waiters scurrying all around us, the view from the table was fantastic. We faced a wall of windows overlooking the Strip, and since the Roman rose far above its counterparts, one had the feeling of looking down on earth from Mount Olympus. Of course, I had the better view, as I sat opposite my father, who always took the seat facing the door. We stared at one another while awaiting our drinks.
“So,” my father said.
“So,” I replied.
“It seems after the minor catastrophe in New York—”
“Which was not entirely my fault,” I pointed out.
“We are left with only one option, one way of finding out more about this crystal.”
“Which might lead us to the person we’re looking for,” I said, raising my eyebrows. Best to keep the focus on what was important. The crystal was only the means to an end, at least to me.
“Yes, yes.” Titus waved his hand. “And so, now, the topic we’ve been avoiding ever since we left the city.”
I heaved a sigh. “Infiltrating the PIA.”
Chapter 5
“London would be a good place to start, since it’s where the PIA is based,” Titus said. “From there, perhaps there’s a way to get to their offices in Rome.”
“So you do think there’s a chance Abigail’s in Rome, then?” I asked.
“Possibly,” Titus replied. “Whatever information London offers up should give us some clue.”
“You mean if London offers anything up.” I whipped open my napkin and placed it in my lap. It was hard to think about food when I felt overwhelmed by the task ahead. “Must we really try to ingratiate ourselves into the PIA? Are there no other means left open to us?”
My father shook his head. “This is the simplest, quickest method.”
But oh, how I dreaded the thought of it. Even though Titus and I were magical creatures, it didn’t mean getting the PIA’s information would be easy. Like most secret societies, the PIA is close-knit, and reluctant to take in outsiders. But that was likely to be the least of our worries.
The biggest one was that, as a matter of course, supernatural creatures avoided the PIA. One of their chief rules was that no member was allowed to have unearthly powers. If they did, and the PIA found out, they would be ejected from the organization at the very least. A worse possibility was this: the PIA might take measures to defend itself if it considered the creature dangerous. The PIA didn’t care if supernatural creatures were a danger to each other, mind you—just to the PIA. They didn’t intervene if young mages were battling vampires in alleyways, for instance, though they would not hesitate to take photographs.
But it was even more complicated than that. Many individuals joined the PIA specifically because they had the ability to recognize supernatural beings. This posed a problem as far as my father was concerned. Vampires who haven’t fed—or don’t use glamour to alter their appearance if they haven’t—have physical attributes that give them away. There’s the telltale pale skin, as you know, which grows even paler if they’re hungry. Veins on their faces and hands also beco
me slightly discolored and more pronounced. If Titus was prevented from feeding for any reason while conducting research at the PIA, this could be problematic. I’m more fortunate: there’s nothing about me that suggests I’m anything but an ordinary mortal. Still, a PIA member might be able to sense my magic.
This meant that once inside the PIA, Titus and I would have to work particularly hard to cover up our special abilities. Abilities which we were sure to need one way or another to access information. It presented an enormous obstacle.
“Good evening, sirs.” A slim waiter with a tray, a pitcher of water, and two ice-filled glasses suddenly appeared, nodding to us. “Would you like to start off with an appetizer?” He set down the glasses and began pouring.
“Better get right to the main course,” Titus said. “We’re in a bit of a hurry.”
Now he’s in a hurry? Had Titus changed his mind about the urgency of our mission, or was he trying to make up for lost time? I decided I didn’t care either way.
“Very good, sir,” replied the waiter. There was some talk of a wine list, which my father declined on our behalf, and a rattling off of the specials. I suppose since it was my father’s casino, he could have demanded the staff make anything he wished. But really, when one is a vampire, why bother?
“This week, the featured menu is Mexican,” the waiter continued. “Tonight we have a real treat—Tampiqueña. That’s filet mignon with the chef’s signature cheese enchilada, guacamole, and poblano chile potato gratin.”
“Is it spicy?” I asked.
“Oh yes, sir,” the waiter assured me. “Very spicy.”
I sucked air in through my teeth. I always burned easily. The sun, spicy food . . . heat and I didn’t get along. This was very unlike the ancient Romans, who liked spicy flavors so much they put pepper in their cakes. Just what I needed—indigestion for the dinner and dessert.
“I’m afraid that won’t do for this one,” my father said grimly. “He’s far too delicate.” The shake of his head could have been meant for the waiter, or it could have been meant for me.
“Perhaps just a salad?” I suggested. “Maybe with some chicken on it?”
The waiter looked at me, then at my father, then at me again. My father waved his hand.
“I’ll see what I can do,” the waiter said with a forced smile. He took my father’s order—some outrageously fine cut of beef—and left the table.
“I don’t understand why the PIA is so dangerous,” I said once the waiter was out of earshot. “I hate to sound elitist, but they are just mortals, aren’t they?” I drank most of my water in long, slow sips.
“The PIA is dangerous because of the information it seeks and possesses,” my father said, as if the answer were obvious. “And because some members will stop at nothing to find information, keep it a secret, kill whoever gets in their way, or all of the above.”
I picked up a knife and mindlessly turned it over and over, its mirror-shine reflected in the table’s candlelight. Titus had a point. One mortal . . . not so dangerous. A vampire or mage could easily dispense with a single troublesome person. Groups of frightened mortals with crucial information, on the other hand, could be a recipe for disaster.
“So do try to focus on not getting killed, if you’d be so kind,” he added.
“I will if you will,” I said.
“Oh, I won’t be joining you in London.”
My knife clattered on a side plate where I’d dropped it. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, there will be a lot of research and work to accomplish during the day. For me, that would cause a bit of a dilemma.” Titus folded his hands in front of him on the table.
It was true the ability to move freely in daylight gave me an advantage over my father. Titus’s inability to work anything other than night shifts would arouse suspicion. Although old, powerful, and partly witch, sunlight still weakened and exhausted Titus, the way it did all vampires. He could go out in it for a short time, but nothing close to the long hours that might be required for our research. Still . . .
“Although the thought of going alone had crossed my mind, I always imagined you and I would deal with the PIA together,” I said.
“It seems you’ve not stopped to consider how frustrating this limitation is for me.” Titus unfolded his hands and placed them on the armrests of his seat. “Can’t you conceive how difficult it makes even the simplest of matters? And it’s not just London that’s the problem. Let’s imagine you get as far as Rome.”
“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.”
“Italy has an unheard-of bureaucracy that will mean filling out forms, visiting government offices, meeting with clerks—all during the day. Where does that leave me?” Titus put his hands out to his sides. “Not to mention the fact that I have a business to run.” He motioned to the casino outside the window, spread before him like a kingdom.
Liar. “The business seemed to be running just fine while you were in New York recently,” I grumbled. “And everywhere else we went, around the globe.”
“Nonsense,” Titus said. “The Roman doesn’t operate nearly as efficiently when I’m not here. Besides, who knows how long I’d have to be in Europe? No, it’s much better if you go.”
I set my mouth in a grim line. “My apologies. I didn’t realize finding your missing wife—and mother of your only child—came in second to effortlessly raking in piles of cash.”
These were fighting words, but I couldn’t help it. You see, when it came to this search, I wasn’t entirely certain my father’s motives were pure. Was his primary object of desire my mother or the crystal? If he had the crystal, it might possess some power that would help him bring back the glory days of Rome. Of course, that probably meant attempting to take over the world and trying to be the greatest conqueror since Julius Caesar. The last time anything like that happened, it resulted in a world war.
My father narrowed his eyes. “For the sake of our relationship, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that last bit. Anyway, whatever happens, remember this: the PIA cannot know who you are.”
I resisted a very strong urge to roll my eyes. “I know that,” I said. What kind of an idiot did Titus take me for? I went back to turning my knife over. “Of course, you’re assuming they don’t already. It’s entirely possible they already have a file on me the size of your head.”
“Your mother and I went through great lengths to keep your true identity away from prying eyes,” Titus replied. “Try not to undo all our hard work. It’s bad enough the supernatural world is aware of your existence. But as you know, it’s much harder to keep secrets from magical beings than mortals,” he muttered.
I wondered if there was another reason Titus declined accompanying me to London. It could be his inability to accomplish anything in daylight, or perhaps he wanted to avoid even the remote possibility of going to Rome. I knew my father traveled to Italy on occasion; my mother and I met with him there several times when I was young. Florence, Naples, Milan . . . just never Rome. I found it hard to believe the mere rumor of Callix Ferox could keep him away. As I mentioned, Titus was never one to eschew a fight.
As we waited for our dinners to arrive, I mused over how my entire life could easily be about pleasing my father. Trying to make him proud, to live up to his expectations. The trouble is, I’m never sure if they’re expectations I want to meet. I mean, I’m not the kind of person who goes around snapping people’s necks for the hell of it. I can only imagine what a disappointment I am to him—and an embarrassing one at that.
Finally, the food came, and I was presented with a salad decorated with hastily cut chicken strips. I detected a slight hint of cayenne pepper on them, so I couldn’t be sure they weren’t originally meant for someone’s fajita. Still, I hoped the spice wouldn’t be enough to grieve my stomach tonight.
The waiter poured me another glass of water. “Are you sure I can’t offer either of you a drink?” he a
sked. “No, thanks,” I replied. My father shook his head without looking at the waiter, who swept several crumbs off the table and left as swiftly as before.
I barely tasted my food as I chewed in silence, and my father cut up his and moved it around his plate to make it appear he was eating. Finally, he wiped invisible food off his fingers with his napkin and pushed his plate to one side. The waiter returned with the dessert menus and opened his mouth, but with a glance and a wave from my father, he disappeared again.
“While you were sleeping on the plane earlier, I procured a ticket to Heathrow Airport. You leave in a few hours.” Titus reached into his breast pocket and retrieved the ticket, which he handed to me. “I arranged for your luggage to meet you at the airport.”
I accepted the ticket reluctantly and placed it in my own pocket. “Getting rid of me already?” I asked. “Isn’t that convenient?”
“For you, yes,” he replied. “I spared you the trouble and expense of arranging airfare. You’re welcome.”
I sighed. It seemed my father had this all planned out long before we discussed it. “Fine, then.” I rose from the table. “I’ll let you know the moment I learn anything.”
“Yes, you will.”
***
“Yes, you will.” Trust Titus to make every statement sound like an order. I tried not to look back as I exited the dining room; I didn’t trust myself not to give Titus a dirty look. Instead, I forced my mind to concentrate on the five-thousand-mile journey ahead of me.
But first, I needed a trip to the men’s room. As I was finishing up, who should come in but Lousy Larry, the cigar-smoking, ass-grabbing cad? From the way he was walking, he seemed to have sobered up a bit. However, this did nothing to improve the overall quality of his character.
As I washed my hands, I saw him using the urinal, grunting and sighing the entire time. My first thought was to leave the restroom as quickly as possible. But when the louse came up beside me—not to wash up, but to light another cigar—it gave me an idea.
