“I finished early and returned to Santiago. A hive leader, one who has been trying to build a coalition to oppose Bronson’s tithing, asked for a meeting. To negotiate. The talks were less than successful.”
“Because of the language barrier?” I prompted when he didn’t elaborate.
“Because I wouldn’t accept the bribes he disguised as hospitality. Sydney, what else did Vorster say to you?”
“What in the hell could he possibly bribe you with?” I laughed. Malcolm was rich, could buy anything he wanted, unless the gang leader also had the key to early release from Bronson.
“Feeders, specially cultivated for their taste.”
“Just for their taste?” I heard myself ask the question as if from a distance. He shook his head as though my question was childish.
“They are professionals. Courtesans. You should know about them.”
“Oh, should I?” I flushed and stared at the window. How often did he receive such offers? How often did his position require that he indulge in such hospitality?
“It was nothing. Vorster was just trying to rattle you.” He grew impatient, while my mind was practically stalled. “What else? If he has these drugs, he could—”
“I know,” I snapped. I rubbed my hands against my thighs, hoping the adrenaline rush and the extra edge his power had given me faded soon. A steel box in the back of a car wasn’t the best place to be restless. “He didn’t say anything. He didn’t seem aware that I knew Thurston or Livia. Didn’t mention the Radia or Goya. He wanted me to help him get to you…” He felt like you, only colder, certainly crueler. “And he kept talking about your ‘treasure.’ How you didn’t deserve it. Asking if I’d seen it. He called it—”
“Soraya. He was talking about Soraya.”
Chapter Fourteen
Soraya didn’t look like a treasure, standing at parade rest at the back door, wearing her angry face. Nor did she resemble the Millennium Falcon, which I guess was a good thing. Petr opened my door, and Malcolm was already talking to Soraya by the time I got out of the car. Unbelievably, her face hardened more as she surveyed him. She ignored me and went inside before I’d made my way around the car. I couldn’t imagine what Vorster planned to do with her.
“Were you still working with Vorster when you got into this mess with Soraya?” I asked as Malcolm walked me up a cold, spare stairwell. I forced myself to sound reasonable. I’d trained for years to keep my cool around vampires. Don’t show fear or indecision. Don’t excite them. Don’t flip your lid just because the one you’re dating might be required, because of his oath, to accept beautiful, tasty, goddamn trained “hospitality.”
“We worked the job together. I paid him for his share—what he would have made—but he couldn’t get jobs afterward, not at the same level. He thought Bronson had blacklisted him, and blamed me. In truth, he was too unstable. Nobody wanted to hire him on his own.” He kept sneaking glances, his attention hitting me in regular, warm gusts.
“She would tear him apart.” We turned a corner, and Malcolm took my elbow to steer me when I went the wrong way. I tensed, and he released me immediately.
“She would try. He’s stronger than he appears.” So long as we kept moving, so long as I didn’t have to stop and face him, we were fine. He opened a door and gestured for me to enter. I blinked. We were in his room. I glanced back as he closed the door, or rather sealed the wall, behind us.
“Look at you with the supersecret spy moves!”
He started to smile, but the expression caught and faltered. “I forget that you don’t know everything that goes on with us. You move so assuredly around our world, and adapt so quickly. Sydney, it’s customary to offer feeders to your guests, to anyone who outranks you. The same as you would offer a beverage. Maybe entertainment. It’s considered polite to accept. Sometimes, it’s necessary.”
“So you regularly accept?” I leaned back against the wall to keep my pants from falling down. That was a little more embarrassment than I needed right then.
“A drink? Yes. Nothing more. Not now.” He moved forward until his hands rested on either side of my head. The bruise on his cheek had faded and the marks on his neck had knitted together. “You’re more upset by the thought that I had been with another woman than with what you saw tonight?”
“Could you sound any more pleased with yourself?” He cut me off with a kiss and, still riding the chemical drop of the fight, I nearly wrapped myself around him.
“I could not be any more pleased with you,” he murmured.
“I request a demonstration of this pleasure. With charts and graphs—” He pressed his teeth into my lower lip. Or that. I moaned…and he pulled back abruptly. He turned toward the adjoining office just as a knock sounded on the door, so quiet that I wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been distracted.
“Hold that thought.”
“Rather be holding something else,” I muttered. He grinned, and then he was in the other room, opening the door to the hall. A courier entered, thin as a whip, with a fantastic blue and silver mottling job on his face. It looked like he had an interstellar dinosaur egg for a face. Not bad at all.
The courier raised the clipboard and my arms twitched in imitation of the motion. I wondered if he was one of Perralta’s—who else would deliver to the Master, or the vampire who stood in his place? I checked my watch and cursed. I needed to get a call in to Carla before she declared me AWOL. And then figure out how I could help with this Vorster-Radia thing.
Malcolm closed the door and tore open the thick white envelope he’d received. The lights flickered. He swept into the room, tearing off his bloody clothes. The door to the adjoining room slammed behind him, pulled by his energy.
“Mal?”
He emerged from the closet, hangers falling in his wake, then disappeared into the darkened bathroom. The faucet turned on. “It’s another challenge, issued some hours ago. The runner has been waiting for me.” His energy twitched nervously. Maybe there was some penalty for not responding promptly.
“What about Vorster?”
“My people are dealing with that. We’ll find him.” Another hitch through his power. I blinked and he was across the room, in the doorway, one hand raised, the other clenching the brushed nickel knob.
“Promise me you’ll stay here,” he said.
I wouldn’t have minded sleeping off the next few hours—or twenty—after I discharged one last duty. And changed my own stupid clothes. I moved toward the closet. “Sure. I just need to find a phone and call Carla.”
“Stay.” His tone hardened, and with it came a frigid burst of power against the back of my eyes. I swayed, reaching jerkily toward the wall for support. Inside I went numb, surprised to the core that he was trying to influence me. Surprised, and furious.
I ground my teeth together. “Or. What?”
“Just…wait.” He covered his eyes with his hand. “I will take care of everything. I can’t have you running around, or doing anything that might seem like a good idea to you.”
“First of all, fuck off.” I righted myself with an effort, my legs like jelly and my head pulsing with pain. “I have responsibilities. It’s just a phone call.”
“Sydney, please. I need to know you’re here. You must stay.”
He’d been working on the power of his command since he arrived, or maybe Bronson had somehow lent him a master’s strength. His words hit me like a physical blow, full of anger and bursting with icy intent. They drilled into my mind, repeating, repeating… I dropped to my knees and one locked arm, fighting to keep my mind my own. Churning darkness filled my peripheral vision as I tried to stay conscious.
It took everything I had to resist, and by the time I recovered my vision and got my heart rate down from a billion beats per minute, he was gone.
I pushed myself off the floor. My shoulder throbbed and my limbs were shaky. I’d fallen, and he’d left me where he dropped me. The unbelievable bastard.
I was two steps into the hallway before rea
lizing I had no idea where I was. Suckers, it turned out, weren’t big on signage. There wasn’t so much as an exit placard in sight, just intricate, gliding shapes sketched high on a few doors. The secret door wasn’t connected to the hallway outside the regular door, so I couldn’t backtrack to where we’d come in. I followed the aggravated feel of Malcolm into a dimly lit stairwell and popped out on the next floor down. Caution slowed my steps. There were other vampires about, and my experience with the doorman indicated they weren’t all friendly.
As I crept about, my brain switched track from composing a scathing speech to reflecting on Malcolm’s sneak attack. Why had he said please? That was an awfully ineffective way to will somebody who was impervious to influence. I paused, rubbing at my pounding temples, and another thought intruded through the pain. He wasn’t commanding me. He was begging.
That was somehow more terrifying.
He hadn’t intended to will me. If he had, then I’d be on the first plane out of Santiago. I’d head straight up north and keep adjusting against the vampire migration, never give him a chance to worm his way into my head again. But his words were more plea than order, the raw bones of his desire to keep me safe. At least I hoped that’s what was going on, because otherwise I was the biggest fucking sap on the planet.
Sap or not, I needed to know what was going on. He was lying about the challenge, I was sure of it. Which probably meant that note was from Hendrik Vorster. Vorster was a threat and had targeted me because of Malcolm. Fine. There were actual monsters in Santiago. Swell. I was all for staying indoors and out of the line of fire if Malcolm wanted to duke it out. But only if I was certain he was on the winning side, and I wasn’t. He was by nature playful. Usually calm, and prone to fixating on things that amused him, not plotting violence.
He fought because that was the sucker way. He exuded hostility and aggression because that’s what serving Bronson required—my feelings for that master vampire were really starting to curdle—not because it came naturally. And when it came to Vorster, with their past and the renewed threat, Malcolm might not be capable of thinking clearly. I picked up my pace.
A door closed ahead of me and two males approached, one grumbling, the other murmuring agreeably. The language slipped past me, the muddled bruise of my brain snatching a smattering of words out of the air. Bruja, followed by bitter laughter. It was as effective as police lights filling up the rearview mirror.
I took two quick steps back to a black door with an intricate silver glyph above the handle and pressed. The handle dropped smoothly and I slipped inside a darkened room. Maybe “not thinking clearly” was an exaggeration. Malcolm had gone fucking mental if he’d decided to put me under house arrest in a goddamn blood lounge.
There wasn’t anywhere to hide, just a couple of low couches facing a large window. My lips parted. Not a window. A one-way mirror. Spotless, streakless, beveled in a lovely silver frame elegant as a sculpture. On the other side was a small, round stage on an elevated floor. Two sleek, high-backed chairs sat on it, along with a low table covered in solid-forged steel knives. I walked slowly around the couch and pressed my hand to the mirror. A glass bulb, something out of the laboratory of an alchemist in a low-budget movie, was placed on the other side of the mirror, a couple of feet from the floor. It was blown glass, clear, streaked with milky white, anchored in the wall between the rooms. I forced my eyes down, and all thoughts fled me as I stared at the flared lip of a spigot just beside my knee.
I jerked my hand back, feeling filthy. A feeding room. I was in a blood lounge. I knew that. Of course there would be more than little work cubicles and the bar. The first floor was the stage. The iron and glass and rich colors, that’s what humans expected to see. This was the members-only section, the hospitality room. The knives, so precisely laid out, made me queasy.
I opened the door and glanced around, hearing nothing but the grinding of my own teeth. I slipped out, continuing in the direction I’d been going. I’d rarely been more than a few steps into vampire offices, homes or clubs. I’d seen feeders who cut themselves, their scars reminiscent of my mother’s. I’d seen people—humans—staggering about after a bite. I’d never really thought about what went on in the back rooms of a blood lounge. I hadn’t wanted to, but I’d never had a personal stake in it before. Malcolm spent most of his nights here. How many had he spent in rooms like that? My need to yell at him subsided, replaced by a need for a moment of normalcy.
Voices rose somewhere behind me, along with a swell of power. I didn’t take a full breath until I found an exterior door and shoved through it into the cold, wet air. I eased the door closed, grimacing at the tiny click. What were the odds that yelling was related to a certain missing bruja? I pressed my hand against the fire door, then jerked it back. If I hadn’t busted ass to follow Malcolm, what exactly would the men he’d sent have done to keep me inside? How far were they permitted to go?
I fast-walked away from the lounge, keeping my head down as I left the alley for the street. I probably looked like a crazy person in a knit cap, expensive and oversized men’s suit, with my bag strapped across my body. But I didn’t have time to sneak about. One phone call, just like I told him, then I’d go back into the safety and discomfort of the lounge.
The first pay phone I found didn’t work. The second one did, and had the added bonus of being right next to a takeout empanada place. I blissed out while dialing the shop. Carla’s syrupy-sweet voice curdled when I greeted her.
“I wasn’t able to call in last night,” I said, eyeing the passing traffic. “Mickey told you what happened?”
“That you were attacked on the street and then disappeared from her apartment? Yes. She told me. I had to hire two temporary workers to cover for you, and they didn’t finish half the deliveries. Plodding cows. And the police were here about the car. Mickey went down to a lot to identify it, said it was destroyed.”
“That thing was totaled when I got it, but I’ll make it up to you.” Or Malcolm would, since it was his stalker who’d caused the wreck.
“How are you feeling?” she asked carefully. “After an experience like that, you should go to hospital.”
“I’m fine, but I can’t drive tonight.” I considered explaining what was going on, but wasn’t sure I could make it comprehensible without giving everything away. I live with a vampire. He has enemies. Best just to plead infirmity, even though I never called in sick. “I’ll be good by tomorrow.”
“I’ll need you cleared—medically—before you drive again, Aerin.”
I ground my teeth. Courier physicals were invasive, worse than standard DOT tests. Not only did a tech have to watch you take your piss test, they put you under a head-to-toe microscope to check for bites. Not fun, and the room where they did the test was always about nine hundred degrees.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’m sorry, Carla. I swear I’ll make it up to you. Do you have better coverage tonight?”
“I am not working with temporaries again. It gives me a headache. Jace and Tilde will have to step up.”
I turned to face the phone, gripping it as if my boss could feel it. “Tilde? Carla, she’s been compromised.” There was a pause and I heard her shift the phone.
“Funny. She said the same about you. But she came back from her overindulgence with a medical clearance. I don’t know what kind of rivalry the two of you have going on, Aerin, but I need you back here and focused. No more catfighting.”
“No,” I said, kicking the pole holding the phone. “It’s not…I’m not trying to start a rumor about her being bitten. She’s compromised. End of story.” How the hell was she even able to work? She’d been a mess when I saw her, and she hadn’t appeared to be on an upswing.
“Aerin, this needs to stop—”
“You don’t believe me? Tell her to take her pants off.”
“What?”
“I gotta go. Just…trust me. And try to get her pants off.” I hung up, retracing my steps toward the club. Fucking Tilde back at
work and lying about my integrity. That put her on a shit list I hadn’t even known I had.
She had to be there as bait, so I couldn’t just walk in and grab her. Vorster might be prowling around, and I didn’t want to face him, not without backup. Smart backup. And possibly a tank of some sort. Or maybe Malcolm’s crew had already located Vorster and he was no longer an issue. That would be ideal.
I tried the back door, which was, of course, locked. I’d have to go in the front and deal with that shithead doorman while dressed like a Charlie Chaplin reject. I groaned and shook my fists skyward.
I’d barely made it three steps when Soraya’s hand clamped down on my arm, and I had just enough presence of mind not to squeal or punch her.
“I just needed to make my one phone call before incarceration,” I sputtered. Her eyes flashed and then, to my horror, she hugged me. Gently. While five burly vampires dribbled out the door and formed a tight perimeter around us. Anton looked angry, Terrance worried. The jughead who’d tried to throw me out before—Eladio—glared at me. I glared back.
“I, uh, really missed you too, chica,” I said into Soraya’s shoulder. “Now, can we go inside? Please?”
“He would have killed me if I’d lost you again,” she said, relief making her sound a little breathless. She stepped back and pulled me inside. Her lips were pressed tightly together and her normally bland expression was replaced by consternation. That was disturbing. I jerked my arm back.
“What are you still doing here?” I asked. Her head tilted, brow furrowing in confusion. Oh, this was not good. “Where is he?”
“Malcolm? Gone.”
“Gone where?” She shook her head and I swore. The door closed, and the bulk of the assembled suited muscle forced us to start walking again.
“If you’re here, who did he take to go after Vorster?” It took me a moment to realize they’d all stopped. I turned, sucking in a breath at the sight of a dozen bared fangs.
“Hendrik Vorster?” she spat. “He is here, in Santiago?”
Running in the Dark Page 14
