Blue-Blooded Vamp

I forced a casual shrug. “A friend asked me to look her up,” I lied. I hadn’t really expected Georgia to know Nyx, but I figured this way I could at least tell Asclepius I’d asked around. “Do you think you could ask your friends if they’ve heard of her? She was last seen in Italy, but I figure maybe someone here has run into her over the decades.”

“I could ask around. I have some old friends in Europe, too. I’ll make some inquiries and let you know if I find anything.”

I smiled genuinely. “That would be great.” I felt better that I’d figured out a way to let her help without risking her life. Even if I didn’t expect her research to turn up much, I could at least tell Asclepius I’d made an effort when he showed up demanding answers.

“I’m sorry I freaked out on you earlier,” Georgia said suddenly. “I know you have a lot of your own shit to deal with right now.”

“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know. But I’m glad you came by before we left.”

She looked up, her expression unsure. “Really? Even after I yelled at you?”

I shrugged. “I consider it penance for sticking my nose into the situation to begin with.”

Georgia waved her hand. “I know you were just trying to help.”

“Red?” Adam said, his tone quiet but weighted. “We need to head out.”

I turned back to Georgia. “Look, I don’t know when I’ll see you again, so I’m going to give you some unsolicited advice.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Shoot.”

“Don’t avoid the pain. The sooner you face it, the sooner you’ll come through on the other side.”

Her face fell. “It hurts too much, Sabina.”

I put my arms around her for a hug. “It’ll keep hurting forever unless you deal with it. You’ve got too much living ahead of you to let a little heartache turn you bitter.”

“Thanks.” She sighed and hugged me back. “For everything.”

I pulled back and smiled at my friend. “You’re welcome. And let me know if you turn anything up about Nyx.”

While Georgia moved on to say good-bye to Adam, I checked my gun and the knives I had stashed in my boots. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Giguhl and Brooks hugging as well. The Changeling was sobbing openly while the demon tried to comfort him. Adam and I had often speculated about their relationship, but Giguhl swore he and Brooks were platonic and I believed him. Brooks had come into Giguhl’s life on the heels of a bad breakup with a Vanity demon. My theory was the demon’s friendship with the faery had filled a hole left by that vindictive bitch and for that I was grateful. There’s nothing more pathetic than a heartbroken demon.

Dismissing the tearful good-bye, I focused on Erron again, who was loitering nearby. “You ready?”

Erron crossed his arms and eyed me. “You know what? I think I am. I know I had reservations, but I want Cain to pay for what he did to my friends as bad as you do. That bastard needs to bleed.”

I held up a hand to high-five the Recreant. “Now we’re talking.”

Adam and Giguhl had finished their good-byes and came to join us. I turned to the males so that we all formed a small circle. “All right, let’s take this fight to Cain.”

“Next stop, Rome!” Giguhl called excitedly.

The magic rose and the vortex opened. Over Adam’s shoulder, I got one last look at the anxious expressions on Zen’s, Georgia’s, and Brooks’s faces. Despite the bravado, we all knew this might be the last time we saw each other.

“Watch each other’s backs,” Georgia called.

“Be careful, bitches!” Brooks yelled.

Zen crossed herself. “Holy Loa, blessed saints and gods protect you.”

A split second later, we disappeared.

Chapter 6

Red-tiled roofs and church steeples glowed in the rosy aura of the setting sun. The waning moon hung low in the east along with the first hint of stars. In the distance, St. Peter’s Basilica lorded over the skyline like an authoritarian father. The air smelled of exhaust and rosemary and ancient secrets. And everywhere, Italy’s poetic mother tongue floated through the cool evening breeze like a song.

Erron led us down narrow cobbled streets to a discreet wooden door set back into a stone building. A small, hand-painted sign advertised the name of the establishment: Bar Sinister.

We’d headed straight here the instant we arrived in Rome. Luckily, the bar was only a few blocks from the park where we’d manifested, so we didn’t have to risk our lives in one of the stunt-driving taxis.

Adam and Erron led the way, while I carried the canvas bag containing Giguhl in his hairless cat form. Not for the first time, I was thankful the demon could switch into the more portable and less-conspicuous body. I just wished he’d quit bitching.

“But I want to see Rome,” he complained from inside the bag.

“G, we’re not here for sightseeing.”

“Can I at least ride on your shoulder?”

“No. And keep your head down. They may not allow pets in this place and I don’t want to get kicked out because someone sees you.”

He grumbled but hunkered down in the bag. For all his bellyaching, Giguhl knew I was in no mood to deal with his complaints. He’d been there with me when Maisie died, so he knew how much this mission meant to me—to all of us. But since I was so grateful he let the matter drop, I made a mental note to let him ride on my shoulder when we finished our meeting at the bar.

Erron opened the door, unleashing the scents of hops and barley mixed with the overpowering aroma of unfiltered cigarette smoke. Laughter and music stumbled into the street, like drunks on a bender.

Erron went right in, leaving Adam and me to follow. Despite being located in the center of Rome, the majority of voices I heard in the place spoke English with British accents rather than Italian.

When I caught up with Erron, I yanked on his jacket. He stopped and looked at me with raised eyebrows. “What is this place, exactly?”

Erron frowned like I asked a stupid question. “A bar?”

“No,” I said, huffing out an annoyed breath. “Why does everyone in here look like an extra from Benny Hill?”

“The owner’s a Brit—from Liverpool, I believe. Lots of expat mages use the joint as a gathering place.”

I shot Adam an anxious glance. He shrugged. “Hey, at least we don’t have to worry about language barriers.” Then he nudged me to follow the Recreant farther into the pub.

Erron sidled up to the bar and flagged down the barkeep. The guy had the physique of a potato. His ruddy cheeks and jovial expression did little to endear me to him. I was in no mood to trust anyone.

“What’ll it be, mates?”

“Three Boddingtons,” Erron said, as if we were in Manchester instead of Rome.

The bartender toddled off to fill the order. Adam pulled up next to Erron. “I thought we were here to find Abel, not tie one on.”

“We are. But there’s a certain way these things are done.”

“Do you think it could be done a little quicker?” I said.

“Sabina, this is Italy. Nothing happens quickly.”

“I thought you said these guys are Brits,” I grumbled.

“True but la dolce vita tends to soften even the most type A personality into complacence. You’ll see.”

I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge to remind Erron that we weren’t in Italy on holiday. The mage might be a lot of things, but I’d spent enough time with him to understand that his laissez-faire attitude was mostly an act. He understood the gravity of the situation more than most. After all, he’d suffered his share of losses at Cain’s hands, too.

He pointed to the bartender. “His name’s Richard Green. Dicky to his friends. Last time I was in town, he put me in touch with Abel. Be patient and he may just do it again.”

Three beers with thick, foamy heads appeared on the bar. Dicky leaned against the wood and told us the total for the drinks. Erron handed him an unnecessarily large bill.

“I’ll just be getting you change, then,” the bartender said, turning away.

“Keep it,” Erron said, taking a casual sip from the pint.

“That’s mighty kind of you,” Dicky said. Instead of walking away, he leaned his elbows on the bar, ready to chat now. “You’re Yanks, are ye?”

“Visiting from New Orleans,” Erron said.

“Ah, well. Is this your first time in Italy, then?”

I covered my sigh with a hefty swig of beer. Obviously, our British friend had seen the large tip as an invitation to pry.

“I’ve been several times. In fact, I paid your fine bar a visit a few months back, Mr. Green.”

“Haven’t seen your mates before.” The bartender’s eyes, too shrewd for a man who looked like he bathed in whisky, gave Adam and me once-overs. “We don’t get a lot of new visitors in Bar Sinister.” Something about the way he said it made me think that “new visitors” was code for something else.

“We’re actually here looking for an old friend,” Erron continued. “The same one I was looking for last time.”

Since the mages seemed intent on having a nice long chat, I decided to shuck my jacket. The stuffy bar combined with the hot air blowing between the males made the place stifling.

Dicky pursed his lips. “What’s this bloke’s name?”

“Abel.”

The instant the word fell from Erron’s lips, the entire atmosphere in the bar changed. Nothing overt. No one rose to confront us or anything. More like a tightening of the air. A slight lowering of volume. Awareness. Yes, that’s what it was. Everyone suddenly seemed very aware of us.

The bartender hunched down and leaned toward us. “Only Abel I ever heard of was that poor bastard got killed by his brother in the mortals’ mythology.”

Erron’s smile tightened. “Really?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">