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He shrugged. “Jazharad prefers to twist things into the most agonizing end possible. For me, betraying those I consider under my protection would be most unpleasant.”
“Unpleasant? You think that killing me would be unpleasant? Well, can’t have that.” I grabbed my glass of water, sniffed it, then took a sip.
He smiled and shook his head. “No, we can’t. In the interest of full disclosure, we also followed the spiders to their manufacturer, and found the place decimated. I have agents sifting through the ashes as we speak.
My stomach clenched, and I leaned back in my chair, frowning at my untouched mashed potatoes. Potatoes were supposed to be comfort food, and for some reason, I wanted comfort. I didn’t want potatoes. No, I’d rather slip into Stead’s embrace, like all of those times in the days right after I’d been rendered from the library, but potatoes would have to work.
I took a bite. Why were they so delicious? I took another bite and another. It wasn’t sushi, but it was comforting. The manufacturer was destroyed, and someone was aware enough of me and the Scholar to use him to kill me. Still, they’d failed because they hadn’t taken something into account, either Horace and Stead’s men showing up in time to stop him, or how effective kissing him would be as a distraction from violent impulses. He hadn’t as much as cut me with his fangs. On the other hand, my hand still had stitches from stupidly reaching out to his claws afterwards.
I frowned at my empty plate for a long time before it registered as empty, then looked up at him.
“Miss Morell, are you all right?” His voice was soft, careful, making up for how uncontrolled he’d been.
“I mentioned that I prefer to remain largely unnoticed. You didn’t happen to tell anyone about my heritage, did you?”
He shook his head. “Certainly not, Miss Morell. However, there are certain things about you that may draw notice if one were paying attention. Someone was certainly in the library and after information from Horace. I think it is far more likely that my old enemies are targeting you in a bid for revenge.”
“Old lovers you rejected? Well, you can’t blame them for that.”
He gave me a weird look. “Jarzharad is incapable of feelings as delicate as love.”
I sat up. “If Jarzharad wants me dead, then we have to find him, using me as a lure so that we can?—”
“Absolutely out of the question.” His voice was hard, icy, and the way he gripped his knife until it bent was a physical demonstration of his feelings.
“You don’t think it would work?”
He unsheathed claws and drew a death rune on the table where it wouldn’t do any harm, nice and slow so I could appreciate his meticulous capabilities. “You left runes in the mangled metal cage in the Square of Immolation. It’s your favorite death rune, the same one you threw at me when you were out of crayons, I believe. I know the work of the assassin who used you, and I can assure you that I will never allow you to be handled in such a way again.” He viciously bit into his asparagus, put down his mangled fork and stood. “I believe we have lamps to tune, Miss Morell.”
I slowly stood up while his words and that death rune bled into the table, blue and blinding for a moment before it faded out. He knew part of who I was, a very small part, like that I’d been caged in the square, that I’d seen the fire, but not that I was the assassin who used me as a lure, or that I’d walked through the fire unsinged. Should I clarify things? No, he already knew more than enough about me, and what did I know about him, other than that he was handsome and poetic, and brilliant in all the ways I found irresistible?
We were on the second lamp when the Marshall of Song showed up. The Scholar hadn’t said much during the first tuning, just kept guard, like we were due another spider assassin attack, and when they came, he’d be ready. The blue silk coat had long tails in the back that swirled around when he spun to face Marshall.
“Good evening, my beauty,” Marshall crooned, ignoring the other vampire as he focused his fanged smile on me. “Have you decided to accept my generous offer of eternal life?”
“Life yes, eternal, no. Be on your way, civilian. This is music guild business.”
He clucked his tongue while the Scholar growled, barely loud enough for me to hear, but Marshall certainly heard it.
“But you’ll die in only a few short years, and in the interim, you’ll get old and haggard.” He wrinkled his nose distastefully.
I glanced at the Scholar, whose perfect beauty was perfectly preserved. Would he be interested in a personal relationship with me once my age caught up to me? Maybe that’s why he was good at leaving relationships.
I shrugged. “You say that like living to a ripe old age is somehow a disadvantage. When I need glasses to see better, I’ll go buy some. What disadvantage does age give you that isn’t more than compensated by what is gained? Wisdom is something I’m looking forward to.”
He glanced at the Scholar. “She likes ancient things. Lucky you, you being so much older than I am, and some consider me a relic.”
The Scholar’s jaw tightened, but I’d had enough of this pettiness and focused on my music. It took time and effort to get the lines to come to life, golden and burning for a moment before they faded and the red glowing lamp sang a note of pure emotion that made me want to weep. What was wrong with it? The lamps in Sing didn’t reach me on an emotional level.
I put my guitar over my shoulder and headed towards the next lamp while the Scholar fell in right and slightly behind me. He’d make an excellent bodyguard if he could take the pay cut. What exactly did he make his money doing? I still knew so little about him.
We turned a corner and there in front of us was a group of vampires in various states of elegance and power.
The Scholar stopped abruptly, grabbing my arm and pulling me back against his chest.
“These are his children,” he murmured.
“Naturally, as are these,” Marshall said from behind us.
