“Did you get the plate?”
Dennis shot Darien a glare that caused more red tears to dribble down his jowls. “Of course not,” he said. “Like I said, she got into it willingly. I didn’t think anything was amiss.” Another of those heavy pauses. “Two of them had tattoos like yours. I thought they were Darkslayers, but I’d never seen the symbol before.”
Loren sat up straighter, chair creaking beneath her. “What kind of tattoo?”
“Looked like a bird of some sort,” Dennis said without looking at her.
“Look at her when she’s speaking to you,” Darien said coolly.
Dennis did as he was told, slowly turning his head toward Loren with reluctance. Loren forced herself not to shrink beneath his glare as he repeated between clenched teeth, “It looked like a bird.”
“A phoenix?” Darien asked.
Dennis’s attention returned to him. “Might’ve been.”
Loren looked at Darien, but he was watching Dennis still.
“I recently got a tip that Chrysantha was doing jobs on the side,” Darien began. “That she might’ve gone missing because she found out more information than she was meant to. And the side jobs she was doing were apparently for you.”
The shock that crossed Dennis’s face wasn’t faked. “For me?” He gave a breathy laugh. “Why am I only just hearing of this? What sort of jobs are you talking about?”
“Blood Potion dealing.”
Dennis paled. “Shit, Cassel. I barely have time to keep this bar alive. You think I have the spare hours to compete with someone like the Butcher?” When Darien didn’t say anything, Dennis continued, “I’m flattered that anyone thinks I have the brains to do something like that, but I’m not dealing Blood Potions and I’m certainly not hiring young girls to sell them for me.”
“Did Chrysantha ever give you any indication that she was pressed for cash?”
Dennis shrugged. “I mean, sometimes. Young girls like her—you know how they can be. I gave her an advance once in a while, but I never heard anything about her selling BP. I swear.” When Darien didn’t say anything, Dennis gave him a heavy look. “Do you really think someone like me could compete with the Butcher? I mean, honestly.”
“No, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t put it past you try.”
“You’re reading my aura, Cassel. Do I look like I’m lying?”
After a moment, Darien blinked the Sight away. Loren hadn’t even realized he was using it again.
“Look, if you want my advice—”
“I don’t,” Darien clipped.
Dennis stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “If you want myopinion,talk to Casen Martel. If Chrysantha was selling BP, I’m sure he’d be the first to know.”
Darien was silent for so many minutes, Dennis began fidgeting in his seat. Loren started fidgeting, too, twisting her fingers together.
“If I find out Chrysantha resorted to selling BP to pay her bills,” Darien began, “then perhaps you should consider paying your employees a living wage, Dennis.”
Dennis didn’t have anything to say to that.
The clock above the desk ticked and ticked. The crack of cue sticks against billiard balls floated down the hallway.
“Is that all the information you have?” Darien’s voice could pass for a purr.
“Yes. Now get out of my office—please.”
Darien flashed him a grin that showed all his teeth. “So touchy,” he tsked, but he lifted himself to his feet, and Loren and Dallas copied him.
Loren had to give the man credit for courage, considering he was still sitting in his own piss, as Dennis snarled, “You’re lucky you’re under Randal’s protection, boy.”
Darien paused, a dark look crossing his face. “Randal Slade has no sway over me, nor has he earned me my reputation,” he replied calmly. “I think what you meant to say is thatyou’relucky, Dennis, that you had information valuable enough to convince me not to kill you tonight.” Darien rapped a knuckle on the desk and then pointed a finger at the man that sat on the other side of it. The simple movement had Dennis recoiling into his chair so hard, he almost flipped it over, pants squishing beneath him. “But there’s always another night. Isn’t there?”
