The slightest hint of stiffness in his own tone, EJ said, “I see. And now we turn to other things, like the queen’s reception, which you refused to attend, and which may be tied into Tony Montgomery, Chancy Bigelow, our client, and our missing woman, Ivyanna Holmes. And Willim Yorath.”
Walter’s lips tilted the slightest bit on the unscarred side. “I suppose you discovered why I refused to attend the queen’s reception for the emperor.”
“You could have told us that Willim would be there. He avoided us both quite neatly. If I had known,” EJ said, “I couldhave sought him out and beat him to death for you. Hell. You could have told Aunt Jane. She would have kicked his ass for us all.”
Walter chuckled, sounding nearly human. “You could have gained access to the guest list prior to the event,” he said. “It isn’tmyerror thatyoudid not bother to ask for it and run every name and bio. And besides, dear boy, Willim Danil Yorath would have killed you in a trice. As to the queen, Her Majesty keeps her enemies close, especially when little birds bring her information about impending treachery, rivalry, and conflict. Unlike you, I wasinvitedto attend the event of the season, notcommanded. For whatever reason, you did not question that. I did. I read the guest list.”
EJ sat up straight in his chair. “Well, hell.” He had missed all the tiny little signals and signs.All of them. During the war, nothing got by him. His game was slipping.
“Now,” Walter said. “Tell me about the case.”
Chapter Four
Angie
The convo had gone on for an hour, as the three of us had drawn conflicting conclusions (all probably erroneous), addressed possibilities, and realized that, though Walter was likely being hunted, we had nothing. When dealing with fangheads, my precog was seldom up to the layered intentions, plans, and history of the vampire world, a world where betrayal and violence could lie buried for decades, only to explode at the slightest cause. And sometimes the glimpses Isawmeant something totally different from what the reality became.
This particularknowinghad been useless: overlapping images of a snowstorm, a body leaping between buildings, and a large patch of bloody snow covered by body parts.
At eight p.m. I called it a night. My brother might have annoyed me when he told me how I’d spend the rest of the evening, but he had also been right. I went to my one-bedroom apartment on the floor above the office, fed the cats, and walked out onto the balcony for a half hour of cold-weather yoga to clear my mind.
When I was done, my body was loose and limber but my brain, stimulated by the icy wind, was whirling withpossibilities. Nothing on the sat-vid looked interesting, and I’d been at a stalemate on a new version of the family’sreverse hedgeworking for months. I dropped on the sofa, pillows bouncing, and said, “Ojos, camera view, fourth floor.” If the cams hadn’t been set to private, I could at least be entertained by EJ and Walter sparring.
The cats meandered over, tails in the air, looking bored and disinterested and utterly catty. Aurora jumped on the coffee table and began cleaning her nether regions, one hind leg in the air, like an impossible yoga move; Borealis leaped to the sofa arm and curled into a loose ball of long hair, positioned just out of reach, as if to say,You want to pet me. I know it. But it will be on my terms.She yawned, to push the point home.
On the screen, where the security cams were still running in the system, Walter walked into the fourth-floor gym, a bottle of red wine in one hand. That was new. He also was still wearing street clothes and slippers, instead of changing into a jujitsu gi.
Interesting.I should make popcorn…or go watch in person.
Walter padded silently across the room, set the wards on the lower three floors to full power, and activated the outer doors on low mode, so the tenants could come and go with their security swipes.
In the stainless steel kitchen, he opened the bottle of red and left it to breathe, before he opened the steel shutters at the front of the building to let in Chattanooga’s night lights. He stood, gazing out into the darkness. In a human, I might have thought he was feeling pensive, but he was a vamp, so who knows.
He decanted the wine, set out two glasses, and made himself comfortable on the leather sofa facing the doorway and the wall screen. The invisi-windows—windows that let in light andallowed those inside to see out but obscured everything inside from prying eyes—were to his left and his right. The workout space with its sparring rings and the wall of practice swords was behind him, and vamp-friendly mirrored walls were here and there where structural needs permitted. He could see himself in these mirrors, if he wished. The mirrors were a new invention for vampires, and many of them spent an inordinate amount of time posing in front of them. Walter glanced at himself once in a while.
He put his slippered feet on the coffee table and crossed his ankles. But he didn’t breathe. His heart didn’t beat. If I touched him, his skin would be ambient room temp.
Walter had dark brown skin, deep brown eyes, an aquiline nose, full lips. His black hair was styled in stand-up locks, though I had seen pics of him with a headful of wild curls. Most people wouldn’t consider him beautiful because of the brand on his left cheek.WY. Burned into him when he was still a human slave child and had tried to run away. I was careful to remark on little he did or said that might expose that private part of himself.
EJ? EJ liked to poke the bear.
Like all vamps, Walter should look no older now than the day he was turned. I had seen pics of him as a newish vamp. He was harder, more chiseled, more insular, and colder now than then. Then, he’d simply looked terrified. Tonight, he appeared casual, friendly, and pleasant, and not at all as if he was going to spar with EJ.
I studied the brand on his cheek, a smallWY, burned into him by his owner. His dossier from the time of his slavery in Jamaica was one page, but all slavery was a particular bit of hell.
He put the game on. The Chargers were playing theHouston Texans—stupid name for a sports team—and the experts were evaluating both teams.
Walter had once informed us that NFL football was nothing compared to the ferocity and brutality of the war games he had played as a young vampire, and even held no comparison to the unprotected violence of rugby. But the strategy, the emotional manipulation applied by the coaches, and the human players’ reactions and resilience were “worthy of study for anyone who prepares to lead others into any form of battle.” Walter preferred single combat and hand-to-hand fighting, but that was for fun. Battle strategy was an entirely different game.
Were wine and street clothes a new strategy?
The door opened and EJ walked in, wearing soft, thin sweatpants and a loose sleeveless vest over a tight T-shirt. He wasn’t wearing a gi either, so he must have checked in with the cam too. My redheaded brother looked fit and annoyed as he took in Walter and the wine, glanced at the wall screen, noted the game, and stared at the small red light that indicated I was watching.
EJ said, “It occurs to me you could have challenged Willim Yorath to Sangre Duello at the Queen’s reception and killed the man who tortured you.”
“EJ, you’re an idiot,” I said to my brother.
Walter’s voice went hard and quiet. “Yes, Evan Junior. I could have. I chose not to do so at that time.” He took a sip of wine before he continued, almost as if his mouth was dry with unaccustomed emotion.
