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“I was hanging around the Bloody Gin, when I overheard somebody talking about Karvanak,” he said.
I grimaced. The Bloody Gin was yet another vampire-owned bar that welcomed shadier customers. Like Dominick’s and the Fangtabula, they’d resisted every attempt by Wade and Menolly to get them on board with the mission statement of Vampires Anonymous.
And Karvanak was a RÄksasa—a Persian demon. He’d stolen the third spirit seal from us during our last big battle. Vanzir had defected at that point, but we’d still lost the seal, and Camille blamed herself, though there wasn’t much she could have done. RÄksasas were greater demons who had far more power than we did.
Even with the horn of the Black Unicorn—a gift Camille had received from the Dahns Unicorns—she’d been unable to withstand the demon’s demands and had lost the seal to him. Chalk one up for Shadow Wing. We were determined it wasn’t going to happen again.
“Just what did you hear?” Menolly asked, leaning close.
Vanzir gave her a long, studied look, and she backed away just enough to tell me she still didn’t fully trust him. None of us did.
“I overheard a goblin tell a vampire that Karvanak was offering big money for any clue to a great treasure, a gem that was priceless. The goblin seemed to think it was some sort of ring or something, but I’ll bet you anything that Karvanak’s putting out feelers, trying to find the fourth seal.” He crossed to the silverware drawer. “Anybody else need a fork? I can’t use chopsticks.”
“Me, please,” I said, raising my hand. Smoky did, too. Menolly stared at the food like she was both starved and ready to throw up. I had to give her credit. Sitting through dinner, watching all of us eat while she could never touch food again, had to be rough, but she did it for the cause.
“How does that help us, though?” Iris asked.
Vanzir handed me a fork and one to Smoky, then sat back down, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “It helps us because I also spent some time today talking to a couple of modern-day prospectors whom Karvanak at one time had thought to employ. They weren’t interested in scouting out the mountains for him, and rather than tell them as to why he wanted their help, he just passed by the rejection and let them go.”
“Prospectors?” I asked. “They spend a lot of time up in the Cascade Mountains?”
He nodded, the grin widening. “Oh yeah, and they were eager to make a quick buck today, especially when Rozurial laid on the charm. We found out several interesting things, including that one of the men ran across a cave a few weeks ago. A cave that’s haunted. But before he managed to escape the cave, sans his buddy, he caught sight of a necklace being guarded by what sounds suspiciously like a passel of wights. A ruby set in gold. And it was glowing like a firefly in June.”
A ruby? I glanced at Camille. “Is one of the spirit seals—” She nodded. “A ruby? Yes. Did the dude remember where the cave was? And, more important, did he tell Karvanak about it?”
Vanzir shook his head. “Yes, and no. And he won’t ever have the chance to spill his guts, either.”
“You didn’t—” Iris gasped and almost fell off the high stool that boosted her to the table. “You didn’t kill that poor man, did you?” she asked, steadying herself.
Roz cleared his throat. “Chill, pretty wench. No, Vanzir did not kill the guy. Neither did I, though we thought about it. After all, Karvanak can’t very well extract information from a dead man, now can he? But I charmed him and talked him into going to sleep, and Vanzir slid into his dreams and ate up the memory. There’s nothing for him to tell now, so he should be safe enough. And so should we.”
I stared at my plate, my appetite starting to return. “That means that we know where the fourth spirit seal is, but that Karvanak hasn’t got a clue. We can snatch it up and send it back to Queen Asteria.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Vanzir said, but his eyes crinkled, and the cold fire went out of them for a moment. “We’re one up on Shadow Wing’s cronies this time. Let’s just make sure we keep it that way.”>I closed my eyes, remembering that afternoon. I hadn’t liked water before, and since then, I hated getting wet. A daily shower—or on rare occasions, a bath—was the limit to any liquid frolicking I might do. Rain was okay, but I still didn’t like it much.
“What happened?” Zach asked. “How did you get out?”
“Camille saved me. You have to understand, even before Mother died, Camille always looked after us. She followed me home after school to make certain I was okay. K’sander swore up and down that he had nothing to do with it, but the truth came out. His parents didn’t even punish him. The fact that he’d lied hurt worse than the kids dumping me in the pond.”
“Honey, you deserve so much better than that. I’ll pick you up at seven on Sunday. We’ll go out to the Keg Steakhouse. Afterward, how about a walk through the woods at your place?”
“You’re on,” I said, hanging up. Inside, I was a mass of knots. I’d just made a date with Zachary. If Chase found out—but then again, Chase had no place to talk. I ruthlessly kicked him out of my thoughts. I was going to enjoy my evening with Zachary, and Chase could fuck Erika all he wanted if he needed company. Apparently, she served him on a moment’s notice far better than I did.
By the time Iris arrived home, Menolly was awake and puttering around the kitchen, fixing Maggie’s dinner. They both listened silently as Camille and I ran down our encounter with the venidemons, the hellhound, and the shade, and Camille’s resulting wound.
“Shit, you really got roughed up,” Menolly said, examining Camille’s hand. “I wish I could have been there. I’d have sent that hellhound back to hell in a handbasket. You sure you’re going to be okay?”
She poured the warmed cream, sugar, sage, and cinnamon into a bowl and set it down on the floor for Maggie, then prepared the ground meat with which we were supplementing her diet. The Care and Feeding of Woodland Gargoyles had made it clear that it was time to introduce Maggie to solid food.
“For the hundredth time, I’m going to be fine,” Camille said. She pointed to the raw slice of meat Menolly was mincing. “How’s she liking the lamb?”
Maggie had—like any toddler—developed some inexplicable likes and dislikes. She loved chicken and turkey but hated fish. She gobbled up beef and buffalo but was hesitant about pork, and there was no way in hell we could get her to touch liver or other organ meats.
Menolly shook her head. “She’s eating it so far, but I don’t think it’s going on her favorites list any time soon. Does the book say she should get any vegetables or fruit?”
I picked up the volume from where she’d tossed it on the table. It was so well-thumbed that we’d need a new copy soon. It felt odd to read in our native language again after reading predominantly English for well over a year, but Mother had taught us both English and Spanish when we were young, along with the various Fae dialects. All three of us were well-versed in multiple languages.
“Let’s see.” I thumbed through the chapters. “Sleep . . . play . . . hey, have you tried to teach her how to use her claws yet? It says here she should be learning the basic rudiments of hunting through play, though she won’t be ready for a real hunt for years to come.”
