Page 104 of Veil of Blood and Bone

I choke the neck of the decanter.

Fabric shifts.

A flash of white skin and pale lips solidifies at the corner of my vision, and I reflexively turn to the opposite direction, heading for the fallen angels.

If Moraine is here with the rest of her crew, there’s no way I’ll be able to evade her for long.

The angels know nothing. Fallen by label, by choice. They chose to jump and have been cut off from their heaven. The necromancer is too focused on the next wave of death sweeping the area to give heed to the whisper.

After pinpointing several potential sources and finding no answers, I settle into a corner. No one has an answer for me.

The local color won’t be of any help. Regulars have their own seats, which they pay to keep with blood and chaos. At least from here I command a decent view of the handful of assholes squeezed into a single room.

“You look at though you’ve seen a ghost, old friend.” Luca, the bouncer from the door, approaches long after midnight.

He eyes the decanter in my hand, the virginal lifeblood pooling, half empty. I hand it off to him without hesitation.

“I’m searching for one. That’s worse than being confronted,” I growl.

“What are you looking for?”

“Something nebulous. Answers.”

“To?” he presses.

“Visions. Prophecies.”

Luca downs the drink and smacks his lips. “Ah.”

“Exactly.”

Luca is a relatively new turn, changed in the early 1800s and retired from politics the moment his immortal life began. He considers himself an old world vampire and dresses in a black shirt and waistcoat, a row of beads in his pocket with the crucifix ripped off the rosary.

Elegant, deadly, hungry. Not one of the queen’s.

“You’re asking for a lot, Nicholas. You know this place is a cesspool.”

How can it not be with a sign over the bar boasting No Cum, No Curses, No Cannibalism.

“Which is why I’m here,” I reply.

The more time passes, the antsier my insides, and the sharper the sensation of pinching in my spine. I have to get back to Helene.

“There was talk...” Luca begins.

My attention snaps toward him. “Go on.”

He holds up his hands for mercy. “It’s only gossip.”

“Your clarification isn’t necessary.”

“Movement. In the old ones. Beings rising that have been dormant for long,” he whispers.

I know better than most that dormancy is a lie. They might keep their interactions to a minimum but there is always movement, a watchful eye and a heavy hand.

“Where did you hear it? Maeve said no Asgardians—” I start.

He waves me quiet. “Not them. But if the gossip proves true, the specific types of beings rising may interest you.”