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“I followed him, of course—”

“Of course.”

Torr pulled his towel tighter across his waist.

“And aside from the fact that he literally jumped when he first saw me, nothing. I guess I really did scare him into silence. Oh, and his dick boss was there too.” Zach worked for Toni’s ex-boyfriend Tyler, a contractor who pulled in a lot of work around Stone Haven. He hadn’t gotten the job at the future bar, for obvious reasons.

Lawrence leaned against the wall next to him. His look had turned contemplative. “I can’t help but wonder why a guy whose family owns half the town—”

“Or at least a few of its buildings and an electric company,” he clarified, drawing on his own research.

“Is working for someone else, in a job that probably makes him minimum wage. Generations of Walsh mayors, and then him.”

“I agree, it’s all strange. But not criminal.”

“Unlike breaking and entering,” Torr reminded his brother. “It’s too bad we couldn’t get ahold of that journal the grandmother wants so badly.” They’d searched the store high and low, to no avail. “Anyway, I thought it worth mentioning.” He smirked. “Speaking of tonight—”

“Like I said, just do me a favor and keep your exploits on the down low.”

“Don’t I always?”

He couldn’t help smiling at that blatant falsehood. They both knew their roles: Lawrence did his best to keep himself out of trouble, and Torr did his best to find it. The parts were familiar, and they’d played them for centuries.

“Staying home tonight, then?” he asked, about to close the door.

Lawrence didn’t move.

“Ah, I see.” Pretending not to care, he shrugged. “I must have misplaced my invitation.”

“You’ve made no secret of your opinion of Kenton—”

“Of a man who has murdered so many of our brother’s bloodline?”

“Murdered? The Cheld are strong. A fight to the death can hardly be called murder.”

“Semantics, brother. My opinion is the same one you held for centuries,” Torr said, hate welling from his gut.

“People . . . change.”

Torr laughed, a hollow sound even to his own ears.

“Do you mean you? Or Morley?” He shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter—”

Lawrence pushed away from the wall and Torr attempted to shut his door. His brother blocked him. Damn him, they were of equal strength, which made these standoffs impossible.

“Torr.”

“I don’t want to keep you from your new best friend.”

Lawrence paused for just an instant—long enough for him to shut the door. He waited a beat, half-expecting his brother to knock or speak to him through the closed door. Lawrence was the good one and would not want to part angry. But he was as stubborn as Torr, if not more so. And so he wasn’t surprised when he heard his brother’s footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Well, no matter, he had plans of his own. According to the bartender at Murphy’s, the best place to spend a Saturday night, especially during the first weekend of the month, was at a place called Stage West in East Stroudsburg. Normally, they boasted nothing more than cover bands and cheap vodka. But one night each month, the place was transformed into a “hedonistic night celebrating a provocative subculture on sensory overload.”

His words.

Noir Nights, they were called. Perfect.

Let Lawrence hobnob with the Cheld-hunting English bastard. Torr would find his own entertainment.