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The whistler was Scarface, who was leaning on the banister overhead, grinning at me. He was swinging a head by the hair, but it wasn’t Ray’s. The long, flowing silver-blond locks were gory, and the head itself was trailing veins and ligaments out of the neck, which hadn’t been severed cleanly as a sword stroke would have done. It took me a second to realize that it had been literally ripped off a fey’s shoulders.
Good, I thought viciously. And smiled back.
He patted it fondly. “Next time Convocation comes around, I’m gonna wear this on my belt.”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or his boss. Cheung was standing in the middle of the hall, just below the railing. His suit coat was off and his natty orange tie was askew, but otherwise he looked about the same. Except for the gun in one hand and the sword in the other. And his expression, which went better with the arms than the Armani.
I did a head count and realized that we were seriously outnumbered. In all, it looked like eight of his vampires had survived. Except for Scarface, they were crowding the small hallway, backing up the boss. And unlike their buddy, they weren’t smiling.
To make matters worse, it was past time for the wards to have kicked back in, if they were planning on doing it. The fey must have really screwed them up, probably so no one could raise them during the fight. It was a good strategy, but it meant just one thing for us.
If Cheung decided to attack, we were toast.
He glanced at me and Louis-Cesare stepped between us. Cheung regarded him impatiently, his face more fierce and hawklike than ever. “I have lost seven men tonight,” he said brusquely. “I think that is enough.”
Louis-Cesare nodded abruptly, but he didn’t drop the sword. Cheung made a disgusted sound and handed his own to one of his boys. He put a hand in his pocket and Louis-Cesare tensed. But he just took out a handkerchief to wipe some blood off his cheek. If it had been human, he’d have absorbed it, but the fey kind gives vamps no nourishment. And from what I’ve heard, it tastes foul.
“I don’t have the rune,” I told him, while I had the chance.
“I know you do not,” he told me, pretty calmly under the circumstances. “I saw your face when the fey threatened you. If you had had the stone, you would have used it. Or, if you did not know how, you would have given it to him.”
Louis-Cesare frowned. “Are you accusing Dorina of cowardice?”
“No. I would have done the same. The stone is valuable, but I would not die for it. And now I would like an explanation for why my men did so!”
Louis-Cesare and I exchanged a glance. I didn’t see any reason to correct Cheung about why the fey were here. Besides, I was fairly sure that finding Naudiz figured onsubrand’s list somewhere.
Just not at the top.
“Jókell—that’s the fey who contacted you—stole it from the Svarestri,” I told him.
Cheung’s scowl deepened and his tiger tat looked up, its emerald eyes gleaming. “He assured me that it was a family heirloom!”
“Maybe next time you should ask which family. The rune belongs to the Blarestri royal house. The Svarestri stole it with his help, and then he double-crossed them.”
Cheung’s face lost some of its color. “You are saying that there are two fey royal houses involved in this?”
“And at least three Senates. The rune’s the hottest item in town, only nobody knows where it is. And we can’t ask Jókell because he’s dead.”
“Yes. We found the body but not the stone. It had been taken.”
“By Elyas, of the European Senate,” Louis-Cesare informed him.
“Elyas.” Cheung’s hand clenched on the handkerchief. “He will pay for the losses he has caused me this night.”
“That is doubtful.”
Cheung bristled. “You believe that lightweight to be my equal? I would have challenged him years ago if I thought he would fight his own battles!”
“I believe only that it is difficult to revenge oneself on a corpse.”
Cheung looked confused.
“Elyas is dead,” I said bluntly. “Someone killed him tonight and took the stone, and no, we don’t know who.”
“You are one of the chief suspects,” Louis-Cesare added helpfully.
Cheung stared at him for a moment. “I beg your pardon.”
