AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I like your skirt,” I told him, smiling gently. And felt the other two guards crowding up behind.
Yeah. This was going to be fun.
Or maybe not.
“Hey! Hellooo?” Ray said loudly, squeezing between two masters, either one of whom could have squashed him like a bug. “We’re here already. Where the hell’s your manners? Let the lady through.”
And weirdly enough, they did. Maybe because Ray had just alerted the whole hallway to the fact that there might be a problem. Or maybe because no one wanted the ignominy of attacking a guy three or four ranks below them. That didn’t exactly add to a person’s rep, not to mention that I would then have been within my rights to demand reparations for any harm done to my servant.
And I wouldn’t be asking for cash.
Upper-level vampire customs were pretty intricate, but Ray seemed to have them down cold. Either that, or he’d gotten lucky. But, hey, I’d take it.
“That was pretty slick,” I told him, as we passed down the hall, unimpeded.
“Don’t talk to me,” he whispered savagely.
“Sorry. I just wanted to say—”
“Nothing. Don’t say anything.”
I brushed his shoulder, and got the stare of death. “You had a fuzzy.”
“God, just—I can’t take you anywhere.”
And then we were through.
Chapter Thirty-one
As interrogation rooms went, it wasn’t bad. It looked a lot like the house I’d just left, but instead of French country, it was English library. Or maybe French library, since the carpets were Aubusson and the paintings were lacking hunting parties or dogs.
I plopped down in a big red leather chair, since it was the only one left. Ray appropriated the matching hassock. That left us facing the interrogation squad, who had arrayed themselves in front of the fire.
Mircea was sitting the closest, and looking as perfectly pulled together as always, or maybe that was just compared to Marlowe. Radu, on the other hand, was looking like nothing had ever happened. He had changed into a frothy confection of a shirt and champagne knee pants, the latter reflecting the flames that someone had stoked up, because this place was always cold. For once, he matched the room, while Mircea’s dark, modern suit looked like an anachronism.
Louis-Cesare wasn’t in sight, and for some reason—some stupid, stupid reason—I felt my stomach fall a little. And then he came through a side door with a tray of coffee, looking edible in a pale blue shirt and fawn trousers. And, suddenly I remembered all the reasons I had for not wanting to see him.
Sometimes I don’t make sense, even to me.
But it wasn’t really an issue right then, because Marlowe had no intention of allowing time for small talk. “May we begin?” he said crisply, and threw something at me.
I flinched, but it stopped in midair, a little flash of light that resolved itself into the rotating head of a man. It wasn’t a flat, computer-like image, but solid and 3-D, like one of Madame Tussaud’s pieces had suddenly come to life. It was creepy as hell.
Of course, considering the subject, that was a given.
The pale gray eyes, white-blond hair and manic expression would have been disturbing enough—Jonathan didn’t even try to look sane. But it wouldn’t have mattered. The guy could have been the friendliest-looking on the planet, and the memory of the last time I’d seen him, and of his face as he pushed his fingers and then his whole hand into Louis-Cesare’s side, would have been enough to send a bad taste flooding my mouth.
It didn’t seem to be making Marlowe too happy, either. His previous neutral expression had slipped into a sneer of distaste. “Is this the man you meant?”
“I—yes.”
“How certain are you?”
“He didn’t name himself, but I don’t know a lot of necromancers. And I’ve only ever wounded one.”
“Wounded?”
“He said I clipped him.”
