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Chapter Twenty-three
We walked out a few minutes later to find a trio of vamps loitering in the parking lot, next to a shiny black SUV. Pritkin swore, but I wasn’t exactly surprised. I had at least three trace spells on me that I knew about, and two of them were the Senate’s. The point of leaving hadn’t been to get away; it had been . . . well, to make a point.
Which I obviously hadn’t done, or they wouldn’t be here.
It was late or, to be more accurate, really early, and the lot was dark. A lone streetlamp leaked a watery yellow puddle in one corner, illuminating cracked pavement and a sagging chain-link fence. But alongside the building, most of the light came from the flickering sign outside the diner. It cast a ruddy tint across the vamps’ faces, enough for me to see that they weren’t looking too happy.
That was especially true when Pritkin strode over and grabbed one of them by the collar. It was the good-looking blond who had complained about the phone. I guess babysitting me was his penance.
Or maybe that was being slammed against the side of their SUV.
“Are you trying to get her killed?” Pritkin snarled, about the time a brunet got him in a choke hold.
“Break his and I break yours,” the brunet said matterof-factly. “And I know who’s gonna recover first.”
Instead of answering, Pritkin pulsed out a small section of his shield. It was only a vague blue iridescence against the night, as filmy and insubstantial-looking as a soap bubble. But the brunet’s arm flew off his neck like he was giving a salute.
The blond didn’t struggle; his expression clearly said it was beneath him. He looked at me, past Pritkin’s shoulder. “Would you call off your pit bull? Please? I just bought this suit.”
“And they’ll bury you in it if you don’t answer me!” Pritkin told him harshly.
“Too late,” the vamp said, baring glistening white fangs.
“Stop it!” I said. “Pritkin, they’re just standing there.”
“And putting a neon sign over your head in the process!”
I didn’t understand that, but apparently the blond did. “What do you take us for?” he sneered. “Amateurs?”
“Well, technically, I am,” a mousy little vamp said. He was perched on the hood of the SUV, feet drawn up, watching the scene with big eyes.
Everybody ignored him. He kind of looked like he’d expected it.
“Did anyone follow you?” Pritkin demanded, giving the blond a shake.
“Bite me!”
Pritkin didn’t seem to like that answer, judging by the way the blond’s eyes suddenly bulged. He rotated them at his buddy. “Are you just going to stand there?”
“What do you want me to do?” the brunet asked in Italian.
“Shoot him!”
A muscular shoulder rose in a shrug. “Won’t get through the shield.”
“Then help me drain him!”
“Girl might object.”
“Yes, the girl might!” I said in the same language.
The dark-haired vamp looked mildly surprised. “Your Italian is not so bad.”
“I grew up at Tony’s court,” I reminded him.
He grinned, a sudden flash of white in a handsome olive face. “That would explain the accent.”
Pritkin was starting to look apoplectic, which experience had taught me usually precipitated pain for someone. “Would you please answer him?” I asked.
