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So the beast and Willa conspired during my blackout. Interesting.
“You must return me to my lair,” Maxton said. “I cannot be out in the wild like this.”
Strange how he called being in public “the wild,” but it supported Brutus’s hypothesis.
“I will,” Damien assured him. “After we take care of this pending business with Cimil. In the meantime, I will be your prison guard.”
Maxton narrowed his eyes.
“I cannot allow you to go off on a rampage and harm whomever you like.”
“You threatening me?” Maxton asked.
“Stating a fact.”
“I do not require a watchman,” Maxton argued.
“You get one all the same. Non-negotiable. Also non-negotiable is stopping at my shop on the way to see Cimil. You will need a new suit before being presented to her.” A lie. Cimil could not care less if people came in rags, formal wear, or in a tutu, but it was a good excuse to fulfill Damien’s original offer to the vampire. Also, Maxton’s tattered suit was a crime against all suits. “You cannot go wearing rags, vampire.”
“I will accept your offer, but I will pay for it,” Maxton said.
“With what?”
“I have gold. A considerable amount. My lair is riddled with the damned stuff. I practically trip over nuggets.”
Interesting.“Maxton, my only concern is ensuring you and I are aligned. I freed you from Willa’s spell, and in return, you will tell Cimil that you wish both women to remain alive.”
“I am a man of my word. I will tell her.”
“Thank you.”
Maxton seemed to be unimpressed by the modern world as the group left the private airport in LA, where they avoided Customs and Immigration, thanks to the Uchben, who had people everywhere.
On the way to the shop, Maxton barely gave notice to the cars or billboards. He didn’t even bat an eyelash at all the high-rise buildings, abandoned shopping carts, and trash. But when Maxton saw the selection of fine suits, his eyes sparked up. He chose a fine gray tweed along with a black suit, which MF promptly tailored for him.
Damien had to admit, the vampire had excellent taste right down to his choice of socks, ties, and leather shoes. Wingtips, of course.
Just before seven p.m., Damien and Maxton arrived at Cimil’s home, and the vampire immediately looked on edge. Maybe it was Cimil’s strange decor.
“I cannot blame you. The circus theme is very disturbing,” Damien said as they waited on the doorstep cluttered with junk—toaster oven, old bicycles, and erotic figurines. Maybe Cimil was preparing for a garage sale.
Cimil jerked open the door, wearing pink lederhosen with a rainbow tube top. “You accomplished the impossible, tailor. Huzzah!”
“Cimil, may I introduce—”
“I know who this tall piece of vampire is. Welcome, Maxton. I have two of my children to sip on if you’re hungry. They loved being bitten.” She shrugged. “They miss the vampire thing.”
Damien truly loathed this mess of a goddess. From her fashion sense to her wicked meddling, she had zero redeeming qualities. The irony was that she knew it and didn’t care.
“No. Thank you,” Maxton replied. “I am not hungry.”
“Good, then let’s get started. Follow me to my office.” Cimil stepped aside to let them into the foyer.
“You stay put, tailor. I won’t be long.” Cimil pointed to the all-hot-pink living room with a furry couch.
Damien didn’t like it but fell back.
Please pull this off, Maxton. I cannot stomach losing both women.
