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“I am not upset,” he shouted, even as the tips of his fangs appeared.
Dominique leaned back onto his hands and regarded his mentor. “You don’t know for certain that your sire is dead, do you?”
“Of course, I do. I saw his fate the night before the fire consumed his lair.”
“And you don’t think he might have read that in your mind and taken precautions?”
“But—”
“And knowing his own youngling wouldn’t warn him, why would he want to be anywhere near you after that?”
Serge shot to his feet. “No!”
“He abandoned you.”
He blurred across the table and past Cassidy so fast, she spilled half the water left in her glass. In the dark recesses of the kitchen, he began to pace and mutter and whine under his breath. Dominique’s skin crawled. He’d never seen the old one so shaken.
“Or it’s all just lies, Serge,” Cassidy said, flicking water off one hand. “Like you said. The book did come from Jackson. You probably shouldn’t expect too much.”
Dominique met her eyes. If Serge didn’t at least suspect his sire had survived, he would dismiss these words with a scoff and be done with them.
But he isn’t sure, she thought at him.
Which means we cannot dismiss this. It could be true. And if it was, his fate might well be bound to that of Kambyses.
Serge returned to them and stood, looking helpless, until Samantha took his hand and pulled him down on the sofa beside her.
“Can’t trust my brother as far as you…well, as far as I can throw him. You know that, sweetie.”
He flashed an uncertain smile, apparently willing to buy into this theory for now. Or making himself buy into it.
“I don’t trust him at all,” Dominique said, and picked up the book to flip through the crackling pages. The stained fabric covers smelled of ancient dust, Jackson’s aftershave, and…what? He peered at the worn spine. Closely. Sniffed more deeply. “Samantha, do you have tweezers?”
“Um. Yes?”
“I need them.”
“Hold on.” She was halfway out of her seat when Serge blurred away and up the stairs.
“Oh,” she said, sitting back down.
What is it? Cassidy asked.
Jackson’s crumbs, he replied and felt her tense.
Serge returned and presented a pair of cosmetic tweezers.
“Merci.” Dominique poked the slender instrument into the bottom of the book’s spine and fished for the incongruous smell that emanated from there. Moments later, he extracted the tiny bug.
Serge dropped into his seat, eyes narrowing. “What’s this?”
“A listening device.”
Samantha shook her head. “Oh, Jack.”
“Of course,” Cassidy said. “He does nothing without an ulterior motive.”
“Au revoir.” Dominique crushed the device between his thumb and forefinger. Somewhere not too far away, he imagined Jackson tearing off headphones and cursing violently.
