“Get the fuck out of here!”
Why, he mouthed, coming at her, reaching out. Oh…God, you have to stop.
With a deep growl in her throat, she pointed at him. “Don’t come near me.”
John started to sign fast and sloppy, even though she didn’t understand ASL. Why are you doing that to yourself-
“Get the fuck out of here. Now.”
Why? he shouted at her silently.
As if in answer, her eyes flashed ruby red, like there were colored flashbulbs mounted in her skull, and John went utterly cold.
There was only one thing in the Brotherhood’s world that did that.
“Go.”
John spun around and fast-tracked to the door. As he reached for the knob, he saw that it was lockable from the inside, and with a quick twist of the stainless-steel ridge, he locked her in so no one else would see her.
As he came up to Qhuinn, he didn’t stop. He just kept right on going, not caring whether his friend and personal guard was behind him.
Of all the things he could ever have learned about her, this was one he couldn’t possibly have foreseen.
Xhex was a frickin’ symphath.
TWENTY-FIVE
Across Caldwell, on a tree-lined street, Lash was sitting inside a brownstone apartment in a club chair that was slipcovered in dark velvet. Hanging beside him were the only other remnants of the stylish, wealthy humans who’d previously lived in the place: Swaths of beautiful damask drapery ran from floor to ceiling, accentuating the bay windows that bowed out over the sidewalk.
Lash loved the damn drapes. They were wine, gold, and black, and fringed with gold satin balls the size of marbles. In their lush glory, they reminded him of the way things had always been when he’d lived in that big Tudor mansion up on the hill.
He missed the elegance of that life. The staff. The meals. The cars.
He was spending so much time with the lower classes.
Shit, the human lower classes, considering the pool where lessers were drawn from.
He reached out and stroked one of the drapes, ignoring the blush of dust that bloomed in the still air as soon as he touched it. Lovely. So heavy and substantial with nothing cheap about it, not the fabric, not the dyes, not the hand-sewn hems or borders.
The feel of it made him realize he needed a good house of his own, and he thought maybe this brownstone could be it. According to Mr. D, the Lessening Society had owned this place for the last three years, the property having been purchased by a Fore-lesser who was convinced vampires were in the area. A two-car garage was tucked in the back alley, so there was privacy, and the home was as close to graceful as he was going to get anytime soon.
Grady came in with a cell phone up to his ear, on the final lap of the pacing trail he’d developed over the past two hours. As he talked, the guy’s voice echoed up to the high, ornate ceilings.
Now properly motivated by his adrenal gland, the guy had coughed up the names of seven dealers and had been calling them one after another and schmoozing his way into meetings.
Lash glanced down at the piece of paper Grady had scribbled his list on. Whether all the contacts worked out only time would tell, but one of them was definitely solid. The seventh person, whose nomenclature was circled in black at the bottom, was someone Lash knew: the Reverend.
A.k.a. Rehvenge, son of Rempoon. Owner of ZeroSum.
A.k.a. territorial fucker who had booted Lash out of the club because he’d sold a few grams here and there. Shit, Lash couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Of course Rehvenge would be on the list. Hell, he was the river that spawned all the streams, the guy the South Americans and the Chinese manufactures dealt with directly.
Didn’t this make things even more interesting.
“Okay, I’ll see you then,” Grady said into the phone. As he hung up, he looked over. “I don’t have the Reverend’s number.”
“But you know where to find him, right.” Duh. Everybody in the drug trade from pushers to users to the police knew where the guy hung out, and for that reason it was a wonder the place hadn’t been shut down long ago.
“That’s going to be a problem, though. I’m banned from ZeroSum.”
Join the club. “We’ll work around that.”
Although not by sending a lesser in to try to make a deal. They were going to need a human for that. Unless they could lure Rehvenge out of his den, which was unlikely.
“Am I done now?” Grady asked, glancing desperately at the front door, like he was a dog who badly needed to go out for a piss.
“You said you needed to stay under the radar.” Lash smiled, flashing his fangs. “So you’re going back with my men to their place.”
Grady didn’t argue, just nodded and crossed his arms over the front of that fakakta eagle jacket of his. His acquiescence was equal parts personality, fear, and exhaustion. Clearly, it had dawned on him that he was in much deeper shit than he’d first realized. No doubt he thought the fangs were cosmetic add-ons, but someone who thought he was a vampire could be almost as deadly and dangerous as someone who really was.