Roaring Shadows: Macey Book 2 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 8)(18)

God help me. I’m done with this. I don’t know how much longer I can go on.





TEN

~ Of Questions, Answers, and Assumptions ~



Macey took another drink of whatever it was Sebastian had poured her. She was warmer now, looser…yet beneath it all she felt a sense of foreboding. The clock was ticking. What would Capone do when he realized she was gone?

How long did she have before he made good on his promises? Maybe he’d think she’d gone to the morgue to take care of Fanalucci’s body? If he did, that would give her more time…wouldn’t it?

Chas, who seemed to have shed most of his angry, challenging mood, fixed Macey with his attention. “What happened with your friend Flora at The Music Castle? Yes, of course I bloody well recognized her.”

Macey nodded and collected her thoughts—or tried to. This was the reason she’d come here tonight anyway. Even without Flora, she had questions. And she needed to talk to Sebastian and Chas—the only two people who really understood her situation. Temple, too, of course, but she wasn’t a Venator, and so she couldn’t wholly understand.

This time, Macey took a big gulp of the whiskey—or whatever it was—and drained the glass. It burned her throat and she had to stifle a cough, but even as her eyes watered, she set the glass down with a thunk. “More.”

While Sebastian, who didn’t bat an eyelash, filled hers and Chas’s glasses, she began to talk—grateful to be able to do so with two people she trusted.

If only Wayren were here.

“Flora wants me to help her. She wants me to save her from her—uh—undeadness, I guess you’d call it. She realized she made a mistake in getting turned”—Chas made a rude sound, but Macey ignored him—“and she wants to get away from Iscariot and the life of a vampire. She says she’s afraid of him.”

“She damn well should be,” Chas muttered.

“And she said—which is no surprise to me—that Iscariot is after me, and after the Rings of Jubai.” Her attention slid to the five copper rings that glinted on Sebastian’s hand. “I was going to bring her here tonight—I thought she could stay here with you,” she said, looking at Sebastian. “Since you…well, you might understand her predicament.”

Chas slammed his glass on the table. His eyes burned, dark and intense. “No. He doesn’t understand her predicament because Vioget here made a conscious decision to relinquish his soul in an attempt to save the soul of Giulia Pesaro—who was a vampire, as you may or may not know, and thus her soul was damned.

“He didn’t choose to become undead on a whim, because he wanted to be immortal, wanted the power, thought it would be fun—or to get back at a friend.” He nodded at Macey, who was surprised he even knew Flora’s anger with her had been part of the reason she was susceptible to the lure of the undead. “So, no, Sebastian doesn’t really ‘understand her predicament,’” he said, mimicking Macey’s words in his low, gritty voice.

“Well now, Woodmore,” Sebastian said after a startled moment, “I didn’t realize you had an empathetic bone in your body. To surprises.” He slopped more whiskey in everyone’s glasses and lifted his own. “Salut.” Then he looked at Macey, capturing her with his warm gaze—though this time, without the edge of the thrall. “And why did you not bring this Flora here after all, then, cher?”

“On the way here, we were set upon—or at least, they attempted to set upon us—by three thugs. Of course I—we—fought them off, and when I went to look for Flora, she was gone.” Macey hesitated and lifted her drink.

If she told them what happened, she sensed Chas would be even more accusatory. And what would Sebastian think?

“Ah, I see. She took the opportunity to partake from the man who made the poor decision to attack her, didn’t she?” Chas spoke before she could make the choice. When she looked at him in surprise, he made an impatient gesture. “It’s obvious—you showed up here covered in someone else’s blood. Is he alive?”

“He was…when I sent him to the hospital in a taxi. I didn’t really know what else to do.” Macey’s hand was a little unsteady when she lifted her glass again. When was the last time she’d had something to eat? The whiskey still burned when it went down, but she was beginning to appreciate its warmth.

It dulled everything.

And yet it heightened her senses.

She drank, dimly aware of her two companions trading glances.

Irritated, she set the empty glass down with a dull thunk and gestured to it. In for a penny, in for a pound, she figured. Tomorrow would be soon enough to face the impossible choice that had become her life.

“Is there any way to help her?” She pointed to Chas. “You told me he”—she gestured to their host—“needed my help to save his soul. If it’s possible, then why can’t I help Flora?”

“That’s assuming your friend really wants help to save her soul, and isn’t working for Iscariot.” Chas, of course.

Macey bristled. “As if I haven’t thought of that—”

“I’m not certain it is possible.” Sebastian’s voice was low, tinged with an emotion Macey couldn’t quite identify. Fear? Despair? “To save a soul that’s been—what do the Dracule call it, Woodmore? Damaged? Yes, that’s the term. Damaged. I am acting on faith and hope, and the interpretation of a prophecy. Even Wayren can’t—or won’t—tell me what the result will be. I won’t know until it’s all over.”

“Until what is all over?” Macey demanded. She was sick of prophecies and unanswered questions, and answers she didn’t want to hear or think about. And she sure as hell didn’t want to leave here and go back to Al Capone.

“This. My life. Such as it is.” Sebastian smiled his gorgeous, charming smile. “And believe me when I say I am more than ready for it to be done.”

Macey didn’t quite know what to say to that. She’d known Sebastian—and Chas, for that matter—for less than a year, and already she couldn’t imagine life, or being a Venator, without either of them. She simply didn’t know enough, have enough experience—and she would never rely on Alphonsus to help her.

And the thought of facing Nicholas Iscariot on her own was hair-raising.

“That makes two of us.” Chas’s voice was gritty. “To clarify, Vioget—I speak of wishing for my own time on earth to come to an end, not the demise of your charming self.”

“Well, isn’t that nice, to know both the men I rely on the most have death wishes.”

“You rely on us?” Chas, of course, seized Macey’s comment like a dog with a bone. “I would never have guessed. I thought for certain we’d been replaced in your affections by that fat Italian bastard.”

He might have been baiting her—he probably was—but this time, Macey didn’t let his comment get to her. She merely turned toward Chas, leaned in closely enough to smell him—whiskey, wool, smoke, and something spicy—and batted her eyelashes. Yes, literally batted them. There was that saying about honey instead of vinegar, right?

“Of course not, Chas, sweetie. You could never be replaced in my affections. After all, I have you to thank for dragging me out of Iscariot’s auto, don’t I?”

His throat moved, his lips quirked, and his eyes flashed dark just for a moment. “Be careful, lulu,” he murmured. “I can play that game.” He lifted his glass, his knuckles brushing her cheek she was so close, and looked at her over the rim as he sipped.

Warmer and more lightheaded than she had a right to be, Macey eased back and turned her attention to Sebastian. He was watching the two of them, his mouth set in a half-smile, his eyes glinting with pleasure. The man definitely appreciated the fine art of flirtation.

“Perhaps you should ask Woodmore here about his own charmed life, ma petite. I’m not the only one who doesn’t belong in this age. He has his own role to play—and one about which he’s been particularly closemouthed. If you can imagine that.” Sebastian’s gaze narrowed with pleasure.

Macey was getting a little dizzy, transferring her attention from one to the other…or maybe it was the whiskey. “All right then, Chas, ’fess up, why don’t you?”

He’d settled onto his elbows, leaning on the bar counter, looking down at his perpetually full glass. “It’s Wayren’s fault. She gave me the opportunity to leave—”

“It was more like an escape, non?” Sebastian said helpfully.

Chas shot him a look of loathing. His jaws were obviously tight when he spoke, for his words came out clipped and sharp. “It was a long time ago, and I had finished with…what I had been doing—”

“Which was what?” Macey was genuinely curious, even though she could tell Chas didn’t wish to talk about it at all.

Sebastian came to Chas’s rescue. “He was hunting vampires, but a different breed of them. They’re called the Dracule, and unlike those of mine and Iscariot’s ilk, the Dracule can be redeemed. Some of them, anyway.” His smile was pained. “What Woodmore isn’t saying is that he had his heart broken, and he was running—”