Page 73 of Saint of the Shadows

Tobias smiled faintly. “So, all this time our friend’s been that asshole, Vinnie Varian?”

She crossed her arms. “H-h-how do you know?”

He tied his helmet on and took his spot on the motorcycle. “He was messed up, but I’d recognize his golden hair and perfect face anywhere.” As he rubbed the back of his neck, he added, “Besides, a beautiful woman into a rich guy? I’ve heard taller tales.”

Marisol scooched in front of him, putting on her helmet. “It’s not like that!” Her shoulders tensed into knots. If she protested more, he’d probably get off from burrowing under her skin with more “astute” observations.

Tobias unlocked the motorcycle with a palm print. Marisol commandeered the controls. “Staci, take us to The Pink Curtain,” she ordered.

“The stripper joint?”

“Gentlemen’s club,” she corrected. The blue line traced in another direction across the computerized map, and they were off.

Once they reached a red light, she eased her shoulder blades down. “Vincent is so much more.” The traffic light lasted long enough for Marisol to inform Tobias how their friend was a 500ish-year-old cursed former conquistador. And a pirate, a philosopher, a scientist, a doctor, a freedom fighter. “And the man I—” A passing bus drowned out her murmuring. It was of no consequence. The light had turned green.

They arrived outside The Pink Curtain, a gray, windowless storefront decorated with neon tubes bent in the shape of naked women. Live Nude Girls intermittently flashed. Despite the bright electric signs, the pièce de résistance was a wooden folded sign posted on the sidewalk promising an all-you-can-eat lunch buffet.

Tobias stepped onto the pavement and removed his helmet. “Last year when we took out a portion of the Mob? They really lit into him. Never seen a man face that many bullets and live. I thought it was a ninja thing. But…” He shrugged. “The super thing checks out, but 500 years old?”

“And cursed.”

“I thought those guys were radioactive or alien. Like in the comics.”

“No, there’s another option.” Marisol dismounted. Her soaked boots squished. Sheshould have stopped to change shoes, but time was precious. She’d risk trench foot if it meant Vincent would be safe in her apartment, his lake house, or—hell—his creepy estate.

“I remember when he was born. It was all over the magazines back when I had to go to the store with my ma.” Tobias knocked on the motorcycle. The seat opened and swallowed their helmets.

“Hired actors. You shouldn’t believe everything you read.” Marisol tied her hair up into a ponytail and zipped up her jacket to collect herself.

“As opposed to everything from the mouth of an ER nurse?”

She lifted her chin. “But I’m right.”

His face beamed as if struck by an idea. “If he’s like how you say he is, we could take our sweet time. Wait ’til I get my badge back and serve them a warrant.” He rubbed his hands together. “By then, he could superpower himself out of the situation.”

“If he takes on damage too great, it can become permanent. Think of all the sick things the Bloodsucker is capable of at a slaughterhouse and ask yourself, ‘Would I want to live through that forever?’ Because those are the rules we’re dealing with.” Tobias’s forehead creased, an expression of pity. Whatever he thought, it sucked the wind out of her. “You still don’t believe me,” she said.

The stress lines eased from his face. “I helped duct tape a zombie rat in your freezer.” He gestured to the building. “And I like lap dances like any red-blooded American man, but I’m failing to see how this could help our situation.”

“When you roll in shit, you get shitty ideas. You said we need a force to fight the Bloodsucker. I know a gang who owes my brother a favor.”

He chortled. “You think The Shadows are going to help?”

Marisol opened the heavy door of the entrance. What did he think? She’d ask the dancers in eight-inch Pleasers and a sheet of body glitter to kick down the slaughterhouse doors?

His mouth dropped. “You’re serious.” He followed her, the mission handcuffing them together.

A host sat behind a window of golden bars, propping her chin on the tops of her hands as if she expected them. She purred in a deep twang, “Welcome inside my Pink Curtain, friends. I’m Mijo Ray, and entry will cost you twenty dollars today.” She tossed back her black waves of hair. Light caught her glossy, red lips framed by a meticulously shaped goatee.

“I’m here to see Tiny.” Marisol chewed the inside of her cheek before adding, “I’m... Caz’s sister.”

Mijo Ray clicked her slender, glittering nails together. “As in Casimir Novotny?”

Marisol nodded.

Mijo Ray shook her head. “Shame he’s locked up.”

Great, Marisol could leverage Caz’s history to see The Pink Curtain’s owner, Tiny. In the hierarchy of The Shadows, Tiny was second-in-command. Except he hadn’t relied on Caz to enforce timely payments or to silence witnesses.

---