Page 60 of Thorns from the Fall

“I know what this looks like.”

“Like your first vampire murder as king?” Nico says, and I’m gracious for his change in the subject.

“I don’t likethat,” I say, grimacing at the title. My father might have fashioned himself as regent, but I don’t have any intention of doing so. “When did you get here?”

“Right after O’Brien. He let me in.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Gwyn move toward the door. O’Brien, one of the more easygoing cops that Bjorn had on his payroll, stands alongside the bouncers, and they stop her from leaving. She’s scanning the crowd, probably looking for Hale, but I don’t see her friend anywhere.

“What’s going on exactly?”

“O’Brien has to take someone in because a group of tourists saw the body.”

“Fuck. Man or woman?”

“Man,” Nico answers. “He wanted to have them compelled, but someone posted a picture on theinternet,” he sneers. Nico is such an old fucking man about technology—unless it’s Sudoku on his phone.

I sigh, watching the guy I recognize as the bar owner shout something at the humans, wanting one of them to take the fall. This is the last thing I want to deal with right now, but this shit is my responsibility now.

“Did you see the body?”

“Yeah. Looks like a misplaced bite that didn’t get healed. Sloppy fledgeling shit or demon blood maybe. I guess the human ordered an Uber but died before it showed up, and the driver is the one who called it in.”

The humans are agitated—angry and scared or so drunk they can’t stand. As I approach them, I pass the bar, and I grab a broken glass sitting in a bus bin. Clapping the bar owner on his shoulder, I grasp at a memory for his name, but I only come up with the letter J. Perhaps it’s Jason or John or maybe just plain Jay. Who knows.

“Find me three regulars,” I say, and everyone goes quiet as they realize who I am.

Chills creep up my spine as I hear my last name whispered on vampire tongues. And then my father’s name. My uncle’s. Word has gotten around. Half the people here are unattached to a coven, unwilling to submit to Bjorn, and have come out of hiding after his death. I shouldn’t care what they think, but part of me worries they’ll make a move on my people.

On the coven I don’t want and haven’t earned.

The bar owner brings over three humans. Two of them are drunk and barely standing, and the third is twitching as he looks around the room.

He falls to the ground after I punch him in the face.

“What the fuck, John?” he shouts while holding his nose and glaring up at the man who brought him over.

“You defended yourself after he hit you,” I say, the coercion of this human coming easy. “You grabbed this broken glass and hit him with it.” I shove it into his hand, and I make sure it slices his palm open.

“You saw him do it,” I command the other two, who both nod, their expressions barely changing.

“No one else saw anything,” I direct John, and he and the staff start compelling the rest of the humans.

I text Margot to get in contact with the coven’s lawyer, and everything is buttoned up within a few minutes. It’s strange how all of it came so easily. I’d done this kind of shit before, and it’s not like my father actually went out to handle problems like this, but it feels natural.

When Nico approaches, he doesn’t tell me he’s proud because that would be fucking strange and infantilizing, but he doesn’t have a critique either.

John comes over while his staff finishes compelling the humans. “Hey, man. I probably should have come to see you sooner, but with the whole…” he trails off, waiting for me to supply the word for the bullshit that has happened with the coven since Gwyn killed my father, but I simply stare at him instead. “Well, your old man hated me and my bar, and, well, I just wanted to say thanks. For being cool.”

“Keep the demon blood shit out of here, and we’ll stay cool,” I warn.

John looks away for a moment, towards the humans, sucking his teeth. “Yeah, I, uh, don’t know how to go about that, considering my co-owner is a demon.”

“Who?” I ask, but I suspect the answer before he gives it.

“I’m not supposed to say his name, but I think he’s one of the big ones.”

“Is he currently a small woman slinging drinks at the bar?”

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