Page 7 of Bishop's Flight
There were red velvet sofas and gold-leafed wallpaper. A hostess in a tight-fitting burgundy dress offered them their choice of blood, blood-wine, or cocktails. The secretary typing silently on her computer was wearing a black corset and an elaborately sculpted hairdo.
Dominating the space, a portrait of Rose hung on a wall. In the painting, she was wearing nothing but her long blond hair and a few artfully draped satin sheets.
Brigid, Carwyn, and Lee settled in to wait with three glasses of water, no ice.
Lee leaned over. “Do you think they’ll keep us waiting—?”
A set of double doors cracked open, and a stern man stepped through them. “Are you the detectives?”
Carwyn and Brigid exchanged a look.
“I suppose some folks might call us that,” Carwyn said. “We came at the ladies’ request. The message was passed through Katya Grigorieva’s office, as we live in her territory.”
The man examined them carefully. He was a vampire, and he’d been turned in middle age. Silver touched the temples of his dark hair, and if Brigid had to place his severe features, she would guess he was Latin American.
“Very well,” the man said. “I’m Bernard. Come with me.”
Carwyn, Brigid, and Lee stood.
“Not the human.”
Brigid said, “That’s fine for the initial meeting, but he will need access to information as he’s our tech consultant.”
“You can take that up with Miss Wong and Miss Di Marco.”
Brigid turned to Lee and nodded.
“Okay.” He sat down and pulled out his smartphone. “I’ll keep myself busy.”
Carwyn and Brigid followed Bernard through the double doors, down a long hallway with offices on either side, and through another set of double doors that closed with a thud behind them.
She wasn’t nervous; she was a fire vampire whose fire burned away from her, which meant she could get out of nearly any situation when the air was as dry as it was.
And Carwyn? She glanced at her carefree mate. Carwyn never worried about anything.
The room they entered was dim and looked like a dressing room from the 1930s. There was more velvet furniture and lush throw rugs that covered a black-and-white marble-tiled floor.
On the far end of the room were three people—an elegant Asian woman in a tailored pin-striped suit, a confection of blond wrapped in pink silk and feather trim, and lying in the blonde’s lap was a dark-haired preteen girl petting a white Persian cat.
Brigid froze and immediately switched to Irish so the women couldn’t understand. “Carwyn, cad é sin?”What is this?
“Iníon.”Daughter. He answered in the same language. “Is é iníon siad.”She’s their daughter.“It’s nothing untoward.”
The cold dread in Brigid’s chest eased, and she looked again.
The blond vampire was stroking the girl’s hair and murmuring something that Brigid couldn’t hear. The girl was comforted, not fearful.
The woman in the suit rose. “Carwyn ap Bryn and Brigid Connor? Thank you for coming quickly. My name is Agnes Wong.”
Carwyn bowed his head slightly. “Miss Wong. We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting.”
“Please call me Agnes.”
“And I’m Carwyn. This is my mate, Brigid Connor.”
Agnes nodded. “Miss Connor, my thanks to you as well. Your reputation precedes you.”
As always, Brigid was slightly confused and somewhat concerned that she had a reputation in the vampire world, but as long as people were afraid of her, she didn’t mind.
