Page 16 of What Fools These Immortals Be
Of course, because he has to—Wait. “When did you turn him?”
I can’t remember exactly when I last exchanged letters with Vlad, but it can’t have been that long ago. Twenty years? Maybe thirty? A vampire that young might just be coming out of their initial bloodlust, but they would still be on edge most of the time.
“Fifteen years ago.”
I go entirely still. “What?”
“You see why the Huntsman was inclined to allow this.”
“I see why we’ve been told not to do it at all,” I reply.
Fifteen years. Fifteen? He should hardly be coherent. I’ve been a vampire so long that it’s hard to remember year to year, but the first fewdecadeswere a blur, everything so overwhelming and tempting and—
“He experienced no bloodlust at all,” Vlad says, dropping his voice low. Is Grant coming back? “He is quite… remarkable.”
I don’t see it, but I know better than to say that, especially when Grant returns carrying a silver tray that holds three stoutglasses. Each has a measure of blood inside, and he proffers the tray first to Vlad, then to me.
I don’t know what to say—clearly, Vlad does not want to discuss the issue that is Grant while he’s in the room—so I look Grant in the eyes and ask, “Bitch the pot?”
“Pour the tea,” Grant replies, and his quicksilver grin is a little more real than the one he gave me at the door. “Not that we really drink tea, I guess…”
He slinks back over to his chair, and I take a sip from my glass with a sigh.
“What have you heard from Rook and Saide?” I ask. All I can get from the vampires is the same story—that they left and took a donor’s body with them. I haven’t asked the ex-crai, of course, but he wasn’t there at the time.
The best person might be Moreau, but he isn’t here. Fuck knows where he is; no one seems to have heard from him in months, either.
“Nothing,” Vlad replies. “The Huntsman is… concerned, though I believe not for their safety.”
“What do you think they took the body for?”
Across from me, Grant grimaces but looks at Vlad as though he wants the answer, too.
“I could not speculate. To perform funeral rites, Moreau said, though he also said Rook told him they would return to let his loved ones know his final resting place.”
My stomach twists, a shiver going down my spine as all my magic reacts to Vlad’s words. That’s not good.
“You think…”
“Do not mistake me, Maurice. Iwill notspeculate. Not here.”
When I look at Grant again, his lips are pressed firmly together, and he looks almost troubled. Right. The Huntsman is not here right now, and I doubt he is spying from moment tomoment, and if we have our suspicions, then he must have his own, but still…
What Rook and Saide have done is on their own heads. We can’t help them, but we won’t make things worse.
“And Moreau?”
“Out hunting fae,” Vlad says, some tension easing out of him now that we’re onto a safer subject. “Jeremiah told me he saw him a week ago. He is in good spirits.”
Good. Unlike me, Moreau loves this city, though maybe even he needs time away. Maybe he needs time away from the Huntsman, too. I cannot be certain he ever gets that. The Huntsman always gets what he wants, even if that is simply a person’s attention.
“I might need your help with something,” I say, and Vlad leans forward. Grant shifts in his seat, too, excitement flashing in his dark eyes.
“What is it?”
I tell Vlad what Briar reported about a vampire in her district. “I can find out exactly where the vampire was attacked, but I’ll have to be subtle about it.”
“No matter,” Vlad replies, shaking his head. “I know the territories well enough. I know where the fae gather, too.”
