Blacker than Black (33 page)

I furrow my brow and frown, thinking. Jhez and I, our auras blending. She was sharing the weight of the pull with me, or so I thought. She had to leave some amount of the burden on me, or I wouldn’t have had the adverse reaction I did, right? I’ll have to talk to her about that.

It’s too much to take in. I can’t even manage to weigh the implications of what he’s told me thus far. I drop onto the couch and flop on my stomach, grabbing the glass of wine and taking a long drink to settle my nerves. Don’t know how much more of these answers I can take.

You asked for it, remember?
Suppressing a groan, I slide the glass back onto the table and push myself up. The aroma of food is too much for me to resist, this close.

“So are you satisfied then?” Once again, Leonard gets me with a fork halfway to my mouth. At least it wasn’t in my mouth yet. I would’ve choked again, for sure.

“Satisfied with . . . ?” I deliberately cram the loaded fork into my mouth.

“My answers.”

My blood pressure drops through the floor in relief. If I had known he’d present such a rollercoaster ride, I would’ve been sorely tempted to turn and walk away from the curb and let Kenna have him, even if it proved to be her death.

I manage to shrug casually and keep my focus on the food. “For the time being, yes,” I say in between bites.

“That’s good.” His voice is soft again, pitched low. I raise an eyebrow and glance at him while I chew. Nonverbal prompting. “I have a few of my own I’d like to ask.”

I shovel another fork of food into my mouth and shrug. He stares at me, watching. Waits for me to swallow. “Who’s your father?”

I grab the wineglass and chug. Thankfully, I saw that one coming.

“What makes you think I have any idea who my father was?”

“Evading me, Black? I’m wounded.” But a smile plays across his lips. “Touché. I don’t know your age, but I know you’re old enough to have clear memories of the time before the uprising. So the probability is high you have some of him. Whoever he was.”

“So?” I keep eating. Leonard takes a sip of wine and seems much too content to wait me out on this one. He watches me like a hawk as I take another healthy swig from the wineglass. It’s almost empty again. No doubt the buzz will catch up with me, but I don’t care. “Have you considered that it’s not in my best interests to divulge that information? You have me under your thumb, until this,” I wave my hand between us, “wears off. Right? And then I’m loose in the Blue District again. The chi-thief gets off with time served, record wiped.”

I take another sip of wine while he frowns at me and digests that. “I think it would be obvious that, whoever he is, my sire has no interest in my well-being. Otherwise he wouldn’t have abandoned my sister and me to live on the streets.” Leonard grunts. It’s not a wholly unattractive sound, but I doubt I’d find anything about him unattractive in my current state. “I’ve no desire to provide you with blackmail material against another
lyche
. I’ll not be a chess piece in your political maneuvering. That goes for Jhez, too. So you can take your curiosity and shove it up your ass.”

He stares at me. I continue eating, and hold his gaze. Very gently, he sits his wineglass back on the table. Something in his demeanor appears forcefully restrained as he rises to his feet, turns, and walks across the room.

The sound of the door closing is ominous in the silence.

His desertion gives me a surge of bravery, frustration. I know he’ll still be able to hear me through the door. Those sharp
lyche
senses.

“Well, right back at you. I’m no threat to you. The reverse isn’t true. And you’ve given me no cause to believe or trust otherwise.” By the time I make myself shut up, I’m screaming and panting slightly. His hearing is sharp, but so are the senses of every other vampire on the grounds.
Lyche
. Whatever. Gaia.

I glare at the door, grind my teeth, and turn back to my food. That last statement of mine isn’t at all truthful. He
has
shown me that I can trust him, more than once. But his attachment to us, his loyalty to my sister and I, is tenuous and visceral at best. Easily severed if a more beneficial and lucrative arrangement—alliance—presents itself.

Lyche.
“Leech,” I mutter under my breath.

The door swings back open and slaps into the wall. I flinch and drop my fork onto the plate with a clatter. Rice scatters over the coffee table. I turn to glare at Garthelle, but find Jhez slamming the door shut, an expression of barely constrained rage on her face.

“What the fuck?” I ask.  Whatever’s set her off, I know it’s not my fault—not this time, at least.

“Where’s that asshole?”

“Which one?” She stands her ground a pace into the room and glares at me. “Oh. You just missed him. Probably passed him in the hall, in fact.”

“I didn’t.”

My chest is starting to hurt. Like someone’s strapped a medieval torture device around me and is cranking down on it with sadistic glee. I wonder if this is what it feels like to wear a brassiere or corset. I pity my sister. Not that she wears them often. “I don’t know where he went. Stormed off. Much like you, only in reverse.”

“What the fuck, Black?”

I just stare at her. Between the tension in my chest and the emotionally draining episode that culminated with Garthelle’s departure, I’ve no energy or breath for much more.

She storms over and throws herself down onto the couch across from me. “He’s our employer. Don’t piss him off.”

“What, you can get pissy and yell at him, but I can’t?”

“I have good reason!”

“And I didn’t? You don’t know that.”

“What? What could you possibly have reason to yell at him about? I’ve been working for the past hour or so. You’ve been sitting here . . . eating!” She pauses to breathe and eyes the food. “What is that? It looks good.”

“It’s food, sister. I’m sure you’ve seen its like before.” I pinch the bridge of my nose to distract myself from the discomfort in my chest. “Have a plate. It’s good. And so you know, he asked who our father was.”

In the midst of spooning large servings of rice and vegetables onto a plate, Jhez goes completely still. “Oh.” The clink of flatware on porcelain is loud in the ensuing silence.

I lower my hand. The acupressure isn’t helping. “So tell me what happened.”

Her face contorts into an expression of rage again, but her motions with the cutlery remain calm and poised. “His so-called guests are animals. They’ve no manners, not a shred of decency or consideration for others whatsoever. I refuse to work under these conditions.”

Damn it, Garthelle. Suck it up and get your ass back in here.

“It’s not like being on the street, is it.”

“No.” She slams the spoon back into the bowl of rice with a bit more force than required. “I’m beginning to regret my agreement.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s ridiculous. He can’t expect us to carry on a covert murder investigation under such circumstances. I just got
groped
, for crying out loud.”

My blood chills in my veins. “
Starrkopf
.” I push up off the couch and make for the door.

Jhez is beside me, my arm in the vice grip of her hand. “Black. Stop. You can’t do anything to that vampire
.
”

“
Lyche,
” I correct absently. I blink for a moment, trying to clear my vision. She really thought I would try that? “I wasn’t going to try.” I wave a hand at the door. “Garthelle’s here somewhere. I intend to make
him
do something about it.”

Her hand loosens and falls away. “Would he?”

I know he will, actually. “I intend to make him if he can’t see reason for himself.” A smile twitches along her lips, and I wave toward the coffee table. “Go eat. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“I don’t know who she was.” Her gaze skims over me like she hadn’t noticed my altered wardrobe earlier. “Where’s your leather pants?” There’s a very blatant note of accusation and bewilderment in her voice.

Slow, deep breath. Don’t blush, Black, whatever you do.
“I spilled wine on them.”

“Right. Well, the bitch had brunette hair with fuchsia highlights.” I blink, and she grins. “Hey, nobody said
lyche
had an ounce of fashion sense. Not that I know of, at least.” Jhez drawls the moniker, rolling her eyes.

“Right.” I turn for the door. “Eat something. I’ll be back in a bit.”

After pulling the door shut at my back, I lean against the abused wood and close my eyes, taking a deep breath. I have no idea which way Garthelle went. The only reason I know he’s still on the grounds of
Dragulhaven
is because if he weren’t, my level of discomfort would be a great deal higher. With nothing to go on, really, I’m reduced to wandering aimlessly until I find the butler, or until I notice a shift in aural sensation.

Great. I’m so fucked. And not in a good way.

So I’m walking the halls. I stop in front of a door that’s open a fraction. No light spilling from within. Don’t know what makes me stop, until I hear Garthelle’s voice. The only thing I can chalk it up to, since there’s no such thing as luck in my life unless you count the bad kind, is that I instinctively followed his aural trail through the sprawling castle.

He’s not alone in the room. I don’t know why the door’s open. Maybe he slammed it shut so hard, it bounced open again before it could latch? Who knows. I doubt he would physically demonstrate such a lack of self-control, frankly.

Footsteps reverberate across the room, growing louder. Suddenly the door swings open fully and the butler stares at me without the slightest twitch of shock. He bows his head slightly. “Master Black. Monsieur was expecting you. Come in, if you would.”

Oh, that’s just too fucking weird. Well, I guess if I can sense him—he can sense me, right? I step into the dimly lit room and stop.

It’s not another office, as I’d assumed. It’s a small parlor, reminiscent of his flat. Thoroughly black. And dark as pitch in the shadows, despite the track lighting along the walls.

The door closes behind me, and the sound of the butler’s footsteps retreating down the corridor is eerie.

“What is it?” His voice comes from somewhere in the far corner of the little room, but I can’t pinpoint where.

“Jhez returned to your office shortly after you left. She wasn’t pleased.”

“Why aren’t I surprised.”

I don’t think he intended me to hear that. I clear my throat. Tension bleeds through the space between us and slams against my chest like a fist, the sensation forcing me back a step to keep my balance. That’s definitely a first.

“She told me someone groped her. Given our conversation, I thought you’d prefer to be aware of the liberties your guests take.”

The sound of clothing against upholstery comes from the far right corner of the room, so I turn that way.

“I didn’t realize hiring a pair of Nightwalker chi-thieves would be such a high-maintenance endeavor.” The dry tone of his observation makes me want to laugh.

“We’re accustomed to a certain level of respect and consideration on the street. I understand you might not be privy to that. I’d think, though, that your guests would have some knowledge of the understood limitations.”

“No sexual overtures?”

“Anyone who taps regularly would be conscious of that. No offense intended, of course.”

“Of course.”

I don’t like his tone.
Yeah, well. You just slapped him in the face with the fact that his behavior earlier was a blatant display of disrespect toward you.
Oops. Oh well. I’m not perfect; never claimed to be. Nobody’s perfect. Take Leonard, for example. “She holds you responsible for the actions of your guests, since you’re currently her employer. Pimp. Whatever. As things stand, it would . . . behoove you to impress upon your guests that Jhez is due certain measures of restraint. Otherwise she’s going to throw your agreement back in your face and walk out the door. And she’ll do her damnedest to drag me with her.” Consequences of chi-theft be damned.

“Is that so.”

Did you
really
just threaten him?
Massive open-mouth-insert-footage, if I do say so myself. Never mind that it’s the truth. Guess I could’ve tried for a smidgen more tact.