On paper from the bedside table, Menessos wrote up a list. He then sent for the Offerling who had tended his wounds, and upon her arrival he gave her the paper. “Bring these items as soon as you can. Then we’ll discuss what I want you to do with them.”
Mero watched her leave and marveled that he had not identified her before—the red irises should have been a giveaway, but demons were rare and red contacts were not.
“She is half-human,” Menessos explained. “Her mother did some very bad things. Her father was one of them.”
Flashing a smile at his Maker’s wit, Mero said, “Risqué has the better half on her exterior. She’s beautiful. No tail.”
“She has a tail, a short one. The ruffles disguise it.”
“Do you truly trust her?”
“Yes. Her mother gave her up at birth. I saw to her upbringing, so I trust her implicitly,” Menessos added.
“You taught her magic?”
“Of course. Demon father, witch mother. It was necessary for everyone’s safety.”
“And she is powerful enough to do what you suggest?”
“If I was not certain, I would not allow her to work magic on my corpse.”
Mero was growing weary with the impending dawn before Giovanni released the sisters from his interrogation. There was no time to discuss what Giovanni might have asked them. Mero asked Menessos, “Where might the two shabbubitum secure their rest?”
“Take my bed for the coming day,” Menessos said to Ailo and Talto. He had risen from his bed an hour prior and slipped into silk sleep pants. Although his movements were stiff and slow, his injury was clearly mending. He gestured to the rear chamber. “Here you will have privacy.”
“We are honored by your gesture,” Ailo said and directed her next words at Mero, “but our sister has not returned.”
“She will,” Mero assured them, patting his chest. He gestured her nearer.
“What if she does not appear by first light?” Ailo asked, verging on tears. Behind her, Menessos led Talto into the back chamber.
His performance satisfied Ailo, who wandered toward Menessos’s private chamber. “Ah good,” Menessos said as he opened the door. “I was just coming to get you. Your sister said you would want to hear the history of these antiques. . . .”
Mero inched closer. He heard Ailo’s stifled scream as Menessos attacked. He watched as his Maker drank from her. Ailo struggled. She tried to beat at him with her fists, but Menessos restrained her. She tried to transform, but Menessos tapped the ley line and prohibited her. He drank until she was weak enough to comply. Then he Marked her and put her to bed beside her sister.
Minutes later, Menessos created a magic seal on the shut door and, licking his lips, said to Mero, “It is done.” He sauntered toward the seating in the round. “Mark!”
The door opened. “Yes, Boss?”
“Bring two beds to this outer chamber for the Advisor and myself.”
“I’m on it, Boss.”
“And Mark?”
“Yes, Boss?”
“You’ll have to quit calling me Boss.”
Mark stalled. “Yes.”
Menessos opened the door again within minutes for two burly Offerlings. Mero was glad Menessos did not cling to the coffins many vampires preferred. Instead, the men brought in two modern versions of old-fashioned closed beds, the type with bifolding doors to allow access and provide privacy. Narrow enough to fit through the wide doorway, they were each sized for a single occupant to lie comfortably.
As he climbed into the bed, Menessos said, “If you leave your clothes on the floor, you will find them cleaned and pressed upon waking.”
“Wonderful.” Mero undressed. “Are you not nervous?”
“I die easily, Mero. It is the return that I find difficult.”
“Not for the dawn. I meant, aren’t you nervous about the black binding that will be placed upon your body while you are elsewhere?”
Menessos considered it. “No. I trust Risqué. The only unease I feel stems from not knowing where my Erus Veneficus is.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Johnny was dreaming. He was racing across white sand toward a giant clock. As he neared, he could tell the brass disk at the bottom of the pendulum was taller than he was. He gauged the swing of it. The ticktock beat was much too fast, cluing him in that time was running out as more and more sand gushed from the base of the clock, raising it higher, farther away. He had to get through!
Only a few feet from the pendulum, he felt the rush of wind in its wake. He planted his foot and it sank in the sand more than he expected. He had to lift his other leg high and fast to step up onto the clock’s base. The ticks and tocks were so loud here.
Momentum carried him into the path of the pendulum—
His eyes opened.
He still heard ticking.
His nostrils filled with the scent of the cement beneath him.
He sat up—and spotted the source of the ticking.
A woman was striding toward him, carrying a file. The tips of her heels were clicking on the cement floor. She was blond and wore a trim lavender business suit with a too-short-for-the-office skirt. She had shapely legs, and her pace was lithe and unhurried.
She also smelled of wærewolf.
Johnny stood.
“Good morning, sire. I’m Aurelia, your assistant and Zvonul liaison.”
Her voice was warm and friendly. Too friendly. She assessed him up and down, and Johnny became more aware of his nakedness.
“You had a rough night.” Her gaze fell to something in the cage behind him.
The remnants of a side of beef lay on the floor. The hay that was supposed to be in this kennel was piled up at the edges, pushed into the adjacent kennels.
He remembered agony, a pain like he was being eaten alive from the inside out. He recalled thrashing about and howling.
Mind racing, he recalled all that he’d done and her reaction.
“Let’s acquaint ourselves in your office,” the woman said. “After you’re dressed.”
Ten minutes later, Johnny had collected himself, mostly, and entered his office, dressed in black jeans and an Ozzy Osbourne concert tee. A tray rested on his desk, a plate with an insulated cover not restricting the aroma of the bacon and eggs underneath. There was also coffee, milk and orange juice.
