Augustine laughed from his chair beside her. “Watch out, she’s about to tell your life story.”
Fi hesitated, sucking in her bottom lip. “Then I should probably tell you I’m a ghost.”
Olivia drew her hand back slightly, her expression a little incredulous. “A ghost? Darling, you’re as solid as the day is long.”
Fi picked up her fork and held it flat on her open palm. A second later, the fork fell through Fi’s de- corporealized hand and clattered to the table. Sunlight from the transom windows filtered through Fi’s transparent figure. “I go both ways.”
Augustine whispered something in faeish.
“Well, now, that is the singular best parlor trick I’ve ever seen.” Olivia smiled and lifted her glass in toast. “Here’s to the most interesting brunch I’ve had in a long time.”
Lally returned, setting several steaming dishes of food on the table, then went around filling coffee cups and juice glasses. While Augustine helped serve Olivia, she looked to Chrysabelle. “As wonderful as it is to see you, I’m sure you haven’t just come for a visit.” Her amber gaze took on an odd clarity and she dipped her head toward Chrysabelle. “Does your trip here have anything to do with that baby in your belly?”
Chapter Twenty
Creek hauled Mal through the corridors of the freighter, finally dumping him in a section of one that was completely free of sunlight. It would have to do. If he tried to find Mal’s actual room, chances were he’d get lost in the ship and end up stuck here until Mal came to and that had bad news written all over it. As it was, Mal was going to be highly irate at being shot and drugged. Common sense said the best thing to do was get scarce.
He worked his way out of the ship, but a few yards from the door he’d come in, he heard the sounds of someone else on deck. He inhaled, looking for a scent, but found nothing. He crept forward, wishing he knew the freighter better so he could find another way out.
The door was open a crack, so Creek peered through it. A vampire he didn’t recognize was leaving a container right outside the door. If not for the man’s noble facial structure, Creek wouldn’t have known he was looking at a vampire. It was like the man wasn’t there at all, like he created a dead spot in Creek’s senses.
Paole. There was no other explanation. Which meant this could be the vampire who’d turned the mayor. Creek wished his crossbow wasn’t collapsed. Snapping it open would make too much noise. Instead, he reached for his halm and jumped through the door, pushing it open at the same time that he whipped his halm out to full length.
He stopped just as the tip of the halm hit the vampire’s chest. “Move and I’ll run you through the heart.”
The vampire froze. “Who are you?”
“I could ask you that same question.” Creek nudged the container with his foot. “What’s this?”
The vampire straightened as best he could. “A name, first.”
“Creek. You?”
“Luciano.”
Great, another Italian. Maybe Dominic knew him. “What’s in the container?”
“Blood.”
“Why are you bringing Mal blood?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“You don’t have to live, either.” Creek shoved the halm harder into Luciano’s chest. “Who are you working for? Dominic?” The faintest hint of recognition flared in Luciano’s eyes. “So you are. Why the blood then?”
Luciano looked like he’d rather sunbathe than answer, but he did anyway. “The blood is drugged. To keep Mal from killing anyone. The comarre requested it.”
“Chrysabelle?”
“We’re not enemies then. Not yet.” Creek moved the halm, but kept it at full length in case the situation changed. “Why would Chrysabelle want to keep Mal drugged? And why would Mal kill anyone? He gets all the blood he needs from Chrysabelle.”
Luciano sighed and glanced at the sky. “The sun comes soon. Perhaps we can talk elsewhere?”
“I like the sun. Explain.”
With another very exasperated sigh, Luciano answered. “Mal’s love for her was stolen by a fae. Now he is like he was before. A beast. A creature controlled only by his desire to feed.” Luciano shrugged. “This comarre still loves him and does not want him to die. Not yet. Not if she can bring his love back. So until then… we feed him. Keep him sedated so he harms no one. Are you satisfied? Can I go? Otherwise I may be forced to kill you so that I do not perish as well.” He smiled like that was funny.
Creek aimed the halm at him again. “One more question. Did you sire the mayor?”
Luciano’s smiled faded. “
Creek had orders to kill the vampire who’d sired the mayor, but Luciano was keeping Mal from killing anyone else with these blood deliveries. He’d have to explain to Annika what was going on so the situation could be reassessed. He jabbed his halm into Luciano’s chest. “Sire anyone else and I’ll kill you myself, understand?”
Luciano sneered. “Under what authority, human?”
Creek twisted the halm so that Luciano’s shirt wound around the end in a tight knot, and then he pulled the vampire in close. “Under the authority of the Kubai Mata, bloodsucker.”
He laughed. “The KM don’t exist.”
“You don’t believe me, ask Chrysabelle. She’s seen the brands on my back. Or maybe you should just take a nice deep inhale and get a whiff of the holy magic in my blood. I’ve heard it smells sour to your kind.”
Luciano’s nostrils flared, and then his eyes went a very fearful shade of silver. He nodded. “I won’t sire any others. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
Creek yanked the halm back, tearing it loose from Luciano’s shirt. A second later, he stood alone on the deck, the only reminder anyone else had been there the container of blood on Mal’s doorstep and the breeze left behind in Luciano’s wake.
Chief Vernadetto arrived just after lunch. Within half an hour, Doc had set him up with a conference room to use to take statements. Barasa and Omur waited with Doc in his office. They’d have their turns too, but he was up next. “This is a mess, you know. I’ve lied to Fi. I’ve lied to Remo. Now what, I’m supposed to lie to the cops?”
Barasa cleared his throat. “You have no choice. None of us do. We have to tell the same story or this house of cards will fall.”
Omur nodded. “I’m sorry, Maddoc. I know this goes against your grain.”
Doc snorted. “I used to run drugs for Dominic Scarnato. You think lying to the Five-Oh goes against my grain? It was the only grain I had for a lotta years.” He sighed. “I just don’t like doing it where Fi’s concerned.”
A knock on the door turned their attention.
“Come in,” Doc answered.
Remo entered, looking less than pleased. “Vernadetto’s ready for you.”
Doc stood and went without a word. Vernadetto sat at the far end of the conference table with an e-tablet in front of him, the screen black, and a cup of coffee. Doc shut the door, then sat near him. “Chief.”
“Maddoc.” Vernadetto tapped the screen to bring it to life. “Where were you the night of the alleged murder?”
No small talk then. “In the stands of the arena.”
“What was your relationship with the deceased, Heaven Silva?”
“Her husband by pride law.”
Vernadetto nodded. “I remember that. Because you killed Sinjin, correct?”
“He challenged me. And I killed him in self-defense,” Doc added.
