Maelle wasn’t only a very old vampire, but one who’d admitted to dabbling in the darker arts.
What if she was the reason for the soul eater being on this reservation?
Chapter Three
I stopped so abruptly that the silent man-ghoul had to do a quick sidestep to avoid running into me.
“Tell me one thing before I go any further.” I clenched my fingers against the need to start a truth spell. “Is your mistress in any way involved with dark magic?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Given she’s my mistress, I’d hardly answer in the affirmative if she was.”
“I want a guarantee that she’s not. Otherwise, I’ll not step one foot inside her nightclub.”
“That would be unfortunate indeed, given how often your friend is there of late.”
While it was no surprise she knew about Belle dating Zak Marin, who worked as a bartender at her nightclub, it was nevertheless an ominous statement—one that suggested Maelle knew enough about us to understand a threat to Belle would be far more effective than one directed at me.
“Answer me truthfully, or I go no further.” I hesitated. “And please believe that I will know a truth from a lie.”
Which wasn’t exactly correct given I hadn’t raised such a spell, but I was hoping he wouldn’t know that.
He considered me for a moment, and then said, “Why is this information so important?”
“Because a soul eater hunts within this reservation, and there’s a theory it’s here under the invitation of a dark practitioner.”
“Ah.” His expression became oddly amused. I had a vague suspicion it wasn’t his, but rather Maelle’s. “As my mistress has already mentioned, she has dabbled in the darker arts, but she is in no way capable of creating a spell that could call or command such a spirit.”
Which didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of magic, and that was yet more unsettling news.
“But she nevertheless guarantees she is not in any way connected to whatever or whoever is responsible for the dark spirit being here,” he continued. “May we move on now?”
I swung around and walked on. While I normally wouldn’t trust a vampire’s word, Maelle was of the Defour line, which, if she were to be believed—and the council certainly did—meant that once she’d given her word, she was incapable of breaking it. The binding was one of magic, a curse that had been given long ago by a Marlowe witch—a fact that initially had me wondering if she’d had some inclination of my true identity, however unlikely that might be.
A black sedan waited at the end of the lane. As we approached, a gray-clad driver got out and opened the rear door. I climbed in. Émigré was situated on Richards Road, which was within walking distance, but it would have far taken longer to get there than I really wanted to waste right now.
The driver closed the door once we were both inside and, within moments, we were underway. Maelle’s servant didn’t move; he barely even breathed. He simply stared directly ahead, his expression devoid of life or animation.
“Tell me,” I said, more to break my gathering tension rather than from any real need to know. “Do you have a name?”
He blinked and then glanced at me. “Roger.”
“Really?”
His eyebrows rose. “Why are you surprised?”
“I guess I was expecting something more... exotic.”
“Roger was exotic in my time.”
“Oh.”
You need to get with the times, Lizzie. Renfield is so yesterday.
It’s not like I’ve had much to do with thralls before now. I paused, watching uneasily as the animation left Roger’s face again. Has your gran’s book on vampires anything about them?
Haven’t checked, but I will. Are you okay? Do you want me to wander over to Émigré, just in case you need help?
I hesitated. She said she’s not involved with the spirit, and she’s guaranteed the council not to take blood from the unwilling, so I think I’ll be relatively safe.