I let him wait.
The scene in the kitchen hadn’t changed, except that my ward or son or possibly pet—the jury was still out—had also left the blankie and clambered up onto the seat next to Mircea. And was eyeing him suspiciously, like he didn’t trust him.
Smart boy.
I sat down and scooped Stinky into my lap.
“And who is this…young man?” Mircea guessed, because Stinky’s brown fur was poking out of the sides of a diaper and a pale blue undershirt. The matching booties were nowhere to be seen, possibly eaten, or just left somewhere because they hadn’t been designed to fit long monkey-like toes.
Claire noticed about the same time I did. “Where are your booties?” she demanded.
Stinky blinked huge gray baby eyes at her, and attempted to look innocent. But there was a self-satisfied air about him that did not bode well for the despised footwear. I stifled a smile.
“He likes being naked,” I reminded her.
“Well, he’s going to learn to like clothes,” she said adamantly. Stinky and I exchanged glances. We had our doubts about that.
Mircea was still looking at me, so I shrugged. “You’ve met him before.”
“I have?” An elegant eyebrow went up. Because Mircea was not accustomed to forgetting a face. Much less one like Stinky’s.
“You were a bit out of it at the time,” I said, and left it at that. Bringing up the events that had led to the death of his and Radu’s other brother would ruin any mood, and this one was problematic enough as it was.
Fortunately Mircea didn’t pursue it. “He is fey?”
“Duergar-Brownie,” I said, my chin resting on the downy fur atop Stinky’s head. “He’s one of the hybrid crossbreeds the Dark Circle’s been littering around. I found him at an auction a while ago—”
“Fascinating,” Marlowe interrupted harshly. “But can we get on with this?”
“Depends on what this is,” I said, pretty sure I didn’t want to know. Mircea was being too nice. This was really going to suck.
If I’d had any doubts about that, the looks the others exchanged around the room would have clued me in. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?” I asked Radu, because he was the least likely to lie to me.
He pursed sculpted lips. “Sevenish? Perhaps eight?”
Wonderful.
But I might as well get it over with. “Lay it on me,” I told him.
“Yes, well, it’s a little involved. Perhaps you could start by telling us what you recall from last night—”
“She doesn’t remember a damned thing,” Marlowe said sharply. “She wouldn’t have asked that question if she did. I told you—”
“Anything at all could be helpful,” Radu added, ignoring Marlowe with aristocratic ease. “Even small details.”
And then everybody looked at me.
Claire had set a glass of orange juice at my elbow, because the arrival of unwanted guests was not going to interrupt her morning routine. I took a moment to sip it, as if gathering my thoughts, which I wasn’t really doing because there weren’t any to gather. But I somehow didn’t think that was going to go over well.
“We know you made it as far as the marina—” Radu began, before Marlowe cut him off.
“Don’t help her! If you compromise the memories, they’re of no use to us!”
“The marina,” I repeated blankly, and then something did stir. Something about me and a vampire and a job we were supposed to—“Crap.”
“What is it?” Claire asked.
“Headache.” Which was putting it mildly. A stabbing pain had just run ear to ear, like an ice pick through the brain. And why did that sound familiar?