She caught my arm. “Love always matters! And I—When I saw him that way, this big, strong master vampire, suddenly so terrified, so helpless . . . I knew I’d been wrong. Wrong about him, maybe wrong about all of them. I don’t know.”
“They’re like every group. Some good, some bad.” I looked from her to the hand she had on my arm. “Why are you doing this?” I repeated.
“Because he’s a big, strong master vampire. He can handle this. He can handle her.”
“But I can’t!” I grabbed my duffle and threw some stuff inside, barely even looking at it. “If I hurt him—”
“Dory.” Claire’s voice was suddenly small. “If what I saw that night was any indication, you couldn’t hurt him more than . . . than this.” She gestured around—at what, I didn’t know. Probably my empty fucking room.
“Then I’ll hurt him. At least he’ll be alive to feel it!”
I left.
Chapter Thirty-three
I drove around aimlessly for a while, with the top down because it was stifling and my air conditioner had been busted for a week. It didn’t help. The night was muggy, I was sweating and miserable, and nobody even bothered to try to hijack me so I could take out some aggression.
Not that I seemed to have much right now.
Or anything else.
It was why I hadn’t headed to Horatiu’s, like I’d planned. I was in no condition to talk to him. I’d just wanted to get away, somewhere without people, even well-meaning ones, somewhere I could think. But now that I had, my brain didn’t seem interested. I felt strange, detached, numb. And seriously in need of a drink.
I also needed information, and there was only one place to get both.
I jerked the wheel around, and headed for the bar I knew best.
* * *
—
“SHUT THE DOOR!”
The collective shout made me jump, as it always did, despite the fact that I knew to expect it. I slipped inside and shut the door. Some of Fin’s clientele tended to be light phobic, and the shout had become a habit, even at night. Others just liked the ambience of a basement bar lit only by a dozen TVs, a few dim lanterns, and scrolls of golden graffiti streaming down the walls, giving the odds on anything and everything. The proprietor wasn’t picky; if you could bet on it, you could get odds at Fin’s.
Assuming you didn’t break your neck on the way down the stairs, that is. It was actually worse than descending into the twins’ den, where all you had to deal with was black. In here, it was either glaring, rapidly shifting colors, or darkness, take your pick. Which left you tripping over your own feet the whole night because your eyes never totally adjusted.
Or your ears, I thought, as another roar went up from the crowd—the really big crowd. I hadn’t seen Fin’s this packed in a while. I couldn’t even see any floor below, just a sea of heads, lit by flickering darkness.
And it was the same up here. I pushed my way down the stairs ruthlessly, because people weren’t using them for the purpose intended, but as a way to get a better look at the big screen off to one side. Not that it was helping. It covered maybe a fourth of one wall, and was where the most important events were shown. But I couldn’t tell what was on tonight thanks to the mass of people standing in front of it.
The bar was swamped, too, when I finally fought my way over, although I kept shoving until I found a piece to prop my elbow on.
Fin was nowhere in sight. The long slab of maple was being manned by a bunch of his family, at a guess, since they were forest trolls, too. The nearest was so tiny that, even though he was standing on a box, his nose kept hitting the bar top and then bouncing up and down. It was kind of fascinating to watch, and didn’t seem to bother him, although it did make his voice a little hard to understand.
Although that would have been the case anyway, I thought, wincing as another huge roar shook the place.
What the hell was going on?
After a moment, the bartender finished with his current job and popped up at my end, bobbing his nose expectantly.
“Fin?” I yelled, because anything less wasn’t going to be heard over the noise.
He cupped a hand around his ear and leaned closer, in the universal “speak up” pose.
“Fin? Is he in tonight?”
“What?”