And discovered that I still had no clothes, other than for my bandages. I looked everywhere, but couldn’t find any, not even Louis-Cesare’s trousers. So I wrapped myself in a blanket and peeked out the door.
A couple vamps were there, lounging against the wall, apparently enjoying watching Marlowe have a fit down the hall. Until they saw me. And suddenly stood to attention, like soldiers when an officer walks by.
I blinked groggily at them.
“Uh.”
They didn’t say anything. I got the impression that they were waiting for me to continue my thought, which would have worked better if I’d had one. As it was, we all just stood there, them at what looked like parade rest and me swaying slightly until I grabbed hold of the door.
And acquired a thought.
“Clothes,” I croaked, and to my surprise, one of the guys all but disappeared.
I watched him flee down the hall and frowned. I was pretty sure I’d just said “clothes,” not “I’m going to kill you horribly,” but I wasn’t sure. My head had the fuzzy feeling of a ten-day bender, and right then, I wasn’t sure of anything.
I considered talking to Guy Number Two, but was afraid I’d scare him as well.
“Um,” I said tentatively.
Guy Number Two stayed in place.
So far, so good.
“So. Could you tell me what—”
I stopped, but not because he’d run away. But because somebody else had heard me and shoved his way past Guy Number Three down the hall. “Damn it! I told you to tell me the moment she was awake!”
That was Marlowe, striding this way.
At least, he was until something amazing happened.
Like, seriously amazing.
Like, I actually rubbed my eyes amazing, since I was obviously hallucinating.
What I thought I saw was Guy Number Two—a tall dude who could have been a James clone except for pointier teeth and less hair—put out his arm and place a hand on Marlowe’s chest, stopping him.
Now, half the time Marlowe goes around in Elizabethan slops like a nutcase, and the rest he’s wearing whatever wreck he’s made of his family’s latest effort to dress him like a person so he doesn’t embarrass the hell out of them. Again. However, it’s a case of looks being deceiving, because he is a first-level master and a Senate member.
And Guy Number Two was not.
My brain was finally coming back online, at least enough for me to make a decent guess: Guy Number Two was a strong third- or maybe a weak second-level master. In other words, strong enough to do some impressive shit, but not this impressive. I started to wonder if maybe he had some kind of mental issue, because he was about to be a rather large stain on the carpet.
Only he wasn’t.
“Damn it! Get out of my way!” Marlowe snapped.
“I’m sorry, sir.” And for another strange thing, Guy Number Two did not sound sorry. He sounded . . . annoyed? Put-upon? Slightly bored?
It was bizarre.
Until he cleared it up for me.
“Lord Mircea gave strict orders.”
“Fuck Lord Mircea,” Marlowe snarled. “I’ve waited long enough!”
“And you’ll wait some more. Sir.”