“No,” I said. “It really isn’t. None of this is. But you”—I nodded at Tina—“contacted this thing. You came closer to it than I ever could. And you”—at Jules this time—“have skills and knowledge to learn what it really is. You told me you got into this field because you were curious. Because you had to know. But I guess you don’t have to know that badly.”
They looked at me, and it was making me nervous. I wasn’t going to change their minds by spouting platitudes at them, so I stood. Before I left, I put a jar of protection goo in the middle of the table.
“Just in case,” I said and turned to stalk out. Maybe I hoped that they’d have a change of heart and call me back. They didn’t.
Chapter 9
My last stop had to wait until after nightfall, when I went to see Rick.
Rick occupied his predecessor’s lair, which masqueraded as a high-end art and antique gallery called Obsidian. I’d never seen the place actually open for business, and no hours were posted in the window.
I didn’t go in by the front door but passed right by the glass-fronted, stylish facade and went around back, where a concrete stairway led down to a utility door in the basement—the real vampire lair. I felt like an idiot knocking on the door. I should have had Girl Scout cookies or something.
I wasn’t sure anyone would even answer; usually, we called each other and met someplace. Then the door opened in. A youngish-looking, annoyed guy stood there glaring at me—vampire, of course. He didn’t look any different than anyone else, but the smell gave him away: cold. No warm blood moved under his skin. Rick had vampire minions, about the same number as I had wolves in my pack, some of whom had been Arturo’s followers. I didn’t know how smoothly the transition to the new leadership was going. Maybe I’d find out.
“Hi!” I said, and suppressed the “Avon calling” joke on the tip of my tongue. We have some blush that would really do wonders for your pale complexion . . . “Is Rick in?”
“Why are you here?” he said.
“I need to see Rick.” My voice went lower, almost into a growl. My shoulders tightened. Wolf felt challenged, and I glared. But didn’t meet his vampiric gaze.
His lip curled, like I’d said something funny. “You don’t have the authority to beg an audience of the Master.”
Oh, great. An old-school freak. I didn’t have any patience for this bullshit.
“If you expect me to stand here and give you some line about how I do have the authority, as the alpha female of the werewolves beseeching his most exaltedness for a bare second of his infinite amount of time, yadda yadda and so on—no. Just no. You tell Rick I need to talk to him, and if he tells me to go away, fine, but I’m not going to argue about it with some flunky who has an inflated sense of his own importance. Being a vampire doesn’t make you God or anything. Which leaves me baffled as to why you all feel the need to act like it.”
His vampire hauteur slipped as he stared at me. Now he just seemed like a guy watching a car wreck.
“You have issues, don’t you?” he said.
“You have no idea.” As soon as I found a therapist who could even begin to deal with those issues, I might do something about it.
“I’m still not going to let you in to see Rick.”
I took a deep breath for another round of arguing.
“Angelo.” Rick appeared behind the gatekeeper, a shoulder to the wall, arms crossed, regarding the scene with amusement. Angelo started as much as I did; neither of us had sensed him approach.
On seeing him, Angelo ducked his head, cowering almost. He lowered his gaze and stepped back. The submissive gesture was almost wolfish.
“Let her through,” Rick said. “I’ll talk to her.”
Without another word, Angelo stepped aside. He glared fiercely at me as I passed by him.
Side by side, Rick and I walked down the nondescript corridor to the inner sanctum.
“What’s his problem?” I said.
“He was one of Arturo’s, and he’s decided he needs to work very hard to prove his loyalty to me. He doesn’t seem to understand that I don’t want to run things quite like Arturo did.”
I was really glad that none of the wolves expected me to run the pack the way the old alphas did, which usually involved beating people up.
Inside the door to the back room, I had to stop and look around. I hadn’t seen the place since Rick moved in. Mostly, it looked like a comfortable living room, or a library reading room. A couple of sofas and armchairs were grouped around a plain wood coffee table. Shelves on the wall were filled with books and boxes, almost cluttered. The walls were wood paneling, and area rugs softened the scuffed hardwood floor. A few lamps gave the whole room a warm glow.
“I like what you’ve done to the place.”
“Thanks,” he said.