“Don’t you have something to do?” Catherine says pointedly. “The adults need to speak alone, and since you’ve gotten your way,again, I should think you’d like to tell Lilith.”
“I have plenty to do, but none of it is more interesting than watching Uncle Bowie fawn over Andras.”
Jakob sputters, barely managing to swallow his wine, and returns the goblet to the table with athunk. “Young lady, you mustn’t embarrass our guest.”
“I’m not trying to embarrass Andras. I’m after Bowie. You did hear him suggest I jump in front of a stampeding pony?”
Jakob tips his head. “That’s notpreciselywhat he said.”
She may not have been trying to embarrass me, but my cheeks are hot, and I fear they’re pink as rosebuds. Bowie still stares unabashedly, though under the table, his hand finds my knee in a calming touch.
“Just you wait, Cecily,” says Bowie. “Someday, you will fancy a boy, and on that day and forevermore, I shall tease you without mercy, for you show me none.”
Cecily raises her blonde brows. “You won’t.”
“Shall we wager—”
“All right,” says Catherine. “No gambling with children, brother. Cecily, off with you. And don’t bother Istvan either.”
Cecily mocks a pout but leaves without argument, surely eager to visit her friend.
Catherine shakes her head. “Andras, I must apologize again for our casual manners. We’re really quite uncivilized.”
I remember Bowie has already told them what I am, but it still feels delightfully forbidden to say it aloud. “Well, I was raised by werewolves, so you may rest assured I don’t judge.”
Bowie is the first to laugh. When Catherine and Jakob see that it’s okay, they join in.
The next hour is filled with studying maps and plotting the locations from which girls are rumored to have gone missing. Our intention remains the same—we follow the scent trail. But if our quest leads us close enough to speak with the families so I can catch additional scents, all the better.
Jakob folds and stacks the papers to put them into Bowie’s bag. My satchel is already in there. I feel bad he must carry everything for both of us, though he insists it’s no trouble. Catherine offers to have the cook pack food for me, but I decline. I can catch my own dinner, and that will be less weight in our bag.
As we stand to leave, Jakob speaks up. “Bowie, oughtn’t you?” He tilts his head to the side, revealing the long stretch of his neck. “Before you go?”
Bowie’s usual fine posture wilts at the edges. Hardly noticeable, but I’ve taken to observing him closely. He shakes his head. “I’m fine, brother.”
As Jakob’s gaze narrows skeptically, I realize what he’s offering.
Blood.
“You should,” I say to Bowie. According to what he told me, this would make five nights of fasting. My stomach would riot in protest. Why wouldn’t he want to eat? Er…drink rather. Jakob is a huge man; surely he can spare a few mouthfuls. I wonder if Bowie would drink from me if I offered. What would that feel like? It must hurt.
Bowie gives a resigned nod and follows Jakob from the room. I stare after them with curiosity nagging at my mind like an itch I long to scratch. How does Bowie feed? Is it as simple as a bite? How much blood does he take, and how many nights will it suffice?
Catherine clears her throat, and I whirl to face her, caught woolgathering. “They won’t be long, dear. Are you sure there’s nothing I can pack for your journey? Some bread and cheese maybe? Or those figs you nearly drool over?”
I grin. The candied figs really are a treat. Something about the look on her face makes me give in. I know the feeling of wishing to provide for someone you care about, and though we’ve just met, her generous nature is obvious. “Well, maybe just a few figs. If you really don’t mind.”
Clasping her hands happily, she says, “Perfect!” and springs into action. The entire dish of figs is emptied onto a pristine cloth napkin and carefully wrapped. Catherine ties the little bundle with a piece of ribbon lacing she pilfers from her shirtsleeves. She knots it with a dainty bow and smiles as she stuffs them into Bowie’s bag.
“Thank you. I’m not sure what your cook does to make them so delectable, but it must be magic.”
“Magic? Or cinnamon and honey? Same thing if you ask me.” Catherine points a finger and gives it a little shake, not quite as dramatic as Bowie’s hand-talking but similar. “I’ll have our cook make her ginger-spiced cake when you return. If you have a sweet tooth like me, you’re going to love it.”
Everything about those words sounds like heaven. Ginger-spiced cake. And I’d be willing to bet they’ll let me bring some home to Ava. “That’s motivation to return promptly.”
“Oh, dear.” Her face falls. “I do hope it won’t take long. Those poor girls. They must be terrified.”
I nod my agreement, but I really can’t think about it. I’m not strong enough. Anytime I veer close to seriously considering the magnitude of the kidnappings, I choke up inside. My gut churns, and my throat clenches as if I’ll be physically sick. Best to just get on with the task rather than dwell on it.
