Seymour numbly headed to the pickup area, trying to listen to whatever it was happening just behind him.
How the fuck did that goth weirdo know about Sariel?
Oh, right, probably because he was an actual vampire.
“Boys, boys!” The woman who had been with Dagobert now approached them. “Let’s play nice, hmm?” She gave Sariel a warm smile. “I’m sure Sariel is very busy and needs to get back to whatever it is he’s doin’. Right?”
“Thank you, Miss Moore,” Sariel replied politely.
Seymour had to push Day up on his shoulder to perch so he could use both hands to grab the milk and coffee. He stomped back over to the group, scowling. “I ain’t thankin’ nobody for shit! Not until I get some?—”
Sariel put his hand over Seymour’s mouth. “Thank you again. If you’ll excuse us.”
Seymour grumbled in protest, but his hands were full and he couldn’t twist away with Sariel’s other arm around his waist. He normally liked when Sariel got bossy, but now he was irritated. He struggled all the way back upstairs to their table until Sariel finally released him. “Hey! What the fuck was that?”
“It was for your safety,” Sariel replied, frowning. “I am sorry for not explaining the danger, but it seemed more important to first remove you from it.”
Seymour slammed the drinks on the table. “Danger? From Hot Topic and leather lady?”
Sariel sighed. “I do not understand what you are saying.”
Day leapt from Seymour’s shoulder and landed on the table, snatching up the cup of milk. She turned it up and greedily chugged. She made little growling sounds that curiously sounded likenom, nom, nom.
“Who were they?” Seymour paused. “Whatwere they?”
“Dagobert is the oldest vampire in the city?—”
“Wait, seriously? I was just thinkin’ that.”
“And Miss Moore is a dragon.”
“A dragon.” Seymour took a deep breath. “A dragon and a vampire were getting coffee.”
“No, only the dragon.”
“Fuck me runnin’.”
Day pawed at Seymour’s arm.
“What? More milk, lil’ girl?” Seymour turned to see Day had nabbed a handful of napkins and what suspiciously looked like the exact same permanent marker the staff had used to write his name on the cups.
Day pointed at the napkins and meowed.
“Oh! You were drawing.” Seymour tilted his head. “Aw, it’s a lil’ house! That’s so cute, lil’ girl.” He turned his head back the other way. “What’s, uh… What’s with the chicken legs comin’ out the bottom?”
“Oh!” Sariel gasped.
“You ever seen anything like this?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
It is Izba,” Sariel explained quickly.
Seymour scoffed. “That possessed fuckin’ flower shop?”
