He just gave me a long look.
“Then what does this have to do with Sven?”
“Only Lavius and I knew of the ichor techne.”
“You must have learned it from someone. Knowledge gets written down, passed down. Who taught you about it?”
“No one. I created it.”
“Before you were a vampire?”
“No. Many years after.”
Which meant he must have used it to kill vampires. I didn’t know why a vampire would need some fancy way to kill one of his own, and really, that was beside the point.
“Did you have records of it here? Or anywhere else in the world?”
“No. I’ve made sure the art was wiped clean from history, and not even mentioned in the myths.”
Well, he’d done at least part of that. I’d never heard of it before, and I was in the know about the creatures in the world.
“So Sven being left with this drawn across his chest is someone telling you, specifically, they’ve found your old weapon? Other vampires can’t see the markings...how does that work?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you created this blood art thing.”
“Yes. I created it. And it has always been visible to me, to mortals, to creatures including other vampires. I do not know how it has been changed to hide it from vampire sight. I do not know why.”
“Totally ruins your reputation.”
“What reputation?”
“Of being a know-it-all.”
That got a fleeting smile out of him. “Focus, Delaney. This is a crime. You’re supposed to be good at this sort of thing.”
“All right. Tell me how this is a declaration of war.”
“Sven was one of mine.” The heat behind those words carried the strength of a thousand years. When Old Rossi brought a vampire under his wing, he became more than just their friend, he became their defender.
“Who wants to start a war with you? Someone you kicked out? Who hates you enough to want a war?”
Just because he accepted new vampires into Ordinary didn’t mean they always stayed here. Rossi had more rules about bringing in vampires than I did about bringing in gods. If vampires couldn’t live up to those rules, Rossi kicked them out.
Sometimes those partings were amicable, but not always.
“Do you have any enemies who would want you to suffer?”
He snorted. “Countless.”
“I’ll need a list.”
He smiled, and it was almost his normal smile—no teeth. Except for the glitter of red in his eyes, he was very nearly the love-not-war guy I’d known all my life. He leaned away, lounging into the couch, both arms spread wide across the back of it.
“I am not in the habit of measuring how many people hate me, only how many love me, baby.”
“Nice try, hippy. That’s not a love letter.” I pointed at Sven. Then a terrible thought crossed my mind. “Is it?”
