“Goddess, your blood is the most delicious I’ve ever tasted. No wonder they want you so urgently. It’s like drinking pure magic.”
“No wonder who wants me?” she asked. But she was having trouble forming thoughts. The room was tilting and it felt like her head might pop off her shoulders. She gripped the back of one of the leather chairs, desperate to steady herself, but it wasn’t enough. Head spinning, she collapsed onto the floor, all the air flowing from her lungs in a loudoomph.
Malvern’s face appeared above her. “Relax, dragon. Don’t fight it. The drug I dissolved in your wine is going to make you take a long nap. When you wake, we’ll speak again.”
Her vision narrowed as if she were staring down a long tunnel. Then the darkness closed in and she succumbed to unconsciousness.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It had been a long night. Aside from Nick grabbing his binoculars out of his car, he hadn’t moved from the branch overlooking Malvern’s estate in hours, and his back and neck were officially killing him. But as the darkness slowly faded toward the silver light of dawn, Nick got what he was waiting for. That slimeball Michael Verinetti exited the mansion alone, entered his car alone, and left the property alone.
“Fucking bastard.” There was only one thing that had kept him in that tree all night and that was the feeling, down to his bones, that something was not right about this situation. Rowan had promised to come by his apartment that night. If she remained inside, it wasn’t of her own free will. Which told him his deepest fear had been realized. Verinetti had never intended to follow through on his end of the bargain. He’d always meant to feed Nick into the jaws of death. Rowan was just a pretty appetizer.
He waited until the sun came up, hoping security would be at a minimum as the vampires all fell asleep. No such luck. If anything, there were more human guards. More guns. He cursed again. He’d need a small army and plenty of ammunition to get in there. He’d have to do things the smart way if he was going to get Rowan out.
A small army. The light bulb came on in Nick’s exhausted brain. He looked at his watch and texted his neighbor to walk Rosco. Then he hopped down from the tree and walked his sore body back to the car.
A little over an hour later, Nick arrived at Zelda’s Folly, parked around the corner, and waited in front of the security gate. Harriet didn’t strike him as the type of employee who was often late, and he wasn’t disappointed to see Djorji drop her off right on time. Dressed in a mint-green suit with a hat that reminded him of something British royalty would wear and a white leather handbag slung across her forearm, Harriet shuffled down the sidewalk toward him.
“Mr. Grandstaff, I was wondering if I’d see you here today. The cards said you were coming, but there’s always the element of choice to reckon with.”
“Did the cards tell you what’s happening to Rowan?”
Her designer pumps clacked to a halt on the sidewalk. “No. Oh dear, this must be serious. Come inside. We’ll talk while we wait for the others to arrive.”
“Others? What others?”
She didn’t answer him but unlocked the security gate and then the glass door. As they entered Zelda’s Folly, Nick noticed the art had changed. The room was now filled with abstract sculptures of bent and twisting humanoid forms.
“What do you think of our new exhibit, Mr. Grandstaff?” Harriet asked, removing her hat.
“Uh, the bodies are all distorted. Looks painful. This must be about torture or the Holocaust or something, right?”
Harriet chuckled. “No. Love.”
“Oh.” Nick shrugged. “I was close.”
Laughing under her breath, she led him into the back room and motioned toward a chair. “Please sit and tell me what happened to Rowan.”
“Yes, we have to hurry—Oww!” Harriet had grabbed his hand and pricked his finger. He watched a bead of his blood drop onto a square of paper. “What the hell?”
“I need your blood to help Rowan.”
“Why would my blood tell you anything about Rowan?”
She smiled at him. “Old Traveller magic. Leave it to me. Now, if you please, tell me your story.”
His brows knitted together. He told her everything, from the area the compound was in, to the number of guards, the background with Verinetti and his suspicion that the shifter kingpin had sold her up the river to make amends for what happened at Wicked Divine, all because she wouldn’t return his advances.
Harriet removed a large green banana leaf from her purse and placed it on the desk between them. She placed his blood in the center, then sprinkled it with various powders from her bag.
“Are you listening to me?” he asked, exasperated.
She nodded. “Oh yes, Mr. Grandstaff, and I suspect you are right about Verinetti and that Rowan is in mortal danger.”
He tossed up his hands. “Well, what are we going to do?”
“What do you think we should do? I doubt very much that you came here believing an old woman like me would be much help. I can give you a few elixirs to aid your efforts, but I’m a horrible shot.”
