The man on the left hisses. “Vampire.”
Somehow, the toothless wonder on the left musters courage at his friend’s announcement. He puffs his chest out, standing two heads shorter than Vallan—even a few inches off from Sephania and me. “No v-vampires. Perevis would never see your ilk—”
Vallan grabs the man’s neck before he can finish. With an iron grip, he squeezes, lifts the man on kicking legs, and tosses him ten feet to the side.
His friend moves forward instinctively—
Earning a punch to the throat, my knuckles folding the cartilage of his neck. He falls to his knees, gripping his neck, spewing and wheezing, and topples over.
Sephania enters the gambling den without so much as a second glance. We’ve come to take care of business. She understands people will get hurt if they step in our way.
I feel pride seeing her sashay through the den like she owns it, drawing dozens of gaping eyes and gawking faces in our direction. The smoke-filled, booze-smelling room is filled with vagrants and brigands of all shapes, sizes, and age, everyone trying to cheat their way to a few extra copper coins before retiring to their bottles.
We head up the stairs, hearing a shout coming from below us, outside. “Those three broke Gangy’s neck!”
Two more “guards” stand in front of a wooden door at the top level, drawing clubs. They’re disorderly and wear ragtag leathers.
Sephania points down the hall. “Don’t make us throw you out that window. Three stories is a long way to fall, boys.”
They seethe, baring their teeth.
Sighing, Seph continues, trying on Vallan’s fake excuse. “We have a meeting with—”
They charge as one, unwilling to listen to a woman dictate anything to them.
Vallan steps in their way like a stone wall. He moves unnaturally fast, crouching and then rising up as the two clumsily wave their clubs at the vampire.
The left one gets an elbow in his ear that spurts blood out the other ear, thoroughly rattling his brain. He goes down in a heap, but not before the man on the right gets punched in the gut so hard his back distends.
Gasping for breath, eyes bloodshot, he begins to fall forward—
Only for Vallan Stellos to grab his face with an open palm andshovethe man’s skull into the wooden wall, with such force that the wood cracks, breaks, and puts the man’s head in a hole.
A woman screams from the room Vallan put his head into, bloodied face lolling, neck twisted, skull shattered. If he hadn’t been dying before, the red splatter on the walls tells me he is now.
Sephania doesn’t shed a tear. Although intense violence was not the first thing we wanted to do, we are here to gather answers.
She kicks in the door the two men were guarding.
A fat naked man rolls off a woman in the bed. The two other nude, skinny girls at his bedside shriek as we enter the room and slam the door behind us. Vallan pulls up a chair to bar the door handle.
Perevis lifts his flabby arms, surrendering immediately. His little clit-cock shrivels below his gut, balls practically sucking up into his stomach from the sheer fear on his sweaty face. “G-Garroway! What is the meaning of—”
“Do you know these two men?” Sephania interrupts, thrusting the paper in his face.
He looks. Shakes his head. Squints. I can tell he’s already made up his answer before getting a good look at the faces Keffa so painstakingly drew. “No. Who the hell are you?”
“The Hellwhore. Garroway says you’re important.”
I lift a finger, wagging it. “I said heknowspeople, lass. Andself-important, maybe.”
Pelvis sputters, his three chins wobbling. Behind him, the trio of girls huddle together, trembling.
“If this is about the redcloud mishap, Garro,” he begins, “I swear a better shipment is coming in. T-T-Tomorrow. You didn’t want that street-mist anyway! It’ll make you sick—”
“I just told you what this is about,” Sephania says. She shakes the paper in his face, drawing his attention. “Look at me, not Garroway. Listen tome.”
Frustration edges her tone. As the gambling lord gulps, Seph’s eyes flicker to the girls behind him. She flares her nostrils, something like hatred in her eyes. It’s not hatred for these poor nightladies—one of whom looks far too young to be caught in a house of ill repute.
