“I heard you.” I ran a hand over my face, trying not to flinch anew at my flat intonation, the complete loss of musicality that once ran through my very veins. “How can I help you, Billy?”
“I wanted to see if the fanglings won you over yet.” He chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve met William.”
“I have. What’s wrong with him?” I considered the tea, deciding it wouldn’t be the worst thing to hold and smell a strong cup until I could feed.
“No one’s sure. The boys tell me he was a chatterbox before, and they think something happened in his brain when he was turned.” The sound of a car door slamming came through the line, and Billy gave muffled directions to someone on his end. “I was hoping maybe you could get through to him.”
“That’s not my expertise.” I chose Earl Grey, letting the bag steep as I reclined on the sofa. Maybe a little softness for these ancient bones wasn’t so painful after all. “I’m here to instruct the fanglings in vampiric basics only. I’m not a speech therapist.”
“Pete says you were a teacher once—”
“In the colonies, Billy. And somewhat against my will. I doubt those years will apply here.” I shuddered at the memory of the squalid conditions we arrived in, the years of infected blood and starvation as the pilgrims fell to disease and famine. All because I got on the wrong ship.
“I forget how old you are,” Billy said with reverence. “I’d like to know more about that part of your life someday.”
“I’d rather forget it.” We both knew that was part of our curse—to remember in clarity all of our long lives, regardless of the violence, regret, and despair they contained.
“Well, I’m assuming this doesn’t dampen your agreement to lend us your research efforts?” A cork popped on his end, and I rolled my eyes, relieved he couldn’t see me. Billy was one of those vampires who flaunted his amassed wealth and refused toleave behind human vices. He claimed he could at least enjoy the bubbles in a fine vintage even if it tasted of little more than ashen air.
I picked up my tea, pleased with the warmth in my palm, inhaling deeply of the bergamot scent. “I am eager to begin.” In all the tumult of the last twelve hours, Billy’s other request had slipped my mind—to learn more about the man formerly known as Alexander Huxley and how his ghoulish state led to the fanglings’ creation. In all our shared knowledge, only a vampire should be able to create another vampire. And yet, there were six untended fanglings running amok and one very dead ghoul to blame.
“I’m glad to hear it. I sent my lawyer to help—the boys must’ve told you.”
“Yes, Miss Amato. I doubt I’ll need legal clearance to pull town records.” I wished I could taste the tea, feel its herbal warmth infuse my throat as it slid into my body, warming from the inside—I wished I could bewarmagain. I set the cup down, pushing the thought away as I rubbed my hands on the sofa, as if I could dissipate desire with sensation.
“You’ll like Rye. She spends her vacation in records vaults across the world, and she’s a total hard ass. Last time she was in Ashbourne, she even bullied Reggie into bringing her coffee in the morning.”
“Which one is Reggie?” I counted the boys in my mind, not finding a Reggie in the list.
“You probably won’t meet him. He’s the day manager for the hotel and the boys’ Renfield.”
I didn’t stop the gasp that slipped free at the antiquated term. “You call him that?” I pressed the phone closer to my ear, as if I could stop anyone else from hearing.
“No, we call him Reggie.” Billy seemed unfazed.
“I’d continue to do so,” I urged. “And in the future, don’t refer to him as anything but.”
I could practically hear Billy shrug. “If you say so. Anyway, good luck tonight. Rye said she’d come by your suite before it gets too late.”
“You’re sending a human woman to my room unescorted?” Any more shocks from Billy, and my dead heart would kick back to life.
Billy laughed. “I’ll see you soon, Pat.” The line clicked before I could respond.
As if on cue, a sharp rap came at the door. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I realized I was simultaneously dreading and hoping it was William with yet another attempt at “breakfast.”
“Enter,” I called.
The door swung confidently open to reveal a sharply dressed American woman with an attractive haircut slicing along her jawline. Her dark eyes seemed to challenge the world around her with a glance, and the crook of her nose spoke of a more sinister life belied by her expensive taste in accessories. In a few quick steps, the woman closed the door behind her and joined me in the sitting area, sinking easily into the plush chair across from me. She swung one leg over the other, reclining lightly, and produced a silver cigarette case from her breast pocket.
“Good evening, Patrick. I’m Rye, Billy’s lawyer and your hired assistant.” She snapped the case open. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
Stunned into silence, I shook my head slowly, unable to tear my gaze away.
“Your kind usually doesn’t.” She selected a cigarette, tapping it lightly on the case before setting it gently between her ruby lips. In another single, fluid motion, she tucked away the case and produced a silver lighter. It gave a pleasant “ting” as she flicked itopen and lit her smoke, the same bright metallic sound signaling the disappearance of the flame.
With one satisfied inhale, Rye leaned forward in her seat, spreading her legs like a man and leaning her elbows on each. She steepled well-manicured hands in front of her face.
“Now, Patrick, let’s set a few ground rules before we get to know each other.” She said my name like we were fast friends already, but with an edge of command—as if I was both her confident and employee. It was unsettling, but I felt myself pulled into her sphere despite myself. There was something about this human . . .
