Boosted.
Like I’m no longer flagging and exhausted.
“Did you—”
“Eat his soul or something?”
I flex my hand, staring at nothing. “I... don’t know.”
Strangely enough, the fact I have no clue what happened to him doesn’t put the other ghosts off. Instead, they gather closer.It’s clear they don’t give a shit about what comes next, they just don’t want to be here any longer.
“My turn.”
“I’ve been here sixty years if it’s been a day. It’s my time, fucker.”
I suck up my magic and do the same thing another three times, the same pressure in my head makes me woozy. The same weird orb. The same boost of energy afterwards.
Shit. It’s like they’re boosting my power, instead of draining it. I could do this all night.
“Someone’s coming,” one ghost hisses. “Arrogant vamp prick at two o’clock.”
“That’s five o’clock, dipshit. Can’t you tell the damn time?”
I flap my hands in front of me. “Can you all shut up, please?”
The cell door swings open and Simpson strides inside. The room seems to shrink about ten sizes and I tuck my legs under me, perching on the edge of the cot.
“Well, fancy seeing you here, pet. Now, have you thought any more about my offer?”
His ‘offer’ from the Solstice, I assume he means. Where I join him to act as his little pet and he doesn’t murder me.
“I told you before, pet. It’s much better to be aligned with us than to oppose us. I could quite easily leave you in this cell to rot, only returning when I have need of you. Or, you can be free.”
Free so long as I do his bidding. Which doesn’t seem like much freedom at all. I try not to squirm in my seat. I probably should lie to him, but I can’t even pretend like I’m considering it.
Everything about Simpson—from his shaven head to the cold menace in his eyes—is intimidating. It’s like having a conversation with a cobra that you know could strike out at you at any moment.
“Your offer to use me as a blood slave and weapon as you take over the city?” I ask, keeping my tone light.
Fuck. That came out more antagonistic than I was hoping for. His brows drop for just a moment before he cocks his head to one side.
“We will rule this city, pet. All others will be pawns to do our bidding.”
I’m not sure if this is a sales pitch or a threat. It’s hard to tell when you’re focusing on not pissing your pants in fear.
It’s hard to shake the memory of him holding me up by my throat as though I were a rag doll. The heat of my blood trickling over my skin and pooling on my collarbone. The tortured expression on Zeph’s face as he desperately tried to save me from this monster’s clutches.
“We’ll keep the city’s populace subdued. Just as we have been kept quiet and meek for centuries.”
Internally, I frown. I thought Dante said that Simpson was a fairly new vampire.
Then it hits me.
He’s a bullshitter. One with too much power and potential for even more. He’ll lie and scheme and kill until he’s at the top and the city falls apart around him. He’ll forget that people need food and water or he’ll kill off too many people until society crumbles around him.
In this scenario, the one that’s playing out clear as day inside my head, I’m chained up like a dog. Dragged along and then left in the sun to overheat as he forgets about me until he has need of me again.
I swallow hard. “What exactly is it you want my help with?”
