“But of course Corvindale can get anything through the lines,” Cale said with sidewise glance at the man in question. “He’s hardly noticed any inconvenience from the war between our nations, despite the problems crossing the Channel, have you, Dimitri? He’s kept me in supply of my favorite Bordeaux as well.”
“You have a stash of Armagnac?” Brickbank said, looking at the earl in surprise. “And haven’t brought it here to White’s? Should move the game to Blackmont then.”
Corvindale shot another dark look, this time aimed at Giordan Cale, who smiled as he lifted his own glass to drink. “Naturally I’ve charged you a substantial fee to keep you in such supply,” the earl replied to Cale.
Chas hid his own amusement. The last thing his employer wanted was people, at his home, bothering him while he was trying to immerse himself in old scrolls and ancient languages. Searching for a way to break the covenant with Lucifer.
Which was why Chas felt particularly grateful that, some years back, Corvindale had agreed to play guardian and guard for his sisters should anything happen to him. He had three younger sisters—Maia, Angelica, and Sonia, the latter of whom happened to be ensconced far north of London in a Scottish convent—and a dangerous occupation of which none of them were aware.
“I’m of a mind to take the game to Rubey’s,” said Cale, “if we’re talking of moving it. I suspect Dimitri has supplied her with some excellent vintages as well—and she won’t make us leave so she can hole herself up in her study.”
Corvindale glanced at him, lifting one eyebrow with skepticism. “Spying on your potential competition?”
“Not any longer. She’s convinced me that it would be futile for any establishment of mine to try and compete with hers here in London. Now I’m attempting to persuade her to take on an investor—namely me—to make some improvements to the place. Aside of that…ah, well, she meets another criteria of mine and she’s been rather accommodating.” Cale smiled with exaggerated modesty.
Chas, along with every Dracule in London, was well-acquainted with Rubey’s—the luxurious brothel that catered tovampirsand, occasionally, a select few mortals who were aware of the Draculean underground. Rubey, a mortal herself, was a formidable character who reminded Chas of his Romany grandmother in personality, if not looks. She was sharp in business acumen, quick of wit, and overly generous with lectures and advice—wanted or otherwise. Nearing forty, she was also very attractive, if not a bit long in the tooth for him.
He’d visited her establishment on more than one occasion, but the most recent incident had been made when he was too far into his cups and he ended up in one of the bedchambers with a femalevampirmake. That night of heat and pain and passion had been his first—and last—intimacy with avampir, and one he did not intend to repeat…despite the fact that the very memory haunted him.
He tried to feel only revulsion for the night of debauchery, but even two weeks later, the marks from bites he’d begged for in the blur of drunkenness and lust hadn’t quite healed. And remnants of the night’s pleasures still weaved within his dreams.
As he picked up his drink, Chas noticed a little spider making its way along the edge of the table between him and Cale. He lifted his hand to smash it, but the other man raised his palm and said, “Allow me.” And as he watched, Cale scooped the spider onto one of the playing cards and dropped the creature in a corner, where, presumably, it scuttled away to safety.
Chas couldn’t help but eye the man curiously—a Dracule, sparing the life of a spider? Perhaps he felt some sort of blood-sucking kinship with the critter—and noticed that Corvindale had been watching as well with a bemused look on his face.
The earl looked as if he were about to comment, but he was interrupted by Brickbank.
“Woodmore, heard you tried to hang Cale on a stake, few weeks back,” said the man, peering into his glass as if hoping it would change to something French. “Something about smoke explosives?”
“It would have been unfortunate if Woodmore succeeded,” Corvindale said dryly. “For Cale still owes me for the last shipment.”
“But since the casks are nearly empty, that would have been to my benefit,” Cale retorted, giving rise to another round of laughter.
“It wasn’t my best effort, that attempt,” Chas admitted ruefully, thinking about how the little packets had fizzled and not puffed into a thick cloud of smoke when he’d thrown them into the fireplace. That had made it difficult for him to distract his victim.
He looked at Cale, acknowledging at least privately that the man could easily have killed him that night. But for some reason, like the spider, Chas had been spared. “But as it turns out, it was for the best. Corvindale tells me you’re intimately familiar with Cezar Moldavi and his hiding place in Paris.”
The last vestiges of levity drained from Cale’s face. Corvindale said something sharp under his breath and Chas glanced at him, but the earl was watching as his friend raised his glass to sip.
“Dimitri is correct,” replied Cale, his eyes iced-over brownish gray.
Unclear as to what had provoked such a turbulent response, Chas nevertheless continued. “He’s the sort of bastard that deserves a little less efficient way to die than a simple stake to the heart, the damned child-bleeder.”
“On that, at least, we are all in complete agreement,” said the earl.
Indeed: the stories Chas had heard about Moldavi were enough to make his blood run cold. He found it disturbing enough that these immortal men, beholden to the devil, needed to drink blood to live, but to take fromchildren…and to leave them todie….It was tales like these that only confirmed for him that his dangerous mission was the right thing to do.
And the only reason he hadn’t attempted the assassination of the beast so far was because he knew he needed a perfect plan in order to outsmart Moldavi.
He looked at Cale. “I need to find a way to get in to his hidey-hole so I can kill him. Corvindale is financing the effort, and he’ll get me across the Channel.”
One of the reasons Woodmore was such an effectivevampirhunter was his ability to sense the presence of a Dracule, and thus identify them easily. Even members of the Draculia couldn’t identify each other merely by sight, or smell, but even as he sat here in the midst of them, Chas’s belly was filled with the familiar sort of gnawing-itching sensation that indicated the presence of avampir. Another advantage was Woodmore’s ability to move about in daylight, and his innate fighting ability and speed. And then there was his lack of an Asthenia.
Of course, being mortal, he had any number of things that could slow, weaken, or even kill him.
Cale gave a brief nod. “I’m willing to assist in any way. I am more than passing familiar with the place.” He drank again, draining his glass, and set it deliberately at the edge of the table nearest the footman, who responded immediately to refill it.
“There’s a sister,” mused Brickbank. “Dashed beautiful, according to Voss. Can’t remember her name.”
