Gwyneth crossed her arms. “I wish I’d been there. I’d have kicked his bad ass into next week and left him there—then helped you myself.”
“He’d taken us God-knows-where. I’d have been wandering around a deserted warehouse area carrying a dying pregnant woman.”
“What finally happened?” Morgaine asked. “Did he use his vampiric strength and speed to take her to the nearest Emergency Room?”
Sly frowned remembering the fiend’s face. “He laughed. He said now that I was a vampire, I could get her there myself and pointed in the general direction of the hospital. It turned out we were only a mile or so away. I got her there in time to save Merry,but Alice had lost too much blood and died on the operating table.”
Morgaine touched his arm. “I’m so sorry Sly. You didn’t deserve that. None of you did.”
“I know.” He acknowledged her sympathy with a sad smile. “Thank you.”
Her eyebrows knit and her lips thinned. “I’m with Gwyneth. If only I’d been there, I could have come up with some kind of spell to force him to help you, then punish the hell out of him after that. Screw the repercussions.”
He chuckled. “It’s a good thing you weren’t there then. I understand using magic to harm another can backfire pretty badly.”
“You’re right. The negative energy turns on the sender three times. It’s called the law of three.”
“Sounds like a harsh law. Instead of an eye for an eye, it’s an eye, arm, and leg for an eye.”
“You got it. That’s why I’ve drummed that law into my dear cousin’s head.”
“About a million times,” Gwyneth added. “So, what are all the things Vampires can and can’t do? Can you see yourselves in mirrors? Do you get burned by holy water and crosses? I know about the sun thing.”
He laughed. “I’m not sure about one of those things. I can see my reflection and crosses don’t bother me, but no one has tossed holy water in my face yet.”
“Are there other vampires y’all can ask?”
Sly shrugged. “I don’t know many vampires, but I’ve heard of one I’d very much like to meet someday.”
“Who?” they both asked at once.
“His name is Mikhail. I don’t know his last name. I think he’s Russian originally, but I heard he was living in New York.He found some temporary cure for vampirism and managed to bottle it. It’s in some kind of wine.”
“Well, that’s what you have to do then! Find him and ask him to give you some.”
“He sells it, but I could never afford enough to make a difference. It costs a fortune. I guess most vampires who’ve been around a long time have managed to amass some wealth. If I never get cured, I need to find out how they do that. Something tells me, they aren’t just playing the stock market, and I refuse to do anything illegal.”
Morgaine had been worrying her lip the whole time he was talking. Was something about this conversation bothering her?
“Morgaine, are you all right? You look concerned.”
“I—I don’t know if I should tell you this. I don’t want to give you false hope. But I think I know the vampire you’re talking about.”
Sly almost swallowed his tongue when he gasped. “You do?”
“Ithinkso. He made Baltimore his temporary home back when I lived there. I got to know him through the Goth scene. His name was Mikhail, and he was very old. So old, he didn’t have a real last name. Then he said he was moving to New York to buy and run some museum. I never saw him after that.”
Sly was hanging onto her every word. Did he dare hope he might find this elusive vampire and somehow learn his secret? Could he perhaps bottle his own cure? He gazed back at his open wall where he could hide the still during the day if he took Merry up on her generous offer.
“I wonder…” he began out loud.
Morgaine finished his thought with excitement in her voice. “Maybe if we can figure out how he does it, you can bottle your own cure?”
“Exactly.”
“Great minds…” She smiled and winked.
He returned her grin. First things first. He had to free up his lair for the still. Oh, but Morgaine said she saw another potential problem. What was that?
