Sebastian winced. “Eat auras.”
Jade and Zhang stared at him.
“That is the story,” Sebastian said weakly. “He was a paranormal who could drain the auras of the nonmagical, and their life forces along with them.”
Jade and Zhang exchanged a look. “Magical abilities always come back around,” said Zhang. “We could be dealing with a paranormal with vampire magic.”
Jade looked back at Sebastian. “What happened in your family story?”
“Supposedly one of my ancestors stopped him,” said Sebastian. “But we don’t know exactly what happened because my great-great-great-grandfather had written her out of the family. Apparently tía Casilda was something of a gray sheep.”
“Blacksheep,” Zhang said reflexively.
“Oh, right.” Sebastian made a face. “Idioms.”
Zhang’s expression seemed to grudgingly thaw, just a little.
Molly appeared at that moment, balancing three tonic waters and a basket of french fried potatoes.
“Wasn’t expecting you, luv,” she said to Sebastian, setting the potatoes in the middle of the table. Her pushed-up sleeve revealed the golden Celtic harp Isabel had tattooed on her forearm—not magic, like Sebastian’s tattoo, because Molly wasn’t a paranormal, but still so real you almost believed you could hear its angelic notes. Her mouth was uncharacteristically downturned and sad, enough that Sebastian would have hugged her if she wasn’t carrying a tray.
“Dulcita, you did not have to bring me anything,” he said to her.
“Rather see your handsome face then any of the louts at the bar.” Molly set Jade and Zhang’s drinks down first, casting a subtle, appreciative look at Jade in her man’s suit. “Warm welcome to London, lovebirds.” Molly’s voice was friendly, but her smile still didn’t appear. “We’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then, won’t we?” she said, again to Sebastian as she put his drink in front of him. “Me and Isa?”
And maybe that was why Molly was sad. Isabel was leaving again tomorrow, heading back to the world’s fair in Paris. Isabel had gone several times over the summer, an artist in her element at the modern decorative and industrial arts exhibition. A handful of paranormals from different countries were showcasing paranormal tapestries and weavings together, using one of the department store pavilions as a front.
Sebastian nodded and leaned forward. “If I promise to bring lunch tomorrow, do you have any scraps I can take tonight?” he said, quiet and hopeful.
That got an almost-smile out of her. “Don’t tell me how many cats are skulking in the alley, I don’t want to know.”
“Only two,” Sebastian said, “but they’re kittens.”
“You know, most blokes come in here and bother the girls, not politely ask if we have food waste you can give the strays.” Someone at the bar called Molly’s name. She sighed, loud and put-upon. “I’ll make Calum throw the scraps out now.”
“Oy, Molly!” someone yelled again, and she left with another conspiratorial eye roll at Sebastian.
Jade looked amused, but she didn’t comment on the cats. “Speaking of the world’s fair,” she said, “that’s where we met Lord Blanshard. It was at a magic show, but I didn’t learn what his magic is.”
“And whatever Blanshard’s magic, he’s vanished,” said Zhang. “So that’s two problems. A murderer, likely a paranormal, who can drain life from bodies. A missing earl, definitely a paranormal, and definitely a thief.”
Sebastian sat back in his seat. “Do you think these problems could be related? That the murderer could be the missing Earl of Blanshard, perhaps with this same vampire magic?”
“That’s just what Jianwei and I have been wondering,” Jade said grimly. “I’m certain Blanshard would have killed me at the magic show in May, if he could have. But now, he’s not under blood magic anymore, we haven’t found him, and the last murder was in York, where Blanshard has a manor.”
Zhang reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and produced a folded piece of paper. “We have a copy of the guest list from his last-known party at that manor, about three years ago.” He unfolded the paper, set it on the table, and pushed it over to Sebastian.
“There are three people of particular interest.” Zhang tapped a name at the top of the list. “Sir Harold Kerrigan, a baronet. Found murdered in his London home in January of this year. Sir Harold’s valet, Benedict Chester, made his way to New York this past February. He was the one in possession of the notorious pomander relic.”
Sebastian remembered.
While under the Puppeteer’s blood magic, he had been sent to New York by Baron Zeppler. There had been two other paranormals with him, including an Englishman known as Mr. Hyde who could transform into a monster. Mr. Hyde had gutted the valet and stolen the pomander relic—and then Sebastian had kidnapped Jade and Zhang’s friend Rory and held Arthur at gunpoint.
He ran a hand through his hair. He wanted to ask if the siphon had worked, if they had succeeded in destroying a relic, but he was the one who owed them help and answers. He owed Jade and Zhang and their friends. He owed everyone for the things he’d done under blood magic.
“You mentioned Blanshard is known for his collection of continental antiques,” Sebastian said. “Perhaps many of them are paranormal? Perhaps Blanshard stole the pomander and then this baronet, Sir Harold, stole it from him—only for Sir Harold’s valet to turn around and murder his employer, and steal it for himself?”
“We think so,” said Jade. “But look who else was at that party.”
