“Didn’t Seamus burn the studio down?” a friend asked the drunk.
The drunk waved off the question. “I was in a cooldown period at the time. Can’t go too long in the public eye, you know?”
Roger carried the tray off to another table and nabbed a few of the empty glasses there. One of the patrons was talking about Seamus’s recent Halloween party. “I mean, Seamus had a fucking siren onstage?—”
“My cousin’s a fucking siren, thank you very much, bitch,” another replied.
“Well, if your cousin’s making humans grind on each other for the amusement of my kind, then kick their fucking ass,” the first patron replied. “But shit was about to get real, and all of the older vamps were just standing around with their thumbs up their asses, and Roger leaps onto the railing like he’s fucking Batman, and thenhiiiiisssss—” The patron imitated the way Roger had snarled at the crowd as if daring them to join him. “—and the elders are all leaping over the railing and joining their mortals. Could’ve been a bloodbath. Seamus has done it that way before. 1995. Remember?”
“More times than that,” another replied.
Other stories drifted past Roger while he worked. Unrelated tales cropped up here and there, but there was a common theme. Fuck Seamus. Roger was one of the admirable ones.
Roger filled the first tray and a second and was onto a third. Nathaniel and his waitress were still passing out the drink orders. A level of unruliness, brought on by drunkenness and camaraderie, began to brew. Finally, Nathaniel rang for last call, though the crowd attempted to cajole him into another hour.
They were genuinely giddy that Roger had metaphorically flipped his middle finger in Seamus’s face. They wondered where he had been for thirty years. More than one hoped they’d develop some sort of powers similar to his soon. The belief had been that only vampires closer to Seamus’s age could have anysort of real power, but that hadn’t been true of Roger. He was only three hundred. There were younger vampires boasting that they could take off their gold rings.
The rings were another of Anton’s lies. He’d claimed that it’d only come off when a vampire was ready to be their own master, but he’d revealed to Roger that the charm ended after fifty years.
With the third tray full, Roger carried it into the kitchen and set it on the counter beside the girl. She was struggling to keep up with the amount he’d already dragged in, so he took a moment to help her reorganize the dishes onto trays that would go into the washer.
“The Great Roger doing dishes,” the girl muttered.
Roger wasn’t sure what to think of the crowd praising him. Part of him had sought that adulation, hadn’t he? He’d wanted to be the savior of the GLC, to kill Seamus and take his place as the ruler and lead everyone into a brighter future. But he’d never had a real plan to enact. He’d come up with a few ideas, but most of them were Candide’s.
Rather than spiral into whatever abyss waited for him, he leaned against the counter and smiled warmly at the girl. He tugged on one of his old facades to ease the pain of self-inspection. A joker’s tone slipped into his voice. “Not impressed?”
“Not in the least,” she replied.
Winning people over was one of Roger’s talents. He let his charm thicken his voice, though he withheld flirtier notes. Girls didn’t interest him, and though she could be a hundred years old, she looked like a child, putting her firmly in the category he had no desire to flirt with. Brightening his smile, he said, “Come now. How often do you have the chance to speak with a legend?”
“Every goddamn night.” She narrowed her eyes and shouldered him out of her way while she corrected the tray ofdishes. Then she shoved them into the washer and pulled down the lever.
“You mean Nathaniel,” Roger replied, dropping his charmer act for another tact: the honest vampire. He relaxed and nodded toward the bar. “Suppose he does have a certain level of renown.”
“Who said I was talking about a vampire?” the girl said shortly. She shoved an empty busboy tray into his hands. “Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning tables?”
Roger took the tray but remained where he was and studied the girl’s face. So many people had filtered in and out of his life. Had he forgotten this girl? Was that why she was upset with him? Teenage vampires weren’t entirely uncommon—Roger had made Ezra when he was eighteen, which technically qualified him as one—but she appeared on the younger side of the teen spectrum. A few months ago, Zack had killed Quinn Turner, Roger’s sireling. Maybe she was blaming him for that death.
“Are you descended from Quinn?” Roger asked. “Is that how I’ve upset you? I sired him, and he was attempting to kill what was mine. I was within my rights to watch him die.”
The girl rolled her eyes and carried a tray of dry dishes across the kitchen to put them in their place.
“Wait,” Roger said sharply.
“You’re not a coven captain anymore. I don’t have to listen to you,” the girl replied.
She knew who he was. If she spoke to anyone about him, then Nathaniel would be in trouble, which would jeopardize Kit and Vincent. Roger couldn’t let that happen. He tossed down the busboy tray and stormed over toward her. When she didn’t acknowledge his closeness, he started to reach for her.
I suppose I should expect more of the same once you take over for Seamus, Dmitri had said when Roger first returned to the city.Another violent tyrant.
I won’t be him.Roger clenched his fist and dropped his hand back to his side. “I care for Nathaniel’s safety. I won’t allow someone to compromise it.”
The girl paused and finally glanced up at him. She was almost a foot shorter than him, but she had a fierceness in her brown eyes that negated their height difference. “Neither will I.”
“If you have a problem with me, I’d like to know what I’ve done,” Roger said.
“I bet you would,” she replied.
