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Chapter 10.5

THE FERRYMAN’S REST, HOUR 1

Meanwhile, back in The Ferryman’s Rest, Vlad turned away from the front window. He’d watched Sam crawl toward the edge of the cliff and felt sick inside. If he’d never been given the dark kiss, if the sun hadn’t been a death sentence, he’d have gone with them. He’d have carried her down the cliff so she needn’t have suffered so.

He missed being the one to charge into battle. Now he spent half his life hiding from the sun. He was disgusted with himself and this cursed half-life he lived.

When his blood began to heat, he knew time had run out. He picked up Clive from the barroom floor, threw him over his shoulder, and raced down the stone steps into the storage room that would serve as their daytime resting spot.

The walls were whitewashed down here as well. Shelves filled with everything from olive jars to coffee ran along the back wall. Vlad noticed a sack of rice on the ground and dumped Clive on it.

He checked the blood cooler. It was plugged in, but he needed to make sure the power was working. It was. The blood pouches were cold. He pushed the cooler against the nearby stone wall and then sat on it, pulling an e-reader from his pocket. Days, especially summer days, were long without books to occupy his mind.

A faint buzzing distracted him. He glanced over at Clive. When he heard it again, he realized it was a phone.

Vlad leaned down. “Excuse my reach, old man.” He moved Clive’s arm and then patted his pockets, locating the phone in his jacket. Vlad studied the screen, swiped, then said, “This is Clive’s phone.”

“Where is my granddaughter?” a woman demanded.

Vlad sat back down on the cooler, happy for the distraction. “I suppose that depends on who your granddaughter is and why you believe Clive is holding her? Does he do this a lot, kidnapping granddaughters? I wouldn’t have thought it of him, but the old ones can go a bit barmy.”

“Who is this?” she ground out.

He fingered his overly large mustache. “Who is this? I should warn you, I have all day and am quite bored.”

There was a charged moment of silence. “Do you know who I am?”

The anger in her voice, the pure affront, made Vlad smile. “Do you know who I am? Again, I have all day.”

The deep growl he heard tickled him no end.

“You will tell me where Caoránach is right now!”

“I don’t believe I know that person,” he replied politely, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles.

A muffled voice said, “Coco.”

“Ah, now, Coco I do know.” The day was turning out to be so much better than he’d anticipated. This woman’s rage was a delight. “And that answers one of my questions. George and Alec are such traditional names, I wondered where the whimsy of a Coco had come from. Of course, this opens new questions as well. I believe the Drake dragons are Welsh in origin. Why does the Drake granddaughter have an Irish name? This call has given me so much to ponder.”

Vlad heard a voice in the background. “I think you’re talking to Vlad. Can I have the phone?”

He heard someone murmur speakerphone, so assumed he’d be speaking with everyone soon. Lovely.

“Hello. This is Owen. Is this Vlad?”

“It is. How astute you are. And you’re that nice young man who often leaves before I arrive.”

There was a pause. “That’s true, but it’s nothing personal. My shift is over, so I go home.”

“Of course,” Vlad said, his voice clearly conveying he didn’t believe that.

“Yes, well, we’re here⁠—”

“If you’re here,” Vlad interrupted, “who’s keeping The Slaughtered Lamb open?”

There was another pause. “It’s not. I closed it.”

Vlad tsked. “Oh, Sam will not be pleased to hear that. Couldn’t that demon fellow and that blond dragon keep it open for her?”