my future with the bloodsucking
bastards, well, that seemed far more plausible. How easily he’d begun my
descent into the occult. A mere suggestion was all it took. He suggested I
visit Embrace. He suggested I meet with Malcolm. Well, after Tatum’s violent
beating. He suggested I chop off a few heads. He suggested it, and I went right
along with it like the sad little puppy I was. Fuck that puppy.
“Ready for what?” I asked, hoping he’d actually say
something that made sense. My voice sounded squeaky and a tad too pitiful for
my tastes.
“For everything that is coming your way,” he explained ever
so ambiguously. “The second you interfered with Azelie, she knew. She knows
everything. She lives a hundred lives through her minions. Everything you’ve
encountered thus far, has prepared you for what is to come. In theory.”
“How do you know this? What are you some kind of Voodoo
Whisperer?” I slapped my hands against my thighs in frustration. “And why
didn’t she recognize me right away when we first met? If she knewI had thwarted her master plans, why didn’t
she stop me?” I sat forward in my seat, my body turned in his direction.
“Didn’t she?” Another indefinite, dismissive statement.
Purposely blowing me off. He was cruising for a bruising.
“Well…” I stopped and actually thought about it. She had accused
me of taking blood, or something like that, when I was in her shop, but she
never actually exclaimed, ah ha! I know who you are. “Not really.”
“And if she had? If she had said, ‘Oh, child, you stole my
blood, now feel my wrath’, what then? Would you have stayed? Would you have
spent one more minute in that town? With me?” He
cleared his throat as if to strike that last comment from the record. “Azelie
d’Entremonte is a vengeful thing, and she leaves nothing to chance. From the
moment you stepped into her shop, you were hers. She needed you to trust, not
just believe, to have faith in her ability, to infiltrate your mind. Perhaps she was the reason you entered her
little hovel to begin with. And what of Diego? And Regina? Did they not try to
stop you?” To the teeth, as it were.
I hadn’t put any of this to thought. When would I have had
time to have done that? Time to think and put things together? Yeah, right. I’d
been running for my life from the moment I met that bitch. I might not have
known it at the forefront of my mind, but somewhere back there, I was waiting
for her to come for me. Still was if I was being honest.
“Let’s say, yes, she knew. Azelie, queen cunt monkey, knew
from the second I stepped off the plane in New Orleans, who I was. Let’s say,
she orchestrated it all, my stepping into her shop, my believing in her
abilities, my curses. Fine, I’ll take that. There are two questions left, well,
two big questions anyway. Why did she have gallons of blood in the basement of
a shitty vampire club in Los Angeles in the first place? And how the fuck do
you know Azelie d’Entremonte so intimately?”
“Nicolas Sandorus.”
“Who the fuck is Nicolas Sandorus?” The name was familiar,
but God help me if I could dredge up a connection.
“Primus, House of Cailleadh, ages ago. Malcolm’s predecessor
and a very old friend of mine.” His tone shifted, just for a moment, and he
sounded sad. Cyrus, in the short time I’d known him, hadn’t expressed an
emotion that caused him to seem so human. His usual superficial energy had
faded over the months, and more so over the hours we’d been stuck together
trying to save my head, but he’d yet to express sadness. He took a breath and
continued without my prompting; we were getting somewhere. “Sandorus was a good
leader.”
A conversation between Cyrus and I was flittering through my
mushy brain. Food and a nap were in order as soon as fucking possible. “You
were his Secondus, right?” He nodded. “How did he end up entangled with the
little bitch? Spill her latte?”
A miniscule smile tickled
bastards, well, that seemed far more plausible. How easily he’d begun my
descent into the occult. A mere suggestion was all it took. He suggested I
visit Embrace. He suggested I meet with Malcolm. Well, after Tatum’s violent
beating. He suggested I chop off a few heads. He suggested it, and I went right
along with it like the sad little puppy I was. Fuck that puppy.
“Ready for what?” I asked, hoping he’d actually say
something that made sense. My voice sounded squeaky and a tad too pitiful for
my tastes.
“For everything that is coming your way,” he explained ever
so ambiguously. “The second you interfered with Azelie, she knew. She knows
everything. She lives a hundred lives through her minions. Everything you’ve
encountered thus far, has prepared you for what is to come. In theory.”
“How do you know this? What are you some kind of Voodoo
Whisperer?” I slapped my hands against my thighs in frustration. “And why
didn’t she recognize me right away when we first met? If she knewI had thwarted her master plans, why didn’t
she stop me?” I sat forward in my seat, my body turned in his direction.
“Didn’t she?” Another indefinite, dismissive statement.
Purposely blowing me off. He was cruising for a bruising.
“Well…” I stopped and actually thought about it. She had accused
me of taking blood, or something like that, when I was in her shop, but she
never actually exclaimed, ah ha! I know who you are. “Not really.”
“And if she had? If she had said, ‘Oh, child, you stole my
blood, now feel my wrath’, what then? Would you have stayed? Would you have
spent one more minute in that town? With me?” He
cleared his throat as if to strike that last comment from the record. “Azelie
d’Entremonte is a vengeful thing, and she leaves nothing to chance. From the
moment you stepped into her shop, you were hers. She needed you to trust, not
just believe, to have faith in her ability, to infiltrate your mind. Perhaps she was the reason you entered her
little hovel to begin with. And what of Diego? And Regina? Did they not try to
stop you?” To the teeth, as it were.
I hadn’t put any of this to thought. When would I have had
time to have done that? Time to think and put things together? Yeah, right. I’d
been running for my life from the moment I met that bitch. I might not have
known it at the forefront of my mind, but somewhere back there, I was waiting
for her to come for me. Still was if I was being honest.
“Let’s say, yes, she knew. Azelie, queen cunt monkey, knew
from the second I stepped off the plane in New Orleans, who I was. Let’s say,
she orchestrated it all, my stepping into her shop, my believing in her
abilities, my curses. Fine, I’ll take that. There are two questions left, well,
two big questions anyway. Why did she have gallons of blood in the basement of
a shitty vampire club in Los Angeles in the first place? And how the fuck do
you know Azelie d’Entremonte so intimately?”
“Nicolas Sandorus.”
“Who the fuck is Nicolas Sandorus?” The name was familiar,
but God help me if I could dredge up a connection.
“Primus, House of Cailleadh, ages ago. Malcolm’s predecessor
and a very old friend of mine.” His tone shifted, just for a moment, and he
sounded sad. Cyrus, in the short time I’d known him, hadn’t expressed an
emotion that caused him to seem so human. His usual superficial energy had
faded over the months, and more so over the hours we’d been stuck together
trying to save my head, but he’d yet to express sadness. He took a breath and
continued without my prompting; we were getting somewhere. “Sandorus was a good
leader.”
A conversation between Cyrus and I was flittering through my
mushy brain. Food and a nap were in order as soon as fucking possible. “You
were his Secondus, right?” He nodded. “How did he end up entangled with the
little bitch? Spill her latte?”
A miniscule smile tickled
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