don’t know yet.”
“Why am I only now hearing about this?” Olivia complained. “I just this morning found out about the reanimation plan.”
“The information has to work its way through channels,” Mole whined. “I can’t take a chance that word will get back to the Council that I’m a double agent, so there have to be checks in place. You—you can’t imagine what they do to vampires who dare to cross them.” I wouldn’t have thought it possible for the guy to get whiter, but he blanched at the thought of the Council’s capacity for cruelty.
“Why are you crossing them?” I asked. “I would have thought a cushy Council job would be a plum assignment for an ambitious blood drinker.”
Mole stared at me and his mouth worked like a beached grouper’s for a second before he spoke again. “Are you mad? They’re hideous! Now that I’m out of there, no matter what happens I’m not going back!”
“But your spying is invaluable to us,” Olivia said.
“I’m never going back, I tell you,” he insisted. “If I survive long enough to escape from Diana and Ulrich, I’m not even going back to Europe. I’m staying in Savannah. I like it here.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was kind of flattering, but damn! Why did I get saddled with all the weak sisters? Werm couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper sack, but Mole made him look like a ninja master. I looked down at his sad and wizened little face blinking up at me with rheumy eyes, expecting me to say some words of welcome, and sighed. At least the guy had guts.
“The more the merrier,” I said wanly. “Why don’t you let me buy you a new hat?”
He beamed.
Olivia blinked at the high beams of a passing car. “Now that we’re all on the same page, let’s go somewhere we can talk. I have news of my own.”
Since we were so close to Tybee, we met up at a bar on the lighthouse side of the island and got a table in a dark corner. Olivia drew plenty of appreciative glances from the few late-night drinkers. Mole drew just as many revolted ones. When I went to the bar to order drinks, the barmaid asked me what the deal was with my friend.
“He has a condition,” I said sadly. “It’s fatal.” Hey, it wasn’t a lie.
“Aww, poor thing,” she said. A jolly woman of fifty or so hard years, her vermilion lipstick had bled into the laugh lines around her mouth, making her look almost like a sloppy vampire who’d just fed. Her hair was dyed matte black, piled on top of her head in a neat stovepipe stack, and lacquered into place with some space-age polymer.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “Pitcher of margaritas, please. Three glasses, extra salt. Salt’s good for my friend’s low blood pressure.”
When I returned to the table Olivia began explaining what she’d learned from Otis. “Huey has uncovered a nemeton! Can you believe it?”
“Brilliant!” Mole said enthusiastically. “How extraordinary.”
“I thought he uncovered a Chevy Corsica,” I said.
“After he kept digging, silly. He felt something calling to him, and before you know it—”
“Oh, right, I remember now. He said there was something else down there.”
The barmaid came over with the pitcher and glasses on a tray. She poured our drinks and then leaned over to give Mole a little hug with her right arm. Her height was such that she effectively trapped the side of Mole’s face against her ample bosom and laid her cheek on the top of his head for a couple of seconds. “There you are, you poor little thing. You enjoy that extra salt. My name is Sharona. Just give me a shout if you need anything else.”
As she tottered back to the bar on her high heels, it occurred to me that the barmaid had been spending her tips on toddies. Either that, or going the efficient route and guzzling directly from the beer taps.
Mole had frozen in place long enough to make me wonder if he had died of happiness. Those bodacious ta-tas were past their prime but pleasing enough. A man
“Why am I only now hearing about this?” Olivia complained. “I just this morning found out about the reanimation plan.”
“The information has to work its way through channels,” Mole whined. “I can’t take a chance that word will get back to the Council that I’m a double agent, so there have to be checks in place. You—you can’t imagine what they do to vampires who dare to cross them.” I wouldn’t have thought it possible for the guy to get whiter, but he blanched at the thought of the Council’s capacity for cruelty.
“Why are you crossing them?” I asked. “I would have thought a cushy Council job would be a plum assignment for an ambitious blood drinker.”
Mole stared at me and his mouth worked like a beached grouper’s for a second before he spoke again. “Are you mad? They’re hideous! Now that I’m out of there, no matter what happens I’m not going back!”
“But your spying is invaluable to us,” Olivia said.
“I’m never going back, I tell you,” he insisted. “If I survive long enough to escape from Diana and Ulrich, I’m not even going back to Europe. I’m staying in Savannah. I like it here.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was kind of flattering, but damn! Why did I get saddled with all the weak sisters? Werm couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper sack, but Mole made him look like a ninja master. I looked down at his sad and wizened little face blinking up at me with rheumy eyes, expecting me to say some words of welcome, and sighed. At least the guy had guts.
“The more the merrier,” I said wanly. “Why don’t you let me buy you a new hat?”
He beamed.
Olivia blinked at the high beams of a passing car. “Now that we’re all on the same page, let’s go somewhere we can talk. I have news of my own.”
Since we were so close to Tybee, we met up at a bar on the lighthouse side of the island and got a table in a dark corner. Olivia drew plenty of appreciative glances from the few late-night drinkers. Mole drew just as many revolted ones. When I went to the bar to order drinks, the barmaid asked me what the deal was with my friend.
“He has a condition,” I said sadly. “It’s fatal.” Hey, it wasn’t a lie.
“Aww, poor thing,” she said. A jolly woman of fifty or so hard years, her vermilion lipstick had bled into the laugh lines around her mouth, making her look almost like a sloppy vampire who’d just fed. Her hair was dyed matte black, piled on top of her head in a neat stovepipe stack, and lacquered into place with some space-age polymer.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “Pitcher of margaritas, please. Three glasses, extra salt. Salt’s good for my friend’s low blood pressure.”
When I returned to the table Olivia began explaining what she’d learned from Otis. “Huey has uncovered a nemeton! Can you believe it?”
“Brilliant!” Mole said enthusiastically. “How extraordinary.”
“I thought he uncovered a Chevy Corsica,” I said.
“After he kept digging, silly. He felt something calling to him, and before you know it—”
“Oh, right, I remember now. He said there was something else down there.”
The barmaid came over with the pitcher and glasses on a tray. She poured our drinks and then leaned over to give Mole a little hug with her right arm. Her height was such that she effectively trapped the side of Mole’s face against her ample bosom and laid her cheek on the top of his head for a couple of seconds. “There you are, you poor little thing. You enjoy that extra salt. My name is Sharona. Just give me a shout if you need anything else.”
As she tottered back to the bar on her high heels, it occurred to me that the barmaid had been spending her tips on toddies. Either that, or going the efficient route and guzzling directly from the beer taps.
Mole had frozen in place long enough to make me wonder if he had died of happiness. Those bodacious ta-tas were past their prime but pleasing enough. A man
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