Greg, Third Eye on the Road
"You always carpool like this?" said Isla.
Julian took a sharp turn. My elbows crunched into the plastic paneling on the sliding door. Isla fell against my shoulder. Her elbows jammed me between the ribs. I clutched the door handle as the vehicle lurched forward and straightened out, looping an elbow through Isla's to keep her ass from sliding into the opposite window. Fanging van still didn't have any seats.
"Some." Julian said. "Sorry about the seats. My Liege, Lord of Darkness and Terror, likes to have a lot of room back there for, uh, guests."
Isla didn't respond. Her eyes wandered. Over her shoulder and mine and on the ceiling and floor and in the back. Reminded me of a shifty cat, fur raised and on its haunches.
The van stank. Same as before. Rot and old air freshers and the metallic tang of blood. It wasn't meant for guests.
I cleared the stale stench from my throat. "It's more of—"
"Meals on wheels?" Isla said, staring vacantly at the back.
"Let me guess, you spy with your little eye three unfortunate souls all tied up with their throats ripped out, that it?"
She raised a brow. "Estimate's a little under. And you're sitting on Paolo."
The hairs on the back of my neck tingled. I couldn't feel a chill. Not really. But something like a cool breath puffed into my ear. Something like it. I tensed to keep that dread feeling from rolling down my spine. Made my neck ache.
Julian's eyes found mine in that mirror again.
"Kidding," Isla said, loudly, for the audience in the driver's seat.
Her gaze ventured to the space above my head. I followed. There was a tear in the ceiling. Was that there during my last joy ride back here?
"Hey," she whispered, voice husky, bringing my attention back down to her and her burgundy lips and coffee breath and heart shaped face. I was wrong. Her mole was real. Penciled in to look darker, but real (it was obvious this close). She fluttered her thick lashes at me. In the low light of the van, her dark eyes looked entirely black. "You might want to invest in a cat."
"What the fang does that mean?"
The van jerked.
As my back once again slammed the window (swear Julian, that rat, was doing it on purpose) Isla toppled right over into my lap. Her warm body covered me, and every nerve zinged in a pleasant shock. Tastes of red wine and mossy earth flooded my mouth. The van felt cramped. My clothes were cramped. My own skin felt too tight around my bones. Think a bit of saliva dripped out the hole in my cheek.
Isla pushed off my knees – panting, heart racing, cheeks deliciously flushed – and I respectfully helped her sit up.
I caught Julian spying in the mirror.
"Eyes on the road, pal," I growled.
Glowering, he obeyed, pressing his foot a little firmer on the gas. We headed north, toward Center City. He was taking us for a ride, alright. I grabbed his seat and pulled myself up beside him. Julian flinched, his white-knuckle grip on the wheel causing another swerve.
"Listen, I wanted to meet you, last night," he announced before I could get a word in, a bit of nervous tremor in his voice, "but I got sent home to pick up my Liege, Lord of Darkness and Terror. Mistress Sloane said she needed him suddenly for some paperwork BS with the Pack. I'm so, so sorry. Taylor, she—she didn't deserve that, but I swear I don't know anything about it. I can't even imagine why! Why her?"
"She was friends with Lily."
The valet wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I don't like her."
"The dead woman?"
"Lily!"
I snorted. "Not helping your case, buddy."
"She's a scammer! A Tourist."
Isla groaned in a distinctly agreeing tone.
"Has everybody fooled," Julian continued, slapping the wheeling for emphasis. As he spoke, I dug my notebook from my pocket to keep track of the details. "She always acts all sweet and sunny, but that's all it is, an act. She doesn't give one bulb of garlic about my Liege, the Lord of Darkness and Terror and Mistress Sloane. Not like I—I take care of them. Of their affairs. They trust me."
He slammed the brakes to keep from running a red light. I held tight to the driver's seat to keep my face from crunching against the dash. Isla skid forward and collided right into my ass.
"Trust you to drive the murder van," she grumbled.
"Do you have any idea what an honor it is to serve a lord as powerful as My—"
"If you say darkness and terror one more time, I'll stub a cigarette out in your empty eye socket, and you don't even want to know how I plan to empty it."
I bit back a laugh.
"You're a peasant. I'm his confidant." Julian pouted in the mirror. Don't think Isla noticed. Her face was practically against my back. "I earned this, okay? I worked for this privilege. All that skinny bitch Lily had to do was shake her breasts and pretend to be some frail Victorian harlot my Liege, Lor— he hardly remembers, and he goes and drops hundreds on her. Maybe thousands of dollars! All from their savings account. Their savings I've managed to increase by 75% over the last two decades, mind you. And don't even get me started on the stupid gifts and the promises."
The rolling and frequent, sudden, jerky stops of the van made it difficult for Isla to regain her balance. I presumed. Why else would she lay such a steadying palm on my right ass cheek?
"Did you, and your liege, know Lily was an escort?" I said.
"Ha! They met at the club. That was her whole schtick. Reincarnation reunions, or something just as stupid sounding. Sloane thought it be fun and nostalgic for some older vamps. It backfired. My Liege followed her right out the club to her day job at that coffee shop. She worked mornings till he made her switch. You know one, the nerve of these kids, one time she had the audacity to ask him for rent money. Flat out ask and he just gave it to her. Why don't young people want to work anymore? Ugh. My Liege made me take her home that morning too, except she didn't go home. She made me drive her all the way out to Grays Ferry. She lives on Spruce Street! I confronted her on it, and she said it was an errand. She had to stop off to pay the landlord. Promised my Liege she'd stop working at the club too. What a load of batshit."
Julian blushed. "Hey, don't tell my Liege I said that, okay? He prefers to think of her as a barista. A 'humble milkmaid.' She's purer that way. Like he remembers her as Rosemond."
He took a turn. I let him breathe and waited. His story wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot, I guess, by the way he was working himself up. When his shaking breaths settled, I asked: "Did you plan this with Sloane? To hide Lily from Dmitri?"
He laughed. "Sloane hates her guts. She's fine with my Liege having fun once and awhile, with other escorts from the club, but when Sloane caught them together she lost her temper. Thought she was going to rip the homewrecker's head off right then."
Isla tensed. She touched her side and scrunched her nose. The latter was horrendously adorable.
"When did she learn—" I started at the same time Isla said:
"How'd she find out?"
There was a beat. Isla's eyes lit up at the apparent realization we were about to ask the same thing and she tapped our noses at the same time and I have no idea why but wow was it cute.
Julian's hands wrung the wheel.
Cleared my throat. "Did you tell her?"
"My Liege ordered me not to. I won't disobey him," he grimaced, "directly, like that. I care about him. Lily doesn't care. I tried to tell him. Gently, of course. His nerves can be... fragile. But my Liege wouldn't listen. He's so convinced she's Rosemond he's blind to her schemes. You see what he's doing to himself, because of her? Starving. I've dedicated my life in service of my master, I can't let him simply wilt away like that. He thinks he's saving himself for her for some kind of wedding ceremony or reunion or whatever, to turn her. But I can't just let him turn her, not when she wouldn't appreciate such a gift from a master who is so typically more reserved in that kind of generosity."
He ran the red.
"So I did what I had to do."
Isla slapped my ass – then pulled away quickly – and announced. "You killed her!"
We bumped over a pothole, tangling Isla and I together in the back. I caught a knee of hers to my belly. Where in sweet hell had that murder accusation come from?
"What?" Julian choked. "No. I left Lily's panties in Sloane's bedroom for her to find."
"Ew," yelped Isla.
She somehow managed to wedge herself between the seat and my hips. Instead of sitting up, where she'd be trapped between the death grip I had both the driver's and passenger seat headrests to keep from flying through the windshield, she tried to wiggle away on the floor. Between my legs. Face up. Smirking. Oh fangs help me.
Isla braced her hands against my inner thighs, mouthing an insincere sorry as she slid back. You know what, it's good I hadn't yet grabbed a bite. Any more blood in my system and Isla would've had a lot more to say about Phoebe's last text message (and, oh bats, was Phoebe going to get an ear full about that later).
"What, uh, happened after?" I said.
Julian shrugged. "Sloane put her foot down. Finally scared her off."
"We've seen the state of her apartment," said Isla in a low voice. "Sloane must've been real terrifying."
"I – I don't know what you mean."
Isla was referring to the half cleaned bloody mess in Lily's home. I flipped through my notebook— pushing quickly past the flower doodles before Isla noticed, they weren't even good—till I was back to the apartment. Soaked towels and stained floorboards. Champagne for two. Broken, antique looking wine glass. Possible blood splatter on the wall. When did this happen? I hastily scrolled in the margin. And then under it. Neighbor saw presumed boyfriend Dmitri's valet at residence.
The car slowed. I peeked out the window. I knew this neighborhood. It wasn't Lily's.
"Why're you telling us all this, Julian?" I said, turning a page. "You're not taking us to Lily. You don't know where she is. You even don't like her. Just said so yourself. You said you 'worked for this privilege. All that skinny bitch Lily all had to do was shake her breasts and pretend to be some frail Victorian harlot.' We all know Lily ain't in her apartment and it isn't difficult to reason that girl don't trust you enough to tell you where she's hiding. So where are we going, and why?"
Julian inhaled deep. "I'll pay you double what Dmitri is to keep it that way."
"What?" choked Isla.
The valet turned to face us in the back. "I was planning on doing it last night, but..." he trailed off with a shrug.
Huh. That was nifty development. Don't think I'd ever been offered two consecutive bribes before. Fascinating.
"Whose money you offering? Dmitri's?"
"Does it matter? Listen, put on a good show for now but, you know, after a while just kind of, stop. I'll pay you by sunup and my Liege will forget about her. Eventually."
"How can I trust—"
"This offer count for us both?" Isla said.
Julian answered through pursed lips. "It can be."
Isla's face was serious. Downright glum, as she nibbled on the tip of her glove. Hell, of course she'd be tempted. Dame was broker than she let on. How'd you not see the signs before, old boy? Stealing from tip jars. Paying you with your own cash. Just how much money was she in it for with the Pack? It'll be Isla's fingers on the floor if she doesn't pay them.
I sucked in a stinging breath through the hole in my cheek. "Fangs."
She looked up at me. A twinge of pink creeped into her cheeks.
"Right. It's settled," said Julian. "I'll pay you on the ride home later."
We idled just outside the large, brick wall surrounded property in the middle of a busy block, nestled in the heart of Old City. Stone walls fenced in a garden and several brick buildings.
"Sorry. You must be wondering where we are—"
"Dmitri's—" I said at the same time Isla answered:
"Your master's asshole."
"Oh," Julian rolled down the window to punch in a code (while Isla struggled fruitlessly to tug open the rear doors). "Right. Uh. Like I—how'd you—"
"I know where Dmitri lives," I grunted. "He's lived in the same house for two hundred years."
"You literally invited Greg to dinner before we got in." Isla glanced over her shoulder at the back of the van. "It's BYO."