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CHAPTER SIX

IT WAS PAST FIVE BEFORE King finished questioning Harper. I think the only reason he wrapped it up was because I moved into the dining room from the kitchen, rattling crockery and cutlery. The opening of the door also wafted the scent of jambalaya and cornbread fresh out of the oven into the dining room. At least three of the agents sitting around the tables with their laptops in front of them looked up and sniffed. Then swallowed.

“Man…!” Moody breathed. She looked at me hopefully.

“Vegan version, too,” I promised her.

She sighed happily and went back to work, while the others glanced at where King sat with Harper. He had her boxed into the corner and I had to wonder what she thought about that. Her chair was right up close to the walls, while King had placed his chair directly in front of her and barely three feet away. His knees were spread, as if he was fencing off the corner.

Harper, though, sat with her arms crossed. She didn’t look pissed, as she usually did. But neither did she look happy.

I went back to the kitchen and brought out the salted tomato salad, the green salad and the garlic green beans, which could sit under the warmer.

King looked around this time, frowning. He watched me place the salads on the sideboard, his pale blue eyes narrowed. I saw his larynx bob.

All his agents were watching him, now.

His expression said he resented the interruption. But then it smoothed out to bland status. He sighed and turned back to Harper.

I couldn’t linger and listen. But I didn’t need to, not with Broch writing everything down, out there in the foyer. Besides, I could hear tables being moved. Chairs scraping across the original hardwood floor, which made me wince. King had clearly shut up shop for the day.

Filtering through the normal door at the other end of the kitchen, I could hear Harper’s voice. She sounded as though she was in the foyer.

Feet thudding on the stairs told me everyone was heading for the dining room. I could hear more voices in the foyer.

I ladled the last of the large pot of jambalaya into the serving tray, carried it out and added it to the warming frame. Went back and got the vegan version, the hush puppies, and the cornbread.

By the time I returned to the dining room, King’s people had pulled the round tables back into position and re-laid the tablecloths. Everyone was gathered around the sideboard, although conversation was not as free, easy and loud as it usually was. The three guests and the agents kept everyone’s chatter to a low murmur.

Broch was there, too. He put a dab of everything on his plate and picked up a knife and fork. He even came back for a glass of lemonade, but only half-filled it.

It was the first time I had seen him “eat” in front of people who didn’t know what he was. I guess that covering up his real nature would have become habitual, after a while. I still had no idea how old he was. He could be only a few years older than he looked, or thousands of years old…I had no idea if a vampire’s existence had a natural term limit. I was still getting used to the idea that they existed.

Broch was nothing like the vampires I’d met in the pages of novels. He didn’t twinkle in the sunlight…although he didn’t turn into a pillar of smoke in sunlight, either. I’d seen his reflection in a mirror, and his tankard was a silver alloy. Most of the myths were wrong. What else about vampire lore was wrong?

The chatter around our table of locals was just as subdued and innocent as it had been around the sideboard. Everyone seemed to be hungry. They concentrated on their meals. Although more than just Hirom went back for seconds, which pleased me.

I spotted Moody going back for seconds, too, and that also pleased me.

Olivia was the first to push back her chair and put her napkin on the table. Wim, who had eaten little, also seemed eager to get to his feet.

“Busy day tomorrow!” Olivia announced over her shoulder as they left.

“Thank you for dinner, Anna,” Wim added, turning enough to look at me with his gentle eyes.

I smiled back at him.

Everyone else got up and left, one by one, not long after that. Even Ghaliya said she wanted a glass of Hirom’s warmed cider, and eased to her feet, then moved slowly over to the archway.

The Feds were still at their single table. The three other guests were also still eating.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed the big, flat plastic tub and headed back out to collect dirty dishes, and told myself I didn’t mind having to clean up by myself. Six people were paying seventy dollars a meal, and the other three guests I had also marked up—but not by as much as King’s people.

When I stepped out into the dining room to collect the fourth tub of dishes, the other two tables were also empty.

Pleased, I swept all the tables clear, bundled up the tablecloths and stuffed them in the laundry bag under the stairs. Then I tackled the dishes and for the first time appreciated having a commercial dishwasher under the counter, not a little domestic one. Up until now, I’d considered it a waste of water and power and had frequently washed dishes by hand, instead.

Not tonight, though. I was impatient to hear what Broch had to say about his eavesdropping.

I stacked the dishwasher and got it going, cleared out the kitchen, wiped and washed the last of the dishes by hand, and left everything to dry. Then I hurried through the side door into the corridor. I would slip into the bar and sit at the local’s table and see—

“Mom.”

I whirled, surprised. Ghaliya was sitting sideways on the bottom steps of the staircase, her back against the wall, and one foot stretched out.

“Ghaliya! I thought you wanted cider?”

“I changed my mind,” she said. She nodded toward the bar, which was behind me. “King and his people are in there.”

“Oh.” My heart sank. I couldn’t cross-examine Broch while they were there.

“I want to go for a walk,” Ghaliya pronounced, and got slowly and awkwardly to her feet. “I’ve been sitting on my butt all freaking day. I’m going stir crazy.”

“You’re not walking out there at night,” I said swiftly. It was too easy to imagine her tripping over a curb, or a mystery crack in the sidewalk. Falling. Falling on her stomach… I shuddered.

“That’s why I waited for you,” Ghaliya said. “You can hold my elbow all the way if you want. I mean it, Mom. I’m growing moldy.”

I rolled my eyes at her, then considered it properly. I wanted to find Broch, but I still wasn’t sure which of the houses along the main street was his. And I remembered how awkward and lumbering I had felt in my eighth month. I had gone a little stir-crazy myself. I relented. “Well, okay. Just up to the corner. And slowly . I’ll get my jacket—”

She picked up my jacket, neatly folded, from the step up from the one she had been sitting on. Her jean jacket was underneath.

“Ah,” I said and held out my hand.