Page 13 of The Bloody Ruin Asylum & Taproom (Sam Quinn #7)

Eight

I Hate Everyone. No. Not Everyone. Mostly, It’s This Guy

Snap.

Blinking, I stared into the eyes of a smirking white-shirted Renfield whose fingers were still hovering in front of my face.

“Do you need something?” he asked in heavily accented English. “You’ve been standing here for a long time. Is there something wrong with you?”

I glanced around. I was back in the hall, the beautiful walls, the moldings, the light fixtures.

I wasn’t trapped in the asylum with Léna.

Oh, God. Léna. Ignoring the Renfield, I ran back through the open bedroom door, slamming it on the way to the bathroom.

I barely got the seat up before I was vomiting.

Sam? What’s wrong?

Nothing, I said, climbing to my feet and holding a washcloth under the cold water. Just had a bad dream. I’m okay. How’s your meeting?

Tedious. That’s why I was checking in on you. If you asked me to return to our room now, you’d be doing me a favor.

I held the cloth to my face, trying to breathe through the aftershocks.

Every time my thoughts returned to that poor girl, more tears streamed down my face.

No way. I’m not encouraging you to play hooky.

I mean, you’re already doing the Counselor gig on the down low for the vamps who call you.

I want you to have the job for real. Don’t worry. I’m good.

All right. I’ll swing by the kitchen on my way back to you. Perhaps they have cake.

Thank you. I’d love cake. And if I’m asleep when you return, I’ll have it for breakfast.

Sweeter dreams, darling.

After brushing my teeth, I went back to the bedroom, wrung out and unable to stop thinking about Léna.

Was her father punishing her? Hiding her in the asylum and punishing her for being pregnant?

Who was the baby’s father? Had he faced any consequences?

As I already knew the answer to that one, I punched the pillow a few times and lay back on the couch.

Remarkably, I must have eventually fallen asleep. I woke, lying on the bed, Clive’s arm around me. We were on top of the covers and he’d left me fully clothed, though he’d taken off my shoes. He probably hadn’t wanted to wake me by trying to undress me.

Stomach growling, I checked the time. It was late afternoon. Perfect. There was time for me to get food before shops closed. Wait. I shot up in bed. Had he found me cake? And then I saw a plate on my nightstand with another plate flipped over on top of it, creating a safe pocket of possibility.

Excited, I lifted the top plate and found a slab of five-layer sponge cake with a chocolate buttercream frosting.

There was even a fork. Scooting back on the bed, I leaned against the headboard and ate one delicious bite after the next before giving Clive a chocolatey kiss on the cheek. Good husband.

Feeling much better about today than yesterday, I took a shower and tied my hair up in a braid.

According to my phone, it was warm out, it being summer and all.

I put on a pair of green shorts—baring my body was still uncomfortable for me, but I was trying—a matching t-shirt, and my dark gray running shoes.

If my life had taught me anything, it was to always be prepared to run.

I strapped on the axe and added a light denim jacket over the top to hide my weapon.

I picked up my little handbag, gave Clive another kiss, and headed out.

Did the tunnel suck? Yes. But it wasn’t as creepy during the day when all the vamps were resting.

I also didn’t know of any other way of leaving besides walking out the front door of a condemned, abandoned building and scaling a tall fence, all in plain view of anyone who happened to be walking by.

Nope. Tunnel it was. Hopefully, the waiter who had caught me sneaking around The Bloody Ruin Asylum and Taproom last night was off duty. It would be highly suspicious to be found in an employees-only area twice.

The Guild was quiet. I knew some of the Renfields were probably awake, doing human liaison stuff, but I assumed most slept during the day in order to serve their fanged masters all night. The ghosts had had to expend a lot of energy last night, so they should be resting as well. Perfect.

Superimposing Léna’s memory with what I was seeing now, I found the door down to the lower level with the creepy cells and the tub room. I hadn’t noticed it last time because the door was barely discernable and I’d been focused on the mold bloom on the right, not the door on the left.

Regardless, I kept going to the horrible screeching door.

With any luck, the noise would wake that punk Renfield who’d snapped his fingers in my face last night.

Granted, he did pull me out of Léna’s memory, but he sneered while doing it.

Ergo, ipso facto, he’s a punk who does not deserve a solid eight.

The stairs and tunnel weren’t as scary this time.

I knew what to expect and I didn’t have a vamp on my tail.

Of course, now that the idea had popped into my head, I had to check…

The vampires all seemed to be down for the day, all except one who was stirring.

I paused in the tunnel to see who it was.

Clive should know that one of these people could move around during the day.

The vamp felt familiar, like a mustachioed green blip.

I didn’t know why Vlad was up and around, but as he wasn’t following me, I didn’t care.

I lucked out when I emerged into The Bloody Ruin again.

No one was paying attention as I slipped out of the hall into the bar.

Trying to look like I belonged there, I walked through the bar and out onto crowded streets.

Quite a few people were headed up Castle Hill toward the Buda Palace, which I planned to visit while I was here.

Right now, though, I was heading across the bridge for food.

The Danube sparkled in the late afternoon sun beneath me.

The Parliament building dominated the skyline, sitting on the opposite bank of the river. It speared the cloudless sky.

During down times at The Slaughtered Lamb, I’d been reading about the best places to visit in Budapest. The Parliament building topped most lists.

It was stunning, an enormous neo-Gothic structure, much like its counterpart in London.

When the Habsburgs ruled, they brought a strong western European influence with them, resulting in opera houses and cafés that would have looked at home in Vienna.

Hungary’s parliament building had a center dome with two symmetrical halls running out from the center. Every window, wing, and courtyard was designed to strain heavenward.

The rest had done my leg good. No limp today.

I was aware of it, aware of a gingerness in how I walked, but it wasn’t paining me.

On the contrary, my whole body relaxed, happy to get out and move.

I passed an ancient church, modern shops, busses, cars, pedestrians.

Budapest was hopping and it was exhilarating to be a part of it.

The downtown retail area was filled with every kind of shop, restaurant, and bar. Wide avenues were reserved for foot traffic, and I fell in line with all the others. I looked up restaurants nearby and found one with a Michelin star rating only a block away.

When I entered, the host, a dark-haired woman in her thirties, wearing a black dress and a perfect red lip, welcomed me in English. How did she know?

Glancing at my shorts and running shoes, she asked, “Do you have a reservation?”

Dang. The food smelled amazing. I didn’t want to leave. “I don’t. It’s just me. Do you have a small table somewhere? I promise to eat a great deal of food, spend a lot of money, and leave quickly so I can continue sightseeing.”

Eyebrows raised, her lips curled up. “How could I refuse such a generous offer?” She held up a finger. “One moment. Let me check.”

She moved away from the front desk and I picked up a leather-bound menu, wishfully perusing. My stomach growled, but thankfully no one was close enough to hear it.

She returned a few minutes later. “It’s on our terrace. I had them set up a small table for one in the corner. Does that work?”

Nodding eagerly, I said, “Yes, please.”

She glanced at the menu in my hand, so I tried to pass it to her. “Keep it and come this way.” We passed through the beautiful restaurant’s, rough stone walls, white linen tablecloths, copper, wood, marble, a marriage of history and modernity.

When she took me upstairs and opened the door to the terrace, I held my breath a moment. The seating was basic, small wooden tables, metal chairs with funny, fluffy backs. That wasn’t what had caught my attention, though. Glass walls and an open roof meant an unparalleled view of Budapest.

The only empty table on the terrace was at the end of a row of tables, butted up against the window.

It would be uncomfortably narrow for two people, as there was a post behind the chair, keeping it from moving back.

Since no one was with me, though, they’d pushed the table into the bench opposite the chair, giving me more room and a spectacular view in two directions.

“Your waiter will be right with you,” she said and then headed back down to the first floor.

I looked out over the rooftops of Budapest and fell a little in love.

Directly in front of me were the twin spires of the ancient church I’d passed.

Pulling up the map app on my phone, I discovered it was Our Lady of the Assumption, founded in 1046.

Sometimes it hit me at strange moments. Clive and that church were about the same age.

To have lived through architectural movements, social eras, to have participated in them, and to still be here now was mind-blowing.

I sometimes got overwhelmed by the now, and he’d lived through now, then, and way the hell back then.

I understood why some of the really old supernaturals went crazy.

Lost in that thought, I jumped when the waiter spoke to me. “I’m sorry.” I gestured out the windows. “My mind was elsewhere. What did you say?”

He nodded kindly, taking a moment to gaze at the view with me. “Have you had a chance to look over the menu?”

I’d already studied it downstairs. Handing it to him, I said, “I’d like the experience, please.”

He tucked the menu under his arm. “Of course. Your first course will be right out.”

The experience was a twelve-course meal set by the chef. It included dishes like smoked eel, foie gras, white asparagus, guinea fowl, and venison, each plated with its own sauce or accompaniment. It all sounded very fancy and delicious, and I was here for it.

While I waited, I texted Fyr. For a man who worked late nights, at either The Slaughtered Lamb or Stheno’s place The Viper’s Nest, this was still early morning. I didn’t want to wake him. I just wanted a Fergus update when he had the time.

I received a text back almost immediately of Fergus and Alice, two impossibly large dogs lounging on the sidewalk at Fyr’s feet.

Fyr: Coco and I decided to hit the café around the corner. The barista loves the dogs and always gives them treats. How is it there?

Me: Thank you for taking care of my boy! He looks happy. Things here are fine, except for all the vampires:) Budapest is beautiful. I’ll send you guys some pics. I’m wandering around today.

Fyr: Sounds good. Protect your neck.

Grinning, I put the phone away as my smoked eel arrived.

While I ate, I stared over the ledge, people watching those down on the street, and caught sight of a man in a black suit with a black shirt.

On its face, that wasn’t too weird, except it was a hot summer day and he looked like an annoyingly familiar Renfield.

He stood across the street, in the shade of an awning, sneering up at the patio where I sat.

Why the hell were they following me? If he thought he was going to intimidate me or make me lose my appetite, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

After another amazing meal, I paid and left, resigned to dealing with the creep across the street, but he wasn’t there. I scanned the street in all directions but didn’t see him. Great. Was he going to ruin my afternoon of sightseeing by skulking around?

Whatever. I began to wander, touring parliament and nearby parks.

Budapest was known for their thermal baths.

The city sits on a geographical fault line.

Buda Hills crash up against the Great Plain, causing more than one hundred thermal springs to erupt.

Consequently, there are huge palaces of mineral baths all around the city, overflowing with people relaxing in the hot water.

As that really wasn’t my thing, I kept walking, enjoying the ease with which I could now move without the cast. Budapest was an amazing combination of awe-inspiring architectural masterpieces and plain, squat structures, depending on whether the building was designed while Habsburgs ruled or the Soviet Union.

Around the time I was wandering the Great Indoor Market Hall, tasting samples from a local butcher, I scented a wolf.

Even over the chaotic scents of produce, meats, and spices, the wolf scent hit me hard and put me on edge.

The hall was enormous and filled with people, so I couldn’t pinpoint the wolf at first. As no one had jumped me, I continued as though I hadn’t realized I’d gained another stalker.

After purchasing a substantial number of meat sticks from the nice butcher—don’t judge me!

—I headed for the door and caught the scent of a wolf again.

A woman in jeans and a tank top stood at a stall of peppers and spices, which was smart.

It almost hid her scent. There weren’t many female werewolves in the world.

As this one was following me, it only made sense that she was the one who spoke English on the phone last night.

I stepped up beside her and said, “Viktoria?” She had short reddish-brown hair and blue eyes that looked quite annoyed.

“I told him it was pointless to follow you,” she said, “but we had to try.”

“Understandable,” I said, opening my bag. “Do you want a meat stick?”

Sighing, she looked in the bag, pulled one out, and said, “Where are we going now?”