Page 6 of The Bloody Ruin Asylum & Taproom (Sam Quinn #7)

Four

When we’d first arrived and I’d seen the interior, I’d thought it beautiful, which had mostly been relief after seeing the outside of the building.

Now, though, the unending white marble felt cold and austere, more like a mausoleum.

As this place housed vampires, I wondered if the designer had been screwing with them.

The room we entered was a large rectangle, with a six-foot-tall fireplace on the opposite wall.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the white coffered ceiling.

There was an oversized portrait above the fireplace and a few landscapes in muted tones that looked like afterthoughts on the walls.

The portrait quietly, sneakily drew attention.

The man had magnetic eyes, black with sparks of red in them.

His brows were like violent slashes across his face.

Dark hair, with a short beard, he wore a permanent expression of hostility and superiority.

With more difficulty than it should have required, I tore my eyes away from the painting and surveyed the people. Audrey was right. All the vampires were in black, all except for one woman. She wore a dark red cocktail dress in this huge white room, looking like a drop of blood on a sheet.

Wait. I was wrong. One other person eschewed black.

Cadmael stood to the side of the door. He was a tall, raw-boned man.

His brown skin was taut over prominent cheekbones.

His long, thick black hair lay in braids down his back.

Even in what was probably a very expensive pair of chocolate brown trousers and matching shirt, he looked more Mayan warrior than modern vampire.

“Cadmael,” Clive said with a bow of his head. “It’s good to see you again, my friend. You remember my mate, Samantha.”

Cadmael nodded, his expression impassive. He didn’t like me any better than I liked him. Of course, I didn’t like him because he didn’t like me, so, as I said on the plane, he’d started it.

When I felt a push against my candy-coating, I glared at him. I wanted him to know I knew what he was doing, and he was an asshole for trying it. I then looked away, as I wasn’t trying to start a brawl with a vampire who felt older and more powerful than anyone else in the room.

They talked for a bit, Clive asking about Cadmael’s home. In a room filled with vampires, no one talked about anything they didn’t mind being heard by all.

While they chatted, I glanced around. There were more people here than I’d expected, mostly men, and far more of them than I’d anticipated were humans. A couple of the humans carried trays with goblets of blood, but others appeared to be standing at the ready should anyone require anything.

I’d need to ask Clive later, as it wasn’t terribly important, but there seemed to be a hierarchy within the humans.

The ones in black suits with white shirts, like the ones holding the trays, seemed to be the servants.

The ones wearing black suits with black shirts appeared to only answer to one vampire.

Perhaps they were the vampire’s own personal assistants, rather than the Guild’s employees.

Regardless, each of them had found an inconspicuous way to show their disdain for me. The one favored by most was a scan of the room where they’d close their eyes as they passed over me. Ooh, snubbed by Renfields. I’d try somehow to survive.

Opening my mind to the vamps, I hovered over their green blips in my head, not trying to delve deep, not trying to call attention to myself.

I couldn’t let them know what I was able to do.

If they knew I was a necromancer and that I had power over vamps, it’d be an instant death sentence.

Right now, I was scum they preferred to pretend didn’t exist. I wanted to keep it that way.

Pretending to study the painting beside me, I touched the blips, listening to current thoughts, not delving into memories. They’d all noticed us. I was pretty universally reviled, as I’d assumed, but what I found interesting were the varied reactions Clive received.

It was like working behind the bar in The Slaughtered Lamb.

Quiet voices overlapped, but I began to pull out the threads.

Some were happy to see him. One, the woman in red, was very happy to see him, though she didn’t know who he was.

Most were wary, wondering if what they’d heard about the Battle of Alcatraz was correct.

Had he really killed so many of their own kind?

And why wasn’t the Guild punishing him for it?

The voices I focused on, though, were the ones who not only believed retribution was in order but wanted to be the one to hand him his final death. One in particular worried me. I turned from the painting and watched a pale, sandy-haired man walk across the room toward Clive.

Incoming.

Clive glanced over at me and then his attention moved to the man approaching.

Sebastian stepped up, cutting off the other man’s path. “Clive, Samantha. It’s good to finally have you here.” His head tilted as he regarded me. “Clive said you had a broken leg.”

Cadmael turned to study me.

The angry vamp paused to speak with someone.

“All better now,” I said, distracted by a possible impending assassination attempt. “It’s nice to finally be out of the cast.” I looked down at myself. “I’m not sure heels were a good idea, though.”

Clive glanced at my shoes as well. “Are you in pain?”

“No, no.” I patted his arm. “I’m fine. Just little twinges here and there.”

“How was your leg broken?” Cadmael asked.

“Oh.” I shook my head, unsure of what to say. Would they all attack if they knew my leg had been broken when I was fighting Garyn?

“Haven’t you heard the story?” Sebastian asked, a sly smile playing over his lips. “She challenged Garyn.”

It was subtle, but obvious. A tightening of a shoulder, a tilting of a head. Everyone in the room was listening.

Who are all these people and why is he doing this to me? I asked Clive mind-to-mind.

Guild members, candidates, their minions, vampire and human. As to why, I’ll find out.

“What I’ve heard,” Sebastian continued, “through secondhand sources, is that it was quite a battle. Samantha had the upper hand but didn’t want to destroy the fae-owned nightclub and so pulled a punch, giving Garyn the advantage. She swept Samantha’s leg and broke it.”

Sebastian looked overly pleased at sharing the story. Was he happy someone had finally smacked Garyn around or was he painting a bigger target on my back?

Clive clearly didn’t know either. I felt his mistrust. “I know none of our people would be so indiscreet as to pass on that story. Are you in communication with the fae?”

Sebastian smiled. “I have ears everywhere.”

Ah, so he was throwing me under the bus to boost his own rep. Got it.

“Just the leg?” Cadmael asked.

I shook my head. “Cracked ribs, concussion, fractured ulna. We know an excellent healer who took care of those problems right away. She did what she could with the femur, but time was needed.”

He grunted in agreement. “Healing can be slow for some.”

Is he helping or piling on with Sebastian? I asked Clive.

Not sure, Clive responded. I would normally assume helping, but we both know how he feels about werewolves.

I turned back to Sebastian. “Thank you for your help this morning. Our new room is much more comfortable than the first.”

The smile dropped from his face. “József was reprimanded.” Back stiff, he said, “Come. Let me introduce you to the others.”

Does everyone one here know how he was reprimanded? I asked.

Anything less than death would be considered an insult.

Oh.

Sebastian led us across the room to two men and two women. “Clive, I believe you know Oliver, Frank, and Delores.” Gesturing to the woman in the red dress, he said, “You may not have met Ava, though. She’s a late entry for North American Counselor.”

“It’s good to see you all. Thank you for your patience,” Clive said.

The first man, light-haired and blue-eyed, nodded.

“It’s always good to see you, Clive. We were sorry to hear about your mate’s injury.

” He looked at me, holding out his hand.

“I’m Oliver. I hope it isn’t paining you too much.

” He had kind eyes, which wasn’t something I normally said about vampires.

“I’ve broken quite a few bones over the years, and it always hurts like hell. ”

I grinned. “I can attest.”

The other three apparently intended to ignore me, so Clive took over.

“Sam, this is Frank,” he said. “Frank is the Master of Chicago.”

Frank barely glanced my way, giving a brief nod. He was shorter and heavier, with thinning dark hair and a beaky nose. “I’m surprised to see you here,” he said to Clive. “I’d heard you were dead.”

“All indications to the contrary,” Clive responded.

Frank tipped his head, still studying Clive. “One with so many enemies often doesn’t live long.”

Clive’s smile was sharp as a dagger. “Strangely enough, they keep losing their heads.” Clive glanced back at me and gestured to the woman beside Frank. “And this is Delores,” he continued. “She’s the Master of Mexico City and has been even longer than I was the Master of San Francisco.”

Delores was petite, her dark hair pulled back in a bun, leaving her delicate face unframed. She wore a long-sleeved black dress that hung to the floor. Two small pearls at her ears were her only adornment.

“Now, now,” she began, “you know it is impolite to discuss a lady’s age.” She made tsking sounds but never looked in my direction. Her indulgent smile was all for Clive.

He bowed his head. “Apologies.” He turned to the last woman, the one in red, and paused. “Ava, I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Which city are you the Master of?”

Delores’ lips twitched, but that small movement said volumes about the woman in red. Frank cleared his throat and Oliver raised an eyebrow. Interesting.

“Allow me,” Sebastian said. “Ava comes to us from Savannah, Georgia.”