“Yes.”
“And after that?”
“Tell me if you have any great ideas,” Francesco said.
Rose was not disappointed in Francesco. In a way she found it quite touching that he was admitting his lack of knowledge to her. But she did have an idea, and she wasn’t sure how he would take it.
“So, what are you thinking, Rose?” he asked. Perceptive as ever.
“We know that Lee is in touch with the Olemaun woman.”
Francesco raised an eyebrow and sneered, “She wrote that book.”
“You can’t deny she has knowledge.”
“And you want to talk to her?”
“If I can. If I can do it now, before we go. Anything she can tell us could help. A weakness they have, anything about the Bane, any clue she has as to who these vampires might be. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
“And you think she’ll be sitting on the end of a phone, awaiting your call?”
“Only one way to find out.”
Francesco looked as if he were about to forbid the contact—she could see that in his stance, his expression, and how he held up one hand to wave her idea away—but then he set aside his pride. He’d already opened himself up to her, and to backtrack now and try to take control would only make him appear foolish.
It would make him look like one of them.
“You can try,” he said.
Rose nodded her thanks, then heard Lee descending the stairs again. She’d expected him to return with some massive weapons—a Gatling gun, rocket launchers, bazookas. Instead he had a holster slung over each shoulder bearing a heavy-looking handgun, and another weapon was tucked in his belt.
“They’re your big guns?” she asked.
“Trust me,” he said.
“Do whatever you need to do,” Francesco said. “We have five minutes, then we’re leaving. There’s not much time.”
“You keep saying that,” Lee murmured.
“Then get a fucking move on!” Francesco growled. The mortal cringed back against the wall, and Rose touched Francesco’s arm.
“Ease up on him,” she said.
Francesco said nothing, but he glanced at Lee and gently shrugged off Rose’s hand.
“Lee, I need to use your email,” Rose said.
“Checking your lottery numbers?” he asked, opening the laptop and tapping a few keys. His voice was high and uneven. His shoulders shook, he lowered his head, then the laughter came, loud and brash. Rose was surprised to find herself smiling, but most of it was at Lee’s coping technique rather than what he’d said. He was impressive. She’d never been out with a black guy when she’d been mortal, and perhaps that was because of her parents’ old-fashioned upbringing rubbing off on her a little. She surprised herself now by regretting that.
Too late now.
“I need your account open,” she said.
“Which one?” He wiped his eyes, quickly growing stern again.
“The one you use to communicate with Stella Olemaun.”
He glanced up at her, looked at Francesco, and shrugged. “Haven’t spoken with her in some time. Starting to think they got to her.”
“No harm in me trying, then,” she said, and Lee turned the laptop to face her. As he went to the ammunition lockers and started loading his weapons, Rose felt a chill of anticipation. They’d been down here for twelve hours, she was hungry, and danger was settling around them with the darkness. And it all started here. Lee could turn around now and blow Francesco’s head off—he was standing close enough, watching the mortal, hands fisted by his sides—and then turn his guns on her. If that happened, she’d have time while he was killing Francesco to go at him, but even then the odds were barely even that she’d get to him in time.
This was a test of trust, and a risky one at that. Francesco must feel he knew Lee very well indeed.
As Lee clicked the safety on the first loaded gun, Rose caught him looking sidelong at Francesco. The two men stared for a moment, then both nodded their heads slightly. Grudging allies. She hoped that lasted.
Opening a blank email window, she started typing.
Stella, you don’t know me. My name’s Rose Volk and I live in London. I’m a friend of Lee Woodhams, who you’ve conversed with in the past. I’m also a vampire—part of a group who call ourselves Humains. Circumstances have meant that Lee only just found out. We live alongside humans, don’t feed on living people, and keep to the shadows. We go unnoticed, but that has now changed. There are vampires in London looking for an artifact called the Spanish Bane. I’ll assume you’ve heard of this? We know where it is, and we’re on our way there right now to try and stop them. But these are monsters. True bloodsuckers. They’ve killed many already, and have taken on human slaves. We’re flailing in the dark here, but we know how important it is they don’t get the Bane. We’re doing our best. And this is for real; I’m not insane. Contacting you is a shot in the dark because I know about you—I read your book—and know how much you hate us. But if there’s anything you can do to help, my mobile is…
And she left her number.
She read the email through, then sent it. No harm in trying, and if even half of what the Olemaun woman had written in her book was true, she’d know a thing or two about vampires.
Rose just hoped she didn’t hate them enough to deny any help, whatever the circumstance.
“Ready?” Francesco asked, and when Rose glanced up, she realized she’d been typing longer than she thought. Lee had both shoulder holsters strapped on properly now, a gun in his belt, and full magazines clipped to the bandoliers.
“Um, yeah… ready,” she said.
“I’m not,” Lee said. He was holding a jacket ready to put on to cover the guns, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“Why?” Francesco asked.
“You seemed keen enough to kill vampires earlier,” Rose said.
“I am, but…”
Rose held out her hands. What?
“I need a shit,” he said.
Rose sighed, Francesco walked toward the basement stairs, and Lee followed.
“Fucking vampires,” he muttered as he passed her by.
She closed the laptop, slipped it into its carry case, and slung it over her shoulder. Standing at the bottom of the basement steps, she looked around, thinking of torture and pain and how much their friend Lee Woodhams seemed prepared to do. And she knew then that whatever the outcome that night, if he was still alive come dawn, he would present a very desperate problem for the Humains.
But before she could let that even begin to worry her, they had a war to fight.
Torture was on Rose’s mortal brother’s mind as well. Not only physical torture, though the fear of that was rich and sour in his mouth like the aftermath of a terrible hangover. But torture of the soul. Because there were vampires here, monsters whom he could see were damned beyond measure. And he didn’t want to be like them.
Stoner, the tall woman, who called herself Kat, and the other guy who’d been stalking Marty in his street had rushed him away from the police station massacre in excitement and fear. He could tell that they were all jacked up on something—pupils dilated, sweat glistening their skin, heads jerking like nervous birds. Stoner carried him under one arm as easily as a bale of hay, and Marty knew without trying that struggling would do him no good.
Besides, there were the guns.
There had been bodies everywhere, bullet holes, blood, people crying, some screaming, and Kat had stopped a couple of times to finish off people who were writhing on the floor. Stoner had giggled as she knelt on their torsos, held their heads back, and hacked at their throats with a vicious-looking knife she took from a sheath in her boot. The gushes of blood had seemed to excite them all.