“I said almost. Your spouse-in-soul is remarkable and only a very great fool would allow her to leave the world for so little good purpose. I am no fool and I don’t value friends so cheaply. More immediately, I have an idea of what the Kostní Mágové are building, but not the specific details. Tell me what you have discovered about bones. . . .”
Quinton still felt tense and the color of his aura shifted as he spoke from a red-tinged anxiety to a softer blue color shot with occasional sparks of red, orange, and olive. He repeated the information he’d discussed with me earlier and Carlos was able to tease more specifics from him by precise questions based on knowledge neither Quinton nor I had had. When they were done, Carlos was pale and a sheen of sweat had appeared on his forehead. He looked ill and I felt equally terrible, huddling against Quinton’s side.
Rafa stepped into the room and stood still in a shadow, barely visible to me from the corner of my eye, but in Carlos’s line of sight.
Quinton scowled at Carlos. “What’s wrong with you?”
Carlos swayed in his seat. His voice was low and barely audible when he replied. “Mortality. By a quirk of blood, I seem to be temporarily . . . human again.” All remaining color drained from his face and his eyes rolled back a moment before he collapsed across the sofa, unconscious.
I felt the edge of the same blurry nothingness pulling over me, too, and fought against it, unwilling to leave Quinton alone.
Quinton stared, appalled, between Carlos and me, his mouth open in protest. “No . . .” He fixed on me with a beseeching expression. “You didn’t. . . . Say you didn’t.”
I tried to speak, but my voice failed and I had to nod, falling over the edge of irresistible unconsciousness as I felt him clutch my shoulders and let out a cry of despair.
The day and night faded to bad dreams and I woke up in the bright, warm morning, disoriented to find myself in bed instead of still on the sofa in the salon. Quinton was sitting on a chair near the bed, watching me. I felt more groggy than seemed reasonable until I remembered that I was operating about a quart low on blood—which will make anyone a bit slower than normal.
I hauled myself up in bed to sit leaning against the wall and take a look at my watch. “Ugh, why am I still in bed at ten a.m.?”
“Staying up until three a.m. can have that effect,” Quinton said. “How are you?”
“Confused.”
“About . . . ?”
“Why you’re sitting over there like I have a highly contagious disease.”
“I admit to being a little nervous.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know what happens next.”
“Next? I think the plan was to figure out what the bad guys are up to and then blow town before they take another shot at any of us.”
“OK. Now I’m the one who’s confused.”
“About what?”
Quinton hesitated. “Last night . . . I had the strong impression . . . that you . . . had let Carlos bite you. Maybe more . . .”
I stared at him with my mouth hanging open, blinking like a stunned owl. “Oh. . . . Uh . . . That’s not quite how it went.”
“But—”
I put up one hand to stop him from saying more. “No, no. Just listen. This is difficult. Amélia told me—not as such, but let’s just go with that in lieu of a longer explanation—anyhow, she told me that Carlos needed help and passed on the impression that the situation was desperate. So I raced out of here—as I’m sure you remember—and up to the Carmo Convent. Those are the ruins—”
“The church ruins you can see from Rossio, or from the castle if you face west,” Quinton said.
“Yes,” I agreed, nodding. “Those ruins. It wasn’t an easy or pleasant job, but I found him there. He was dying.”
“He’s the undead. How could he be dying?”
I gave him a stern look. “Don’t split semantic hairs with me right now. The upshot is that whatever it is that passes for life in him was almost gone. And I didn’t stop to think about the ramifications or complications of the situation—I didn’t even consider that we need him if we’re going to figure out what your father and the Kostní Mágové are up to and stop them. It didn’t occur to me. I just did what I could to keep a friend from dying.”
“You let him bite you.”
“No. I pretty much had to force him. But that was all—just . . . blood. And something happened that I have no explanation for—and I’m sure Carlos doesn’t, either—but whatever it was, it changed his state of existence, at least temporarily. This thing seems to have been a one-way expression only. I’m not affected, except to be a bit anemic. From something Carlos told me while we were trying to get out of the ruins, he’s not a vampire in the same mode as, say, Cameron is. He may not even function quite the same way, but for whatever reason, I’m not blood-bound or turning into a vampire or anything dramatic or treacherous like that. I’m still just me, running about a quart low, but otherwise fine.”
“Quite fine, from what I see.”
We both turned our startled attention to the bedroom doorway where Carlos stood, backlit by the morning sun through the sitting room windows. I couldn’t see his face in the glare, but the light cutting his silhouette made him appear reed-thin.
Quinton jumped up from his chair and stood between us, and it occurred to me that I was still sitting up in bed with only a sheet lying loose across my legs. I considered pulling it up over my exposed breasts and then thought it was not only too late, but a ridiculous gesture, given the company.
Carlos turned his gaze aside. “I beg your pardon. I knocked, but no one replied.” He took a step into the room and turned deliberately to look only at Quinton, giving me a clear view of his profile, but putting his back to the rest of the room. He looked less filthy, tattered, and exhausted than the last time I’d seen him, but still tired and less kempt than I was used to. His voice and presence still left an impression on the Grey, but with less intensity, as if his paranormal volume had been turned down. “I believe we left a conversation unfinished last night,” he said.
Quinton scowled at him. “You’re up.”
“Indeed.”
“In daylight.”
“It comes as a surprise to me, as well. Do you wish to discuss the phenomenon right now?”
Quinton thought about it. “No.”
“Good. We have many other things to talk about.” He turned and left the bedroom.
I slipped out of the bed and snatched up Quinton’s nearest shirt on the way to the bathroom. An uncomfortable tension buzzed in my chest and I felt a little light-headed. I hoped nothing unpleasant was about to erupt between Quinton and Carlos.
Throughout my shower, the vibrating discomfort in my chest continued, easing a little, but not entirely going away. I got dressed, annoyed that my jeans were still unwashed and too filthy to put on, so I was stuck once again in a dress that had only the saving grace of pockets. I saw no sign of Quinton in the room, but the sitting room door was now closed, and even through the thick plastered walls I could hear a murmur of male voices.
I’m a snoop by nature and I couldn’t resist putting my ear to the old-fashioned keyhole to discover what they were saying.
“. . . My girlfriend!”
“Your wife, more properly. But the relationship does not make her your property and I did nothing to influence her. If you imagine that I would, you do her considerable insult and no less to me.”
“I know what the effects of surviving a vampire’s bite are.”
Carlos laughed and this time it shook the floor. “You know nothing. Most of those who give us blood go their way with no more effect upon them than a slight euphoria. Those who succumb to the Bliss bear a mark—that is how we know them. I assume you’ve searched every inch of her body looking for it. . . .”
Quinton said nothing.
“You found nothing because there is nothing to find. She is not my thrall. I have no call upon her beyond our mutual respect.”