Chapter 18
“Are we sure he’s going to come back with all his blood?” I asked my companion.
“His blood is too cold to satisfy Adrien’s tastes,” Marc assured me as he studied my face. “You’re familiar with dravenkin.”
I jerked my thumb in the direction the other two had gone. “You mean the vampire?” The lack of recognition in his eyes made me sigh. “Adrien drinks blood and doesn’t like sunlight, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes, I’ve heard of a dravenkin, though my world has a different name for them. Kind of like you have a different name here.”
We slid into the booth, and the candlelight danced across our faces. “I like to keep things interesting.”
“And keep the authorities guessing?” I wondered.
“That, as well.”
“So do a lot of people call you Seastorm?”
He grinned. “Only here, and only the Syndicate.”
I snorted. “That’s a very cute name.”
“Do you think so? I thought it up.”
“It makes them sound mysterious, much better than ‘Manager’ or ‘Admiralty.’”
“They may appear to be just a bunch of kids, but most of them have been on the streets all their lives. They’re tough and they know their way around the maze of Cathair better than anyone.”
“And know what happens to people,” I added as I thought back to our conversation with Henry. “But aren’t they a little young to be messing with the Managers and others? I mean, you said so yourself that what you were asking Henry to do wasn’t safe.”
“I wouldn’t have asked him to do it if I didn’t believe they were up for the task,” he countered as he picked up a spoon and twirled the tip of the bowl in a circle on the table. “Perhaps you’d be surprised how little a young boy is noticed, even in the pubs.”
I swept my eyes over the room. “I think he’d be noticed in here. There aren’t many people dining right now.”
Marc smiled. “The Sanguine Club is very exclusive.”
“And not very nice from the outside,” I mused as I readjusted my butt on the plush seat. “Is that on purpose?”
“Nothing leads the mind astray more than an ugly appearance.”
“So what makes this place exclusive? The owner or the cuisine?”
“Both. Dravenkin are even less common than fangrels, at least when it comes to the cities. Dravenkin prefer a nice, secluded manor in the country where they can live out their long lives in peace.”
My ears perked up. “Then they live a long time? And need to suck blood to continue living?”
“Blood is their primary nourishment, but they can handle a few morsels of mortal food now and again. Enough to keep up appearances, if they need to,” he told me as he held his spoon above the flickering flame. “As for their lives, they’re not immortal. Nothing is permanent but the gods.”
I shuddered. “You mean those things that tried to grab me in the water?”
He lifted the spoon and admired the untouched bottom. “Those are the more primitive ones.”
There was something about the way he phrased that that caught my attention. “Then you’ve met a god who was less primitive?”
Marc flashed me a smile as he set down the spoon. “I’ve met many things, but none were quite as interesting as you.”
His flattery didn’t distract me from what he’d just done. My eyes flickered between him and the utensil. “Why did you just do that?”
“Do what?”
“With the spoon. Why’d you twist it around and then hold it to the fire?”
“Magic.”
“A magic spoon?”
“No, it conjures magic,” he told me as he tapped the spoon.
The candle in front of us burst upward in a teardrop shape, and a pair of black eyes emerged from the red depths. They blinked a few times before a huge mouth opened in a yawn. The flame slopped its lips together before those dark orbs fell on us.
“Good evening and welcome to the Sanguine Club.” The flame spoke in a droll voice that nearly made me fall asleep. That is, if I wasn’t about to have a stroke at the sight of a flame speaking and staring at me.
I turned my agape mouth on my companion. “W-what is going on?”
Marc was all grins as he nodded at the fire. “The candles are the waiters.”
“And the cooks,” the fire added as it puffed out its chest. “And might I add that we are the best chefs in the whole of the capital.”
I leaned back and examined the flickering creature. “How do you bring the food out?”
The fire scoffed. “We do not bring the food. That’s a low job we leave to you fleshers.”
“These fleshers are hungry,” Marc spoke up as he folded his arms over the table. “What’s the special?”
“The steak is our finest yet, served with a side of fresh salad, a fruit of your choice, and a basket of bread.”
“Skip the salad and bring us two plates with a basket to share.”
The flame twisted to and fro. “I cannot approve of that, sir. The salad is the healthiest item on the menu-”
“Which is why we’re skipping it,” Marc insisted.
The waiter rolled its eyes clear around its head and back to the front. “If you wish, sir. This will take a few minutes. Please enjoy the house wine while you wait.” The flame dropped back into the glass container and reverted to its small, flickering self.
I leaned forward and examined the flame. “Wow. Are these guys some sort of demon?”
“Nobody’s quite sure if they’re a demon or a god, or even a magic crafted long ago, and the fire handlers aren’t telling. They’re useful for cooking and lighting, though, so people use them for that.”
“So what you were doing with the spoon was that to call the, um, waiter?” I guessed.
He lifted the spoon and smiled at the utensil. “It’s a little elaborate, but it keeps uninvited guests from ordering the food.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Is that such a big deal? I mean, as long as they pay, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that Adrien uses a special spice he doesn’t want anyone to get hold of,” Marc told me.
The color drained from my face. “It’s not blood, is it?”
His eye twinkled. “What if it was?”
My stomach tumbled, and I shot to my feet. “I just lost my appetite.”
Marc grabbed my hand and tugged me back into my seat. “Does a little blood make you squeamish?”
“No, but a little vampire-er, dravenkin blood might make me into one of them, and I’d like to enjoy the sun for a couple more decades.”
“One of them? Your tales of ‘vampires’ must be different than the dravenkin. Their blood doesn’t create more of their kind, but if you drink enough of it, you can get impressive strength and speed.”
“How much is enough?”
“About a cup.”
A door at the rear of the room opened, and a pale woman in a sleek waitress outfit slipped out.
She walked as lithe as a cat, and her eyes were as blood red as those of Adrien.
The woman grasped a tray above her ample assets, accentuated by the tight clothes, but they hardly bounced as she glided toward us.
Her beauty caught the attention of more than one patron, who admired her before their dates gave them warning looks.
The woman stopped at our booth and previewed the tray for us. A wine bottle and two empty glasses were perched on its top. “Would you like some refreshment while you wait?”
“As much as you can give us,” Marc answered as he took the bottle.
“Patrons are not allowed any more than one bottle, sir,” she told him as she set the glasses down in front of us. “Please enjoy.” She slipped away like a ghost.
And just like a ghost, she left behind a feeling of rising horror inside me. My eyes were glued to the bottle and the dark contents I glimpsed through the cloudy glass.
Marc poured two glasses and held one out to me. The contents were a distinct dark red, almost black, and a rusted odor filled the air. “Try it.”
I tamped down a rising bile in my throat and leaned back. “I don’t think I’m very thirsty.”
He drew it a little closer to me, and his eyes twinkled. “You’d be surprised how good it tastes.”
I stared at the surface of the contents. “Are there side effects?”
“Nothing outside of the strength and speed. Here.” He tipped his finger into the cup and held the finger over his palm. A small droplet fell into his hand. “Try it.”
I examined the droplet a moment longer before I reluctantly dipped my finger into the liquid. The drink didn’t have the congealed texture of blood, but the unmistakable odor invaded my nostrils as I lifted the droplet to my mouth. I took a deep breath and licked my finger.
The liquid was surprisingly thin and easily slid down my throat. I had to tamp down my gag reflex, and my stomach gurgled when the blood hit the rest of its contents. A moment passed before I stared down at myself.
“Is something supposed to happen immediately?” I asked my companion.
“Not with that much,” he told me as he pushed the rest of the cup closer to me. “Try new things.”
A heavy sigh escaped me as I took up the glass. “New things in a new world. Everything will start getting boring because it’s so new.”
He grasped his glass and leaned back, studying me. “I don’t think you’re the type of woman who lets things get old.”
I wrapped both hands around the stem of my glass and blinked at him. “What makes you say that?”
“The look in your eyes,” he mused as his blue orb examined my face. “Baba saw it. I see it. It’s a thirst not only to survive, but to thrive. Someone with that hunger doesn’t let themselves wilt under new circumstances. You thrive under them.”
I dropped my gaze to the contents of my glass and sighed. “I wish the stuff I was thirsting for wasn’t so unusual.”
He held up his glass to me and smiled. “A toast to a thirst that I hope shall never be quenched.”
I sighed and tapped my glass against his. “To adventure and getting out of all of this alive.”
Marc downed his drink while I took a long sip. The blood didn’t taste quite as bad as the first droplet, and I found myself licking my lips.
And then licking more. And more. Before I knew it, I had emptied my glass. That’s when I began to feel the effects, and some of them weren’t all that pleasant.