Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Three hours passed. Kit and Vincent were clean and settled in. Kit slept on the couch while Vincent did the same on the floor beside them. Thankfully, Nathaniel had a heap of extra blankets and pillows to make them comfortable.
Roger took up a spot by the window. His anger cooled into a lingering rage, a yearning for retribution that settled into his bones. The strength of it kept him on his feet, though the ache of exhaustion threatened to overtake him.
Nathaniel rapped on the door in the same rhythm Vincent had done before letting himself into his apartment. After taking in the sight of his fairly full living room, he wandered over to his fridge and took out two beers and a bag of blood. He crossed the room to where Roger stood and offered him a beer.
Nathaniel’s voice had a natural timbre that worked well for a grouchy barkeep, and like many vampires, he’d adopted the local accent rather than keeping his original. “I should thank you for the extra business. We’ll be open until dawn, assuming the cops don’t shut us down.”
“You worry about mortal authorities?” Roger asked.
Nathaniel snorted. “You’ve been sitting next to the throne too long, former captain. You forget how the rest of us live. Not everyone’s made of billions of dollars that they can use to pay off troublesome mortals.”
“You’ve had the bar for decades. Isn’t business?—”
“The business is fine, though the pandemic’s put a crunch on it.” Nathaniel motioned around them. “I own the damn building. But there’s this thing called taxes. And another thing known as coven dues. Not just for my drinking privileges but the bar.”
“Hadn’t considered that,” Roger murmured. He wrenched off the beer’s bottlecap but wound up watching the bubbles rather than taking a sip. Alcohol was a way to forget his pains, though one mortal-made beer wouldn’t be enough to dampen any of his senses. He set it down on the window ledge. “You said former captain.”
“I did.” Nathaniel took out his phone and read a text aloud. “‘The vampire known as Roger, Gentleman Pirate of the Seven Seas, is no longer my captain. Henceforth, he shall not be welcomed in the territory of the Great Lakes Coven. Anyone who gives him aid will find themselves incurring my wrath. Your Master, Seamus.’”
“Fuck.” Roger wiped a hand down his face. Passing up on a beer felt foolish now. He grabbed it and took a swig. Shaking his head, he said, “If you can provide safety for Kit and Vincent, I would be grateful. I can?—”
“Hold on there.” Nathaniel nodded at the door. “Come with me a moment, yeah?”
Roger wanted to say no. He longed to wake and discover that the last several hours had been nothing but a terrible dream. That would be the easy way out and leave me caught in Seamus’s web. Long for this moment. Need this. He set the bottle down and gestured for Nathaniel to lead the way.
Nathaniel locked the apartment on their way out and tromped down the stairs to the first floor. He pulled a hairband and a black baseball cap with the name Last Deal embroidered onto it out of a locker beside the staircase. “Could use your help clearing dishes. Had to send Phil home.”
Roger took the hairband and baseball cap. “I’m exiled, and you want me to walk through your bar?”
“Everyone’s drunk off their asses and believe you’re too busy to show up in a bar no one’s seen you enter in forty years. Pull up your hair, keep the hat low, don’t look anyone in the eye, and they’re not going to notice shit.” They’d reached the kitchen. Nathaniel took a busboy tray and shoved it into Roger’s hands. “Try not to break anything.”
The girl who’d been at the grill was busy at the dishwasher, pulling free a clean batch of dishes before shoving in a set of dirty. Her gaze lingered on Roger. She was sizing him up with a scrutiny in her eyes that spoke to an older age than she appeared. “Just bring it back here and hand it off when it’s full.”
“Right,” Roger muttered. He still wasn’t certain this was the smart course of action. But Nathaniel had taken him in when he could have slammed the door in his face. Roger did as Nathaniel instructed with his hair and the hat, let his shoulders droop, and hung his head a little as he followed Nathaniel into the bar.
The Last Deal was packed from wall to wall despite the late hour. Each of the wooden tables seemed overflowing with empty glasses and plates. The floorboards creaked under the weight of a large demon who wasn’t bothering with a human disguise at the pool table. A set of tables had been pushed together nearer to the pool tables, and clamoring patrons were impatiently waiting on their turn at a table. What had been a fireplace in the 1970s was now a faux mantle with a fake fire crackling on an HD screen. Which was a good thing because two guests pushed each other, and one tumbled back against the screen.
Nathaniel handled the rowdiness. The large demon with curling horns that scraped the ceiling helped him. Roger began his task of gathering dishes.
The task was needling Roger. Instead of taking the threat of Seamus seriously, Nathaniel wanted him in public removing dirty silverware? Why? What was the point? He should be finding a discreet hotel with what cash he had left. Candide might be done with her party. She might be willing to help him. But not likely. I’m on my own, and I’m fucked.
“So then, get this,” a drunk patron was saying to a table of friends. “I’m like three weeks a vampire. Three weeks. Or was it three months?”
“Get on with it,” a friend demanded.
Roger dipped around the sway of the drunk and plucked up another empty glass. But the tray was almost full, and he had to figure out how to put it in without cracking anything beneath it.
“Fine, fine. I’m a fledgling baby vampire,” the drunk continued, “and my sire drags me in front of Seamus to show me off like a fucking doll. Oh, he thought he was doing something special. Like somehow, I was this unique marvel. Seamus is like ready to stake me right there. He’s yelling at my sire that he hadn’t gotten permission and he wasn’t strong enough. That I was nothing more than a human with sharper teeth. And Roger, Roger’s just sitting there, like he did, you know? Just sitting all calm while Seamus rants about the dilution of his sire line, and Roger yawns . Like what vampire needs to yawn, you know? But it catches Seamus’s attention, and suddenly, Roger’s looking at me with those eyes. I swear those eyes can see your soul, you know? Deep brown like the woods. Anyway, Roger scans me over and says, ‘You’re that singer, aren’t you? Lovely voice. We should see if Dempsey has a song for you.’ And it turns out that Seamus had been looking to launch a recording studio and wanted some of his own vamps to use it.”
“Didn’t Seamus burn the studio down?” a friend asked the drunk.
The drunk waved off the question. “I was in a cooldown period at the time. Can’t go too long in the public eye, you know?”
Roger carried the tray off to another table and nabbed a few of the empty glasses there. One of the patrons was talking about Seamus’s recent Halloween party. “I mean, Seamus had a fucking siren onstage?—”
“My cousin’s a fucking siren, thank you very much, bitch,” another replied.
“Well, if your cousin’s making humans grind on each other for the amusement of my kind, then kick their fucking ass,” the first patron replied. “But shit was about to get real, and all of the older vamps were just standing around with their thumbs up their asses, and Roger leaps onto the railing like he’s fucking Batman, and then hiiiiisssss— ” The patron imitated the way Roger had snarled at the crowd as if daring them to join him. “—and the elders are all leaping over the railing and joining their mortals. Could’ve been a bloodbath. Seamus has done it that way before. 1995. Remember?”
“More times than that,” another replied.
Other stories drifted past Roger while he worked. Unrelated tales cropped up here and there, but there was a common theme. Fuck Seamus. Roger was one of the admirable ones.
Roger filled the first tray and a second and was onto a third. Nathaniel and his waitress were still passing out the drink orders. A level of unruliness, brought on by drunkenness and camaraderie, began to brew. Finally, Nathaniel rang for last call, though the crowd attempted to cajole him into another hour.
They were genuinely giddy that Roger had metaphorically flipped his middle finger in Seamus’s face. They wondered where he had been for thirty years. More than one hoped they’d develop some sort of powers similar to his soon. The belief had been that only vampires closer to Seamus’s age could have any sort of real power, but that hadn’t been true of Roger. He was only three hundred. There were younger vampires boasting that they could take off their gold rings.
The rings were another of Anton’s lies. He’d claimed that it’d only come off when a vampire was ready to be their own master, but he’d revealed to Roger that the charm ended after fifty years.
With the third tray full, Roger carried it into the kitchen and set it on the counter beside the girl. She was struggling to keep up with the amount he’d already dragged in, so he took a moment to help her reorganize the dishes onto trays that would go into the washer.
“The Great Roger doing dishes,” the girl muttered.
Roger wasn’t sure what to think of the crowd praising him. Part of him had sought that adulation, hadn’t he? He’d wanted to be the savior of the GLC, to kill Seamus and take his place as the ruler and lead everyone into a brighter future. But he’d never had a real plan to enact. He’d come up with a few ideas, but most of them were Candide’s.
Rather than spiral into whatever abyss waited for him, he leaned against the counter and smiled warmly at the girl. He tugged on one of his old facades to ease the pain of self-inspection. A joker’s tone slipped into his voice. “Not impressed?”
“Not in the least,” she replied.
Winning people over was one of Roger’s talents. He let his charm thicken his voice, though he withheld flirtier notes. Girls didn’t interest him, and though she could be a hundred years old, she looked like a child, putting her firmly in the category he had no desire to flirt with. Brightening his smile, he said, “Come now. How often do you have the chance to speak with a legend?”
“Every goddamn night.” She narrowed her eyes and shouldered him out of her way while she corrected the tray of dishes. Then she shoved them into the washer and pulled down the lever.
“You mean Nathaniel,” Roger replied, dropping his charmer act for another tact: the honest vampire. He relaxed and nodded toward the bar. “Suppose he does have a certain level of renown.”
“Who said I was talking about a vampire?” the girl said shortly. She shoved an empty busboy tray into his hands. “Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning tables?”
Roger took the tray but remained where he was and studied the girl’s face. So many people had filtered in and out of his life. Had he forgotten this girl? Was that why she was upset with him? Teenage vampires weren’t entirely uncommon—Roger had made Ezra when he was eighteen, which technically qualified him as one—but she appeared on the younger side of the teen spectrum. A few months ago, Zack had killed Quinn Turner, Roger’s sireling. Maybe she was blaming him for that death.
“Are you descended from Quinn?” Roger asked. “Is that how I’ve upset you? I sired him, and he was attempting to kill what was mine. I was within my rights to watch him die.”
The girl rolled her eyes and carried a tray of dry dishes across the kitchen to put them in their place.
“Wait,” Roger said sharply.
“You’re not a coven captain anymore. I don’t have to listen to you,” the girl replied.
She knew who he was. If she spoke to anyone about him, then Nathaniel would be in trouble, which would jeopardize Kit and Vincent. Roger couldn’t let that happen. He tossed down the busboy tray and stormed over toward her. When she didn’t acknowledge his closeness, he started to reach for her.
I suppose I should expect more of the same once you take over for Seamus , Dmitri had said when Roger first returned to the city. Another violent tyrant.
I won’t be him. Roger clenched his fist and dropped his hand back to his side. “I care for Nathaniel’s safety. I won’t allow someone to compromise it.”
The girl paused and finally glanced up at him. She was almost a foot shorter than him, but she had a fierceness in her brown eyes that negated their height difference. “Neither will I.”
“If you have a problem with me, I’d like to know what I’ve done,” Roger said.
“I bet you would,” she replied.
Then she went back to her work.
Roger could reach into her desires and make her want to tell him what was bothering her, but that wasn’t like him. Besides, she had a layer of desire that was a flame, and Roger recognized the reflection of it in himself. She wanted to protect someone—likely Nathaniel, as she’d said.
Since she clearly didn’t want to talk to him, Roger picked up the busboy tray and went back to gathering dishes. Patrons settled their tabs and began to depart. Their numbers dwindled. Roger gathered one last tray’s worth of dishes and remained in the kitchen rather than risk discovery. He lingered near the serving window, using the wall as cover from view of the main room. Bits of conversation drifted.
“No one’s ever going to be able to do it,” an extremely drunk voice proclaimed. Their words were slurred so drastically that Roger barely understood them. “He’s too fucking powerful. I bet he puts a bounty on Roger’s head, or—or—or I bet Roger’s already fucking dead. Don’t tell me to shut up. I don’t care what everyone else’s been saying. Everyone was all ‘fuck Seamus’ tonight, but tomorrow, they’ll be kissing his ass again. I bet Roger will be.”
If I thought I could get Zack and Takashi back that way, I would. Roger closed his eyes to prevent them from leaking . Fuck me. I’m no hero . Takashi. Zack. They would have comforted him. They would have held him close, told him he was doing his best, and helped him figure out what to do.
Terror had dragged him down too many centuries. He’d been terrified that Seamus would lash out. Terrified that he’d say the wrong word and wind up with a stake in his heart. Terrified that no matter where he went, Seamus would find him and drag him back. So he had stayed. He had obeyed.
All for nothing .
Not nothing. Not if he could save others like he had managed to save Vincent. Zack and Takashi needed him. He couldn’t afford to wallow.
But how could he free them? Seamus would have taken them back to his mansion.
Dawn was too close, and Roger didn’t have the time or strength to infiltrate the fortress of a house. Maybe, if he could come up with a plan, he might be able to find a way in and out. Seamus had a coven to run. He wouldn’t be able to stay holed up in his mansion all night, every night. Roger simply needed to wait for an opportunity.
No, not wait. Zack had taken the lead in the fight in the hotel suite, and Roger needed to be more like him.
An idea began to form, but Roger couldn’t do it on his own.
People were moving about the kitchen, though Roger wasn’t in anyone’s way. He ignored them until Nathaniel said, “Janiyah, stop trying to light him on fire with your glares.”
“I would never do that to your bar,” the girl declared. She muttered, “But we could toss him out onto the street.”
“I don’t know what I’ve done to incur your wrath,” Roger said hollowly, “but I doubt it was intentional.”
“It’s like four hours past the end of my shift. Can I be done?” Janiyah asked sharply.
“Go on,” Nathaniel replied.
After she tromped up the stairs, Roger finally cracked one eye open. Nathaniel was alone with the piles of dishes, so Roger began to help him. A long time had passed since Roger had settled into performing mundane chores. The actions didn’t soothe him. Instead, he was left spinning on his own anger and the animosity Janiyah had shown him. Everyone else in the Last Deal had been ecstatic, though they didn’t know what Roger’s actions had cost him. Her reaction had been hostile, but in retrospect, he preferred it. He deserved everyone’s anger.
“Why did you bring me down here?” Roger asked after he and Nathaniel had been cleaning for a solid hour.
“Was hoping it’d cheer you up,” Nathaniel replied. He tossed a dry towel to Roger and then slid a tray of glasses toward him.
For the most part, the glasses were dry, but they had droplets of water here and there. With a sigh as he dried, Roger admitted, “That’s not possible. Not until I have Zack and Takashi back.”
Nathaniel stilled. “What?”
Roger explained what had happened at the ball and the hotel to Nathaniel, but he left out the part about Seamus and Anton’s bet and the fact that he had intended to kill Seamus at New Year’s and take the role of coven master.
Nathaniel wiped at his own jaw and scowled. “I see. Explains the doom and gloom. Figured something must have happened to the boy since he wasn’t with you. Guess I was hoping he and Takashi were somewhere else. A divided camp so you couldn’t be attacked again.”
“Nothing so intelligent,” Roger murmured.
After a long moment, Nathaniel grunted, shook his head, then said, “I brought you down here because I wanted you to see the impact you’ve been having. I know I’m on the low rung of coven notables, and I prefer it that way. But people’ve been whispering about you for a while. I don’t know what they’re saying at the upper levels, but these people adore you.”
Did the upper levels of leadership give a damn? Roger had shown them his power as well, but there wasn’t one among them that he trusted. He knew them, but like him, they had found ways to hide their hurts. How many enjoyed being the cruel, sadistic vampire Seamus molded them into, and how many longed for a new life?
Dmitri was right. The coven should fall to ash . “I appreciate your concern, but we know what Seamus will do. He’s exiled me, which means anyone who brings my head to him will earn favor. They may have lauded my ‘accomplishments’ tonight, but they would climb over each other in a heartbeat if they believed they could gain his goodwill.”
“Ezra said you were looking to put him down,” Nathaniel said.
I need to remind Ezra not to run his mouth . Roger set down another dry glass. “I tried tonight. I failed. He and Anton are too strong.”
“Then you?—”
“The two people on this planet who may have been able to outsmart him are already his prisoners,” Roger snapped, his voice carrying more than he meant. The echo of it came back to him, and the rage bubbling in his depths roiled toward the surface.
But Nathaniel had been exceedingly kind.
Roger couldn’t afford to be tossed to the street or to ruin Kit’s chance to recover. Though he had only promised Vincent what he could, he had taken him under his protection as well. The boy deserved a life of peace after everything he had gone through. They all did. He had to smooth over the turbulence with Nathaniel before it became an excuse to rescind his help.
“I’m sorry,” Roger said. His rage wasn’t so easily packaged away, but he tried. “I have to get them back. Until I do … I can’t think of doing anything else. Seamus will find ways to torture them that would make a devil pause. I have to save them before he breaks them. If I move against him before I have them back, he will use their safety against me.”
“All right,” Nathaniel said slowly. “What do you need from me?”
“A place to stay. A car if you have one.”
Nathaniel leaned against the bar. “I remind you that I’m over two hundred and served on a few frontlines.”
“I don’t need a soldier,” Roger replied. “I need a brilliant SWAT team, and I think I know who to call. I only hope they answer.”