Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The third level down felt eerie as we navigated through the corridors.
“What bar are we looking for again?” I asked.
“The Crimson Rose.”
I straightened my shoulders. Down here, it paid to exude confidence.
Cockiness, no, but confidence went a long way in keeping others from bothering you.
I started winding through the labyrinth of passages, navigating by the series of numbers and letters used to designate where various shops were located.
Addresses consisted of the number of the level, direction, and then a complicated set of coordinates. The Crimson Rose was L3NE42-B.
Groups of people passed by, giving us a once over.
A number were vamps, most decked out in leather or garments that looked like they were from another era—smoking jackets and corset-cinched brocade dresses that swept to the floor.
I could tell they were vamps because, in the low light, the crimson rings around their irises shimmered like gleaming foil.
But among the fangster-set, we also saw goblins, a few shifters, several humans, and a few other creatures that I didn’t recognize.
Dante pressed closer to me and wrapped his arm through my elbow. “Better to make sure we appear together, rather than anybody getting any ideas.”
I glanced at him, smiling. I was stronger than he was—at least when my demon was out—and more lethal, but I appreciated the gesture.
“It’s pretty dark in here, isn’t it?” I wasn’t talking about the dim level of the lights.
“It is,” he said. “I’ve been in the Underground a number of times, but seldom on this level. And when I was down here, I didn’t stay long and I was with a group of friends.”
We approached a corner and I consulted my directions. “We turn left here. The bar should be about half a block down this street. There’s an elevator near it, so we can leave that way.”
“There it is,” Dante said, pointing ahead.
In the flickering light—which reminded me of old fashioned gas lamps instead of the warm LED lights that the Underground used—the Crimson Rose was straight ahead, on the right side of the passage. The front was sleek black metal, polished so high that it shimmered.
No windows offered a look inside the bar, but a beautiful stained glass sign the length of the bar adorned the top of the wall, illuminated from within.
A spray of red roses coiled out from the center of the window, swirling with vines and leaves.
Whoever had created it was a talented artist. The design was deceptively simple, elegant and understated.
Yet when I looked closer, I could see the metalwork running through it, sectioning off each petal, stem, and thorn, creating an intricate thread of outlines.
“That’s gorgeous,” I said, pointing to the sign.
“Yeah, it took money to have someone make that,” Dante added.
We stood in front of the bar for a moment, then—taking a deep breath—I opened one of the heavy double doors and entered, with Dante right behind me.
At the front, inside of the bar, stood a hostess station.
Behind the station, booths lined both sides of the bar.
The bar stretched across the back, and tables were scattered across the middle of the floor.
Doors to the left and right of the bar led to what I assumed was the kitchen, given this was a bar and grill, not just a bar for drinks.
Several tables were occupied, and a few of the booths.
I glanced around. Lazenti waved us over to a booth near the door.
A vampire, he had once been a private eye, and now he worked for us.
He was gorgeous—more so than any man had the right to be—in that dark, glam mobster way.
Trim but muscled, he wore a tailored crimson suit jacket over a black shirt, with a black and white plaid tie.
His jeans were black and expensive, his motorcycle boots—polished black.
He had pulled his dark, wavy hair back into a smooth ponytail.
Lazenti stood as we approached and removed the wraparound shades he’d been wearing to reveal pale eyes—almost frost white, with rings of crimson around the irises.
“Kyann, Dante, thank you for meeting with me,” he said, motioning to the booth.
Dante slid in, then I followed. Lazenti returned to the other side.
“Thanks for calling. Is the demon still here?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Then, with barely the nod of his head, he gestured to a booth across the room.
I glanced, following his lead. Sure enough, there was a man in the center booth.
From here, in the dim light, it was difficult to see what he looked like.
But the moment I caught sight of him, something inside woke up.
I recognized him—his energy, his nature.
A shiver raced down my spine, and I caught my breath.
Like recognizes like…My people…he belongs to my people.
I’d never met another demon before, at least anyone but Devon, and this man was of my blood. The feeling was strange—and until now, I never realized that I’d felt so incredibly alone on a gut, cellular level. I loved all my friends, but I was different.
“You’re staring,” Dante whispered, poking me in the ribs.
Startled, I shook my head and turned back to Lazenti. “He didn’t give you his name, right?”
“Right. Well, do you want to talk to him?”
“I want to know what he was doing at Edward Trask’s house,” I said. “I’m going over. Cover me.” I stood, motioning for Dante and Lazenti to follow me. As we crossed the room, I kept my gaze glued on the demon.
He looked up as we neared his table. His eyes flashed, mirroring mine in color, and his hair shifted, gleaming lilac and dark violet, but it reminded me of my own in its gradient shades.
It was long, like mine, and coiled down his shoulders and back in silky strands.
He watched us approach, still silent, his glass in hand.
Dressed in black leather—pants and jacket—he looked muscled from what I could tell, and tall.
I neared the booth and stopped, staring at him.
Dante and Lazenti stopped a few paces behind me.
The demon waited, still silent. I felt him reaching out—as though invisible antennae were tracing my aura, tickling me with questions.
Whoever spoke first would secede power to the other.
That much I knew. And I was also aware that no way would he be the first to capitulate.
I decided to toss out the bait and see if he’d bite.
“What brings you over to this side of the tracks?” I asked, jamming my hands in my pockets.
He didn’t answer at first, then glanced at Lazenti. “I know you—I talked to you the other day.” It wasn’t a question. Then, without missing a beat, he turned back to me. “Not many of our kind over here, are there? Although…you’re half-blood.”
I shrugged, then said, “You visited a man named Edward Trask. I need to know why.” Then, realizing he wasn’t about to answer without me offering him a little more, I added, “I’m Kyann Sarasan, and yes, I’m half Arosien.”
The demon showed the first sign of startlement. He straightened. “Your name is Sarasan?”
I nodded. “Why?”
After a moment, he motioned to the seat opposite him. “Sit. Your friends can sit too, if they want.” With a sniff, he said, “Wolf shifter and…of course, vampire. I trust you knew I was here due to your fanged friend?”
“Not many Arosiens make their way over here,” I said.
“Not many, no. Not often. There are a few who live here permanently. Like you do,” he added.
I had the oddest feeling that he knew more about me than I did about him. “How do you know I live here? And why were you looking up Edward Trask?”
“I just know. How do you know about Trask?” He shifted, sipping his drink. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked, raising his arm and snapping his fingers.
I raised my eyebrows. He was arrogant, but I had the suspicion he had the goods to back it up. I glanced at Dante. “Should I?” I asked, hoping Dante would know what I was asking.
He read my face. Finally, he nodded. “You might as well.”
Turning back to the demon, I said, “Your name and I’ll tell you why I’m asking.”
The demon considered my bargaining chip. Finally, he said, “All right. I’m Vaurice. And you’re right, I’m not from here.”
It felt like we were playing chess, or putting together a puzzle, each reluctantly revealing one piece at a time. I took a deep breath. “Thank you. The reason I care why you were talking to Edward Trask is because his brother was a serial killer, and he killed my mother.”
At that, Vaurice let out a long breath. He set down his glass. “Her name was Erin Sarasan, correct?”
I froze, not sure what to say. After a moment, I nodded. “Yes, it was.” I wasn’t about to tell a strange demon what her real name was.
“I was sent her to find her, and any children she may have had. My journey led me to Trask, to ask him about the woman his brother killed.” He leaned forward. “And it seems, I’ve succeeded in my task.”
I could barely breathe. “Who sent you? Why are you looking for me?”
He paused, then, after a moment, he said, “We’re fastidious in keeping accurate rolls of our people. If I need to get in touch with you, is there a number at which I can reach you?”
He already had my name, so I handed him a business card. I had the feeling he had only told me a fraction of the truth, but I also had the feeling I wasn’t going to get anything more out of him tonight. “Do you have a number I can reach you at?” I asked.
He jotted down a number on the back of a napkin and handed it to me. “You can leave a message there and I’ll get it within a day or two. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to. Don’t try to follow me. You won’t manage it.”
Vaurice slid out of the seat and tossed a hundred dollar bill on the table. “Drinks are on me. I’ll be in touch.” And, without another word, he turned and strode out of the bar.
* * *