Death's Mistress (Dorina Basarab, #2)(120)

“How?”

“Tell me what you know, and I get you off the hook with Fin.” I couldn’t afford it, but if it helped Louis-Cesare, I didn’t think Mircea was going to quibble about the expense account.

He looked at me for a long moment, those lamp-lit eyes brighter than the streetlight across the road. “Touch the horn,” he finally said.

It was my turn to look wary. “Is this something kinky?”

“As if.” He sniffed. “You’re not my type.”

Thank God for small mercies. “If you poison me, I can’t help you with Fin,” I pointed out.

He yawned, showing a mouth full of needle-sharp teeth. They matched the talons at the end of its paws. “Relax. All that was just good propaganda. Not that I don’t know a few tricks, mind you.”

“Like the flame of—”

“Shut up.”

I decided I didn’t have time to be cautious, hiked up to the third-floor landing and touched the horn. And no sooner had my finger brushed the tip than he rammed it into my skin. “Ouch!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” he told me, as my blood sank into the apparently porous bone. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he sat there, humming and making these weird faces. I let him get away with it for maybe a minute, and then I gave the kitty a little squeeze. The spoiled thing mewed, and his eyes shot open. “You’re a piece of work—you know that?” he demanded.

“I told you this had better not be kinky.”

“It isn’t!”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Like that’s hard,” he sneered. “And you may as well let Pooky go. I know you won’t drop her.”

“Wanna bet?”

He sighed. “Lady—or may I call you Dorina?”

“No!”

“Okay, Dorina, it’s like this. I’m a luduan. I taste your blood, and I know what kind of person you are, whether you’re lying to me, yadda yadda.” He waved a paw. “You know the score, or you wouldn’t be here. Don’t waste my time.”

I sighed and pulled a gun. “You’re right. I can’t kill an innocent creature just for sport. You, on the other hand . . .”

“Hey!” Those bright eyes narrowed. “No need to get nasty. Did I say we couldn’t do business?”

“Then what was all that about with the blood?”

“Establishing some guidelines. It saves time. Otherwise, people try to lie to me and it gives me a real headache”—he tapped the space above the horn with his paw—“right here.”

“So do we have a deal?”

“I don’t know. What exactly do you want to know?”

“Well, for starters, you could tell me who killed Jókell.”

The creature’s small ears went back, and its eyes widened before it started beckoning frantically with a paw. “Get in here!”

It could have been a trap, but I didn’t think so. He looked genuinely panicked. Before I could move, the horn snagged my jacket and dragged me inside. The door slammed shut behind me, and I found myself in a narrow hallway smelling of mildew, urine and spices.

I didn’t get a chance to look around, because I was dragged into an apartment before my eyes had even adjusted, and another door slammed shut behind me. “He’s dead? Are you sure? What happened?” The luduan’s tail was twitching excitedly back and forth as he prowled across the floor. He looked freaked.

“Yes, yes, and someone gutted him,” I said, looking around for a chair and not finding one.

“But he had protection!” The little thing looked genuinely upset.

“You mean Naudiz?”

“That thing!” He wrinkled up his features in what I guess was a scowl. “I wish I’d never heard of it!”

“That seems to be the consensus. So what happened?”

He sighed and sat back on his haunches, but that still left his head too low for his liking. “Sit down, can’t you?”

“Where?” The apartment was clearly set up for nonhuman use. The weak streetlight angling in through gaps in the blinds striped a nest of blankets on the floor, a large rawhide chew bone with one end gnawed off and a couple food dishes. I assumed these were for the cat, because a wash of junk-food wrappers had collected in the corners.

“It’s over there,” he said, reading my body language. “I keep one for bipedal clients.”

He used the horn to point to a stack of folding chairs in the dining room area and I fetched one, bringing us closer to eye level. “Tell me.”

“Worst night of my life; I thought I was dead for sure.”

“You were there? You were in the office when he was attacked?”

“Yeah. I’d been there maybe a minute. I was late because I had to wait for that vampire who owns the club to leave. There was supposed to be a diversion to get him out of the office, but it wasn’t needed. He left on his own and I walked up. And a few seconds later the attack came.”

“You were working for Geminus.”

“I didn’t want to do it, but I needed the cash. I was in debt to him, big-time. Fin’s boys will just beat me up; he would have killed me.”

“In debt? For what?”