Death's Mistress (Dorina Basarab, #2)(41)

I guess they hadn’t checked the bathroom yet.

Outside, the rain we’d had for a steady week had turned the street into a glossy black mirror. It reflected red splashes from the lanterns edging the club’s roofline, a green electronics store sign next door and a yellow Buddha buzzing across the road. But no arrogant master vampires.

Not being a total fool, I had of course tagged him back at the club. According to the little charm, he was three streets over and moving fast. I moved faster and caught up with the charm on a corner—attached to the collar of a stray dog.

“Very funny, smart-ass,” I muttered, and retraced my steps.

Scent turned out to be no more useful than sight or magic. There were too many competing scents: ginger and garlic from a guy selling chicken wings, incense floating from the open door of a shop, car exhaust and garbage. To make matters worse, the rain was still drizzling down in patches, wiping out pieces of the scentscape like someone had taken an eraser to it.

After fifteen minutes, I admitted defeat. Most dhampirs have heightened senses, and my nose is considerably keener than a human’s. But no way was I following Louis-Cesare through the scent maze of Chinatown. He was well and truly gone, and it was my fault. I’d let him waltz out the goddamned door and hadn’t even tried to stop him.

I leaned against a corrugated door and waited for my heart rate to slow. It didn’t seem to feel like obliging. Damn it! I never fell for that sort of thing, couldn’t even remember the last time I’d been so stupid.

Oh, wait. Yes, I could—the last time I’d dealt with Louis-f*cking-Cesare.

I scowled. Louis-Cesare might be a prince in Europe, but this was my territory, my home turf. He was going to learn the hard way that he couldn’t come in here and dick with me and not pay the price. When I finished with him, Raymond was going to look good by comparison.

Or then again, maybe not. Because old Ray was looking kind of rough by the time I located his body, huddled in a fetal position on the roof of the building next to the club. His shirt was missing, his pants were dirty and blood-streaked and he’d lost a shoe. For a minute there, I almost forgot about the missing head.

He didn’t hear me approach, not surprisingly, considering his ears were probably on the other side of the city by now. But as soon as I put a hand on him, he leapt up and swung wildly. I ducked, but of course he couldn’t see it and just kept on going. That was a problem, considering that he was steps away from a three-story drop.

I got a hand on his waistband, jerking him back from the edge before we found out just how much abuse a vampire body could take. He fell hard against me as I wrestled him back onto the roof. He also copped a feel.

“Cut it out, unless you don’t mind losing a few more body parts,” I told him, before I remembered that he couldn’t hear me.

His hands jerked away like they’d been burned, and he stopped, dead still.

I did, too, as a completely new idea occurred. “Sit down,” I told Raymond, who obligingly buckled his knees and parked his tush on the edge of the roof. His legs swung free over the courtyard below like a little boy’s. A little headless boy coated in gore, but still.

There are other explanations, I told myself. He could have stopped feeling me up once he’d figured out who I was; he could have sat down because he was weak from blood loss. I might be totally misreading this.

“Raise your right arm if you can hear me,” I said, and the arm obligingly shot up.

Or maybe not.

I patted down my borrowed jacket, but found only change, some matches and half a pack of cigarettes. But Ray had a cell phone in his pocket, although he didn’t seem inclined to give it up. “What?” I asked, slapping his hands. “It’s not like you can use it.”

He gave me the finger.

I ignored him and dialed a number that doesn’t show up in the phone book. It took me a minute to get through because there was some sort of party going on. And because the staff hates me.

“Senator Mircea Basarab,” I repeated for the fourth time, several minutes later.

“Lord Mircea cannot be disturbed,” yet another supercilious voice informed me. “Might I take a message?”

“Yes. You can tell him that his daughter’s on the phone. And if he doesn’t take my call, I’m going to dump that corpse he wanted in the river.”

There was some murmuring in the background, but no answer. Vamp #4 hadn’t hung up, though. I could hear party noises: music, laughter and the muted chime of fine crystal. And then a voice that managed to be more beautiful than all three.

“Dorina, are you all right?”

It was unfair what vampires could do with intonation, especially that one. Warmth, concern, love—it was all there in one short sentence, and it was all a lie. He was in a good mood because he thought I had Ray. He was going to be a little less amused when he discovered my part didn’t talk.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked, my voice sounding harsh in my ears.

“This isn’t one of the numbers we have on file for you.”

“Yeah, well, there’s been a snag.”

“Do you require assistance?”

“I require answers. It seems there’s a few things even I don’t know about vamps.”

“Such as?”

“Say there’s a fifth-level master who’s lost his head—”