Wayward Son (Simon Snow, #2)(63)

Then Lamb’s on me—he’s let the man go—pinning me against a wall, his hands on my shoulders. His hair is covering one of his eyes completely and tickling my nose. All I can think about is the blood on his breath. “Who are you?!” he demands.

“I told you.” My wand is in my jacket. I might be able to cast a spell. Maybe I could overpower him—

“What’s your name?” he spits. Maybe spitting blood. I don’t lick my lips. I don’t. He presses his forehead into mine, crushing my head against the stone wall. “What’s. Your. Name.”

“Baz,” I growl, wrenching my head away from his, to the side. “What’s yours.”

“Lamb will do.” A flicker of fire appears at my shoulder. He’s holding a lighter. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

“I already told you, I’m on holiday.”

He brings the lighter closer to my hair.

“I’m looking for the Next Blood!” I say. It comes out too loud.

Lamb lets go of me, stepping back. His hand and the lighter are hanging at his side. “Oh, Chaz. Not you, too.”

“What does that mean?”

He starts to walk away.

“Lamb!”

“You won’t find them here,” he says over his shoulder. “Not anymore.”

“But you know where they are!” I’m running to catch up with him.

“Everyone knows where they are.”

I grab his arm. I’m still a little drunk, to be honest. “I don’t. I don’t know where they are. And they have my friend.”

He stops and looks at me, pouting thoughtfully. “That’s true,” he says.

“It is true.”

“It’s the first true thing you’ve said to me.”

“Lamb—help me. Please.”

He studies my face for another beat, without a hint of sympathy, then cuts his eyes to the side. “Not here.” He pushes my hand off his sleeve. “Tomorrow. Two o’clock. Lotus of Siam.” He’s already walking away, barely glancing back at me. “Now go get something to drink.” And then he’s disappeared into the crowd.

I stumble around for a minute, trying to remember which way we came from. I’m surrounded by landmarks, but they all feel the same. Lamb’s right. I need a drink. Something. Rats. I haven’t seen any rats.… I’ve seen a lot of little dogs riding around in handbags.…

I lean forward with my hands on my knees. Get a grip, Basil. Breathe. I close my eyes and inhale. The world smells like blood and alcohol, like milkshakes and burnt popcorn—

My head jerks up:

Simon Snow is standing half a block away from me. His wings are gone, and his hands are stuffed in his hip pockets. He isn’t smiling.

I pull my mobile out of my jacket. It’s dead.





45





SIMON


The first ten minutes of surveillance were endless. After Baz got into the party. He wasn’t talking, no one was talking. What if he’d already been rumbled? What if they’d already snapped his neck?

But then there was a voice—“Hello”—and a name—“Lamb.” And wasn’t Baz being so slick? I grinned at Penny. “He’s good,” I said.

“He’s going to be fine,” she agreed.

“We should have gotten him an invitation,” Shepard said. “Or faked one.”

Penny rolled her eyes. “Next time we infiltrate a vampire enclave, I’ll remember that.”

Shepard frowned. “Isn’t that exactly what we’re planning next?”

“Shhh,” I said. The vampire was talking to Baz about England. Raids and fires.

Penny sneered at the phone. “Oh, come off it. It’s not genocide. You’re the genocide.”

I shushed her again.

“Baz should bring up the Next Blood now,” Shepard said. “While they’re talking about American vampires.”

But Baz didn’t bring it up.

He kept the conversation dancing—and then he left. He left with the vampire.

“No,” I said to the phone.

Penny groaned. “For fuck’s sake, Basilton.”

Even Shepard was shocked. “Never go to a second location with an untrustworthy Maybe—that’s rule number one! Or maybe rule number two. It’s a top-five rule!”

“We have to trust him,” I said. “He’s there, and we’re not. He’s reading the room.”

“Maybe he left because he didn’t want to be in a room with fifty vampires,” Penny said.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “The odds are better if he leaves.”

“The odds aren’t good anywhere in this city,” Shepard said.

“Going down?” we heard Baz say.

“Good man.” I punched the bed. “Keep telling us where you’re going.”

“Going out,” Lamb replied.

After that, Baz didn’t have to tell us where he was going—because his new friend Lamb narrated every step.

Two hours later, Penelope was lying down on the bed, eating champagne-flavoured jelly babies from the minibar. “Welcome to the Vampire History Walking Tour,” she said. “Would you like an audio guide?”