Wayward Son (Simon Snow, #2)(75)

“Common decency,” Penelope suggests—and the vampire actually laughs. His whole face crinkles up when he does.

“We’d be in your debt,” Baz adds.

Simon scoffs. “We would not!”

“You’re already in my debt,” Lamb says. “You’re still alive.”

“We could say the same of you,” Penelope counters.

The vampire chuckles. “You’re really quite funny,” he says to her. “I know you don’t mean to be.”

I hold out my still-empty cup, leaning a bit in front of her. “The reason to help them,” I say, “is that you share an enemy.”

Lamb looks at me and starts to pour. He’s listening.

I nod toward Penelope and Baz and (probably) Simon. “They’re not stupid. They know they don’t stand much of a chance against the Next Blood, even if you help them. But they’re going to try anyway. And I promise you this—they won’t go down without a fight.”

I sit back with my teacup. “These Silicon Valley vampires have never tangled with Speakers before. They don’t know what it’s like to be hunted and cornered with wands. They’ve never taken significant losses. Well … they’ll learn. Even our worst-case scenario benefits you—we’ll cause chaos for the Next Blood, we’ll get in their way.”

Lamb is sitting again, next to Baz. He narrows his eyes at me. “How do you know that I consider the Next Blood an enemy?”

“Everyone knows that Las Vegas is at war with the Next Blood,” I say. “And you’re the king of Las Vegas.”



* * *



“The Vampire King?!” Penelope shouts at me, as soon as we’re in the elevator. “When were you going to tell us he was the fucking Vampire King?”

“I wasn’t sure!” I really wasn’t—not till I said it out loud, and Lamb smiled and bared his fangs at me.

“You needed to be sure? ‘I think he might be the Vampire King,’ you could have said to us. Or, ‘Hey, guys, did you know there’s a Vampire King? There is! And this could be him!’”

“I’d only heard him described once,” I say, “and it was from a drunken ditch imp.”

“What was the description?” she asks.

“Baby-faced and beautiful, and slick as oil on ice.”

Simon huffs. Penelope punches me hard. “That’s obviously him, Shepard! For snake’s sake!”

The elevator doors open.

“We get our things, and we go,” she says. “Shepard, you get the truck. We’ll meet you out front.”

Baz is frowning. “But Lamb might yet help us—”

Penelope looks ready to punch him next. “The jig is up, Baz! We can’t sleep under the Vampire King’s roof! Especially now that he knows what we are.”

“He doesn’t know what I am,” Simon gloats.

“A foolhardy oaf?” Baz says. “I think he got that, actually.”

“You wouldn’t call me that if I’d rescued you!”

“I didn’t need rescuing!” Baz hisses. “I was getting to him. He was listening.”

“More like you were listening,” Simon says. “While he told you a bunch of fairy tales about vampires saving princesses and slaying dragons.”

“For the last time, Simon Snow, only a depraved savage would slay a dragon!”

“I wasn’t trying to kill it!”

We turn a corner—our room is just up ahead. “Five minutes,” Penelope says, typing something into her phone. “Get your stuff and get out.”

Baz and I stop walking.

“Guys,” she says, getting ahead of us. “Come on.”

“Penelope,” I say quietly. She finally looks up and sees the two people standing at our door: a man and a woman, both wearing very expensive suits.





54





PENELOPE


The woman, grey and graceful—I’m getting very good at spotting vampires—opens the door to our hotel room. “After you.”

“We were just getting our things,” I say.

“After. You.”

They follow us into the room. I’d set them both on fire right now if I didn’t think this entire hotel would go up in flames. “There’s no need to see us out,” I say, with as much imperiousness as I can muster. “We’re actually in a bit of a hurry.”

“Have a seat,” she says, motioning towards the bed.

Shepard and Baz sit. I can feel Simon hovering beside me. “What is this?” I demand. “We weren’t planning to make trouble, but you can tell your king that we won’t be threatened!”

“I’m not a king, you know. It’s an elected position.” Lamb is leaning in the doorway. “There’s a council, term limits. A system of checks and balances…”

“Lamb—” Baz stands up. “You changed your mind.”

The vampire looks at Baz for a second, then steps into the room, walking towards him. “I just needed a few moments to myself to consider the possibilities. Your Bleeder has a point, I think: This is a rare opportunity.”

He says all this to Baz. Like the rest of us don’t rate eye contact. Baz, fool that he is, looks hopeful. “So you’ll help us?”