A Den of Tricks (A Shade of Vampire #54)(54)

“Like I said before, we could both do with some pampering after the past couple of days.” Vincent gave me a gentle smile as he drank his blood.

“Yes, well, life isn’t meant to be boring anyway,” I replied, my gaze drifting through the glass enclosure, while Vincent’s eyes were fixed on me. He seemed to want more from me, romantically speaking, but I couldn’t reciprocate. I liked him, but there was no spark, nothing to make me hold my breath whenever he came near me.

You mean, like when Zane pressed you up against the wall and breathed in your scent?

I shook my head and took a deep breath, rattled by my own treacherous conscience. What the hell am I thinking?

“My life hasn’t been the same since you came to this world,” Vincent said, his gaze softening as I looked at him. Warmth spread through my cheeks, and I felt slightly uncomfortable. I wasn’t good at letting people down in an easy, non-hurtful way. Not that diplomacy was a weak point of mine, but I’d always found the bare truth to be more… effective.

In this case, however, Vincent was already dealing with enough—a city under siege by soul-eating daemons, his sister running off to live with one such daemon, and two of his elders killed just the night before. Two uncles of his, Rowan’s cousins, had perished in the explosions. He had enough on his plate, and I could tell, from the occasional flickers of sadness in his eyes, he wasn’t going to feel any better if I flat-out turned him down.

“Thank you, Vincent.” I nodded slowly, then decided it was time to change the subject. “So, tell me, why doesn’t your library hold any literature or archives on Imen culture? I noticed that the other day, when I was doing research for our mission. There’s absolutely nothing from their lore in that massive place…”

“Nice deflection,” he laughed lightly, “but I’ll humor you nonetheless. We don’t keep any Imen culture because we… well, we sort of keep our civilizations separate.”

“How so? You’re sharing a city, after all.”

“True, but we founded this city. We designed every building. We built it and helped it thrive. The Imen simply chose to live here with us, rather than with their own beyond the gorges. There were rules in place, and preserving our Mara heritage was a prerequisite. I hear they keep some of their own books and stories in little shops, somewhere on the lower levels, but I never bothered to read any of their folklore tales. The library is ours. I’d be more than happy to suggest a couple of decent Imen bookshops you could check out, if you’d like?”

“Sounds reasonable,” I murmured, though not really impressed with this… elitist separation. It was as if the Imen weren’t “good enough” to be included in the library, but they were “good enough” to work the reception desk.

“To be honest, most of the Imen who stayed with us didn’t know how to read or write.” Vincent shrugged. “The ones who did kept mostly to themselves and passed the skill down from one generation to another, but they never bothered to… say, open a school and educate the others. In fact, I think you care more about the Imen’s culture than the Imen themselves.”

Looking at it from that perspective, I couldn’t help but agree with Vincent’s point. This city was becoming more complex with each day that went by. Its varied nuances seemed downright contradictory at times, but the overall image was pretty clear: on one hand, we had the stylish, elitist, and art-loving Maras who considered themselves noble and superior, and, on the other hand, we had the Imen—the “simpletons”, the servants and helpers, the second-class citizens. And somehow, they lived together in apparent harmony, threatened only by daemons.

But then came the whole mind-bending issue, like a big black stain that destroyed the picture, turning the Maras into secretive creatures I couldn’t trust at all. Not even Vincent…

We couldn’t exactly point fingers at them, either. The situation was already difficult and complicated enough. Sparking a diplomacy war over their treatment of Imen wasn’t in our best interest—yet. Once we managed to reach out to Calliope, however, we were going to address the issue. Until then, all I could do was be quiet and observe everything related to the mind-bending of Imen.

“But enough about them.” Vincent sighed, then stood and offered me his hand. “Shall we dance?”

He winked at the musician, who switched to a deep but beautiful ballad. Its melody was soft and relatively linear, but the higher notes made my lips stretch into a smile, and I joined him on the white marble dancefloor for a dance.

Vincent held me close, one hand resting on my hip, as we swayed to the music. He studied me intently, with a mixture of curiosity and adoration, his citrus scent tickling my senses. I placed my left hand on his shoulder, my fingertips enjoying the velvety feel of his dark green jacket. He was, by all means, an elegant Mara with a keen sense of fashion. I realized then that I could never fall in love with someone like him. My peculiar strength made me yearn for someone who could handle it—and me, a warrior of sorts…

I glanced around the glass enclosure again, my eyes wandering aimlessly as the song carried us through its steady rhythm. My eyes nearly popped out at the sight of Zane standing outside, watching us. My grip on Vincent’s shoulder instinctively tightened as I stared at the daemon—the look on his face was a mixture of irritation and amusement. Had he never seen people dancing before? Or did he have an issue with my dancing with Vincent, in particular?