Though it was true that, since parting ways over a century ago, not every master had become a dangerous one—some only had the ambition to peacefully join with existing Undergrounds out of pure loneliness—Dr. Eternity had been attacked and beaten before. And, long ago, Sorin and his Master had determined that this would never happen again. Never.
As Sorin’s silence forced Milton Crockett to keep staring at the ground in his shame, Sorin thought of how the loss of the first Underground had negatively affected the Master. Fear of a second attack had plunged their leader into a recurring numbness. This depression had sapped his will, urging him to ignore the hint of another master in the area before the situation had grown more serious with Robby. Perhaps he had only been attempting to avoid repeating one of the most devastating moments of his vampire life by refusing to acknowledge the threat of another losing battle.
But now, after Robby’s security breach, the Master was no longer ambivalent, thank the day.
The Underground was preparing to defend, not provoke, because if they should launch an effective attack against the PIs only to be mistaken, this would force an end to the Underground. Utilizing their full powers Above—going beyond simple shielding to avoid detection—would announce their whispered presence to those who knew how to read such signals. It would mean surrendering their safe haven, exposing them to perhaps a real master who could, in turn, attack.
Fear was no way to live.
Sorin felt his maker shift closer to the Servant, and he knew his father was restless.
“Mr. Crockett,” Sorin said, calling the human’s attention.
The lawyer, a man who loved the Underground as much as any full-vampire citizen, lifted his chin and spread out his hands. “Please, Master, I can take care of this situation without any attention focusing on our society. That’s what I do Above. That’s what I have been doing for the Pennybaker case, as well as Lee’s.”
Sorin nodded. Since Lee Tomlinson had used vampire methods to murder Klara Monaghan for what he thought was the good of the Underground, he had marked their society for human attention. The lawyers Above knew there was no way around this, so they had improvised, taking great advantage of a subculture some humans embraced—a vampiric Goth lifestyle. They had convinced the public that Lee Tomlinson was one of those shadow numbers, diverting suspicion from the reality. Their philosophy was simple: cast a blinding, never-ending light on the lies rather than the truth, and the humans would never be able to look away from the one show to pay mind to the other.
Sleight of hand, that was the key.
The Master floated closer. Tomlinson… whispered his Awareness. His cloud darkened, seething at the name, echoing the hiss of the waterfall. Traitor.
It was a fitting description for Lee the Servant. He, too, had forfeited information to Limpet and Associates, just as Robby and Milton Crockett had.
Security at any cost, Sorin thought to his father.
The Master’s cloud swirled, as if regretful of what must be done. Your instincts are right, even though it took me longer to admit it. We weren’t vigilant enough the first time. But we will be now.
Vashti returned with the other Servant and left with a petulant glance at Sorin, who ignored her in favor of the new arrival.
This human, wearing a burgundy silk robe, was short in stature and fairly well padded around the middle, with bushy eyebrows, slick brown hair, and what humans on the television called a “five o’clock shadow.” His presence increased Mr. Crockett’s anxiety; he no doubt recognized the lawyer from a competing firm Above.
Enrico Harris bowed, fingertips to forehead. Sorin motioned for him to sit quietly.
“I’m begging you, Master,” Mr. Crockett said, “I can take care of this. Secrecy for the Underground is everything.”
“Yes, it is. Tell me, did you anticipate that the genetic material of Lee Tomlinson would lead to his arrest?”
The Master’s mist rolled, as if he were positioning himself to hear clearly. The television program CSI: Las Vegas was one of his favorites, and Sorin was certain his love of it was piqued, along with the more important issues. He had utilized newscasts, shows, and movies in order to learn how to function in this modern world, and he had required it of Sorin, as well. He longed to be a part of the Hollywood he fed from, educating himself to be their equal. Sadly, the Master’s adoration of these humans was a double-edged blade, infusing him with the knowledge that the narcissistic Elite could never return Dr. Eternity’s overwhelming affections with the same passion.
“There was nothing I could do about the DNA.” Mr. Crockett glanced at Mr. Harris as if searching for affirmation. “But I can keep that evidence out of the trial.”