The Strega began to curse in Italian. The vampire paled, which was interesting since I’d always thought vampires pale to begin with. Just another myth. In truth, vamps looked just like you and me as long as they kept their fangs in their mouths.
The boss beckoned the visibly trembling minion. When the man reached his side, the Strega looped an arm around his shoulders, which was quite an upward stretch considering the vamp’s size.
“You knew she was my favorite.” The Strega sighed. “Blood as rich as wine. What a waste.”
With his free hand, he pushed a button on the wall. The heavy, dark curtains covering the bank of windows parted and sunlight streamed in.
“No, master,” the vamp whispered. I guess he could talk.
Before the words had left his lips, the Strega shoved him into the light.
Bam, instant fire hazard.
The harem jumped up from the cushions, clapping and cooing in appreciation of the flames. I was starting to wonder if being drained of blood was draining them of their brains too.
Heat washed over me in a wave. The flaming outline of the man suddenly disintegrated into ashes, then fell to the floor with an audible whoosh.
“Take it away.” The strega waved a hand at the pile and one of the women snatched a nearby DustBuster— the proximity making me think the sunshine sentence was a common method of punishing mistakes—and in seconds any trace of the evidence was gone.
“That too.” The Strega indicated the fallen snack. So much for favorites.
The remaining guard lifted her limp body and carried it into the elevator.
The Strega circled me like the predator he was. “I don’t understand the attraction.”
Reaching out, he swept a finger down my neck, and I tensed. No one had mentioned my sudden ability to lift heavy furniture as if it were a lamp, which made me think that security cameras must be off limits in the private suites of the damned.
“You have nice skin, interesting eyes, but other than that…” He shrugged.
The way the Strega eyed my jugular, I had a bad feeling I’d been called here for a sample. Instead, he turned and headed for a door on the other side of the windows. “Come along. I want to show you something.”
I doubted I wanted to see anything he had to show me so I stayed right where I was.
My only warning was a giggle before one of the women shoved me in the back. She wasn’t that strong— constant and extreme blood loss does that to a person— but she surprised me enough that I took an involuntary step forward before spinning around, hands clenched into fists. There was only so much I could take, and I’d just reached the limit.
“Seer,” the Strega snapped. “Do I need to come and get you? You won’t like it; I promise.”
“Maybe she will like it, master,” said the half-wit who’d pushed me. “Make her bleed. Let us watch.”
“Yessss,” agreed the others.
Sheesh. Stepford Harem. How redundant.
I shot out the heel of my hand, putting a lot of body into it, and caught the big-mouth idiot in the chest. She landed on her ass in a pile of pillows and Strega snacks.
A lot of shrieking and crying ensued. Bui no one came after me. I think I’d made my point.
The Strega considered me as I crossed the sun-drenched tile floor. Had I hit her too hard? Did he suspect that I’d left the realm of seer strength and had crept into that of dhampir?
“Perhaps we shouldn’t kill you after all,” he murmured. “You’d be such an asset to my team.”
“We’ve been here and done this. I’m not going to pull an Italy. When I pick a side, I stay there.”
His face darkened. Ruthie had always called my compulsion to needle people who shouldn’t be needled “poking the bear.” I couldn’t help myself. Whenever I was in a situation where I felt inadequate or threatened, I tried to gain confidence and courage by twisting the knife where it hurt the most.
Damn, I wished 1 had my knife; I’d make that analogy literal.
I thought the Strega might knock me across the room, and I could guarantee I wouldn’t get up as quickly as the dumbass I’d smacked down. I’d be lucky if I got up at all.
“Why does everyone bring up the Second World War?” he whined. “It wasn’t as if Italy had any choice but to join the Nazis. We were surrounded.”
My eyebrows lifted. “You were there?”
“Where else would I have been?”
Italy during World War II hadn’t been a picnic. I’d think that someone like him would have ditched the place. Then again, amid chaos, any chaos he chose to cause would have gone unnoticed. Back then, the Strega had been biding his time, waiting for…
What? The perfect moment to take over the world? What if he’d decided the Nazis were the best bet for that and put his power behind them? 1 guess we’d all be speaking German.
The Strega went through the door and I followed. “What do you think?” he asked.
We’d entered a war room. There was no other word for it. A huge map of the world covered one wall. In each country—north, south, east, west—pins had been stuck. The map was a rainbow of dots in red, green, blue, and yellow.