Eidolon lit another oil lamp, but the ugly brown wallpaper seemed to absorb the soft glow. They’d just moved in, and the damned lighting didn’t work. Worse, the stench of the latern smoke made Shade gag.
“You’ve said the same thing about Roag,” Eidolon said. “I’m beginning to think you wish you were an only child.”
“Not true. I like my sister.”
One corner of Eidolon’s mouth quirked in a smile. “The real mystery is why Skulk likes you.”
“Glad you find this so amusing,” Shade said, as he hobbled across the room. “Because I sure as hell don’t.”
Eidolon swiped a bottle of twenty-five-year-old Scotch off an end table. “So, do you think we should head west? See if we can find him?”
Shade sank down on a chair, rubbing his thigh. They’d sensed this unknown brother all their lives, but over the last couple of weeks they’d felt him growing closer, slowly, which meant he wasn’t using the Harrowgates. Still, there was a sense of panic about the movement, and Shade got the feeling the guy was moving east for a reason.
He was coming to find his brothers.
“He’s in a lot of pain. We should see what the trouble is.”
Eidolon caressed the neck of the bottle like a lover. Growing up with privilege and wealth had given him a taste for only the finest liquor. Not that Shade couldn’t appreciate the expensive stuff, but cheap rotgut got you just as warm.
“Let’s find Roag,” Eidolon said, as he poured a drink. “He’ll want to go.”
“Let’s not and say we did,” Shade muttered, and E leveled an annoyed look at him. Shade rolled his eyes. “Come on. You’re not the one with fire shooting up his leg.” E could sense the existence of his brothers, same as Shade and Roag, but it seemed as if only Shade had gotten saddled with the ability to feel this mysterious brother’s physical pain.
“It won’t take long.”
Shade shoved to his feet. “Fine, but if Roag is at another opium den, you’re the one going in to get him.”
Roag wasn’t at an opium den. Eidolon could have dealt with that. Instead, he and Shade found Roag in an Irish demon pub. A demon pub full of horny females. Eidolon and Shade had made the mistake of entering, and they’d become stuck for two days, unable to leave until the last female was sexually satisfied.
Only the fact that their youngest brother was in so much pain that even Eidolon could now feel it forced them out of there. The needs of their sibling overrode the needs of the females, and they were finally free.
Exhausted and on the verge of collapse, but free.
They dragged their sorry asses to the nearest Harrowgate, where Eidolon studied the panels etched into the glossy black walls. He sensed the need to head west, but he couldn’t pinpoint more than that. It was Shade who fingered the crude map of the United States.
“Illinois?”
“Chicago.”
Roag yawned. “How the hell do you know?”
“Dunno.” Shade was looking a little green around the gills, and Eidolon knew it was more than exhaustion and a sexual hangover. He was feeling the effects of their brother’s pain ten times stronger than Eidolon was. A couple of times at the pub he’d even collapsed on the ground, writhing in agony. Roag didn’t seem to be affected at all.
The Harrowgate opened up into a run-down factory district. Low, gray clouds obscured the sky, and smoke billowing from tall stacks turned the autumn air heavy with gloom, as if the very city felt their sibling’s misery.
Eidolon definitely felt it. Now that they were close, his skin tightened to the point of pain, and a throbbing ache settled low in his gut.
Shade went taut, his head swiveling as he zeroed in on their brother. A heartbeat later, he shot down the street. “This way.”
They moved quickly through a bustling section of town, where street vendors hawked cheap food to the factory workers, and when they passed a prostitute hawking her particular brand of wares, Roag stopped.
“I’ll catch up,” he said, his Irish accent thick with lust.
Damn him. Eidolon knew arguing wouldn’t do any good, and Shade was already out of sight. With a juicy curse, he jogged ahead. The cavity in Eidolon’s chest where brotherly sensation centered grew warmer as they approached a more sparsely populated area. The heat exploded into an inferno when Shade darted through the side door of a building whose faded sign indicated it had been both a textile mill and a brewery.
Inside, the windows had been covered with tarps and wood, and eight vampires stood around a broken, naked body hanging from the ceiling. Various tools lay scattered like bones on the floor—hammers, blades, pliers. But what froze Eidolon’s blood in his veins was the blowtorch one of the male vamps was holding.
The stench of burning flesh permeated the air.
Rage nearly turned Eidolon inside out. “You sick bastards,” he snarled, and the vampires spun around.