I am the world’s WORST liar, I thought an hour later. I’d tried to stall by urging my family to go to their rooms to unpack, but Gretchen was having none of that, and with less dramatics, neither was my father.
Vlad wasn’t helping me come up with a cover story, either. No, he’d introduced himself as Vladislav Basarab without a moment’s pause, though the significance of that name went over my family’s heads. Shrapnel had offered them little explanation during his scoop-and-run procurement, so Vlad was leaving it up to me to tell my family a big whopping lie, or the truth.
I went with a big whopping lie, of course.
“You witnessed a mob murder and now you’re in the Romanian witness protection program?” My father cast a pointed look around at the magnificent, two-story library. “Seems a lot different than the American version.”
Wait until he saw the rest of the house. “Well, Romania is broken into communes and Vlad is um, like a mayor of several of them. Since I’m hiding from members of the European Mafia, the Romanian”—were they called something other than police here?—“authorities thought his house would be the safest place for me until, uh, they catch the bad guys,” I finished lamely.
Vlad glanced away, but not before I saw his mouth twitch. Okay, it sounded like the load of bull it was, but I’d thought he would come up with something to tell them! Or at least give me more than a two-minute warning to make up a story myself.
Maybe he would’ve warned you earlier if you hadn’t avoided him all day, an insidious little voice taunted.
Up yours, I snapped back at it.
Vlad coughed, something that didn’t seem unusual to my father or sister, but made me narrow my gaze. Vampires didn’t cough. Was he muffling a laugh?
“I’m sure Vlad can go into more detail if you have questions,” I added in a frosty tone.
The grin he flashed me made me sure about the muffled laugh. “No, you’re doing a splendid job.”
My father frowned, adding to the new lines in his face that I didn’t remember from the last time I’d seen him.
“How long are Gretchen and I expected to stay sequestered with you?” he asked with his usual directness.
The million-dollar question. I took a deep breath. “We’re not sure. Maybe a couple weeks. Maybe a few months.”
My sister rose to her full five feet four inches. “You can’t expect me to put my life on hold that long!” she screeched. “I have a job, friends, plans—”
“Lower your voice,” my father said tersely.
I’d never been able to get Gretchen to quiet down when she went on a verbal rampage, but decades of command hung in that single sentence. She stopped talking, yet the glare she shot me promised there was more where that came from.
My father turned his attention back to me. “What if we elect not to be sequestered with you? What then?”
“You’ll be captured, tortured, and eventually killed by the people after your daughter,” Vlad replied in a casual tone.
My mouth fell open at his bluntness. Gretchen let out a shocked gasp. Vlad looked at me and shrugged as if to say, You wanted me to take over.
My father gazed at Vlad with open calculation. I’d seen that hard stare cower countless people, but of course, it had no effect on Vlad. He stared back, that pleasant half smile never leaving his face.
“I still have top-level connections,” my father stated. “Leila can be protected back in her own country.”
Vlad’s brow arched. “With her abilities? You know better than to expose her to your government or military. She’d never see the outside of a covert research facility again.”
His derision when he said “research” was unmistakable. A muscle ticked in my father’s jaw.
“So you know what she can do?”
Vlad and I were on opposite ends of the same couch, him relaxed, me stiff, but at that, he caught my hand and kissed it.
“I’m very well acquainted with her abilities.”
Gretchen’s eyes bugged while my father’s expression darkened. Vlad couldn’t have been clearer in his meaning.
“Ah, I’ll take over from here,” I said.
“How can you stand touching her?” my sister blurted, staring at our clasped hands. “Doesn’t that hurt?”
I seized on the change of topic. “These gloves are specialized rubber. They block the current.”
Gretchen’s gaze traveled over Vlad, disbelief still stamped on her features. “Yeah, but how do you two do anything else, unless he has a special, current-repelling glove for his—”
“Gretchen!” my father cut her off.
My cheeks felt hot. Don’t say a word, I thought to Vlad, seeing his chest tremble with suppressed laughter.
“He has a natural immunity,” I gritted out.
They didn’t know about vampires, and that was the explanation I’d given for how I could work with Marty. Considering the unusual abilities other circus performers had, immunity to electricity wasn’t too much of a stretch.
Gretchen looked mollified, but my father’s stern gaze told me he wasn’t buying much of anything I’d said this past hour.
“I want to speak with whoever’s in charge of your sequestering, Leila.”
Vlad’s smile was languid and challenging. “You are.”
“Then I want to speak with someone else,” my father replied curtly.
“I’m sure we can arrange that,” I said at once. Vlad could get one of his people to play the part of Romanian WitSec, and if all else failed, mind control could be employed. I hated to do that, but my dad’s life was more important.
After a moment of loaded silence, Vlad rose. He hadn’t let go of my hand, so I got up with him, feeling the weight of my father’s stare even as I pasted a false smile on my face.
“We’ll talk more at dinner,” I said. “Until then, I’m sure you want to unwind, unpack, and, um, freshen up.”
“Shrapnel, please show our guests to their rooms,” Vlad stated, his pleasant tone in stark contrast to the tension swirling in the air.
The large, mocha-skinned vampire appeared in the doorway. Gretchen stood, shaking her head at me.
“This is so messed up, Leila.”
You don’t even know the half of it, I thought.