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

“How… How did you know? Did they tell you? How did you know to ask them about…” Lemuel’s voice trailed off, and his jaw dropped. “Hera and Cynara willingly told you? How is that possible?”

“Because they wanted to help us help them… help you, and every other innocent creature in this city,” I said. “We need to read those archives; we need to understand what the Imen know about the daemons, in particular. The Maras don’t know anything, and they’re getting killed off one by one by these monsters. We’re going to end this, once and for all, but we need all the information you can give us about them.”

“But… But it’s just old wives’ tales… folklore, legends, and myths… I don’t know how it could help.” The old Iman shook his head slowly.

“It doesn’t matter. We need to read everything you have,” I replied. “Please, you have to help us. We have a shot at bringing this to an end, but we need your help.”

Lemuel looked away, avoiding Heron’s persistent gaze. I had a feeling he was afraid of getting mind-bent.

“I… I can’t… If I reveal the archives, my people will be in trouble.” He sighed, his bony shoulders dropping.

“How? Why?” I asked, and Lemuel looked at us with confusion, his brow furrowed.

“I… I don’t know. I just know I have to keep it a secret. No one can know.”

“I can mind-bend it out of you right now if I want to,” Heron warned him. “But I won’t. I am asking you nicely. We are asking you nicely because we trust you. Trust us, too. We have no intention of telling anyone anything about your archives. We don’t work for the Maras, and we don’t work for you. All we want to do is stop the daemons from attacking your city.”

The old Iman gave it some thought, his worried gaze darting between Heron and me. He eventually gave us both a brief nod, and Heron moved back, releasing him.

“We simply need to know more about the written history of your people,” I added, “daemons and all. Please, help us.”

“I don’t keep them at the bookstore,” Lemuel conceded. “Come with me.”

He left the narrow space between houses, and we followed him back down the alley from which we’d come. Heron moved to his left side, and I kept to his right, keeping him between us, both to protect him and to quickly restrain him if he decided to run off.

“Where do you keep them, then?” I asked.

“I have a studio on the first level,” Lemuel replied. I frowned slightly, wondering why he’d gone to such efforts to conceal any clandestine scents in his bookstore, if the archive wasn’t even there. “I couldn’t risk a raid, so I purchased a floor in a small townhouse below, under my niece’s name. I keep everything there.”

“Then what are you hiding in the bookstore?” I muttered, making sure no passersby overheard us. Lemuel gave me a surprised look, and I raised my eyebrow at him. “Come on, you’ve doused the place in cleaning solutions repeatedly, and, judging by the mess in your house upstairs, you’re not exactly a germaphobe.”

“A germ-what?” He blinked several times in confusion.

“Answer the question, Lemuel,” Heron interjected, his voice firm as he scowled at the old Iman.

“I… I can’t tell you.”

“I can make you tell me,” Heron shot back.

“Okay, just don’t make me tell you here. Have some patience, and I will explain!” Lemuel was getting frustrated and grouchy. I stifled a grin and gave Heron a sideways glance. He, too, was slightly amused.

Lemuel was the typical grumpy old dude who didn’t like being questioned and whose survival instincts had probably kept him alive up until now. From what I remembered, based on the interviews we’d had with House Roho’s servants, few Imen lived past the age of forty or fifty. I had a feeling Lemuel knew a lot more than what he was telling us, but he was right. We were in the middle of an alley filled with people. It wasn’t the right time to discuss such details.

As night fell, the sky got darker and stars twinkled overhead, trailing the first moon. We escorted Lemuel down to the first level, deep in the bowels of the so-called slums of the city.

The streets got narrower, with fewer light sources. Heron and I ended up walking next to each other, Lemuel in front of us.

“It’s just two hundred feet away,” the old Iman said.

My arms brushed against Heron’s occasionally, sparking tingling sensations that rushed through my whole body, then gathered in the back of my throat.

We’d almost kissed, and I didn’t know what to do with that anymore. Was it just a moment’s impulse? Or was Heron orbiting toward me for some reason? Either way, the more I thought about it, the more anxious I got. The more I wanted a kiss to actually happen.

I’d felt his lips against mine back at Jovi and Anjani’s wedding.

And that’s something impossible to forget…





Fiona





(Daughter of Benedict & Yelena)





I lost track of time while sifting through Lemuel’s bookshelves, and came up empty. There wasn’t a single book in there discussing the asteroid belt from a more scientific perspective—just lots of useless lore. It seemed as though the Maras had actually brought some impressive development to the planet. The Imen seemed quite primitive and gullible, holding their legends and ritualistic beliefs in high regard, while the Maras opted for scientific and technological advancement. Swamp witch magic seemed like one of the few things both species agreed on as very much real.

I moved to another shelf, and looked at the titles. Mostly folklore about water spirits and deities that influenced the weather. The Imen had gathered an impressive culture throughout their millennia on this planet.

Hot air brushed against the back of my neck, and I instantly jolted to the side, pulling my sword out on instinct. I wasn’t alone in here. My heart thudded violently against my ribs as I briefly scanned my surroundings and noticed the air rippling in the reading corner.

“Don’t come any closer!” I called out, my voice firm and filled with the promise of death, while I looked for a water source to use against the daemon.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I revealed myself?”

That voice… It sounded awfully familiar. My spine tingled, and the air seemed to thicken around me as I watched a vase get lifted off a corner table. The daemon took the flowers out, tossing them onto the floor, and poured the water over his tall and broad frame, revealing himself.

I held my breath. I recognized Zane, standing in the freaking bookstore, just a few feet away from me. He was as tall as I remembered him, his muscles heavy and toned, and his chest and arms covered in tribal tattoos. What was he doing in the city?

What is he doing here? Oh no, is he here to take me away again? Not happening!

I kept my sword out, my grip tightening around the handle to the point where my hand trembled a little. There was no way in hell I was letting him drag me back to those wretched gorges again.

Zane cocked his head to one side, a flicker of amusement lighting up his fiery red eyes.