Shadow's End (Elder Races #9)

She couldn’t stand and do nothing while she waited for Graydon to return. Focusing her attention on the games, she tried to imagine what Ferion might do.


Or at least what she thought Ferion might do. It was painful to admit that she was no longer quite sure.

She did know he favored games of both dice and cards. As she considered the various tables, she noticed the presence of several more armed Orcs standing at attention at regular intervals along the walls.

While she studied the Orcs, a well-dressed Vampyre male gave her a long assessing glance before he turned back to watching the tables.

He was so clearly not like any of the other males who were watching her, she opened her mind again to sense his intentions and got the impression of a cold, businesslike mind. The Vampyre wasn’t at Malfeasance to gamble. He was working.

Coming to a decision, she strode toward him. While he did not appear to notice her approach, he swiveled to face her as she grew near.

The Vampyre bowed. He was not a young one. He had some strength of presence and an aura of accomplished Power.

“My lady.” His smooth smile contained a hint of sharp tooth. “We are honored that you would grace us with your presence. Are you interested in joining a game? Perhaps a discreet one, in a private room.”

So much for trying to keep her identity a secret. Still, one person recognizing her was not the same level of disaster as it would be if the whole room had.

She told him telepathically, I am not here to play any of your games, but I would appreciate a few answers to some questions.

He cocked his head and switched to telepathy. Please, do tell me more. It would be my pleasure to service you in any way you desire.

His oily manner ran along the surface of her skin. Repressing a shudder, she snapped, Ferion Thalinil. He was here at some point in the recent past. Do you know where he is?

Ferion is your son, is he not? The Vampyre prowled close, eyes flickering with a predatory gleam. How heartwarming to see such familial concern. It speaks well of you, my lady.

Disliking his overly familiar attitude and how close he came, she held herself stiffly. She refused to let this creature see how he affected her. Have you seen him today? she persisted. Do you know where he might have gone?

The Vampyre inclined his head and assumed a mournful expression. My deepest regrets, but we at Malfeasance consider the privacy of our patrons to be one of our highest priorities. Whether or not the Elven heir mentioned where he might go upon taking his leave here is not for me to s—

The insincerity in his voice was as abrasive as his oily manner. Bel did not often feel the urge to violence, but as she considered him, she imagined taking his head in both hands and twisting it off his shoulders.

She interrupted. I’ll make it worth your while.

His dark gaze flickered, and the corners of his mouth indented as he repressed a satisfied smile. How might you do that?

Lifting the edge of the hood again with one hand, she met his gaze and said softly, I’ll let you live.

The Vampyre froze, and all hint of a smile vanished. Ma’am, he said, his attitude stripped of pretension. I’m not supposed to divulge that information. Please understand, this isn’t personal. My employer is—he’s not a man to be crossed.

After the traits he had exhibited, she had no pity for him.

It will be much worse for you to make an enemy of me, she said softly. I know your face. I will find out your name, and where you live. Whereas, if you tell me what I want to know, your employer need never know that the information came from you, or that I was even here. You have an opportunity right now to make an intelligent choice.

Breathing heavily, a sure telltale sign of stress in a Vampyre, he glanced sideways with just his eyes at the nearest Orc standing against the wall. Your son was invited to attend an exclusive game at my employer’s country estate. He left shortly after arriving here.

She felt another pang that Ferion would have chosen to leave without letting her know. What kind of grip did this need to gamble have on him?

Perhaps he had left a note at the house. Even as she thought it, she knew she was grasping at straws.

While the Vampyre did not mention his employer by name, she knew he meant Malfeasance’s owner, the pariah Djinn Malphas. A Djinn had no need of a physical residence, unless he chose to entertain creatures of other Races.

She asked, Where is this place?

I—I’ve never been to his country estate, personally. The Vampyre loosened his cravat with pale fingers. From listening to other patrons talk when they’d been issued an invitation, I do know that it’s a day’s ride out toward Wembley.

Wembley, she repeated, searching her memory of the geography of the outlying areas. That’s west.

Yes, my lady.

What else can you tell me of this estate’s location?