I would never have access, for one thing. Letting Bastion find the Filigreed Masque first meant that I’d never be able to turn it over to Vilmas. And that was a problem for me. I didn’t want the vampire court exhaling its blood-scented breath down my neck all the damn time. Vilmas was bad enough. That visit wasn’t going to be his last. What if someone else from the Scepter’s court showed up? What if the Scepter herself decided to make an appearance?
“We’ll be sure to let you know the moment we hear anything about the Masque,” I said, somehow keeping a perfectly straight face.
Bastion cocked an eyebrow at me, clearly knowing well enough not to trust my word, but smiling nonetheless. “I’m sure I’ll be hearing from you, then. So very kind of you, Sterling.”
I reached for the passenger door, wanting more than anything to get out of there, away from Bastion. We needed to regroup and strategize about our movements in Silveropolis, and fast.
“Now, if that’s all, we’ll just be heading back home,” I said. Gil and Asher took my cue, opening their doors as well.
“Just one more thing,” Bastion said. “All those dead bodies. Did you boys hear about the bundles of twigs nearby?”
I looked at the others. “We saw one, close to where the last body was discovered. Come to think of it, no one else has brought them up.” Not even Damien of the Blood of Garm, I realized.
Bastion tapped the side of his nose. “I don’t believe it’s common knowledge. They don’t really want that to go public. It’s a superstitious town, and with the blood moon coming up, hearing about the twigs might just amplify local fear.”
“How do you know about all this?”
He tilted his head, smiling. “We’ve got Eyes, Sterling, but we’ve got Mouths, too.”
I nearly shuddered. Mouths gave me the creeps. If the Eyes saw things, the Mouths said them, convincingly enough to change minds, erase memories, or to make others do their bidding. It didn’t matter how confidential something was. If a Mouth made physical contact with you, touched your skin, or whispered in your ear, it was over.
Asher lingered at the door, leaning against the car. “So these bundles. What did you learn about them?”
“Well, initially, we assumed that they were part of whatever had killed the murder victims, you know? Maybe some kind of hex to hypnotize them, keep them in place. But our people have been offering an alternative theory. What if separate parties were responsible? Someone is killing these people, yes. But someone else put up these bundles.”
I didn’t breathe a word. Bastion didn’t need to hear about how Asher had reanimated the last victim, how he’d screamed in terror at the sight of the twigs. Asher thought the same, keeping his expression perfectly neutral.
“But then what are the twigs for?” Asher said, his forehead creased with curiosity. “And who put them there in the first place?”
“Now that? That is the mystery.”
Bastion circled around the car, waiting for me to get in the passenger’s seat before gently closing the door on me. He grinned, and I glowered. I rolled the window down.
“What?” I grumbled.
“You boys be sure to keep me posted, mkay? The moment you hear anything juicy, you give me a call.”
“I don’t have your number.”
A slender piece of card levitated out of his jacket’s pocket, did a pirouette in the air, then slipped gently into mine. It was a neat trick, but I still felt violated.
“Give me a call,” he repeated.
“Right,” I said.
Here I was, collecting all the phone numbers in the world, and yet still striking out at the task of finding myself a willing thrall. I studied Bastion for a moment, considering, then deciding he was too much of an ass to bother with. His blood probably tasted sweet, like something made out of moscato grapes, rich with the flavor of, well, being rich. But was it really worth dealing with his smugness?
The engine rumbled to life. Gil nodded through the window. “We’ll see you around, Bastion.”
“Maybe I’ll come visit,” he said. “The Everett House, right? We’ll have a sleepover.”
“Please,” I said, groaning. “Don’t.”
Bastion grinned, handsome and infuriating, then snapped his fingers, just the once. A burst of white flashed fleetingly, like the gleam of a headlight passing over a pane of glass, and he was gone.
Great. The jerk knew how to teleport now, too.
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