et anyone up to fix it? And when I called him to complain, and to point out that it was his hotel that was going to burn down if there was a short, you think he’d take my call?”
“He isn’t taking anyone’s,” Rhea told her. “I tried yesterday, and again this morning. They say he’s out.”
“He’s not out—he’s hiding,” Tami insisted, the light of battle in her eye. “But he can’t hide forever.”
“We’ll try again tomorrow,” I said, because I really did not feel like trying to track down an elusive vampire right now.
Tami nodded. “You look done in. Have a nap, Cassie.”
“I’m not going to nap,” I told her. “I have to take a bath. I can’t possibly sleep like this.”
“Mmhm,” she said, and closed the bedroom door.
Chapter Twenty-three
Rhea didn’t go with her, and a second after the door shut, a silence spell clicked into place.
I had to learn how to do that.
“The Tears?” I asked, even knowing that would be too easy.
She shook her head.
I put mine back down onto the bed.
“I’m sorry, Lady.”
“It’s okay. If he didn’t send the money, I really didn’t think he’d send those.” I turned to the side and propped my head up on an elbow so I could see her better. “Does Jonas understand what the acolytes might want with them?”
“He was in a hurry when I spoke to him . . . and a temper,” she added, grimacing slightly. “But I did explain—”
“And what did he say?”
“Only that they would not obtain any from him. But he did not say how he knew that, or . . . much of anything else. I can try again tomorrow—”
I sighed. Because yeah, she could. And so could I. But that raised its own problem, didn’t it? “We can’t give him the idea that we’re too interested, or he’ll use them as leverage to get control of the court.”
“It isn’t the court he wants,” she said, quietly furious. “It’s you.”
“Then he’ll use them to get leverage on me. Not that it’ll do him any good.”
“Not do him any good?” Rhea looked confused.
“Jonas has been telling himself porky pies,” I told her, rolling off the bed.
“I . . . beg your pardon?”
“Lies,” I translated and went into the bathroom.
And then changed my mind, because a bath sounded awesome, but it also sounded like a lot of work right now. And like I might just fall asleep halfway through. But I had to at least wash my feet. I really couldn’t sleep like this.
I ran some hot water in the bottom of the tub, sat on the edge, and grabbed a sacrificial washcloth. God, Victorian London was filthy. My soles were black, I’d stubbed a toe on a higher-than-usual cobblestone, and I didn’t even want to know what was wedged in between the other ones. I loaded up on the soap and went to town.
“Lady?”
“Hm?”
“What kind of lies?”