“How is it okay?” he whispered while the baby suddenly broke out of his stupor and flailed around a little before managing to turn around and grab the door.
In time to see it indent with the impression of a vampire body, causing him to yelp and fall back.
Nope, not that way.
I scanned the rest of the room, more carefully this time, but I didn’t see Mircea. I did see the guy in chef’s whites, standing among a group of regular old run-of-the-mill vamps at the far end of the room. They were too far away to make out expressions, but they were clustered together, closer than vamps usually stood, in what looked like a bad case of rather-be-somewhere-else.
No shame, guys, I thought.
No shame at all.
But they weren’t leaving, maybe because they didn’t have anywhere to go, either. And Mircea was still coming, and I still needed to see him and nothing had changed. I swallowed and straightened my shoulders.
“Come on,” I told my two babies. And started walking before they could argue, in the direction of the nearest set of bleachers.
And found someone I hadn’t expected.
The whole section was vacant, maybe because it wasn’t as close to the action. Or maybe because of Rosier, who was sitting four rows up, looking fairly hideous, although in a new way. His size was almost back to normal, maybe a few inches too short, but at least he wouldn’t fit in a backpack anymore. But the pale, almost transparent coloring and pulsing purplish veins were still there, along with something else.
“Are those . . . What are those?” I asked, looking at two thin membranes growing out of the sides of his head and wafting around in the air currents.
He scowled at me. “What do they look like?”
I didn’t say anything. Because, taken with everything else, including the still-in-progress features and fishy lips, they looked like those things the Creature from the Black Lagoon had been growing. Almost exactly like.
“Fins?” I guessed, and was shot a purely evil look.
“Ears! Anytime now!”
“Okay.” I climbed up and sat down. After a moment, my two shadows did as well, crowding close on my opposite side. Like trying-to-hide-inside-my-skin close. Under other circumstances, I would have said something, but as it was I just sighed. And nodded at the cloud. “What’s going on?”
“You’ll
see,” Rosier said testily, obviously not in the mood for a chat. “Do you have it?”
I assumed he meant the potion. “Working on it.”
“Work—” He cut off, the pale complexion darkening. “Do you know what time it is?”
“I’m going to talk to Mircea as soon as he arrives.” The flush deepened. “I can’t just summon him, Rosier!”
Rosier didn’t say anything, probably because of our audience. But his scowl intensified. And then something hit my lap.
I looked down. “What is this?”
“Eat it! I packed a bag full of supplies, which I had to sit on to save them from that thieving woman, but do you eat anything?”
I regarded the offerings with a serious lack of appetite. And not just because it looked like he’d cleaned out the discount aisle at hell’s jiffy store. “Sit on?”
“They’re wrapped!”
I didn’t comment. I kept a couple items and handed the rest to my companions, because it’s almost impossible to eat and panic at the same time. It’s one of the reasons for food at funerals: it’s life-affirming.
And it seemed to help.
I ate crackers and watched the Joes and Janes being prodded into a long, ragged line in front of the bleachers. They were facing away from us, but the expressions I saw before they turned were not enthusiastic. “What’s wrong with them?” I asked Rosier, who was watching them, too. “They don’t look happy.”
“What difference does it make if they’re happy? Servants do as they’re told.”