Bloody Acquisitions (Fred Book 3) (32 page)

“I could petition to block it, since he’d be founding in my town,” Richard volunteered. “That might slow them down enough to force the issue. I hate to do it, but if it’s for Fred’s own good, then it would be the right call.”

Krystal drummed her hands on the table, considering the proposal. “Too risky,” she said at last. “Even if you can block him, the Turvas might still find out he tried to form a clan. At that point, he’s in just as much shit, but without even the thin veneer of being part of a clan to protect him.”

“It is possible to render the discussion moot.” Neil had been uncharacteristically silent as he listened to the issue’s discussion, his eyes glancing over to Albert on occasion, and Amy more frequently. “Fred and I haven’t always gotten along well, but I don’t want to see him killed. So, what if I were to bind him like that night at the LARP? Grab him as soon as he comes back in, leave him catatonic, and then put him on a plane.”

“I don’t think Fred would care much for that,” Amy told him.

“Oh, no question about it, he’d likely despise whoever did it to him, which is why I volunteered,” Neil said. “We’re already on poor terms; it doesn’t really matter as much if Fred hates me. I can even pull it off alone, so that the rest of you have deniability.”

Though I said nothing, Neil’s plan did seem to have some merit to me. It kept Fred safe, minimized risk, and kept the backlash limited to one person. Those thoughts stayed with me as I cleared plates and readied the steak, however. It was not my place to intrude.

“I am not proud of how tempting that offer sounds.” Krystal pushed her empty fish plate away and reached down, pulling up a thin device that I’d learned was a tablet, which essentially seemed like a big version of those new phones, except that it didn’t make any calls. “The truth is, I do have something of an idea on how to help Fred. Not to stop his gambit, to make it actually work. But, and this is the part that I know makes me a shitty person, I can’t be a part of it. I have to ask something huge of you all, while I can’t do the same.” She pressed a button on the side and the tablet’s screen began to glow as my waiters made their way to the back.

“Charlotte, can you send one of the staff over here or just show up yourself?” Krystal called, looking around the ceiling like I was going to suddenly pop out. “This concerns you, too.”

My dress-clad form appeared near her, ready to serve my guests as always. “What can I do for you?”

“Pull up or create a chair, I guess.” Krystal tapped her screen gently. “I want to get your feedback on the plan, even if you don’t choose to join in.”

My form shuffled uncomfortably, a bit of my feelings accidentally leaking through. “Respectfully, I’m not one to usually give feedback. I make contracts with guests and fulfill them. I keep my residents safe and comfortable. That is the duty of a house.”

“Well, this time, I’m going to ask you to make a choice,” Krystal replied. “This won’t be a request, or a contract, or any of that. But depending on how things go, this might change a lot of stuff. For you, and for your current guests. You deserve the right to have some say in it.”

I said nothing, merely nodding slowly while, in the kitchen, my waiter selves materialized food. I should have been in there, shapelessly watching over them, not out here dealing with matters that I likely had no real right to involve myself in. A proper house was silent, stoic, and took no action in its residents’ lives.

But, as I was slowly discovering, I was not such a proper house as I might once have thought myself. And if it meant my halls were not forcibly emptied again, I could find a way to deal with that. So I sat and listened as Krystal outlined her idea, which seemed, by all accounts, just as—if not more—crazy than Fred’s. I didn’t say that at the time, of course.

After all, that would have been impolite. Besides which, I was far too busy falling in love with the half-mad idea.

6.

**Note: As this chapter starts after both my own meeting and the one I was, at the time, unaware of, I will resume the telling from this point. Suffice it to say that unless you have a deep and abiding fascination for the complexities of paperwork, there is little being skipped over that would be worth recounting. **

Lillian and I made it back to Charlotte Manor less than an hour before sunrise, having pushed our time with Asha to the utmost limit. The hours flew by as she and I worked to make something impossible into a reality, all while Lillian pitched in with her experience from being part of a clan. We made our way in through the door hurriedly, noting that the sky was already growing light, only to find the elderly version of Charlotte—the one I considered the greeter—waiting for us.

“Hello, Fred, Lillian. Can I prepare anything for you?”

“I wouldn’t say no to some steak and coffee,” Lillian replied, without a moment’s consideration. “After watching Fred and his lawyer go through paperwork all night, it’s going to take a little caffeine to keep me perky past sunrise.”

“I’m on it. And for you, Fred?”

“Some light fish, if you have it,” I told her. “And wine. I’d very much like a nice glass of red. Are Krystal and Arch around?”

Charlotte shook her head, her hair not swaying in the slightest as she did. “They were both called away shortly before you arrived. Neither offered their destination, and I find it best not to pry into the business of agents.”

“Can’t say I disagree with that policy.” Lillian let out a long yawn and stretched, putting her arms overhead like a pale cat reaching for the ceiling. It was a gesture I’d grown quite used to during the past several hours, as she’d had no qualms about demonstrating how bored she was while Asha and I poured through stacks of laws and documents. That said, her help had also been invaluable, as the only one among us with practical knowledge of vampire clans.

The old woman lifted an ancient phone, ostensibly to put a call into the kitchen, and I knew that the moment we sat down in the dining room, dinner would be served. I tried very hard not to think of it as a last meal while Lillian and I made our way down the hallway. It wasn’t, after all, even by the most pessimistic of standards. There was still one more meal to eat, regardless of how things played out afterward. It would be, without question, the most uncomfortable dinner party I’d ever hosted, but by necessity, there would be food. What came after that, however, was completely up in the air. I’d done my very best, and chosen to take a gamble that at least had the potential to see me through.

While Charlotte’s waiters brought out our drinks and dishes, I found myself wishing Krystal was there. There hadn’t been time to consult her while Asha and I tried to determine what was even possible, and then how to accomplish it, but now that things were settled, I’d have preferred to get her up to speed. True, most of the dice were already cast, though a few could perhaps still be altered with a fast enough call to Asha. Honestly, though—and I feel awful admitting this—part of me was also glad that Krystal had been called away. Despite it being my best odds for survival, I knew she wouldn’t entirely agree with the path I’d taken. When it mattered, she would support me, just as I would her, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t get a long chewing out when everything was on the table.

For the moment, at least, the only table I had to concern myself with was Charlotte’s, and that one was currently hosting our entrees, along with a cavalcade of sides neither of us had shown the presence of mind to request.

“You know, even with this place being haunted, the service is freaking incredible,” Lillian commented, as she dug heartily into her rare steak. The need for blood in her beef wasn’t vampiric in origin; Lillian simply appreciated a quality meat cooked only enough to add flavor, not steal it away.

“Charlotte Manor is the best kept secret in Winslow,” I said, knowing full well that Charlotte was listening. “My only complaint is that the prices are too low. For food and service this excellent, I really wish she would charge a fair amount.”

“Money is useful, but it’s not the goal of our establishment,” one of the waiters, usually silent as a church at midnight, said politely as he topped off my wine glass. “We see our rewards in other ways.”

Which was the same argument Charlotte had used before when I encouraged her to increase her prices. It was a long-running discussion we’d had many times since I took up the role of her business manager. One day, I hoped to break through to her, but she could be surprisingly stubborn on certain issues. Then again, houses weren’t exactly known for being easy to budge, so perhaps I was at fault for being surprised she had dug in so hard.

“Would you please let everyone know that there will be a dinner party tonight?” I told the waiter. At this point, keeping Lillian in the dark about Charlotte’s true nature was a matter of time rather than secret-keeping—the explanation just took too long. “We’ll invite guests to join us at eleven, so please have refreshments on hand for . . . ?” I stopped, looking across the table to Lillian, who began doing quick math on her fingers.

“For a meeting like this, Petre will come, and he’ll want to bring some muscle under the guise that they’re assistants and lawyers, but he won’t want to seem like he’s walking in ready for war, just in case. With Petre included, no more than four would be my guess. Add in you and me, that makes six. Then there’s Krystal—”

“No more than six,” I told the waiter. “Much as I would like to have her around, I’m almost certain that bringing an agent to a meeting like this comes with all manner of implications. Krystal is my girlfriend, but she is also her job. It’s not my place to drag her into this situation. Plus, having an agent at the meeting would be a bit like showing up at a negotiation and setting a loaded handgun on the table. It lends an air of inauthenticity to any advocacy of peace.”

“Not even going to invite your other friends?” Lillian asked.

I picked at my fish, moving my fork slowly from side to side. “More of the same. It pulls them into a problem that isn’t theirs. Like I said before, my friends aren’t assets, and I won’t treat them that way.”

“Then you better really hope this gambit goes well,” Lillian replied. “It’s a new one, I’ll give you that, but Petre doesn’t usually care for surprises. For what it’s worth, I’m pulling for you, even if I won’t be able to actually help if it all turns to shit. It probably won’t, though. Petre prefers to be more methodical than just murdering someone at dinner.”

“Thank you. It’s worth quite a bit, actually. I never would have made it this far without your help.” Lifting my glass, I exchanged a brief clink with Lillian’s coffee cup. It was strange, knowing that someone I was quickly growing to consider a friend would stand idly by if I was being torn to shreds, but I understood. My research into the world of clans had done nothing if not show me just how dangerous vampire society could be. I’d barely managed on my own for a few years, and that was only through the help of my amazing friends. To face that world completely alone, without any sort of aid or clan backing her, would be akin to a death sentence.

“So, just to be clear, you’re sure you want me to put in the call during the day?” Lillian asked. “If we wait until nighttime, Petre can still make it over easily. During the day, though, there’s the slim chance that he might hire some non-vampire goons to come try and solve the problem.”

“Despite the quaint looks, Charlotte Manor is extremely difficult to break into,” I assured her. “And it’s a small risk. I’m just asking for a meeting, after all. Petre seems like the business-minded type. I think he’ll want to show up and see what I’m offering before he decides to try and kill me.”

Since the time for Lillian to check-in was almost at hand, we’d decided that she should come clean about what she’d uncovered. Today, while the sun hung overhead, she was going to call in and report all about how she’d realized I was the vampire from the rumors, though the rumors had been exceedingly misleading. She’d also let Petre know that I was requesting a formal meeting with the House of Turva, though I ostensibly wouldn’t tell her the exact details of what it concerned. At that meeting, I would lay everything out for Petre. If it worked—which I was pinning all my hopes on the prayer that it would—the night would end peacefully and I’d be able to remain in Winslow.

If I failed, then I might get killed, and even assuming I survived, running would be the only recourse left. Albeit, not in the way that Krystal had initially proposed.

Lillian finished off her meal and coffee, and then rose from the table. “All right, I’m going to go try and yank all the paperwork discussion out of my head before making the call. If anything goes off-plan, I’ll knock on your door and let you know.”

“I’d greatly appreciate that.” As Lillian left the dining room, I polished off the remainder of my fish and picked up the wine. Though the sun would be rising soon, and I should get as much rest as possible for the coming night ahead, I found myself with no inclination to close my eyes just yet.

Charlotte emerged from the dining room in the form I considered to be her true one, even though it was no more real than the waiters she had scuttling about. Moving delicately, she took a seat at the head of the dining table and turned her attention to me. “Going to bed?”

“Not quite ready,” I told her. “I think I’ll try to wait for Krystal to get back.”

“She might be gone for some time,” Charlotte cautioned me.