rustling of turning pages echoed in the background.
âThatâs them. Vampires and shifters, respectively. Elk Valley, Colorado.â
âIâm scanning the index.â
âOf what? The
Big Book of Inter-Sup Feuds
?â
âNo. We donât have that one. The update subscriptionâs too expensive. We do carry the
Directory of Notable North American Feuds
.â
As he sounded utterly seriousâand rarely was anything otherwiseâI kept the follow-up question to myself. Namely: How was there a cottage industry in supernatural feud directories?
âAll right, Iâve got it. Fiona McKenzie and Christophe Marchand. She disappeared, and he . . . Oh. Damn,â he said, probably reading about Christopheâs rather depressing end.
âYeah,â I said. âBernard Marchand, we think, was the next one killed. He was one of the Clanâs founders.â
âCorrect. And there were others. Many others. Some arrests, some disappearances, some thefts.â
I thought about the missing object Vincent had mentioned. âDoes it mention the brooch?â
A pause, then, âOnly that the vampires believed Fiona took it. But no sign of it, or her, was ever found.â
âSo where the hell had they gone?â I wondered aloud. Had someone killed her and stolen it? Or had Fiona simply taken the brooch and started over somewhere else?
âI donât have the foggiest. But weâre an hour ahead of you, and dawn is on its way. You want me to send you the rest of the file?â
âYeah, thatâd be great.â Opting to be proactive, I added, âAnd if youâve got some kind of general report on the Marchand Clan, could you send that along, too? Ethanâs curious.â
âEasily done,â he said.
Thank goodness something was.
***
While I waited for Ethan to return, I carefully cleaned my katana blade with oil and rice paper, just as Iâd been taught. Iâd just resheathed it when Ethan walked into the bedroom. He closed the bedroom door behind him, locked it. Just in case.
âGabriel?â I asked.
âOn his way,â he said, kicking off his shoes and pulling his shirt over his head.
âWhat did he have to say?â
âMostly grunting.â Ethan unbuttoned his trousers and placed them across the bench at the end of the bed. âHe was unhappy with the interruption, less so the reason for it. They should be here by dusk tomorrow. And in the meantime, our temporary human guard is outside.â
âIn weird Clan clothes?â
âActually, yes,â Ethan said with a nod. âShe may not yet be a member, but sheâs adopted the dress.â
As automatic shades began to descend over the windows, a sign that dawn was on its way, Ethan walked to the painting and let his eyes roam over it.
âItâs a beautiful work,â he said.
âItâs a beautiful valley. Not entirely peaceful, and I havenât seen any elk, but quite a spectacle.â
My phone signaled a new message. I glanced down, found a snippet about the Marchand Clan from the Librarian. Since heâd evidently worked to stay awake past dawn to get us the informationâa possible but not entirely pleasant undertaking for a vampireâI gave him props for his dedication.
âDossier on the Clan from the House,â I told Ethan. âHeâs going to send me details on the feud tomorrow.â
I scanned the screen as Ethan nodded and sat down beside me.
âThe Clan is currently unregistered,â I read. âI assume thatâs a reference to the North American Vampire Registry. Estimated date of establishment is 1875, which matches what Vincent told us. Fifteen current members, down from a previous max of nineteen.â
âNot a kingdom, then,â Ethan said, turning to put his back against the headboard, stretch legs atop the duvet.
âNot a kingdom,â I agreed. âVincent
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley