Which was a polite way to say that Moreau wasn’t sharing any of them at the moment, because that reason was my partner.
“And we now know the owners’ names of the safe deposit boxes burglarized two nights ago,” Moreau continued. “There were five boxes and three owners: Anton Tepes, Charles Ruthven—and interestingly enough, Ambrus Báthory, the uncle of Bela Báthory who was abducted from his yacht on Friday night. Neither Tepes, Ruthven, nor Báthory are cooperating with us or the mortal authorities as to the contents of their boxes. However, my efforts are ongoing.”
10
AFTER the meeting, Ian was deep in thought. That was hardly surprising.
Once we were out in the hallway, Yasha pulled us aside.
“I have a friend who can help,” he said. “He is a bodyguard for vampire families. He has worked for Báthorys in the past. They talk; he is there to hear. If he has information, he will help.”
Ian snapped out of his reverie, and clapped the big Russian on the shoulder. “Then lead on, buddy.”
We went to see Yasha’s friend—a Czechoslovakian vampire named Vlad. No, I’m not kidding.
We met Vladimir Cervenka at a bar down by the Lower East Side docks. It was mid-morning on a sunny day, and the vampire was sitting in a corner booth with a steaming mug of something on the table in front of him. The booth was made to fit two people, but it barely fit one Vlad. Yasha had warned us not to make jokes about his name. After getting a look at this guy, I wouldn’t have dared. Not to mention, he had to be closing in on a thousand years old if he could be out and about after dawn.
He stood when we approached. Whoa, Vlad was a seriously big boy. He engulfed Yasha in a hug that looked more like a polar bear attack.
He had shoulder-length white blond hair, ice blue eyes, rugged and actually ruddy features. Either he’d just fed, was feeding (or at least snacking, judging from the mug), or he’d spent a lot of time outside before he’d been turned—or all of the above.
Yasha introduced us and there were handshakes all around. Considering that my hand was completely wrapped in Vlad’s massive paw, I was almost surprised to get it back.
Normally werewolves kept to themselves, and vampires did likewise, but Yasha wasn’t like most werewolves. He chose his friends because he liked and trusted them, not because they went all fanged and furry every full moon. I hadn’t met that many vampires in my time, but I sure as heck hadn’t met one that looked more like a mountain man.
Who was smoking a cigar impaled on his left fang.
That was an eyebrow raiser.
Vlad noticed and laughed, a laugh that was just as big as he was.
“I enjoyed many things when I was alive,” he said. “Good food and drink, and the pleasure of fine tobacco. Now I can only drink blood, and I no longer breathe.” He grinned in a flash of strong white teeth and two seriously imposing—and scary—fangs. “I can make myself inhale.” He proceeded to give us a demonstration, dragging the smoke into his lungs, the cigar’s tip glowing bright, and as he exhaled through his nostrils, I was reminded of a fire-breathing dragon of my acquaintance.
“When you are dead, you take your enjoyment where you can find it. Though there is an advantage to death, I can smoke as much as I like.” The Czech vampire took the cigar between his fingers and carefully ground the flame out against the brick wall beside him. “However, I am considerate of those less dead than myself.”
I smiled. Yasha had good taste in friends. I liked him, too. “Thank you.”
Vlad inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Yasha tells me you need information about some of my clients.”
“We do,” Ian said. “Though some of our questions may be what your clients consider to be confidential information.”
Vlad grinned crookedly. “I am paid for my muscle. I am, how do you say, a deterrent.”
“If you were guarding something,” I said, “I’d sure be deterred from trying to take it.”
Vlad cheerfully spread his hands. “Then my job would be done.” His expression became serious, or as serious as this man probably got. “If a client tells me, ‘Forget you are seeing this,’ I forget it—unless it is needed. The laws of mortals do not matter to me, but I have lines that I will not cross for any amount. I will not violate my personal honor. I am the last of my family, so I owe no loyalty to those who hire me. I will keep the secrets of their House—unless it would bring harm to others. From what Yasha has told me, the problem you are having would qualify.”
“We believe so, yes,” Ian said. “You’ve heard about the robberies?”
“I have.”
“And of course, Bela Báthory’s abduction.”
Vlad gave us a single, dry chuckle. “That one will not be missed, even by his own family.” Another chuckle. “Especially by his own family.”
“Do you think they might have had something to do with it?” I asked.
“Giant octopus and fish men?” Vlad shook his shaggy head. “Too complicated, for any of the Houses. While many would enjoy seeing Bela Báthory permanently dead—and watching him suffer while getting that way—that is far too much trouble to go to. Vampires are more direct.”
“The heads of the Houses aren’t talking,” Ian told him. “Those inner circles are some of the few places where SPI doesn’t have contacts.”
“And I have been on the inside many times.” He paused. “And have heard many things.”