Page 76 of Filthy Rich Vampires: For Eternity

“I don’t trust Camila.” I looked over at him, half expecting shock. But Lysander only nodded grimly. He understood my predicament. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to trust my twin. I couldn’t trust her. Not after everything that had happened.

Not after she’d hidden from us for all those years.

“What are we going to do if we catch one?” he asked.

“I haven’t gotten that far.” My mouth curved into a wicked smile. “But we’ll think of something.”

I paused in front of the solid slab door, slid a glove off, and pressed my palm to the cold, rusting metal. The wards protecting the bar lifted, and the door creaked open instantly. That was the last deterrent to humans. Only magic got you inside.

Some things about Sangue e Denti were the same, but the interior had changed. The oak bar had been replaced by a polished marble monstrosity that matched the sleek, jet-black furniture that dotted the space. Several absinthe fountains glowed neon green against the bar’s dark backdrop, and overhead caged black lights cast a purplish hue over the room. The sharp aroma of whisky mixed with licorice in the air, and somewhere underneath it all, the lingering scent of blood from someone’s latest meal. Patrons leaned closely together over chrome tables, trying to keep their conversations private. They might as well try to stop breathing. A vampire bar didn’t offer much by way of discretion.

“When was the last time you were here?” Lysander muttered as we entered.

“It’s been a while.” Honestly, I couldn’t remember. I’d blocked my memories of Venice for decades. Now it didn’t seem important.

But when the bartender looked up, rag in hand, and froze as she spotted us, I realized I was wrong.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

Lysander’s eyes followed me to the female, and he whistled. “I didn’t think this was the kind of trouble you had in mind.”

“It wasn’t,” I said in a low voice. “I can’t believe she’s still here.”

“Maggie?”

“You remember her?” I asked.

“I met her once. I thought she was Le Vergine.”

“A long time ago. She snuck out one night, broke her vow, and came back and told the Queens. They kicked her out. I assumed she left town.” That had been hundreds of years ago. “Someone must have turned her. If she stuck around the city, she might be able to help us.”

“Will she?”

That was a good question. “It’s worth asking.”

But Lysander didn’t move. He was still watching her, assessing. “The Queens didn’t punish her for breaking her vow.”

“They kicked a kid onto the streets of Venice with nothing to her name. At the time, it was punishment enough. I went looking for her, wanted to help her, but I never found her.” No wonder she’d found someone to turn her. Venice hadn’t been safe for witches back then.

Maggie smiled at a patron, leaning onto the bar and fluttering her lashes over her almond-shaped eyes. The poor vamp didn’t stand a chance against that. I continued watching her as she straightened and went to pour a drink. She didn’t look our way again. She’d seen us, but she was doing a damn good job of ignoring me. It’s not like I was the most popular guy in Venice.

“Are we going to say hello or get the hell out of here?” Lysander asked, eying the other patrons. He shifted on his feet.

I shot him a strained look. “Why are you so nervous? I’m the one she probably hates.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about,” he said meaningfully and tipped his head.

I turned, realizing we’d attracted a fair bit of attention since our arrival. Faces scowled at us from the shadows.

“I supposed my reputation precedes me,” I muttered.

“It will be a long time before Venice forgets il flagello,” a cutting voice interjected. My memory pricked at the sound of her voice. Some things changed. Some things stayed the same. And she still sounded like the punk kid I’d known all those years ago. “Or perhaps they’ve heard the rumors that a king ascended the throne a few days ago. Maybe they want your autograph.”

I swiveled slowly toward her. “You know better than to believe gossip, kid.”

“I’m not a kid, and it’s not gossip. I had people there.” Her face was still twenty, but her eyes were older than I remembered. She looked tired like she had spent too much time hanging out in the dark bar and not enough time in the sun.

I didn’t ask her what she meant by people. Judging from this bar, which was full of the wrong kind of people, I already knew.

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