Page 32 of Time's Fool

Chapter Nine

The rain that had been falling on and off all day started up again, hitting the windows with enough force to rattle them. This was an upscale tavern, normally catering to the wealthy merchants who lived on the bridge and the customers who patronized them. It was the kind of place that held guild banquets and hosted drinking societies on the upper floors, and had genuine glass in its windows.

The latter allowed me to look out onto the windswept street, dimly visible through our reflections, and wonder if the witch was out there. All I saw at the moment was a man with one of the huge ruffs that had come into fashion recently, the kind that used six yards of material and was so heavy that it had to be supported by a wooden frame. Unfortunately for him, the stiff breeze off the water didn’t know the difference between his ostentatious pleating and a sail, and sent him scooting down the street faster than dignity allowed.

Otherwise, the street was empty, with night deepening and the disaster that had befallen the shops ensuring that there was little reason for anyone to remain, especially with the rain.

“The Circle’s work,” Hilde said, following my eyes. “The storm has the flavor of magic in it. They’re trying to provide a reason why everything is wet.”

I didn’t comment. I was sick of magic, sick of spells, sick of fighting things I didn’t understand. Give me a good, straight up, knock down and drag out, with strength against strength, speed against speed, and cunning against cunning. This sort of thing . . . I didn’t know whose fight this was, but it wasn’t mine.

So far, in less than a day, I had been attacked by a master vampire, thrown around by a vindictive witch, almost killed a dozen times by her followers, had her threaten to slice my throat and then almost succeed in hanging me. And that didn’t count almost drowning a couple of times!

There were entirely too many “almosts” in that short recitation, any one of which could have gone the other way. I should have known there was a reason why the vampire was paying so well! I suddenly, vividly, recalled the adage about something that looks too good to be true.

I needed to get out of here.

And yet, I stayed where I was, shoving down bread rolls and duck. I even invented a new thing—putting the duck inside the roll to keep my fingers clean. When what I should have been doing was requesting that memory charm and enough for passage back to Italy.

So, why wasn’t I?

Partly revenge; I didn’t like to lose, and that witch needed to be taken down. She’d kicked my arse twice, something that did not happen to me. I took my lumps, but I won in the end.

This wasn’t over.

But that wasn’t the main reason I had for remaining and dripping onto my seat.

I ate duck and hot English mustard and bread while Mircea recounted our day’s activities. I watched him, as if paying attention to events I already knew, but in reality, I was assessing those good looks for a second time. And glancing from them to my own dim reflection in the glass beside him.

Because I wasn’t just employed for brute force. That was part of it, sometimes even most of it, but there were plenty of bruisers out there who worked cheaper and weren’t going to roll their eyes up into their heads and go berserk on you, as dhampirs were known to do. Dealing with us was dangerous, some said more so than the creatures we hunted, and while I was fine at the moment, that wouldn’t last.

It never did.

So, why did people take the risk and pay my often-exorbitant fees besides? Because they needed a brain that matched the brawn, something far harder to come by. Not everything I hunted was a mindless monster, and if I wanted to live, I not only had to be fast, I had to be smart.

Not that much of a brain was needed in this case. I’d been getting knocked over the head with the obvious for a while now. Yet, I still didn’t believe it.

Dhampirs, a cross between a vampire and a human, were a scarce breed for a reason. Namely that half of that equation was dead. Vampires could not engenderer children except in rare cases when their affliction was caused by a spell instead of a bite, and they went on their merry way for several days until the change took full effect.

If they sired a child during those days, there was a chance it might turn out to have baby fangs and a very bad temper. Not that it usually lasted long enough to matter. If suspicious villagers didn’t kill it, the madness usually did, and often before it had a chance to grown up.

Unless it had a protector, I thought, letting my eyes roam over the strong, yet beautiful features of the man beside me. And he was beautiful, in a way that men were not supposed to be. The lashes were too long, the eyes too liquid, the mouth too sensual.

He would have made a stunning woman, except for the hard, masculine jaw, the hawk-like eyes, and the muscular neck.

Not surprisingly, he had been receiving glances from the women in the tavern since we came in, although none had dared to approach. There was something otherworldly about him tonight, probably because I’d been wrong yesterday. He hadn’t been wearing a glamourie, except perhaps to tint his skin a more believable hue.

It was alabaster now, with the only color the pale gilding provided by the flickering firelight, which also heightened the shadows under his cheekbones and darkened his eyes to midnight. He was as stripped bare as I would probably ever see him, as anyone ever had. With beads of water still clinging to his hair, slicking it down and laying the features below bare to my gaze.

Features that looked very much like mine.

“Now, to address the problem,” the older witch said loudly, apparently to draw my attention back to the situation at hand. “You have given us much to think about, my lord. We must do the same if we are to find a path forward.”

“Hilde,” Rhea said, looking unhappy. Of course, I’d never seen her look any other way, but she was especially so suddenly. As if it was perfectly fine for us to lay our cards on the table, but not for them to do likewise.

Fortunately, Hilde didn’t seem to agree.

“They have to know what they’re dealing with,” she admonished. “Not doing so could get them killed—”

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