Page 52 of A Bloom in Winter

But of course, she was tense. Anybody would be when a couple of brothers showed up on their stoop.

“Just one.” He smiled to try to reassure her. “May we come in?”

“Yes, of course.” The female moved back with deference and indicated the way forward. “Anything I can do to help.”

The building she was in was on the outskirts of the downtown, and it was filled with vampires, the fifty-unit development a nonprofit that was owned and managed by the Brotherhood for the benefit of the species. All kinds of domestics lived in the converted hotel, the maids, chauffeurs, butlers, and bartenders servicing the newglymeraand all their new-built mansions, glitzy parties, and vacation homes.

And whereas most of their employers adhered to the old-school tradition ofaristocratstaking advantage of the help, here, the civilians anddoggenwere watched over and protected.

“May I get you some coffee?” She glanced at Qhuinn and did a double take at all the piercings in his ear and his black-and-purple hair. “Tea?”

Tohr shook his head and noted that something smelled delicious. Stew? He’d comment on it, but no doubt she’d feel obliged to offer them some, even if she didn’t have much.

“I think we’re good, but thank you,” he said.

“Okay.”

The living area was tidy, the pale blue sofas and creamy rug making him think they were on a cloud. Winsome pastel drawings of fields of flowers and cute cottages marked the walls, and the fact that there wasn’t a TV suggested maybe the female was a big reader, and if she did do a movie or a TV show, it was on an iPad.

Everything about her made him think she was an old-fashioned Merchant Ivory kind of girl.

“I’m afraid I’m not dressed properly,” she said as she swept her graying hair back and tucked it in at her nape. Like she was hoping her sweater’s collar would hold the makeshift bun.

“There’s no need to worry. We weren’t expected, and even if we were, this is your home.“

“I was going to call you, actually.”

As he sat down on one of the couches, he set his butt on the very edge of the cushion. In his black leather-and-dagger duds, he felt like an ink spot ruining a nice tablecloth. Meanwhile, Qhuinn stayed by the door, as if he recognized his presence was overwhelming to her.

The maid did not sit down. At least not until Tohr indicated the armchair across from him—and as she finally took a seat in her own place, he gave her a gentle smile. Yup, she was one of the traditional types who were in the New World, but still living the way things had been done in the Old Country, and he wondered if Broadius had ever appreciated the graciousness.

Thinking about all the gaudy in that house, he doubted it.

While she twisted her hands in her lap, he said, “How are you doing after last night?”

“My daughter is coming up from Philadelphia to stay for a week.” Petrie pointed toward her little kitchen. “That’s her favorite Last Meal on the stove. It’s just beef and potatoes and carrots, but young have their comfort foods—I’m sorry, I’m babbling. I’ve never had members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood in my home before.”

As she looked down at her hands, Tohr took out his phone. “You said you were going to call us?”

“Well, I thought of something.” She stared off into the middle distance between them. “But maybe it’s nothing.”

“Tell us. You never know?”

When she just sat there, worrying her lip, Qhuinn crossed over and sat at the other end of the sofa. Another ink spot. “That’s my son’s favorite meal, too.”

“I’m sorry?” she said, as she returned from wherever she’d been in her head.

“Beef stew.” Qhuinn flared his nostrils on an inhale. “It smells fantastic—and it makes me think of him.”

“Really?”

The brother nodded. “When he was little, he was a picky eater—and it lasted right up to his transition, actually. Sometimes stew was the only thing we could get him to eat.”

Her body relaxed a little and she crossed her ankles, tucking them into the kick pleat of the chair. “Well, I can give you what I’ve made. It would be an honor.”

“Oh, you keep that for your daughter.” Qhuinn smiled. “But I think I’ll have my mate’smahmenwhip some up. No one beatsgranmahmen’s cooking, even though my son’s a grown male.”

“How old is he?”

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