Page 9 of By the Pint

Dima let his eyes rake down the front of my body, down to my Oxfords, and back up, stopping at my throat for a full two seconds before he dragged them to meet mine again. His smile never faltered, though his brows rose into his hairline.

In that moment, everything around us vanished. There was only him and me. And my deep human breaths. The air between us became so charged, I could taste it. Sharp and fresh and minty and ferrous. Like iron. Like blood. I had the absurd urge to reach across and push his hair over his ear. But I alsohad the feeling that if I did, I might be electrocuted. Or bitten. Or kissed. Or maybe a combination of all three.

Oh, gods, did I want all three?

“Dima!” chimed two new vampires waltzing into the booth, yanking us both — because he’d definitely been in that moment with me — out of the hold. Their human familiar trailed behind them like a sad old dog out on walkies.

“Anastasia the Incomparable. Jago the Hauntingly Attractive. Louisa the … familiar. So good to see you guys,” Dima said, turning his attention to the newcomers, but not before shooting me a wink.

No. I refused to believe my powers were malfunctioning. There had to be something else going on. I would figure it out. And then I would get a read on him, and finally fulfil my five-year plan.

I left his booth, the book clutched to my chest. He’d wait for me. At the bloodbath. I knew that he’d wait for me.

Dima Black had been everything I’d expected, and at the same time, absolutely nothing like I’d imagined. I blew out a breath and ran my hand down my face, realising I was also grinning like a clown.

Pots crashed to the ground. Laughter and drunken yells filled the space. An enormous splash … splashed. And I definitely heard some kind of cattle lowing.

“What did I tell you about having a party? I’m not cleaning up your shit again,” I told my master through the scrying mirror.

Yep, I got it. The irony of a vampire using a scrying mirror to communicate long distance. But the div couldn’t — wouldn’t bother trying to — figure out mobile phones. Not thathe’d be able to use a touchscreen anyway, but he could get a phone with those old2ABC, 3DEF, 4GHIetc buttons. He could even get a qwerty one. For a man so addicted to his laptop, he was incongruously technophobic.

I propped my mirror up at such an angle Killian couldn’t see me either, as I got showered, dressed and ready for the bloodbath. Two could play this fucking game.

“No, no, not a party,” said my master’s disembodied voice. “Just having a few friends over.”

A haughty neigh resonated through the mirror.

“Is Claus there?! Tell that centaur if he shits in the utility room again, he’s fucking glue.”

Killian cleared his throat. “Claus, if you sh—”

“I heard, I heard,” said Claus.

“What do you want?” Killian said, resigned. No, not resigned, drunk. “We’re kinda in the middle of something here.”

A boyish voice I didn’t recognise floated through the mirror. “Kills, it’s your go next.”

“Give me two minutes, Tyler,” Killian called back.

I stood in front of the floor-length hotel mirror and straightened my jacket. I’d donned a near identical suit to the one I was wearing earlier. Except this one was tailor-made, cost three times as much, and the fit across my shoulders and arms was so precise, it was almost biblical. I looked good. Irresistible even.

“I can’t get the information you asked for,” I said, treading carefully with my words on account of Killian’s present company.

I didn’t know who else, besides Claus and this Tyler dude, was in attendance at my master’s party-not-party. If Claus’s part-human wife was there, one slip could be disastrous. They didn’t call her Gobby Gabby for nothing.

“You’ve met him?” Killian said. His cadence lost its impish playfulness, and the background noise dulled. I tore my eyes away from my reflection to glance at the scrying mirror. Killian had shut himself inside the pantry. Though I couldn’t see him, I could just about make out the shadowy outlines of my egg cartons and tinned foods and his blood cans. “Dima say anything about me?” Did Killian sound hopeful?

“No, of course not. I did what you told me to do. Lied about who I was. He didn’t ask me about my master, but I wouldn’t have told him about you, anyway.”

“Yep, sure. So, what did you find out?”

I hesitated. “Nothing. I couldn’t get a read on him.”

Killian was the only other mind reader I’d ever met, and while we both had experience of difficult-to-read people, Dima was on another tier of unreadabilty.

“How sus,” was all Killian said.

I wanted to bang my head against the wall, but it’d mess up my hair, so instead I crossed to the countertop where I’d left Dima’s book. The ‘photo’ really did look like him. Okay, it was a little off in places. For example, the fingers, which just looked … too numerous. But it wasn’t bad for AI.

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