Page 61 of Vampires and Violas

“Daniel texted again. Apparently, Alfred bought the hotel from Brennan Properties two years ago.”

“But that’s…”

Noah meets my eyes. “Ethan.”

“Is this safe?” I whisper. “Should we go?”

Noah looks torn. The answers he’s been searching for might be just inside the building. But like Cassian said, it could be a trap.

“Cassian knows our location, and Daniel has men on standby,” he finally says.

That doesn’t specifically answer my question, but I nod, and he continues toward the entrance.

Larissa meets us outside the doors and then leads the way inside without a word, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

Despite the hour, the foyer is brightly lit and filled with patrons. They sit on the furniture and at small tea tables, chatting. They’re all wearing business attire, much like Larissa.

Noah and I look out of place, him in his leather jacket and me in my jean shorts. But it doesn’t seem to bother him.

People pause to watch us cross the space and then return to their conversations, their noses tilted slightly higher into the air.

“I think our attire is offensive,” I joke quietly so Larissa won’t overhear.

“They’ll get over it.”

“Are all these people vampires?” I whisper, my senses prickling.

“If Alfred owns the place, then probably a good portion of them,” Noah answers.

Larissa leads us up the grand staircase at the back of the room, down a hall, and then to an elevator. She presses the button for the fourth, and highest, floor. I’m secretly hoping we’re going up to a penthouse because I’ve only seen them in movies.

To my delight, the elevator opens to a small antechamber with a single door. Larissa produces a key and lets us in.

“After you,” she says, gesturing us forward.

I half expect her to slam the door with an evil cackle, but she closes it softly and follows us into what looks like a sprawling 19th-century parlor.

There’s a fireplace and Persian rugs, along with wingback chairs, couches that are probably called something fussy, like settees, a baby grand piano, and several stately parlor palms.

All that’s missing is a long-haired cat with a snowy white coat and a butler named Winston.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Larissa says. “Sophia will be out in a moment.”

Sophia.

I jerk my eyes to Noah and realize he recognizes the name as well. We’ve done it—we’ve found Cassian’s crazy ex-girlfriend.

Or rather…she found us.

I sit beside Noah on the couch, eyeing a man dressed in a black suit when he appears from a hall. He wears white gloves and a dour expression, and he can be nothing but…a butler.

I hope his name is Winston. I really do.

“Good evening, Mr. York, Miss Edwards,” he says with a gracious dip of his head. “May I offer you refreshment? Coffee? Tea? Broth?” He pauses. “Blood?”

I’ve been taking my prescription regularly for about a month now, and that still freaks me out.

“No, thank you,” Noah says, and I shake my head as well.

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