Page 9 of Pining for the Prince
Nella snorted. “Bitter much?”
“Paranormal branch. Goya himself! I heard they had a tip-off about some sort of relic.”
Gwil tutted. Goya turning up was nothing special—he wanted to be seen to be doing something even if it was completely useless. “There’s always a relic or a hot spot. They’ve probably overreacted to a whisper or have been asked by a high-ranking ghoul to raid the place because he was pissed off he didn’t get in one time.”
Fred seemed sceptical. “Dunno, a colleague told me they carried off several boxes—one of which was glowing.”
In Gwil’s experience, deadly supernatural objects did not glow, hum or sparkle, they were the most normal-looking things, which was why in some part they were so dangerous.
“Did they arrest anyone?”
“Not that I heard.”
“Then it wasn’t anything more than them flexing their muscles. Listen, there’s mayoral elections around the corner, talk of budget cuts every other week, and the Met will need to try and stay relevant.”
He’d ask around, just in case, because it was good for business to make sure he was ahead of the curve.
Fred scrunched up his nose. “It’s gotta be more than that. There’s been several of these raids—I don’t want to believe it’s just the police being heavy-handed.”
Fred’s naivety was refreshing, especially coming from a werewolf who, from what he’d witnessed, were one of the most persecuted sub-species. “I’d rather that than there being a real problem.”
Gwil drained his drink. “Anyone for another?”
It seemed that the others were happy to nurse their drinks even with someone else paying. He took a circuitous path to the bar, taking a moment to watch the dancers. Those who were already dancing were a bit too enthusiastic for it to be just for the joy of the music, and he suspected they were high. Two pretty fae, although not of Hyax’s kinfolk, were grinding together. Part of him wanted to get in between them but that would be a mistake. He didn’t have the patience to deal with anyone dosed up to the eyeballs with the designer drug du jour.
The bar was now busier than earlier and he had to wait longer to get served. Briefly, he considered giving up and going home. Tonight had not been his brightest idea, coming here to spite Hyax had been dumb.
“I thought it was you.”
He turned. “Penelope. As beautiful as ever I see.”
“All in the genes. Have you been deliberately avoiding me, brother dearest?”
Family relations had been strained over the years. He’d been surprised she’d remembered him, as it seemed to be a bit hit or miss if a vampire remembered their life before they were turned, but then she’d gone on to not speak to him for three decades when she realised that his sire had been a higher-ranking vampire than her own. She’d solved the issue by marrying up.
“Busy, that’s all. I didn’t think a Dark Countess would be seen in such a place as this.”
“I like to see how the normal people live,” she said with a smirk.
A barman came straight to her when she waved and ignored his scowl as he was passed over to be served. “Bottle of the Parisian 45, two glasses.”
She smiled at him. “I assume you’ll join me for a drink. There’s a couple of things we should discuss and I thought, with your line of work, you may have some valuable insights.”
Penelope didn’t wait for him to answer instead she slunk away to a booth in the VIP area. He sighed. There was no way he wasn’t going to hear her out and he followed, only to be stopped by a security troll. She peered around the side and beckoned him over.
“Go on then, I’ll bite,” he said sitting down.
She poured two glasses of blood. “How very droll, now I understand why you don’t have a boyfriend. Let alone a husband.”
“I left the marrying to you, Mother would have been so proud.”
“Somehow I doubt having both her children turned into vampires would have been high on her achievements list.”
“She was an ex-nun—it was evidently ecumenical karma.” He wasn’t in the mood for small talk, be it with his sister or his friends. “I remember her being vaguely pleased that I joined the police, less so when she found out about my laudanum habit, but there you go. Now what is it you want?”
“Why are you so grumpy? Here I am offering you an expensive drink in a lovely… well… nice enough club. The night is young.”
“Well, I’m not.”
