With his arms crossed, Tristan stood in the middle of the vampire’s huge, expensively furnished parlor. He’d willingly entered a monster’s lair, and the lair had turned out to be a luxurious mansion in the center of Kingsbridge. These vampire lords were shockingly good at avoiding detection by the Inquisition. But there had to be a way to recognize them—Tristan just needed to learn it. With someone like Verner, the eyes could be a hint, but Athena’s eyes weren’t that unusual and she was a vampire lord, too.
‘—like a statue. Could move him next to the fireplace and he would make a lovely decoration.’
The vampire’s thoughts still reached Tristan, it seemed.
“Anything to drink?” Verner asked from his armchair.
“No, thank you,” Tristan replied, not meeting his gaze. “His Eminence checked the name Daniel Summers. You pretend to be a merchant?”
“I am a merchant. I trade in jewelry and expensive fabrics. And just so you know, I didn’t murder anyone to get this house.”
“Of course you would say that, vampire.”
“Excuse me?” someone said from the door. “Inquisitor?”
Tristan turned to see the source of the voice. It was a man who appeared to be in his early twenties. He was significantly shorter than Tristan, slender, and had short brown hair and green eyes.
“Yes?” Tristan said.
“I’m Theodore Whitby, Master Victor’s head servant. I will show you where you’ll stay.”
Tristan inclined his head. “All right.” This was better than awkwardly standing here.
Whitby lifted Tristan’s bag with a grunt. “Oh, it’s heavier than I expected,” he said. His cheeks and the tips of his ears turned slightly pink.
“I’ll carry it myself.” Tristan picked up the bag and followed the servant out of the parlor. As they walked down the corridor, he said, “You’re a human, aren’t you?”
“Um, yes?”
“Why do you work here? Is the vampire blackmailing you? Holding your family hostage?”
Whitby chuckled. “Not at all. My parents owed a very wealthy merchant money, so when they died, I inherited the debt. Sadly, I didn’t have enough money to pay him and therefore had to become his servant instead. And he had quite a temper. Master Victor witnessed me getting punished once, and he took pity on me.” Whitby opened the door to a room and gestured for Tristan to enter. When they were both in the large, richly decorated bedroom, he said, “He paid off the debt and told me I was free, but I couldn’t just accept such generosity, so I offered to serve him. He said I would change my mind if I knew more about him, but I insisted, so he took the risk and told me the truth. And I didn’t care. And so, here I am.”
“Has he ever drunk your blood?” Tristan asked, putting the bag on the floor.
“Yes. But only because I offered. He would never hurt me.”
“Hmm.”
“Is the room to your liking, sir?”
“Yes, thank you.” Tristan opened the bag. Whitby watched him warily as he armed himself with his revolver. Tristan wasn’t planning to shoot Verner in his own house, at least not before their mission was concluded; he simply wanted things to feel more normal. For him, normal meant armed. He never left the Inquisition’s palace without his gun. And the one time he had—yesterday—it had ended quite badly for him.
“Would you like to rest?” Whitby asked.
“No.”
“But Master Victor said you hadn’t fully recovered yet.”
“I’m fine. We may get to work.”
“Master Victor said you would most likely say that.”
Tristan stifled a sigh. “If Master Victor wishes to rest, he may rest, and I will go out to do something productive in the meantime.”
“Why don’t you discuss things with him?”
“All right.”
Tristan already knew the way, but he allowed the servant to lead him back to the parlor.
“Master,” Whitby said when they entered, “Inquisitor Starling wishes to talk to you.”
“No way.” Verner grinned. After Whitby left, he said, “Come, handsome, make yourself comfortable. You and your gun.”
“I’m not here to make myself comfortable. Do you know which factories belong to the duke?”
“I do. The pocket watch factory in Arnem and the cotton mill in Eltham.”
“Since you don’t even have a plan, let’s check the one in Arnem. It’s not that far from here.”
Verner gave him a weird look. “You needed a blood transfusion last night.”
“That was last night. Today I’m fine.”
“If you’re out and about during the day,” Verner said, “won’t your boss find out? Someone might tell him they’ve seen you.”
Tristan had to acknowledge the possibility. Even His Eminence had told him he was far from inconspicuous. But he couldn’t imagine staying in this place doing nothing until the evening.
“You could… lend me a coat.”
Verner chuckled. “A coat won’t be enough of a disguise for someone who stands out so much.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“A glamor? I know a fairy who could put one on you.”
“No. It’s bad enough that I’m cooperating with a vampire; I’m not going to let someone use magic on me. We’ll be outside the city and the likelihood of running into another Inquisitor will be low, so a different coat should be enough.”
“I’ll be right back, then.” Verner stood up and walked out of the room, thinking, ‘Dress up your Inquisitor day!’ Tristan wondered when this mind link would end. The vampire’s thoughts kept being more innocent than he would have expected, and he didn’t know what to make of it.
When Verner returned with an elegant beige coat, Tristan was relieved since he’d been worried he would bring something more extravagant.
“This to your liking, handsome?” Verner asked.
“I think so.” Tristan took off his coat and accepted the one Verner brought him. After putting it on, he said, “It fits well.”
“You have more muscle than me, so I picked a looser one.” Verner studied him for a long moment. “Not that I don’t love your regular look, but this suits you more than fine.” He smiled. “Accentuates the dark hair and eyes. Want to see yourself in a mirror?”
“That won’t be necessary. Do you have horses?”
“Of course. How would I pass for a wealthy merchant if I didn’t?”
Tristan followed Verner to the stable. There were six well-groomed horses there, and Verner brought out a chestnut one for himself and a larger bay one for Tristan.
“This is Elizabeth,” he said, stroking his horse’s neck. “And that’s Armand.”
“Is it true, or are you joking?”
“What? Should I give my horses names like Horse Number One, Horse Number Two, and so on?”
“I didn’t say that.” Tristan looked away.
“What would you name a horse?” Verner asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m sure you would be able to come up with something if you had to.”
“But I don’t have to.”
Verner let out a sigh, then handed Tristan a saddle. Once both horses were ready, Tristan followed Verner out the back gate.
They rode fast, but not so fast that people would get too curious, and they slowed into a trot once outside the city. Since they were riding off-road, they didn’t encounter many people.
“What do you suspect happens in those factories?” Tristan asked when they allowed their horses to walk.
“I wish I had any theories, but all I know is that people have been disappearing and their families and friends can’t get any answers.”
“Why don’t the authorities look into the disappearances, then?”
“I think those who try to find out what’s happening get threatened. Or maybe bribed and threatened. And, let’s face it, they’re poor people, so the authorities don’t care much even if they do know.”
“The Inquisition doesn’t care about people’s wealth status.”
Verner scoffed. “Handsome, you don’t care. I can believe that. But the Holy Inquisition is not an organization that exists for the benefit of the common folk. I bet it overlooks some of the nasty things nobles do to the poor because it relies on their financial support.”
“I don’t believe that. The grand inquisitor is a good person.”
Verner shrugged. “Maybe he is. But he’s like a general in the army—he’s not truly the one in charge. The Church is in charge of the Inquisition, just as the king is in charge of the army.”
Tristan couldn’t help but recall the grand inquisitor’s rather disdainful words about bishops. Of course it wasn’t the grand inquisitor who came up with most of the rules, but he did have authority, and under his command, most Inquisitors did a lot of good. Tristan wasn’t going to let anyone convince him otherwise.
“Do you believe in the Twins?” Verner asked. Perhaps Tristan had taken too long to say anything.
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