Voss arranged two tankards on his table so that he would be recognized by the messenger he awaited: one upside down and the other next to it, handles touching. A third he reserved for himself, although he doubted he would actually ingest the ale.
Not that he was certain Angelica would even follow through on her agreement. She’d said she’d send word through Rubey, but Voss knew it wasn’t safe for him to wait at her establishment anymore. Corvindale and Woodmore were certainly looking for him, so staying out of sight was the safest way to avoid the inconvenience of a stake in the heart, or any other disruption. Rubey had agreed that if she got word from Angelica, she would send a messenger to meet him at the Gray Stag by midnight.
An uncomfortable twinge tightened his belly as it did whenever he realized he would never see Angelica again. It was for the best, of course, but…it made him feel hollow. Unaccountably empty.
Turning his thoughts away from that unhappy thought, Voss scanned the establishment, watching for any sign that all might not be as it seemed. Waiting for someone to approach him. There was a woman in one of the corners who attracted his attention—not because she looked as if she might want to slip into the dark shadows with a man who’d bite her neck, but because she didn’t look as if she belonged in a dingy place like this. She sat alone and no one seemed to give her any notice. She had long blond hair and was dressed in a shapeless gown. There was something…different…about her. And familiar, perhaps. Or perhaps it was simply her appearance that attracted his attention.
Once, Voss turned quickly and caught her watching him. She had a faint smile on an otherwise serene face…but she made no move to approach him.
He kept half an eye on her, simply because she seemed so out of place. He wondered if she were some make of Moldavi’s who’d managed to track him…or just an odd whore looking for a trick. Or some servant of Angelica’s? When she rose from her seat and approached his table, Voss watched in surprise and hope. Was she from Angelica? Could he be that fortunate?
The woman made her way around and between the servants and patrons as if they didn’t exist. None of them seemed to acknowledge her, even when she passed close by.
For some reason, his heart beat faster as she came to stand in front of him. It certainly wasn’t because he found her attractive. She was lovely to look at in a serene, peaceful sort of motherly way, but not in the way he was accustomed to thinking of women who approached him in a public house. He looked up at her, wondering if she would be amenable to his particular sort of sport.
“Been a while since you’ve seen a seamstress, hmm, m’dear?” he said, lifting a brow as he scanned her figure. “You really ought to remedy that if you expect to do well in this city.” She looked as if she had emerged from some Saxon or Welsh legend, with a pale, shapeless tunic that dragged upon the floor. Her sleeves were long and she showed not a hint of bosom or even the shape of her figure. His Mark twitched and burned, and he looked with interest at the line of her neck, half obstructed by long blond hair. It was a lovely, long neck.
The faint curve of a smile shaped her lips, and he slightly revised his opinion that she wasn’t attractive. He could sink into that.
“Aye, Voss. That’s what’s come to be expected of you. Always the superficial. Always planning your next conquest. Always the game. ’Tis why he chose you, you know.”
His mouth went dry as his old wig powder and Voss suddenly felt as if his brain was about to shatter. Pain and light warred in his mind, and he tried to focus, to make sense of what she was saying. That’s why he chose you. Something dark and heavy settled in his gut.
“Who are you?” he managed to choke out.
She lifted her shoulders delicately and he noticed her pale, elegant hands and the circlet of keys that hung from her woven leather belt. A medieval chatelaine.
“It matters not,” she replied. “You aren’t yet ready.” The peace and serenity that had shone in her eyes wavered into something like sadness. “I’ll be here when you are. I pray that it happens before she’s gone.”
“Who? What are you talking about? Who are you?” He’d found his voice, even through the rage of pain and the whirl of thoughts that he couldn’t seem to control.
“I’d hoped—but you don’t remember me. We’ve met before, on several occasions.” Her smile was sad. “Mayhap you’ll remember me after this time. But I can tell you naught more. Not until you’re ready.”
“What are you talking about?” he said again.
“Your friend Rubey is very wise. You were right to go to her. Now, if you’d only listen to her.”
Voss closed his eyes against the pain of Luce’s fury and his own confusion, and when he opened them a moment later, she was gone. Even though it had been a mere breath that he’d done so—or so he thought—when he scanned the pub, he didn’t see a hint of long, flowing sleeves or a shapeless pale tunic. Anywhere.
He took a long drink of the abysmal ale and ordered another one from the wench with the long neck. Had he met the blonde woman before? When? Where?
Why didn’t he remember her?
I pray that it happens before she’s gone.
What did she mean by that? The little wrench stuttered his heart. Could she be speaking of Angelica?
Likely not. He was leaving here, as soon as he heard from her—and even if he didn’t, he had to leave London. Things were simply too…uncomfortable and difficult here.
You aren’t yet ready. Ready for what? For what?
Ready to change.
He shook his head. It was as if her voice found its way into his mind.
Change? He couldn’t change. He didn’t want to change.
When Belial walked into the Gray Stag some time after midnight, Voss wasn’t overly surprised. Annoyed…yes. Surprised. No. Not in his world.
Especially not tonight.
Despite the fact that there were numerous pubs in London, it was simply his misfortune that the cock-biter would also choose this one in which to imbibe. Voss eased further back into the shadows and half turned his face away as the other vampire and his two companions settled at a table across the room. A structural beam partially blocked what would be their view of Voss, and he settled back into his corner. Checked his pocket watch again.
The meeting time had been set at half past eleven; it was nearly half after twelve. He’d been here since before eleven.
Apparently he was waiting in vain. Angelica had not kept her promise; the hope that perhaps the strange blonde woman might have been her messenger had disappeared, for the woman had slipped out a few moments ago. But he hadn’t truly expected Angelica would contact him with news about the watch chain. She didn’t seem to realize how valuable her Sight could be to someone…someone with nefarious purposes. Had she never thought of how powerful it could make her?
Voss eyed the drink in front of him. No. She didn’t think that way. A wise young woman, she was, but also very innocent in many ways.
Had she never realized what a pawn she could be for someone with unsavory intentions?
Not that his own intentions were unsavory. He merely wished to have as much information as he could have. And to fund his travels.
And who knew when such information might come in handy, especially when dealing with Moldavi?
Voss eyed Belial, keeping his lids half lowered to hide the burning there. He didn’t often feel the urge for violence—it was too messy, too much effort—but at this moment, something nagged at him. Some dark urge to fling his table away and to tear off its leg and slam its jagged point into the torso of that freckled, snakelike vampire. Watch him die.
Even the thought sent a rage of fire through his shoulder’s Mark, although Voss barely shifted. He was becoming used to the incessant pain.