Authors: Jaye Wells
Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fantasy, #Adult, #Magic, #Vampire, #Urban Fantasy, #Werewolves
Blue-Blooded Vamp (53 page)
Clare waved one pale, long-fingered hand. Emotion was threatening, prickling at his throat. With a certain rational annoyance he labeled it as
fear
, and dismissed it. There was very little chance she meant him harm. The man was a larger question, but if
she
meant him no harm, the man certainly did not. “If you like. Speak quickly, I am occupied.”
She cast one eloquent glance over the room. If not for the landlady Mrs. Ginn, dirty dishes would have been stacked on every horizontal surface. As it was, his rooms were cluttered with a full set of alembics and burners, glass jars of various substances, shallow dishes for knocking his pipe clean. The disorder even threatened the grate, the mantel above it groaning under a weight of books and handwritten journals stacked every which-way.
She then examined him from tip to toe. He was in his dressing-gown, and his pipe had long since grown cold. His feet were in rubbed-bare slippers, and if it had not been long past the hour of reasonable entertaining he might have been vaguely uncomfortable at the idea of a lady seeing him in such disrepair. Red-eyed, his hair mussed, and unshaven, he was in no condition to receive company.
He was, in fact, the picture of a mentath about to implode from boredom. If she knew some of the circumstances behind his recent ill-luck, she would guess he was closer to imploding and fusing his faculties into unworkable porridge than was advisable.
Her gloved hand rose, and she held up a card. It was dun-colored, and before she tossed it—a passionless, accurate flick of her fingers that snapped it through intervening space neat as you please, as if she dealt faro—he had already deduced and verified its provenance.
He plucked it out of the air. “I am called to the service of the Crown. You’re to hold my leash. It is, of course, urgent.
Does it have to do with an art professor?” For it had been some time since he had crossed wits with Doctor Vance, and
that
would distract him most handily. The man was a deuced wonderful adversary.
His sally was only worth an impeccably-raised eyebrow. “No. It
is
urgent, and Mikal will stand guard while you… dress. I shall be in the hansom outside. You have ten minutes, sir.”
With that, she turned on her heel. Her skirts made a low sweet sound, and the man was already holding the door. She glanced up, those wide dark eyes flashing once, and a ghost of a smile touched her lips.
Interesting
. Clare added that to the chain of deduction. He only hoped this problem would last more than a night and provide him further relief. If the Queen or one of the ministers had sent a summons-card, it promised to be very diverting indeed.
It was a delight to have something unknown. He sniffed the card. A faint trace of musk, but no violet-water. Not the Queen, then. The ink was right, too, just the faintest bitter astringent. The crest on the front was absolutely correct, as well, and the handwriting on the back was firm and masculine, not to mention familiar.
The Chancellor. Lord Grayson. Even more interesting.
Miss Emma Bannon is our representative. Please use haste, and discretion.
Emma Bannon. Clare had never heard the name before, but then, a sorceress would not wish her name bruited about overmuch. Just as a mentath, registered or no, would not. So Clare made a special note of it, adding everything about the woman to the mental drawer that bore her name. She would not take a carved nameplate. No, Miss Bannon’s plate would be yellowed parchment, with
dragonsblood ink tracing out the letters of her name in a clear feminine hand.
The man waited by the open door. He cleared his throat, a low rumble. Meant to hurry Clare along, no doubt.
Clare opened one eye, just a sliver. “There are nine and a quarter minutes left. Do
not
make unnecessary noise, sir.”
The man remained silent, but his mouth firmed. He did not look amused.
Mikal
. His color was too dark and his features too aquiline to be properly Britannic. Perhaps Tinkerfolk? Or even from the Indus?
He did not know enough about the man yet. It would have to do. One thing was certain: if the sorceress had left one of her Shields with him, she was standing guard against some more-than-mundane threat outside. Which meant the problem he was about to address was most likely fiendishly complex, extraordinarily important, and worth more than a day or two of his busy brain’s feverish working.
Thank God
. The relief was palpable.
Clare shot to his feet and began packing.
S
ABINA
K
ANE
N
OVELS
Red-Headed Stepchild
The Mage in Black
Green-Eyed Demon
Silver-Tongued Devil
Blue-Blooded Vamp
“A seriously wild ride!”
—
RT Book Reviews
on
Green-Eyed Demon
(4.5 Stars!)
“A fast-paced and fun book.”
—Charlaine Harris on
Red-Headed Stepchild
“Jaye Wells
is
the next coming of LKH and Kim Harrison.”
—
bn.com
on
Green-Eyed Demon
A Preview of
The Iron Wyrm Affair
Praise for the Sabina Kane series
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Jaye Wells
Excerpt from
The Iron Wyrm Affair
copyright © 2012 by Lilith Saintcrow
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ISBN 978-0-316-20221-3