Page 9 of Bloodhunter

“Yes, indeed.” She tilted her head and studied me, as thoughIwere the strangest thing in that room.

After a minute of standing still for her probing stare, Ishifted from one foot to the other and cleared my throat.

“Clayton.” Miriam pushed her chair away from her desk andcrossed her legs. “Pay her.”

He walked immediately to her desk, opened a drawer, andwithdrew a checkbook. As he scribbled, Miriam gave me a conspiratorial smile.

I had no idea what was going on, but the tension in the roomwas thick enough to chew. It had a bitter, poisonous flavor.

Still, I returned her smile, because it was the polite thingto do.

Clayton looked up at that exact second, intercepting whatlikely appeared as two women mocking his forced servitude. His face darkened,his eyes narrowed, and he pinned me with a look so full of anger and disgustthat I could only gape and take a quick step backward.

“Clayton,” Miriam snapped. “Leave the room!” But as hestarted to exit through a doorway leading to the hall, she stopped him.“Clayton.”

He kept his back to us. “Yes.” There was nothing in thatvoice but rust. Nothing at all.

“Apologize to Trinity for scaring her.”

There was a heartbeat of silence when I thought this mightbe the time he decided to rebel, but his voice came, finally, forced and empty.“I apologize.”

“It’s okay,” I managed. “I’m sorry for…” I waved my hand,unsure.

He whipped his head around, surprise lighting his eyes. Miriamstiffened, and he gathered himself quickly, then strode from the room.

No, strode was the wrong word.

He slunk from the room.

And I felt like shit.

“He’s a very dangerous thing,” Miriam said. “You don’t everneed to apologize to him.”

“Why do you keep him?” I didn’t really expect an answer butshe gave me one, and I believed she was being truthful. At least partially.

“Because forcing him to bend to my will gives me greatpleasure.”

I couldn’t stand there another second. Next time, I’d letHarlan deliver food to the necromancer. It hadn’t been the nice distraction I’dhoped for.

“Hey,” she called, as I reached for the doorknob. “I don’timagine the lovely Angus Stark wants to give me free food.”

I hurried back to the desk to fetch the check. “Thanks,” I murmured.

She swiveled in her chair to turn on the TV attached to herwall. I was dismissed.

I was on edge, nervous from my encounter with Amias, full ofanxiety over the deaths that had begun plaguing the city. Memories I tried hardnot to acknowledge were just below the surface, waiting for their chance toslip past my defenses. I had to be vigilant.

I was much too keyed up to deal with the necromancer and hergolem and their many layers of crap I did not understand.

But just before I slipped back out the doorway, the localnews program stopped me.

“The woman wasbittento death,” the reporter wassaying, “in what authorities are calling a copy of the Thanksgiving DayMassacre six years ago—except this was one woman, not an entire family. Nearlyevery inch of her flesh bore bite marks, some of her fingers were missing,and…” The newscaster’s pause was subtle, but I heard it. “And her throat wastorn out. Authorities do not believe this particular case is connected to theother murders that have cropped up over the past two months. This woman was savaged.Brutalized. People are being urged to be careful after dark, to be mindful oftheir surroundings, and to take the normal precautions as police begin theirinvestigations into this latest murder. Police are asking—”

I practically fell out of the doorway, my chest so tight Icouldn’t breathe. “No,” I whispered. “No.”

He was killing again.

“Listen to me.”