The cash crunch had ended as soon as he'd been promoted to John's personal guard. His new job had come with a serious salary - seventy-five grand a year. And considering he didn't pay taxes to the bullshit human government, and his room and board were paid for, he had a lot of green leftover.
The Hummer had been his first big purchase. He'd done his research on the Internet, but the truth was, he'd already known what he wanted. Fritz had gone out and done the negotiating and the official purchasing...and that first time Qhuinn had gotten behind the wheel, cranked the key, and felt the rumble under the hood, he'd nearly teared up like a pu**y.
Now it was ruined: He was hardly a mechanic, but the structural damage was so severe, it just made no sense to save it -
"Hello?"
The sound of Layla's voice snapped him back to attention. "Hey. I'm just back. How you feeling?"
The precise enunciation that came back at him reminded him of his parents, every word perfectly pronounced and chosen with care. "I am well, thank you very much. I have rested and watched television, as you suggested. They had a Million Dollar Listing marathon."
"What the hell is that?"
"A show where they sell houses in Los Angeles - I thought for a little bit that it was fiction, but it turns out it's a reality show? I thought they made it all up. Madison has great hair - and I like Josh Flagg. He's rather shrewd and very kind to his grandmother."
He asked her a couple more questions, like what had she eaten and had she taken a nap, just to keep her talking - because in between the syllables, he was looking for clues of discomfort or worry.
"So you're okay," he said.
"Yes, and before you ask, I have already requested that Fritz bring me up Last Meal. And yes, I will eat all my roast beef."
He frowned, not wanting her to feel caged. "Listen, it's not just for the young's sake. It's also for yours. I want you to be well, you know?"
Her voice dropped a little. "You have always been thus. Even before we...yes, you have only ever wanted the best for me."
Focusing on the car door he'd busted, he thought of how good it had felt to kick the shit out of something. "Well, my plan is to hit the gym for a while. I'll check on you again before I crash, 'kay?"
"All right. Be well."
"You, too."
As he hung up, he realized V had stopped talking and was looking over at him like maybe something was way off - hair on fire, pants around the ankles, eyebrows shaved.
"You got yourself a female there, Qhuinn?" the Brother drawled.
Qhuinn looked around for a life raft, and got a whole lot of nothing. "Ah..."
V exhaled over his shoulder and came across. "Whatever. I'm going to go work on these phones. And you need to buy yourself another vehicle - anything as long as it's not a Prius. Later."
When John and he were alone, it was pretty clear the guy was warming up to say something about the showdown at the side of the road.
"I don't want to hear it, John. I just don't have the strength right now."
Shit, John signed.
"That about covers it, my man. You heading up to the house?"
Under the strict interpretation of the ahstrux nohtrum job, Qhuinn needed to be with John twenty-four/seven. But the king had given them a dispensation if they were within the confines of the compound. Otherwise Qhuinn would have been learning way too much about his buddy and Xhex.
And John would have had to witness him and Layla...um, yeah.
When John nodded, Qhuinn opened the door and held it wide. "After you."
He refused to look his friend in the face as the fighter passed, just couldn't do it. Because he knew exactly what was on the guy's mind - and he had no interest in talking about what had happened on that stretch of road he'd walked down before. Not the crap from tonight. Not the crap from...all those nights ago thanks to the Honor Guard.
He was finished with chatting it up.
Shit never helped anyone over nuthin'.
Saxton, son of Tyhm, closed the final Book of Oral History and could only stare at the fine-grain leather cover with its gold-embossed detailing.
The last one.
He couldn't believe it. How long had this research been going on? Three months? Four months? How could it be over?
A quick visual survey of the Brotherhood's library, with its hundreds and hundreds of volumes of law, discourse, and royal decrees...and he thought, yes, indeed, it had taken months and months to go through them all. And now, with the digging complete, the notations made, and the legal path for what the king wanted to accomplish carved out, there should have been a sense of accomplishment.
Instead, he felt dread.
In his training and practice as a lawyer, he had tackled sticky problems before - especially after he had come here to this vast house and begun to function as the Blind King's personal solicitor: The Old Laws were very convoluted, archaic not just in their wording, but in their very content - and the ruler of the vampire race was not at all like that. Wrath's thinking was both straightforward and revolutionary, and when it came to his rule, the past and the future did not often coexist without a good deal of reframing - of the Old Laws, that was.
This was on a whole different level, however.
Wrath, as sovereign, could do fairly much what he wanted - provided the appropriate precedents were identified, recast, and recorded. After all, the king was the living, breathing law, a physical manifestation of the order necessary for a civilized society. The problem was, tradition didn't happen by accident; it was the result of generations upon generations living and making choices based on a certain set of rules that was accepted by the public. Progressive thinkers trying to lead entrenched, conservative societies in new directions tended to run into problems.
And this...further alteration of the way things were done? In the current political environment, where Wrath's leadership was already being challenged -
"You're deep in thought."
At the sound of Blay's voice, Saxton jumped and nearly lost his Montblanc over his shoulder.
Immediately, Blay reached forward as if to calm what had been ruffled. "Oh, I'm sorry - "
"No, it's all right, I - " Saxton frowned as he regarded the soldier's wet and bloodied clothing. "Dearest Virgin Scribe...what happened tonight?"
Evidently in lieu of answering, Blay headed over for the bar on the antique bombe chest in the corner. As he took his time choosing between the sherry and a Dubonnet, it was rather clear he was preparing a sequence of words in his head.
Which meant it had to do with Qhuinn.
In fact, Blay cared for neither sherry nor Dubonnet. And sure enough, he helped himself to a port.