“You know Erron and Sabina,” Adam snapped. “I’m Adam and the demon’s name is Giguhl. And you can start by telling us how the hell you know so much about Tristan Graecus.”
He obviously still hadn’t forgiven this guy for his earlier treatment. I liked to imagine his indignation was for my benefit, but I knew the bombshell about Tristan Graecus had to be affecting him pretty badly, too. After all, he’d grown up believing my father was a revered martyr to all of magekind.
“I’m the unofficial leader of the expat mages in Rome. It’s my business to know lots of people.”
“Who is the official leader?” Adam asked.
“There aren’t many native mages in the Eternal City. Most left when things started getting hairy—or hairier, I guess—with the vamps a few months ago.”
That made sense. Mages and vamps had always been sworn enemies, but it wasn’t until last October that the hostilities had coalesced into an actual threat of war. Even though I knew all this, hearing the tensions had also affected mages and vamps abroad surprised me. I’d never given much thought to how the actions of the American dark races might influence the actions of those abroad. But it made sense, I guess, since although the centers of power for the races existed in the States, their reach extended worldwide. And since Rome had always been vampire territory, it wasn’t a surprise the mages had fled.
“You said Abel is Sabina’s father?” Erron prompted.
Dicky’s face tightened with suspicion. “Yeah. I’m going to need some proof that you’re really Sabina.”
My mouth fell open. “You need proof? Fuck you. You need to prove to me that you’re telling the truth. How do I know you don’t work for Cain?”
Dicky threw back his head and laughed. “Sure, a mage working for the father of the bloodsuckers. Are ya drunk, girl? You came here looking for me. What I want to know is why you’re looking for Abel if you didn’t know he was your father?”
I took a deep breath to quell the cocktail of annoyance and panic stewing in my gut. “Assuming Abel really is Tristan Graecus—”
“He is.”
I rolled my eyes. “I was told my entire life that my father was dead, that he died before I was born, in fact. So you’ll forgive me for being a tad suspicious when you suddenly claim that he’s not only alive but also the world’s foremost expert on all things Cain.”
Dicky raised his hands. “I don’t know what to tell you. I have been friends with Abel for going on a decade now, but he told me his real name only a fortnight ago when he delivered the message. Said it was important I know his real identity in case something happened to him and one of his kin came looking for him.” Dicky sighed and shook his head. “And now he’s disappeared, so there’s no way to ask him to sort this out.”
I frowned. “Disappeared? When?”
“Three nights ago,” Dicky said. “He was supposed to come by the bar that night but never showed.”
I closed my eyes and willed the fist in my throat to disappear. Three nights earlier, the night Cain murdered Maisie, he’d figured out how to break the spell that kept him in a coma. According to Erron, Abel had captured Cain a decade earlier and placed him in a state of suspended animation. The fact no one had heard from Abel since told me Cain’s first item of business after gaining his freedom was to punish his captor.
Giguhl piped up. “Maybe Abel escaped before Cain could kill him.”
Dicky pursed his lips. “If he did, why hasn’t he contacted me for help?”
“He could be hiding out. After all, if he’s alive, he’d be high on Cain’s To-Kill list, right?” Adam said. “Any idea where he’d go if he did escape?”
“I was hoping you might know,” Dicky said, looking directly at me.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “None of this makes any sense.”
“You mentioned a message?” Erron prompted.
The Brit went over to a set of shelves that held supplies. He moved a few bottles around in what seemed to be a pattern or code and then suddenly the shelves popped away from the wall. He pushed the whole thing aside, revealing a secret room. “Follow me.”
Adam and I exchanged tense looks. Erron, however, didn’t seem fazed by Dicky’s behavior and followed him into the room. I was tired of the mysterious bullshit, but I knew if I wanted answers, I’d have to follow him, too. And, holy shit, did I want answers.
The room had a recessed floor that required a couple of steps down. “What is this place?” I asked, ducking under the low stone arch to descend the stairs. The air here had the musty heaviness of age and the temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees.
“Originally it was a tomb, left by the Etruscans. But since then, the various proprietors have used it for different purposes. The cheese maker who owned this building before I opened the bar used it as an aging cellar for his pecorino.”
“Really?” Giguhl exclaimed. “I don’t suppose you got any more of that cheese lying around?”
I shot the demon a glare.
“What?” he said defensively. “It smells f**king delicious in here.”
Actually, it smelled like feet and wet stone. I rolled my eyes at the demon and shot Dicky an apologetic look. “What do you use it for?”
He snapped his fingers and the room was suddenly bathed in the warm glow of hundreds of candles set into niches in the walls. Niches that used to house cheese wheels and bodies. Now, the shelves without candles stored antique bottles filled with herbs and mysterious liquids. “This is my spell room,” he said. “The bar is a front for my magic solutions business.”
“Magic solutions?”
He nodded. “Sure. Italians love homemade remedies. Took a while for word to spread that a Brit had some skill in potions but now I supply all sorts of elixirs to little old ladies and lovesick boys.”
As he spoke, he bent down and pulled an old leather-bound book from one of the shelves. I had assumed it was his magical grimoire, a book mages used to record their spells, so I was surprised when he opened it to reveal the book was hollow. The interior was lined in wood—cedar, judging from the scent that tickled my nose. Lying inside was a black velvet bag.
Dicky held the box out to me. “Take it.”
I frowned, wondering why he didn’t just hand the bag to me. It made my sense of self-preservation prickle. What did we know about this guy, anyway? For all I knew, he could work for Cain and this could be a trap.