Isabeau “How is it over there?” I asked. “The Drakes are all right, so far,” she grudgingly admitted. “But most of these courtiers don’t want us here.” “Should I come back?” I wondered, concerned. “As much as I’d prefer it if you were here, we’re fine. We’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll eavesdrop as much as I can until then.” “Good.” She was exceedingly skilled at it. “I’ll do what I can here.” “Watch your back.” “You too.” I slipped the phone back into my pocket and then searched the room for traps, cracks in the wooden shutter that might let in the sunlight, anything out of the ordinary. I even sniffed the blood in the fridge but it smelled fine. They would have thought me paranoid, but Hounds were accustomed to looking after themselves. Between Montmartre and his Host and the disdain of the rest of the vampire community, we couldn’t afford to let our guard down. And I couldn’t sit in this room much longer. I had work to do. “Come on,” I told Charlemagne, pushing open the door. “Let’s go.” I had planned to go back downstairs but changed my course when I heard Lucy’s human heartbeat from the other end of the hall, around the corner. I found her standing at the window with Solange. “Isabeau.” Solange searched my face with worried eyes. “Are you feeling better?” I nodded. “Where’s your hunter?” •53•
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