Smart business.
“Welcome—” The pretty Hispanic woman who’d walked out of the office cut off her spiel the instant she saw them. “Consort.” Ruffles of white lace at her throat and cuffs, teamed with a tightly fitted vest and pants in black, she lowered her upper half in a deep bow. “How may I be of service?” Her gaze flicked to the door that Illium was closing as she rose back up, fear crawling into her eyes with a quickness that told Elena this vamp’s angel hadn’t been kind to her. “I assure you I’ve completed my hundred years. I have my discharge papers—”
Elena held up a hand to relieve the woman’s panic. “I’m not here to take you in, but I need you to answer some questions. How much blood do you have in storage?”
Blinking, the vampire pulled herself together with commendable speed. “I just began this business three months ago, so it runs on a shoestring. My present stock is two hundred bottles.”
A knock somewhere beyond the velvet curtains had the owner glancing over her shoulder, before she jerked her gaze back to Elena, perspiration glimmering on her skin. “That’s the donor entrance. I get enough walk-ins to keep the stock relatively steady, but I haven’t yet built up a strong network of regular donors. It can get hairy sometimes—last week I was down to twenty bottles before a group of college students dropped by.” The explanation came out staccato-fast, as if she was attempting to hold back suspected bad news by drowning the air in words.
“I need to see the blood,” Elena said, hating the fact that she now inspired so much fear in a legal, hardworking vampire.
A jerky nod. “Of course.” The shorter, curvier woman led her inside the office and to three large fridges. “Is—is there a problem with my blood?” Her fingers trembled as she tugged at the lace of her cuffs.
“I can’t tell you yet. If you could step out, stay with Illium.”
Opening the nearest fridge once the vampire left, Elena picked up the first bottle, unscrewed it and took a sniff.
Cold iron, a hint of disease . . . but it was a disease she’d scented before.
“Cancer,” she muttered and screwed the lid back on.
It took her a number of hours to go through the entire stock, and by the time she was halfway through, she’d found three that pulsed with the putrid stench she associated with the vampire pox. An angel dispatched earlier for courier duty took the infected blood to Keir as it was discovered, the healer having returned to the labs underneath the Tower.
No others set off her senses.
Regardless, none of the blood in this warehouse could be permitted into circulation. When she informed the owner, the vampire—who, Elena had learned, was named Marcia Blue—almost broke down in tears. “I put my entire payout into this business,” she said, hugging her arms around her body. “I can’t afford to rebuild my stock from scratch.”
“Do you have insurance?”
A shake of the woman’s head. “Premiums were too high, given my location and clientele.” Trembling, she bit down on her lower lip and swallowed in a clear effort to hold back tears. “I made a profit for the first time last week.”
Elena thought of the heartrending unfairness of so much of what had happened over the past three days, culminating in the broken dreams of this vampire who’d put in her time, done her hundred, and she made a decision. “I’ll stake you for a percentage of future profits,” she said, knowing she couldn’t simply give Marcia the money.
Harsh as it might seem, that would make the Tower appear far too generous, the association between it and Elena automatic. And the Tower couldn’t afford to be anything but ruthless . . . as Raphael couldn’t afford to let her humanity alter the balance of power that kept the city stable.
Marcia’s eyes went wide. “You?”
“Yes, I need to start investing my money, and I like your idea. But,” she added when Marcia would’ve spoken, “you understand I’ll have to go over your long-term business plan to make sure it’s a sound investment?” That seemed like the kind of thing an investor would say.
“Of course.” A shaky smile, Marcia’s heart in her eyes. “I’ll send it to the Tower at once.” Bowing again, the other woman looked up, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You won’t be sorry. I swear it.”
Uncomfortable, Elena turned the conversation back to the hunt. “In the meantime, we’ll advance you some clean blood—and you’ll start operations again tomorrow at your normal time. Accept donors as usual but don’t sell any of their blood. Sell only the blood you receive from us. Understood?”
A quick nod.
About to continue, Elena had a thought. “Did you put up a sign explaining tonight’s closure?” If the carrier had returned during that time and become suspicious, he or she might not come back.
It was Illium who answered. “Front and donor door. Just said, Family emergency, back tomorrow.”
Since vampires often considered other vampires with whom they’d served, family, that was an excuse no one would question. “Do you have surveillance?” she asked Marcia.
“No. There was no money for that.”
A quick glance at Illium, a nod in return, and she knew the cameras would be in place before the doors opened the next day. “I need you to keep strict data on who donates what blood,” she said to Marcia. “Tag and label everything.”
The vampire nodded, eyes shrewd. “Someone is selling tainted blood, and the taint’s dangerous.” Carrying on before Elena could interrupt, she said, “I won’t speak a word of this, and I’ll ensure none of the donated blood leaves the café.”
“I hope so,” Elena said softly. “Anything else would cost you.”
Sweat broke out over the vampire’s face once more, a slick sheen. “I do not lie, Consort.”
Stomach tight at the renewed fear pulsing in the woman’s eyes, Elena told the vampire to leave them the keys and return the following day an hour before she typically opened up.
“I just scared her on purpose,” she told Illium. The act had been instinctive, the realization of what she’d done horrifying.
Illium shrugged. “The fear will keep her alive.”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to become that, become someone who controls others through fear.” It sickened her to think she was being corrupted by the power now at her disposal. “What if a hundred years from now, I look into the mirror and see Michaela?” Cruel and capricious and nasty.
“Do you think we’d permit that?” Lips curving, he tapped a finger to her nose. “Raphael would be the first to warn you were you in danger of losing yourself.”
Elena wasn’t so certain. The man who owned her heart saw nothing wrong with acts that deeply troubled her. She was the human one in their relationship. Raphael had said more than once that she’d brought him back from the abyss of age and power—what would happen to the balance between them if she survived war only to break under the relentless pressure of an immortality textured by the power of being consort to an archangel?
Rubbing a fisted hand over her heart, she said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Ellie.” His fingers brushing lightly over the back of her wing, careful to avoid the sensitive zones, but an intimacy nonetheless. “When have we ever been so formal? Ask.”