As he got out of the car, he glanced across the roof to find Lola glaring at him.
“You’re an idiot.”
He smiled at her. In Lola, that translated into something closer to “You’re an idiot, but I still love you and plan to watch over you like a motherfucking hawk.” All of which Rafe could easily accept.
“I appreciate your concern, but maybe you could spare a little for my car. I’m doubtful it will still be here when we return,” Rafe complained. He hit the lock button for the third time before following the diminutive woman down the sidewalk.
“I’ve been here a few times now. They know better than to mess with my ride.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that the sleek BMW was not her ride, but he decided to save his prodding for later. If she said his lovely car was safe, then it was safe. And only God could save the poor soul stupid enough to turn her into a liar.
They continued down the block a short distance. The street was empty, but Rafe could feel numerous eyes on him, watching from thick shadows as he strolled along, seemingly without a care to call his own. The eyes belonged to mostly humans, though he could pick up a couple of vampires. One close and one a good distance away.
Lola stopped in front of what appeared to be an abandoned apartment building. At least it should have been condemned. The front light flickered on and off, so he was inclined to believe it was still open to its tenants. She pulled open the door, and there was no way Rafe could keep from wrinkling his nose at the wall of odors that accosted him before he could step into the place. Urine, feces, blood, rotten food, mold, and underneath it all…death. No, there was no masking that final scent in the debris of life. People had died here.
Wordlessly he continued to follow her up a dark staircase that wound through the building like the twisted spine of an old man. He wished he could say that he was stunned that any vampire would be living in these conditions, but he and Lola had visited too many places just like this over the years. Existing outside the notice of the Ministry as well as some of the more violent clans meant living where no one wanted to visit. Extreme poverty made the top of that list.
Despite being born into this world a bastard, he’d lived a quite pampered life. His biological father had paid quite handsomely for the company of his mother, and she’d been incredibly smart about how that money was invested. His mother had seen to it that all her sons were educated, and Marcus had quickly taken over the family finances as soon as he came of age, making sure the lifestyle they were accustomed to was preserved.
And while roughly two hundred years had passed, that arrangement hadn’t exactly changed. Marcus was still seeing to the family finances.
Of course, living comfortably meant that the Ministry wanted its share, and it drew the attention of other clans.
Abject poverty usually meant a vampire wasn’t bothered.
While Rafe could see its advantages, he had no trouble admitting he preferred his luxurious wardrobe, high-thread-count sheets, fancy cars, and most of all the freedom to do as he wished…under most circumstances.
At the third floor, Lola led the way away from the stairs and down the narrow hallway. The thin carpet underfoot was heavily soiled and stained so that Rafe could no longer be sure what color it had started its life as. Fluorescent lights hummed and flickered overhead as if they housed a hive of angry bees fighting to get out.
Near the center of the hall, Lola finally stopped and pounded the side of her fist on the door three times. Rafe stood back, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket while the other remained open at his side. Experience had taught him to expect just about anything. Even if Lola had spoken to this Edgar in the past, it certainly didn’t mean he’d be willing to speak to her again.
Lola lifted her fist to pound a second time, but there was a telltale scrape on the other side of a door as if a lock was being slid into his housing. There was a second. And then a third farther down the door. Not that locks would keep out most predators that would have liked to prowl this part of town, but if it made Edgar feel safe, who could begrudge him these small protections?
The door cracked open just a few inches, and a pale face with large brown eyes peered out at them. He looked at Lola, then Rafe, and then Lola again.
“I told you not to come back,” the man said. The voice held a surprising amount of weariness to it. Not the threat Rafe had been anticipating.