She glanced at me. “Does death always speak in riddles?”
“For as long as I’ve known him,” I said, and felt amusement swirl through him.
“Crimes against the natural order can mean anything from murder to unfilial conduct,” he said. “And usually the only way to stop the attack is by uncovering the perpetrator of the curse and having them either perform a rite of forgiveness and purification, or complete of some task assigned for atonement.”
Her snort was less than regal, and really said all that needed to be said. “Unfilial conduct? I am an old vampire and my maker is long dead. I hardly think it would matter to anyone else if I was an undutiful daughter.”
“That would depend on whether the term is used strictly or loosely,” Azriel commented. “Maybe it is simply a matter of engaging in conduct unbecoming a vampire.”
“All vampires engage in conduct unbecoming,” she snapped. “It is the nature of the beast.”
I’m glad she said that, because if I’d pointed it out, she’d have gotten pissed. “Conduct unbecoming wasn’t the only point mentioned, Catherine.”
Her gaze flicked to me, her eyes steely black. And I’d been wrong before: Alston could do scary every bit as well as Hunter if she wanted to. “I have not murdered anyone in a very long time, young woman. Although right now I will admit the itch is rising.”
“Murdering me isn’t going to help catch your attacker,” I replied calmly enough—though she no doubt noted my accelerated heart rate.
“No,” she agreed. “Although Hunter would not be pleased, and that in itself would almost be worth the cost. Perhaps it is just as well you have your dark guard here.”
And why Azriel would be by my side the next time I had to visit her. I was beginning to trust this woman even less than Hunter.
“I would suggest that you avoid sleeping for the next couple of days, as that seems to be when the attacks occur.”
“And why do you think I am here rather than lying wrapped in Bryson’s warmth?”
“You don’t need to sleep to enjoy Bryson’s warmth,” I couldn’t help pointing out. “Nor do you need a bed.”
“I am not a young woman,” she remarked haughtily. “And I tend to be old-fashioned when it comes to sex. You, obviously, are not.”
I certainly wasn’t—and thank the gods for that. The real spice of life—and sex—was variety. I restrained the urge to smile and said, “Please call me when you have the list compiled.”
“Ignatius will call you. Better yet, I shall have him deliver it.” Her gaze flicked to Azriel. “The less I see of him, the better I shall feel. Good-bye, young woman.”
Summarily dismissed, I turned and walked out. Ignatius was back at the glass door, waiting for us. It was almost as if they couldn’t wait to get rid of us. Even the elevator was waiting.
Once the doors had closed and the elevator was on the way back down, I said, “Did you find anything in the bedroom?”
“A reaper.”
My head snapped around. “What?”
The corners of his lips quirked, and I had a sudden suspicion that he liked surprising me. “Catherine Alston is slated for death, and nothing we do can stop it.”
“When will she die?”
He shrugged. “Soon.”
“From the Maniae, or through something else?”
“The Maniae will attack again, because she will forget your warning and sleep. That attack will weaken her greatly. She will fall onto some furniture, break it, and in the process stake herself through the heart with a stray piece of wood.”
I reached for the STOP button, but Azriel caught my hand. His grip was gentle, yet steel lay underneath it, ready to react should I fight. “Even if Alston heeds your warning, she will still die. Sometimes you can save them, Risa. This is not one of those times.”
“But we can at least try—”
“Then try with someone worthy of salvation. Catherine Alston is not.”
“Many vampires are not,” I said irritably, ripping my hand from his. Warmth lingered where his fingers had rested. “But that doesn’t mean we should just give them up to fate.”