“Foyer.”
“Put him in the living room and tell him I’ll be in shortly, then go back to bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hilda left, closing the door.
Looking at the robe in her hands, Lola yawned and changed her mind. Being in her nightgown would make her feel vulnerable. Instead, she dressed in jeans and a sweater, then brushed her teeth and hair and slipped her Walther PPK into her waistband before heading into the living room. She trusted Creek as much as she trusted anyone, which wasn’t much.
He stood at the windows, staring into the night. The outside was pitch-black except for the distant glow of the security lights. Somewhere out there, Luke Havoc and the evening security team patrolled the grounds.
“This better be important.”
Creek turned sharply. He tipped his head to one side, eyes gleaming darkly. “Mayor.”
“Why are you here?” At this hour, her patience was limited.
“I’ve come to accept the advisory job you offered me.”
She hoped he could read the disbelief on her face. “Are you serious? At three in the morning?” He deserved a bullet for this, but somehow she managed to keep her hand off the gun resting against her back. “Go home. We’ll pick this up tomorrow in my office.”
He shook his head, blinking rapidly. “I planned to start tonight since you don’t understand the problems plaguing your city.”
“My grandchild is in the hands of demons, the news is full of horrible stories, my inbox overflows daily with complaints, my councilmen are resigning, and you think I don’t understand the city’s problems? Like hell I don’t.”
“Then the time to act is now.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing? I’ve already spoken to Malkolm.” Although her memory of their talk was blurred around the edges. “He’s promised that he and the comarré will get Mariela back.” Had he? She couldn’t really remember.
Creek’s nostrils flared as he snorted out a breath. “If you’re willing to trust your granddaughter’s life to a cursed vampire and his blood slave, you may not have what it takes to rescue this city.” He blinked a few more times and stared harder at her. “Unless they’ve already gotten to you.”
“What? No.” She looked at him a little closer. He seemed… not himself. “No one’s gotten to me. I knew Chrysabelle’s mother. She was a good woman. Why shouldn’t I trust her daughter and Malkolm?”
He came nearer, his steps odd. Mincing. “Because the comarré work for the vampires and no vampires are to be trusted. Ever. No othernatural of any kind should be trusted. They will all turn against mankind sooner or later.”
“Two of my best security men are othernaturals.” She gestured toward the city. “So are some of our police, firefighters, and paramedics.”
“And if they decide they’d rather run the city than protect it? Who will guard your streets then?”
Lola settled into the nearest chair, the gun’s metal pressing reassuringly into her back. Creek sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her, waiting. Maybe he was right. Maybe—
“What of the child’s father?”
“What of him?”
“Has he offered to go after his daughter?”
She dropped her chin a little. “He’s looking into it.” Not that she knew what that meant.
“You’ve been to see him, then.” Creek’s eyes narrowed.
She sighed. That was information she hadn’t intended on sharing. “Yes. I went to see him.”
“What help is he giving you?”
“I’m not sure.” Maybe she should talk to Malkolm about turning her into a vampire. Surely he’d understand the importance of leveling the playing field. The thought was muddled in a cloud of déjà vu. Had she already asked him about turning her? She glanced up at Creek. “You once told me noble vampires had powers that fringe vampires didn’t. What kind of powers?”
He leaned back and squared his shoulders as if preparing to recite something recently learned. “The power of mind reading, the power of black magic, the power of alchemy, the power—”
“What kind of power does Malkolm have?”
With a burst of rapid blinking, Creek tipped his head to the other side. “The power of persuasion.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“He can convince humans to do as he says or cause them to forget things.”
“Forget things? Like conversations?”
Creek leaned in. “Yes.” He stroked his fingers down her arm, his touch as soft as feathers. The contact drew sparks over her skin, causing her to pull away.
Like a switch being thrown, her memory of the evening returned. She had gone to see Malkolm. She’d begged him to turn her into a vampire, even offered him her body, and still he’d refused her. The scornful look on his face filled her vision. As though she were too stupid to understand what becoming such a powerful creature entailed. And he’d never promised anything about rescuing Mariela.
That arrogant fool. “Damn it,” she whispered. Hot tendrils of anger wormed up her spine. He’d denied her. Then stripped the memory. She slammed her fist down on the arm of the chair. “That bastard messed with my mind.”
Creek nodded twice in rapid succession. “None of them can be trusted.”
“So what do I do about it? You want to be my advisor, advise me.”