Dark Obsession (Vampire Royals of New York #3) - Sarah Piper Page 0,35
your father had a lab down here,” Charlotte said, “I didn’t picture it quite so literally.”
“Complete with the resident mad scientist,” Aiden teased. Then, raising his voice, “Good morning, Colin. I see you’re spending your nights wisely.”
Colin was so lost in his work, he didn’t even acknowledge their presence.
“We’ve brought you a trade, brother.” Dorian approached the stone table and set down a small cooler of blood bags he’d brought from upstairs, courtesy of the local clinic. “Breakfast in exchange for a peek at the old Mother.”
It was a few more moments before Colin glanced up from his work, his breath catching as he finally noticed the company.
“Dorian?” he asked calmly. “Have you seen Father?”
Dorian narrowed his eyes. “Are you all right, Colin?”
“I… of course.” Colin blinked away the confusion. “I meant Father’s other… centrifuge. I seem to have misplaced it.”
His eyes were red and glassy, his long hair unkempt. In that moment, he looked so much like Augustus, Dorian’s heart nearly stalled.
“When was the last time you fed?” Dorian asked.
“Or showered?” Aiden asked. “Goodness, Colin. You’ve become the literal troll under the bridge.”
Aiden wrinkled his nose and took a step backward, but Colin was oblivious to the teasing.
He blinked again, still trying to process the sight before him.
Then, as if gripped by a sudden mania, he darted out in front of the table, attempting to block whatever he was working on from view. “Charlotte! I… Good evening. Rather, good morning. I… I wasn’t aware Dorian wanted to show you around today. I would’ve… tidied up a bit.”
“It’s all right,” Dorian said, concerned about his brother’s frazzled state. “We won’t be long. We’re just here to see the sculpture.”
Colin continued to blink.
“The Mother of Lost Souls?” Dorian prompted. “It would seem she’s captured the interest of not just Chernikov, but Rogozin as well.”
“Mother of… Lost Souls? The sculpture?” Colin snapped to attention, finally breaking free of the strange, work-induced trance. “Why didn’t you say so?”
Dorian tried not to sigh. “You really need to eat, brother.”
“And I will,” he said with a familiar, dimpled smile that filled Dorian with relief. “As soon as I get you sorted down here.”
He made his way through the disaster area to the shelves beyond, retrieving the bundle from the nook where they’d stashed it after Dorian and Cole had unearthed it.
“Here we are, then.” Colin cleared a space at the end of the table, then unwrapped the sculpture.
It was just as ugly as Dorian remembered.
“So she’s the woman who’s got our demons all hot and bothered, huh?” Charlotte asked. “May I?”
Colin stepped aside to give her access, and she immediately got down to business, studying the piece with an unbroken intensity that brought a smile to Dorian’s face.
He loved watching her work, her left brow arched gently, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She reminded him of an archeologist, her fingers exploring every curve and contour for clues about the Mother’s origins.
Holding the sculpture upright, she slid her phone from her pocket and snapped a few close-up shots, then glanced at her screen, zooming in for more clues.
“You’re like the Sherlock of the Smithsonian,” Cole said with a low chuckle.
“It certainly feels that way sometimes,” she said, still examining the photos on her screen.
“Well, what do you think, Sherlock?” Aiden asked. “What do the most powerful demon factions in the city want with that crude, nipple-less abomination?”
“Still with the nipple fixation?” Dorian gave Aiden’s cheek a playful smack. “Perhaps you ought to talk to someone about that, mate.”
“Perhaps the artist should’ve paid more attention in anatomy class.”
“Aiden’s right.” Charlotte glanced up from the phone, her brow furrowed. “The lack of nipples is the first clue something isn’t right.”
Cole laughed. “And if that don’t belong on a T-shirt…”
“What do you mean, something isn’t right?” Dorian asked.
“Hate to be the guy who has to break this news to Rogozin and Chernikov,” she said, “but this piece is a forgery.”
It took Dorian a moment to realize she wasn’t joking. “You’re certain.”
“Look.” She put her phone away and grabbed a pen from the table, using it to direct their attention along the edges of the statue. “See these lines? They’re seams from a cast. The forgers likely made a crude mold from the original piece, then filled it with clay. And these tiny grooves here? They’re from a knife, probably used to scrape off the excess and try to smooth out the lines. They added the stones and hair, and carved in some of the other details, but then