Marshall opened a door at the far end of the room, and faint amber light fanned out across the nearby shadows, briefly lifting them. To the right of the door stood a vampire who was little more than skin and bones. His face was gaunt—sunken-cheeked and pop-eyed—and he reminded me very much of someone on the edge of starvation. But given the underlying aroma of blood in the room, that surely could not be the case.
I stepped into the room and looked around. Like the foyer, it was comfortably furnished, with an office set up at one end and a sofa and chairs at the other. A percolator burbled away in one corner, the rich aroma thankfully overwhelming the smells coming in from the larger room.
"Please," Marshall said, "help yourself to coffee."
I glanced at the percolator, but—mindful of my somewhat uneasy stomach—opted not to take him up on his offer. I perched on the edge of one of the chairs instead. Azriel stopped behind me, the heat of his presence swirling around me, a blanket I wanted to wrap close to chase away the increasing sense of trepidation. And I wasn't sure whether it was this place, Hunter's warning, or something I sensed but had yet to uncover.
Marshall walked past us and took a seat on the sofa opposite us, one arm stretched across the back of it. If he was worried about the deaths linked to his club, he wasn't showing it.
"So tell me," he said pleasantly, "why you?"
I shrugged. "I have more experience roaming the gray fields, so Hunter thinks I may spot something the Cazadors would miss."
He raised an eyebrow. "And did Hunter give you the nanowire you're wearing?"
I hadn't felt him attempting to read my mind, but then, with the best telepaths, you didn't. "No. That's something I thought might be handy considering who I'm often dealing with."
"It's not one I've come across before."
"Because it's not actually on the market yet." I'd gotten it from Tao's cousin, Stane, who had some very well-placed fingers in the black-market pie. "I haven't come here to discuss nano implants. Hunter tells me the five victims were all regulars of your club."
He crossed his legs and plucked at lint on his pants—a gesture that reminded me oddly of Hunter. "They were. Although Jack Mayberry was a recent inductee."
I wondered which victim Mayberry was. Hunter hadn't exactly been forthcoming with their names. "Inductee?"
He studied me for a moment, then said, "What has Hunter told you about this club?"
"Only that it caters to a particular type of clientele, and that it would be extremely dangerous for me to be here after dark."