He had a tear tattooed just below one eye and he, like Wulfe, hopped down to the floor via the seats, though without Wulfe's grace.
It was more as if he fell slowly down the bleachers, landing on hands and knees on the unforgiving floor.
"Estelle, Estelle," he moaned, brushing by me.
He was human, one of her sheep, I thought.
Marsilia raised an eyebrow, and a vampire followed Estelle's human at three or four times his speed.
He caught up to him before the man had made it halfway across the floor.
The vampire had the appearance of a very elderly man.
He looked as though he'd died of old age before being made a vampire, though there was nothing old or shaky in the hold he kept on the struggling man.
"What would you have me do, Mistress?" the old man said.
"I would have had you not allow him to interrupt us here," Marsilia said.
I glanced at Warren, who frowned.
She was lying then.
I'd thought so.
This was part of the script.
After a thoughtful moment Marsilia said, "Kill him." There was a snap, and the man dropped to the ground--and every vampire in the place who had been breathing stopped.
Estelle fell to the ground, four or five feet from Wulfe.
I glanced away and unexpectedly caught Marsilia staring at me.
She wanted me dead; I could see it in the hungry look she had.
But she had more pressing business just now Marsilia gestured at the chair in invitation to Stefan.
"Please, accept my apologies for the delay." Stefan stared at her.
If there was an emotion on his face, I couldn't read it.
He'd taken a step forward, and she stopped him once again.
"No.
Wait.
I have a better idea." She looked at me.
"Mercedes Thompson.
Come let us partake of your truth.
Witness for us the things you have seen and heard." I folded my arms, not in outright refusal--but I didn't go waltzing over either.
This was Marsilia's show, but I wouldn't let her have the upper hand completely.
Warren's hand closed over my shoulder--a show of support, I thought.