Chapter 2

"One Bloody Bitch, please Tom,"Lord Reynard said in his perfect, deeply delicious, proper voice.

"My apologies, I do not have that drink in my inventory. I can however, make you a Bloody Mary? Would you like me to make you a Bloody Mary?"

Reynard's right eyebrow ticked. He turned toward me, shifting that glorious curtain of black silk hair across his expensive suit-clad shoulders. "This is indeed disturbing."

"It happened sometime overnight. He was fine yesterday, when I asked him to come up with some non-alcoholic cocktails for our guests. He told me to go, erm, finger myself, so he'd definitely been our Tom then."

"Hm." Reynard glided around behind the bar, then ducked out of sight.

The Tom Collins humanoid AI unit twitched, then slumped, his head going slack. His eyes remained open. I shivered. Now he looked like an upright corpse.

Hopefully, the guests wouldn't notice. It was still early in the day, so the bar was quiet anyway. But any rumors our bartender was out of action would hit the hotel's measly profits.

"Hello, and welcome to the Tom Collins Artificial Bartender Package, version two point one. To change my language, please state your preferred linguistic package now," Basic Tom said.

Reynard straightened behind the bar. "How is he now?"

"You have selected Swahili," Tom said. "To confirm, say yes in Swahili."

"No," I said.

"Imethibitishwa."

"What? No. Tom, go back to English."

Tom waffled some more Swahili that I had no hope of understanding. Of course, Reynard did, and fell into speaking fluent Swahili with Basic Tom. But Reynard's classic resting vampire face grew ever tighter, until he ducked under the bar again, switched Tom off, and produced a tiny black rectangle, not much larger than his thumb.

"What's that?"

"His brain."

"Oh. Ew."

"I'll take this to the office and have the staff see what the problem is. Unfortunately, Tom Collins will be out of order until I return."

"So the bar's closed?"

"Unfortunately, the bar is closed, Adam."

Oh no. The bar was Zee's favorite place to feed. If the bar was closed, he'd have to feed from me, which wouldn't normally have been a problem. But over the last few days, he'd been a bit... distant, in that regard. And then there was the issue of my curse work potentially being deadly. If he couldn't feed from me, or dance in the bar, he might have to go back to Razorsedge. "How long will it take?"

"It shouldn't be long. A day, at most." Reynard tucked the AI chip into his pocket. "Depending on the cause."

A day would be alright. Zee probably wouldn't even notice. I sighed, and rubbed my forehead, hoping to push back an impending ache.

"Would you . . ."

Reynard trailed off, which he never did. I looked up.

"I... well." He cleared his throat. "That is to say, would you like to join me?"

"At your office?"

His chin lifted. "Yes. If you'd like."

I'd get to see the headquarters of the multibillion-dollar Reynard Technologies? We'd be together, without someone trying to kill us or put us in pies? We might even be able to discuss a few things that were long overdue, such as what didn't happen in Razorsedge's red room, and whether he and I maybe had something more than an odd, mismatched friendship. "I'd like that."

"Good. I'll summon my driver and meet you outside in ten minutes."

"I'll uh... tell Zee the bad news about the bar, I guess."

I found Zee in the corner of the foyer, standing at a DIY podium that appeared to be constructed of old crates nailed together. He'd slung a brightly colored celebration banner down the front, scratched out the words Let's Party, and painted on Concierge instead. Then he'd drawn on five gold stars, and scrawled The Best, above it.

He had mentioned taking on more of an active role in the hotel's day-to-day tasks, but concierge wasn't quite what I'd had in mind. It would probably be fine, especially as he looked amazing in his blood-red suit. He'd worn that same suit when strutting his stuff at Razorsdege, the night we'd freed him and his friends from Sebastien. With his wings hidden away, he wasn't as enormously loud now as he'd been then, but his height, horns, and emotive tail meant he still dazzled.

"Welcome to the SOS Hotel!" he announced, the second the front door opened and a stocky troll strode in. Trolls are like gargoyles, in that they're packed with muscle, but they're shorter, and grumpier. "Where we offer a fabulous fucking service, from top"—Zee winked—"to bottom."

From anyone else, that line would have been innocent. But from San Francisco's number one ex-porn-star demon, there was no such thing as innocent.

I waited until he'd guided our uncertain guest to Madame Matase to check in, and caught his eye on his return to his makeshift desk. "Zee? What are you doing?"

"I'm a concierge now. At every guest's beck and call." He rested an arm on his podium, and draped himself on display. "Their heart's desires are my..." He circled a hand in the air and frowned. "What fucking rhymes with desires?"

"Okay. But you're just helping the guests out, right? You're not actually offering anything extra?"

He grinned, and declared loudly enough for everyone in the foyer, and probably the rest of the hotel, to hear. "Whatever they need, Kitten. I'm here for it."

I didn't have time to get into this with him now. I had a vampire car to catch. "So uh, here's the thing. Reynard is going to fix Tom, but until he does, the bar's closed. Can you maybe put a sign on the door?"

"Yup. Sure. Whatever."

Well, that wasn't so bad. I'd assumed he'd be mad. But he had the concierge role to distract him, so maybe the timing was good. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"So, you're good?"

"I'm fucking great. I have my own desk, and everyone gets a personal greeting from moi. All our guests' desires are met." He planted himself behind his desk and folded his arms on top, the picture of professional poise. "I am fucking great," he repeated.

"Erm, okay."

Why was this weird? Was I making it weird? "It's just..."

"Toodle off with Vampire Daddy." He rippled his fingers. "I've got this."

"We'll be back later. He said it might only take a day, so maybe you and I can take a bottle of wine onto the roof later?"

"Can't. Busy." He suddenly examined his nails.

"Oh. Alright." He didn't have to spend time with me, but we'd been so close these last few weeks, I'd thought that might continue.

Although, maybe we'd just become close because of the high-stakes situations we'd been in? Now all the drama was over, he was entitled to do his own thing, without me. Of course he was. He had his own life too. I'd just thought—hoped—I might have been part of it. My heart flip-flopped. It was fine. We were fine.

Another guest appeared, asking about the best place to spend the evening in San Francisco, so of course, Zee had a thousand different options to recommend. I left him to it, and headed outside to find Reynard's car waiting.

"Is everything alright, Adam?" Reynard asked, after I'd joined him in the back and we'd gotten underway.

"Oh sure. I think so. Maybe. I don't know. It's Zee. He's been a bit distant these last few days."

"Going from his life at Razorsedge to committing to the hotel is a substantial change. Perhaps he just needs some time to adjust?"

That was probably it. "You're right."

"I usually am, eventually." His soft smile put my twitchy heart at ease.

Well, this was nice. Speaking with him was nice. Normal was... nice. There had been a time, not too long ago, when I wouldn't have told him anything, and then only after some persuasion. These days though, I knew I could trust Reynard with most things. It may only have been few weeks since we'd met, but after everything we'd been through—saving Zee from Gideon Cain's attempt to destroy us, being kidnapped by vampires, turning Zee's old general into mincemeat, and ruining Sebastien—it felt like longer.

"This is nice, isn't it?" I patted my knees. "We haven't really done normal, what with all the kidnapping, running around, and almost dying?" A nervous laugh tittered out of me. I could do normal. "There isn't a body in the trunk, is there?"

Reynard arched an eyebrow. "How did you know?"

There was? Was that a vampire thing? His lunch? "Oh, no, I mean, why wouldn't there be?"

Reynard's smile snuck back onto his face. "My apologies," he said with a finger flick. "I'm merely jesting."

"Oh." Reynard joked now? How was I supposed to tell when his expression hadn't changed?

"It clearly was not an amusing jest, and alarmed you, which was not my intention."

I barked a too-loud laugh. "No, it was hilarious! Really funny. You're super funny."

He grimaced. "Clearly, my sense of humor is lacking."

Zee had many names for Reynard. One of them being, a humorless stick of ice. "No, your humor is fine," I squeaked. Why had my voice pitched higher?

"I've been receiving text messages from Zodiac that are clearly supposed to be amusing, but I find them more puzzling than humorous."

The dick texts. Oh dear. "Zee's humor is a lot. I'll ask him to stop."

"No, please don't," he said, with some force. "Regardless of their content, I find that his messages provide some relief during the hours when I am not at the hotel."

"Relief from what?"

"Work."

"Oh, I see. Then you don't enjoy your job?"

He considered the question while watching the city sweep by outside the car's shaded windows. "It's difficult to enjoy something you only partially understand, and have little interest in."

"You mean, technology?" I didn't understand much of it either.

"Money is necessary to survive in this world. Reynard Technologies serves its purpose, but I have very little interest in the day-to-day running."

That seemed... sad. "If you didn't have to run the company, what would you do? Do you have hobbies?"

"Torture, mostly."

"Oh. Uh... I suppose there's not much opportunity for that?"

"Not so much, lately." He plucked a stray, offensive hair from his perfect pants.

"What's your ideal job, then?"

He tilted his head in thought. "I'm not entirely sure. Vampires don't engage in frivolous tasks. Everything we do should be in service to the queen, but with the veil as it is, we've had to develop independent lives."

Like asking an ant to go find a life of its own, without its colony. "What did you do before the veil sealed shut and you inherited Reynard Technologies?"

He'd stolen the company from a small start-up, and past discussions suggested he hated that about himself. There was a great deal of Reynard's life that Reynard did not appear to like much. When I'd first seen him climb the hotel steps, I'd assumed he was a man with power, a man in control of his fate. He'd had the flashy car, the suit, the driver, the poise. But beneath all that, he sometimes seemed as lost as the rest of us.

"I was a liaison between worlds. I regularly traveled back and forth, overseeing the wealth and lands of the royal family on both sides, ensuring everything ran smoothly, keeping operations under the human radar, so to speak."

"Then you were vital to the royal family?"

"In their financial dealings, yes. But as you know, barons are on the bottom rung of the hierarchy. Until recently, I doubt they even knew my name."

"Which was why you had the idea of gifting me to your queen, as a way of climbing the hierarchy, getting your name out there."

"Indeed. Although it was my wife's idea. And for my part in that, I remain greatly ashamed."

"It's fine. I understand why you did it." The more I knew Victor Reynard, the more I understood his complicated ways. Nobody was as simple as the front they put on for others. "We've all done things we aren't proud of."

He looked into my eyes. "Have we, Adam?"

I'd left the door wide open on that one. "I mean, not me." I chuckled, and plucked imaginary dust from my slacks. "I'm just a boring human who hasn't done anything, ever."

"Of course."

That was the problem with opening up and trusting people. Trust lead to truth, and the truth would destroy everything I'd built at the SOS Hotel, and the relationships that had become precious to me.

We fell silent for a little while as the driver navigated San Francisco's steep streets and busy traffic. Reynard knew I wasn't human. Zee knew it too. But if I acknowledged it, that opened other doors. Doors that had to stay locked, barricaded, buried, and topped with landmines so nobody dared go near them.

"I hope you don't mind, but I thought I'd look into Claymore's disappearance," Reynard said. "Although I've never met him, the hotel staff speak fondly of the gargoyle. Gideon Cain is at the top of my list of suspects, however, he's been conspicuous in his absence of late, and gargoyles have been vanishing across San Francisco. Claymore's disappearance could be related to that."

"Really?" I'd had my hands full with everything, and Claymore being missing had slipped down my investigate-later list. "Have you found out any more?"

"Not yet, but I've diverted some of the team's resources to look into it in more depth."

"You can do that?"

"What is technology for, if not to spy on people?"

Was that what technology was for? I wasn't the best judge, since I didn't understand it and rarely used it. "I do feel bad about Claymore. So much has happened. He was always so quiet, barely said three words each day. But that's no excuse to forget him."

"Adam, you do know you aren't personally responsible for every staff member and guest in your hotel? You can't keep everyone safe when they each have their own lives and responsibilities."

Maybe not. "But I can try."

"Why?"

I wasn't even sure. It felt right like nothing in my life had felt right before. Destiny and I did not get along, but the SOS Hotel had called my name when I'd been alone and lost. And I'd answered it. "Everyone deserves a safe place, don't you think?"

Reynard gazed at me. "But why does it have to be you who gives it to them?"

"Because I've never had one."

The car cruised to a soft halt outside a bank of shiny marble steps. I peeked outside, tilting my head to look up, and up. Like Cain Developments, Reynard Technologies had a huge high-rise building made of mirrored glass, jutting into the San Francisco sky.

"You've never had a safe place?" Reynard asked quietly. "What about your family? Was your home not safe?"

I swallowed hard and kept my gaze on the shimmering glass. "Not really." Not once they knew what I was...The prophecy had been more important. Don't be so selfish, do what's right, be a hero... and die.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." I beamed—or tried to. "It's fine now. I have the hotel." I sprang from the car, eager to get away from the topic of myself, and waited as Reynard's driver popped up the obligatory umbrella to escort us inside.

A doorman dropped his chin at our approach. "Lord Reynard."

Reynard nodded back. "How's your youngest? Feeling better, I hope?"

"Oh, much better sir." He opened the door for us. "I'll tell her you asked after her."

We swept into a glossy lobby with a fountain at its center. Water cascaded down a sculpture of the letters RT merged together. Soft, calming music tinkled. A middle-aged woman appeared from somewhere, with earbuds in, and rattled off a list of names and times that sounded like meetings Reynard was due to attend. We marched on, moving at pace, so I occasionally had to jog to keep up. Then we entered an elevator that made the SOS Hotel elevator look and smell like a trash can.

The chatty woman jabbed the basement button, and down we went, without a single jolt or clanging cable. This elevator definitely wasn't about to plunge us to our deaths.

The doors opened into a dark, narrow corridor. The lights flicked on as we stepped out of the elevator, and Reynard was moving at speed again.

"Joyce, this is Adam, my special friend," he said, stopping outside a nice varnished dark-wood door with an expensive looking name plaque that read: Lord Reynard.

I raised a hand in a small wave and smiled. "Hello."

"Oh, I see," Joyce said, screwing up her nose, and then stabbing a visitors pin badge through my shirt. Ow. "Never mind."

Reynard opened the door, and dove inside a small basement room. It had a nice desk, with a slimline computer as its centerpiece, and a sumptuous leather swivel chair behind. One lonely two-seater couch sat opposite. And that was it. No windows. No decoration. I'd seen nicer prison cells.

"Thank you, Joyce. That will be all."

Joyce looked at me, sighed, and left, closing the door behind her.

"Adam, do take a seat."

Wait. This bunker was his office?

Reynard halted, halfway to sitting down in his leather chair. "Is something wrong?"

"Uh, no, I just... I was expecting something different."

"Different how?" He sat, and flicked on his computer as an afterthought, his attention now firmly on me.

"Oh, I don't know, something a bit..." What was the right word? I didn't want to offend him. "Bigger?"

He spread his hands. "This room is adequate for my needs."

"Yeah, but..." He was Lord Victor Reynard. Tech magnate. He owned this company. Why was he in the basement, tucked under the stairs like an afterthought? "You're a billionaire."

He side-eyed the room, as though looking at it anew. "You don't like it?"

"No. It's fine." I sat on the little couch, and the cushions gradually deflated under my ass. This couldn't be his real office, right? "You're messing with me again, right?" I chuckled. "Oh, Victor, that new sense of humor of yours. I can't tell what's real and what's not."

"Messing with you?"

I pinched my lips together. "Never mind. It's lovely."

"Is it the couch? You don't like the couch? I'll buy another." He jabbed his computer's keyboard. It blipped back at him, connecting a call. "Joyce, order a new couch. Adam doesn't like this one."

"What?" My chuckle came out strained. "No, it's fine. Lovely in fact." I bounced on it and the cushions puffed. "See."

"Is there anything else your special friend Adam doesn't like?"Joyce's nasal voice filled the small room, sounding irritated. She really did not like me.

"Adam?" Reynard prompted.

"Erm. Nope. Everything's fine."

"It's fine." Reynard repeated.

"Although . . ."

"Yes?"Joyce snapped. "It's not as though I have eighteen appointments to arrange before midday, but you go right ahead Adam, and tell me what I should do for you."

I cringed. "Oh, it's nothing. Never mind."

"Adam?" Reynard urged. "Clearly, it's something."

"Some wall art? That's all. A little picture to brighten up the space, maybe? Just a thought?"

"Did you get that, Joyce?" Reynard asked.

"Would Adam like me to paint it before or after I've arranged the rest of your day?"

"What?" I exclaimed. "No, I meant buy it, don't paint it." Who did that? "Just a basic, standard print of a cat or something? You know what? It's fine, don't worry. Forget I said anything."

"Are you sure?" Reynard asked.

"Yup." I tucked my hands under my thighs. "Very sure."

Reynard hung up, leaned back in his chair, and eyed me. "You are clearly trying very hard not to speak what's on your mind. Tell me, I won't be offended."

"It's just that Cain Towers was all shiny, and Gideon took us to a fancy floor near the top, and I kind of assumed you'd have like a suite or something? A big shiny office? Maybe with one of those magnetic ball doo-dahs that click-clacks back and forth?"

"Magnetic ball doo-dahs?" Reynard repeated, straight-faced.

Oh, this wasn't going well. I was pretty sure I'd offended him, but it was really hard to tell since his stoic, mask-like face was impossible to read. "They might not be magnetic?" I said, my voice small. "Could be... erm... gravity?" I really needed to stop speaking. "Or momentum? I guess." Those last few words came out really small.

Reynard blinked, and looked away. "You did see the windows on the building when we arrived?"

"Uh-huh."

"So, knowing my situation, you're suggesting I should have an office on the top floor, surrounded on all sides by daylight? You don't think that would be an uncomfortable risk?"

Ahhh. I was beginning to see the reason for why he might be in the basement. "I can see how being surrounded by sunlight might be an issue."

Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his fingers and eyed the plain walls. "Still, I've always occupied this office, but now I'm wondering if you're right and I should inhabit a space more befitting my stature."

Oh, Joyce was going to hate me if Reynard decided he wanted to up and move two minutes after I'd arrived. "You know what, this place is great. There's nothing wrong with it. You don't need to spend ages in an elevator, going up and down all day. What a pain. And then there's the lack of daylight. Perfect for someone of your... you... your lordliness. Nobody wants to be a goldfish in a bowl, right? All those fingerprints on the glass. Ugh. Terrible idea. You have your desk, and a couch, and super-straight walls. I don't know what I was thinking."

His eyebrows pinched together. "I sense you are mocking me."

"Oh no, I'm not... that's not..." I sighed. "I didn't mean to offend you, Victor. I'm sorry. Maybe we should start over and focus on fixing Tom?"

"Right. Indeed. Yes." He pulled the chip from his pocket and held it up between his finger and thumb. "I'll have the troubleshooting team look at it. Shall we walk there, as you don't seem to like my office?"

Oh dear. "Sure."

What followed was a tour of the entire building—through research and development, and marketing, and finance. It was all very neat and efficient, exactly as I'd expect from Reynard's business. People said hello to Mr. Reynard, as they called him. A few had some ideas they wanted to run by him. He treated everyone equally, and gave them each a few minutes of his time, before asking them to speak with Joyce to arrange a meeting. We ended up somewhere in the middle of the building, in the faults department. This floor was a bit more chaotic, with phones ringing, and discussions firing off all around us at various booths.

Reynard handed Tom's chip to one of the team and explained how his character programming had experienced a glitch, resetting it to factory defaults. The more they spoke, the more uncomfortable I became referring to our Tom as an it. He'd clearly been much more than a broken AI who liked to verbally assault his customers, and sometimes poison them. Like with Claymore, I'd neglected to notice how integral he'd been, until he was gone.

The guests were under my protection. I needed to do better.

The technician plugged the chip into his computer, tapped away, and ran a quick diagnostic—whatever that meant. It was all very technical, and all of it went over my head. Feeling like a third wheel to the wagon, I excused myself from the conversation and wandered through the department. Computers were clearly integral to everything happening at Reynard Technologies, but it all may as well have been some mystical magic for all the sense it made to me. Humans loved their technology. They wore it, carried it, spent most hours of every day with it, relied on it, talked to it. As a human, I should do the same, but I'd never gotten along with it. Technology was alien, but just as Reynard had said, technology spied on people. That was not a good thing for someone who was trying to hide.

My ambling brought me to a door marked: Research and Development area, authorized personnel only. As I approached, the red light on the wall by the door blinked green. Reynard's guest badge must have given me access. What could a multibillion-dollar tech company be working on? Exciting things?

A quick look inside wouldn't hurt. As the glass door swooshed back, it revealed a glass-lined corridor with several rooms either side, where skeletal machines assembled various contraptions. It soon became clear, the projects here weren't TVs or phones. I'd watched a YouTube video once, of an old-style yellow robotic dog plodding through a forest, carrying a backpack. The equipment here was similar, but more advanced.

Then, through the glass, I spotted a research room with screens all over the wall, displaying people going about their days. But not just people. Lost Ones.

A shiver tracked down my spine. I'd known the city's population was monitored, and knew to be careful around cameras, but here it was, in action.

After glancing left and right, checking I was alone, I popped open the door and ventured inside. It all appeared to be automated. When Reynard had said he had people trying to find Claymore, was this observation system what he'd meant?

The screens scanned face after face, and logged their identities, matching them up with personal records. It wasn't illegal, since these people were all in public areas, but the squiffy feeling inside me didn't feel right.

I spotted a request window open and typed in: Adam Vex. Records spilled onto the screen, including the marker: Person of Interest.

Interest to who?

I scanned the information, and my heart sank. The system had marked every single line as irregular. Address, occupation, race, all of it. Adam Vex was irregular. My heart lodged in my throat. I looked up, and around, checking I was still alone. People worked in the adjacent glass rooms, but nobody was paying me any mind. I discreetly shifted the curser down to the controls and hit delete.

Oops, no more Adam Vex.

Nobody would notice I wasn't in their system. I wasn't even worth paying attention to. Nothing to see here.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I sauntered out of the room, and clicked the door closed.

My heart thumped, veins growing hot. I needed to leave. Now. Dropping my gaze, I made myself small and insignificant, and hurried from the corridor.

I had to get out, get back to the hotel, where I was safe.

I stumbled into an elevator and jabbed the basement button.

It was time to leave Reynard Technologies.