Free Lost Angeles by Lisa Mantchev, A.L. Purol

both, that voice guides me in the right direction. Right now, there are things bouncing around in my brain, circumstances and reasons, none of which I actually understand. “I don’t know, but my instincts are telling me that something’s wrong here.”
    Roman’s gaze scours my face, giving me that warrior once-over that probably made grown men piss themselves back in the olden days. “Describe the smell.”
    “Sweet, like syrup, but with a little bit of decay . ”
    Matty pipes up again. “Bodies—”
    “Smell, I know,” I say, cutting him off, which earns me a grim expression of reproof from Roman. “But that wasn’t it, you know? Everything was too fresh for that.” It’s like I’m being punched in the instincts now. Blows I can’t see coming, the foe invisible but probably not unknown. There’s too much confluence: Cas and Trick here tonight; Lumen back from Italy. “What are we dealing with? Because I think you have some idea.”
    Roman rubs his thumb alongside his nose before answering. “It recently came to my attention that certain people have taken strides toward, shall we say, revolution?”
    “Certain people?” I ask, to clarify. “Or certain vampires ?”
    “The latter.” He leans back, as if unconcerned by the prospect of a possible rebellion. “Pockets of restless vampires making waves, frothing at the mouth for social change, rioting, breaking things. The usual, really.”
    “What does that have to do with my dead body?”
    Roman takes another sip of Scotch and turns his eyes toward the fire. The silence extends outward, blanketing the room with an oppressive weight that I can actually feel. Those are the sorts of emotions Roman has, the kind that permeate and transcend, and right now I’m getting a whole lot of listless ennui coming off The Sire.
    “Everything and nothing,” he says eventually, cutting his attention back to me. “I’m not entirely sure how large the movement is. What I do know is, eventually, someone will rise to the top. The cream, so to speak. Things will progress, idealistic men will wrest control over this so-called revolution. Those leading the charge will need prominent and powerful allies, and they will not stop until they procure them. They will approach me. They will approach you. They will approach Caspian and Patrick and anyone who holds the reins of money, society, and fame.”
    “And by ‘approach’ I assume you mean bribe, cheat, extort, maim, and blackmail?”
    Roman gives a slow nod. “Small men with big ideas need bigger men with larger fortunes, both literal and figurative, and we are those men.” He goes silent for another moment before he adds, “We have always been those men, Xaine. Proceed with caution. It might be wise to have an alibi in case of similar incidents.”
    “You could ring up Trick and get one of his girls to follow you around,” Matty suggests cheerfully. “Maybe put her on a pretty leash, Hilton-style.”
    I glare at him, because the last thing I want right now is someone trailing after me, making noise, making demands. I don’t have any kind of 24-hour personal assistant for that precise reason.
    For the first time this evening, there’s a twinkle of amusement from Roman. “Well now, that would be something to see. Alas, I fear Xaine might actually catch a murder charge if left to that end.”
    It’s true that I don’t have an abundance of patience on a good day, and having someone perched on my nuts all day, every day sounds like a nightmare. Nope, believe it or not, I’m all about the chemistry and less about the biology. Trick St. John, though, he’s a completely different animal, one that’ll piss on any tree that’s green enough. And his girls? Not a single brain in the bunch. But speaking of girls… “What about Lumen?”
    Roman turns the crystal glass in his hand, fingertips walking across the smooth surface. “What about her?”
    “I know you didn’t bring her back from Italy so she could tell