“I . . . ave . . . oof.” The words were garbled from the pressure Bones put on the vampire’s throat.
“Proof?” Bones asked, loosening his grip.
Wraith managed a nod. “If you stop throttling me, I’ll show you.”
FABIAN FOLLOWED US at a discreet distance as we walked down the winding gravel road that led to the bottom of the hill. If Wraith noticed the ghost flitting above the tree tops, he didn’t comment. In fact, he seemed relaxed. Cheerful even, but I didn’t let down my guard. I’d had people smile the whole time they attempted to kill me, so a jolly disposition might indicate good intentions if you were Santa Claus, but the same didn’t go for vampires.
“How did you find my house?” Bones asked. He also hadn’t lost an inch of his wariness, as the currents swirling around him indicated.
“I followed you from the hotel,” Wraith replied.
I stopped short. “You’re admitting you’re the asshole who carved up Annette?” Brother-in-law or not, he’d pay if he was.
Wraith sighed. “I rescued Annette by chasing that vampire off. Didn’t catch him, though. By the time I returned to check on her, you were loading her into the car, and the lot of you looked angry enough to kill first and ask questions later.”
Ian had said he’d heard a vampire when he first arrived. He’d thought it was the perpetrator fleeing the scene, but could it have been Wraith chasing after the real attacker?
“If that’s true, why wouldn’t Annette mention you when we arrived? And more importantly, where were you when some sod was painting the walls with her blood?”
Wraith cast a sideways glance at the flatness in Bones’s tone. He wouldn’t need to be linked to his emotions to know that Bones didn’t believe this version of events.
“I was on my way to see her. You can check her mobile; the call she received right before she was attacked was me telling her I was running late. When I arrived, I heard something odd. Her door was unlocked, so I entered in time to see someone dash out the window. After checking that Annette was still alive, I chased him. As for why she didn’t mention me, I can only guess it was due to a misguided attempt to keep the surprise.”
“What surprise?” Bones and I asked in unison.
“That you have a brother,” Wraith replied softly. “The news was to be Annette’s birthday present to you.”
Even with their similarity in appearance, it still seemed impossible to think that Wraith was Bones’s brother. From the disbelief threading into my subconscious, Bones felt the same way.
“This vampire you chased, did you get a good look at him? Happen to recognize him?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Sorry, never seen him before. The only thing I can tell you is that he had dark hair and could fly like the wind.”
A brunet vampire who could fly. That narrowed it down to at least ten thousand—not much help at all. We were almost at the bottom of the hill. Up ahead, a Buick was parked on the side of the road, its lights off.
“My car,” Wraith said, nodding at it. Then he held out a set of keys. “The proof you seek is in the boot.”
Bones didn’t touch the keys, but a tight smile stretched his lips. “Don’t think so. You open it.”
Wraith snorted in a way that sounded very familiar. “Think I’ve wired it to explode? You’re even more paranoid than your reputation.”
“I’m also more impatient than my reputation,” Bones replied coolly. “So get on with it.”
With another noise of exasperation, Wraith set down his long stick and walked over to the back of the car. The trunk popped up without even a spark and Wraith pulled out a flat, sheet-draped, rectangular object.
“Here,” he said, holding it out to Bones. “I also have archives, but if this doesn’t convince you, those won’t either.”
Bones took it and pulled the sheet away. It was a painting; old, from the state of the framing and the canvas, but I didn’t need more than a single glance at the subject to let out a gasp.
Bones said nothing, simply staring at the image of a man who bore an eerie resemblance to him, only his hair was corn-silk blond and he had lines around his mouth that looked too harsh to be caused by smiling. He wore a ruffled shirt and an embroidered coat with so many tassels, buttons, and braids that it looked like it could stand on its own. A jewel-handled dirk sticking out of his belt completed the image of extravagance, as if the arrogance in the man’s expression wasn’t clue enough that he’d been born to a life of luxury.
“Meet the Duke of Rutland,” Wraith said, his voice breaking the heavy silence. “In case his face isn’t proof enough, records show that he was christened Crispin Phillip Arthur Russell, the Second. My human name was Crispin Phillip Arthur Russell, the Third. Same as yours.”