Ulysses
A breath left me. I couldn’t smell rabids in here, or corpses or blood either. But the reek of this place might disguise something.
I hit the bell again.
The door behind the counter opened a crack. “What do you want?” came a wheedling voice.
“Information.”
“Got nothing for you there.”
“Bullshit. Rumor has it you know every damn thing that goes on in this city.”
A second crept by, and then the door opened wider.
Glaring with beady black eyes, the dark-haired man pushed past the curtain. Five four if he was an inch, the wiry guy was built like a teenager but with a weathered face like a middle-aged man who’d lived rough. His scruffy beard and tousled hair didn’t fully disguise the hint of pointed ears or the sharp angle of his chin.
Rat shifter, I’d wager. The witch, Eden, said there were supernaturals in this place. She just hadn’t been specific on what kind.
The man crossed his bony arms. “I don’t want any part of your mess.”
“Then give me what I need so I can be on my way.”
A scoff left him. “That’s not staying out of it.” He jerked his chin at the door. “Go.”
My blood started boiling. Ten nights, five hours, forty-six damn minutes since rabids took Wren… “You know who I am?”
“Some vampire. I’m not interested in whatever the hell you lot are tangled up in now. You just—”
My arm was across the counter before he could flinch. Gripping his flannel shirt, I yanked him toward me, sending the cup of pens and the bell clattering away. “I’m Ulysses. You know that name?”
The man’s eyes went wide.
“Rabids captured someone who matters to me, so now I want information or I’m going to take ten nights of frustration out on your little shop.” I pulled him closer. “And you.”
