Chapter 49 - Veridan

Veridan sipped his wine, then swirled his glass about, watching the crimson liquid with satisfaction. The remains of a filet mignon sat on a silver-trimmed plate before him. Soft classical music played overhead while wealthy humans sat over expensive china and enjoyed a late night meal.

He could always appreciate New York. He hadn’t needed to stay—not when he could transport at a moment’s notice. Going back to Rothblade Castle, however, simply wasn’t a choice. Not tonight. There was only so much of Danata he could take, and his many High Sorcerer duties had dialed his tolerance to its lowest setting.

The wine warmed his chest and brought on a nice drowsy feeling. Almost content, he stood and walked out of the restaurant, ready for his nighttime rest. It had been a long and unpleasant day. The homeless shelters had left a bad taste in his mouth that even his exquisite preferences had failed to completely erase. He could still sense the voids’ unwashed smell on him, in spite of his earlier bath. Maybe a night at his favorite hotel and usual suite would undo the lasting effects of this waste of a day. At least, he hoped so.

After entering the lobby, he paused for a moment, looking for his key card. He found it in his breast pocket and was about to move toward the lift, when he saw none other than Ashby Rothblade entering the building. His steps were hurried, his expression one Veridan knew well. The boy was upset, very much so.

“I wonder why?” Veridan murmured to himself, a smirk tipping his mouth sideways. Slowly, he pulled back, out of sight, but certainly within earshot.

A moment later, Perry Hambleton hurried in at Ashby’s heels, groveling after him as was his custom. “Ashby, wait!” He stopped in front of the lift where Ashby waited. “You can’t be serious. Your mother will kill us if we go back.”

“There’s nothing here for me or anywhere else,” Ashby responded.

“We could go back with Joao and Calisto.”

Joao and Calisto?

Veridan searched his mind, but couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone with those names. He made a point to sear them into his memory.

There was a double ding as the doors in front of the boys slid open.

“You know I can’t do that,” Ashby said as he stepped into the lift.

Perry followed suit.

“I’m grateful for their help finding Sam, but they are with MORF. If I go with them, it would be . . .” Ashby’s words were lost to Veridan as the door slid shut once more.

Well, that was interesting. The buffoons had found the girl with the help of two MORF members? Veridan threw his head back and laughed a measured, but quite amused laugh.

He came away from the wall, straightened the cuffs of his shirt and stretched his shoulders.

Obviously, the girl had turned Ashby down. A blind man could have told the boy that, but Companions were so pathetic. They never could see beyond their infatuated noses. Why anyone would want to be shackled to another was a puzzle to him. Not that he was complaining. Ashby’s desperate need for his other half had just created this wonderful opportunity to speed things up a bit.

Sporting a crooked smile, Veridan walked to the counter and made some inquiries about the Regency’s standing account with the hotel. Three rooms other than his own were being paid for by the council’s generous coffers: two registered to Morphids and one to a human girl with a penchant for ghastly costume parties. He thanked the concierge and left the lobby, whistling and contemplating his array of useful spells.

There was always a handy one for any situation. This was no exception.