When they had returned to London just before dawn the night before, they were met at the door of the Mayfair house with a handwritten note.

Mariposa—

Come to The Cockleshell in Gravesend with the Italian tonight at nine o’clock. I have information for you.

—Tywyll

“What is he?”

“A trader. A conduit. And apparently, someone who knew your father.”

She whispered, “My dad and my grandma are the only ones that have ever called me ‘Mariposa.’ And it’s not something he would have shared with just anyone.”

“Which is why we are meeting him alone at the dirtiest pub in Gravesend, instead of being accompanied by twenty of Terry’s most vicious minions.”

She smiled and tried to lighten his mood as she slipped an arm around his waist. “You should totally get some minions.”

He smirked despite himself. “Isn’t that what Benjamin is for? He’s a minion-in-training.”

She snickered and pulled him down for a kiss. Between rushing back to London, seeing a doctor for her injuries, and questioning Terry’s human staff, Beatrice had little to no time alone with Giovanni, and she could tell the stress of the previous three nights was wearing on them both.

“I’m exhausted,” she whispered as she laid her head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I know.”

His restless eyes continued to scan the dark, almost empty, pub. She sat next to him and left a hand on his knee, needing the connection. Giovanni had been eager to escape the city, wanting to whisk her away somewhere safe and away from prying eyes and ears as soon as they had returned. But after they received the note, Beatrice and Carwyn had insisted it was important to meet the mysterious water vampire—even if he was the source of the betrayal—and Giovanni had reluctantly agreed.

She heard the door open and an electric current radiated up her arm. She could feel Giovanni’s skin heat against hers.

“Tywyll,” he said in a low voice.

“This is Stephen’s girl then.” She looked up. “Ay, ye’ are. Look at the eyes. Just like yer father.”

She stared at the unassuming man wearing dirty work clothes. To anyone else, he would have fit right in, a hardworking middle-aged man out for a pint at the pub after work. Beatrice, however, took note of his inhuman paleness, the energy that seemed to vibrate off him, and the fangs that peeked from the corners of his mouth.

“How do you know my father?”

“Can I sit without fear for meself, fire-starter? Do I have yer word?”

She could tell it was a struggle for him, but she saw Giovanni give a slight nod out of the corner of her eye.

“For now, yes.”

“Fer now’ll do fine.” He sat across from them and raised three fingers toward the bar. “I reckon we’ll stay out of each other’s way after that, eh?”

“It depends very much on what you say, waterman.”

“How do you know my father?” Beatrice asked again.

The old vampire turned his eyes toward her.

“Yer father is a fine one, miss. I don’t like many, but I liked him. Met him at this very pub.”

A shiver crossed her neck and she felt Giovanni’s hand squeeze hers under the table. “My father was here?”

Tywyll paused as an old man came to set three dark pints on the table in front of them. Tywyll took his and drank before he answered.

“He was. Ten years ago. He’d just come from the North and he was makin’ his way out of the country. Needed a bit of help. Someone gave him my name. Had gold and he didn’t talk too much. I like that in a vampire.”

Giovanni leaned forward and passed one of the pints to Beatrice as he set the other in front of himself. The glasses were surprisingly clean.

“I heard rumors about him ten years ago,” Giovanni said. “About the books he had. He was referred to me for a job, but no one seemed to be able to find him.”

Tywyll’s eyes almost twinkled. “Well now, that might ha’ been my doin’. He was awful young then, and he didn’t know much. I may ha’ kept him out of the way for a bit from those lookin’ for him.”

“Why?” Beatrice asked. “You protected him? Why? And if you protected my father, why would you sell us out to Lorenzo?”

“Did I sell you out?” Tywyll’s head cocked to the side and she could feel the heat start to radiate from Giovanni. She squeezed his knee and felt the energy in the air dissipate slightly. “You were taken, but it looks like yer here and safe to me, girl.”

Giovanni’s voice was taut. “Do you deny informing my son we were coming after Beatrice?”

Tywyll squinted as he took another drink. “I may have…repaid a favor, fire-starter. I always repay my favors. But I wouldn’t be bringing harm to Stephen’s dear girl.” Tywyll’s eyes darkened and Beatrice saw the cold-blooded killer beneath the unassuming demeanor of the small man. “Now, my debt is repaid, so I’ll ask you: were you hurt, Mariposa?”

Giovanni spit something out in a language she didn’t recognize, and Tywyll glared at him before responding in kind. She didn’t recognize the language, and she was beginning to get frustrated with their quick, heated exchange. She saw tension lift from Tywyll’s shoulders before his eyes shuttered closed. He fell silent and took a long drink of his beer.

“Interesting,” Tywyll muttered.