Goddamn Quinn. His best friend needed to get over his distrust of cell phones, too.
“And one attempt was made to procure your services.”
Fuck. For Phil to forward an outside call to him meant someone had asked for him by name. That usually only happened when another
grigorio
wanted his help.
“Who was it?”
“Unknown.”
Huh? “What the hell does that mean?”
“That means,” Phil huffed, “she didn’t leave her name.”
“And this female asked for me by name?”
“Yes, she asked for Mr. Brown. When I told her you were unavailable, she hung up.”
Well, shit. The existence of the
grigori
and the cursed
streghe
they protected was a carefully maintained secret, even among the Etruscans. The story of how the women had been cursed by Fabrizio Paganelli to unending life had become myth. How their sons were born
grigori
, the great warrior protectors thought to be extinct, a legend.
For someone to ask for him by his call name…
“Christ, Phil. Did you find out where she was calling from? Did you—”
“Do you think I don’t know my job, Gabriel Borelli?”
Fuck. Second rule of being a
grigorio
—Don’t piss off Phil.
“Of course you know your job. I’m sor—”
“Don’t bother,” she snapped. “I don’t appreciate your language or your insinuations, Gabriel. You are expected at ritual in four nights. I suggest you get some sleep before you get your ass over there. And the next time this phone rings, I expect you to answer it.”
Gabriel took another slug from the bottle as Phil hung up on him. Loudly. And not before shoving a tiny spell through the line to make his head ache. Damn, that woman was vindictive.
Still, he should have checked in. It was part of the deal.
Grigori
were to be available at all times, any time. His father, the former Mr. Brown, never would’ve missed a check-in.
No, Davis Borelli had been one of the best
grigori
ever.
Before he’d been murdered by Dario Paganelli.
No, Dario hadn’t pulled the trigger. But the bastard was responsible for his dad’s death. Just as Dario’s father Fabrizio had been responsible for the curse that had arrested the lives of the
streghe
.
Maybe Fabrizio would have been more careful if he’d known the curse would screw his son, too. The deities could be spiteful when they granted your wishes. Fabrizio had cursed the thirteen
streghe
but that curse had trapped his son Dario in eternal life, as well.
And now Dario hunted the
streghe
with a bloody vengeance. The bastard had a lot to answer for. And Gabriel would make sure he answered in blood.
Another few slugs and the bottle surrendered its last drop.
Gabriel’s gaze slid to the cabinet. No more Mezzaluna. He had a bottle of Grey Goose, but on top of the Messaluna, it might be lethal.
He sat there for a few seconds, wondering just how drunk he needed to be to take his mind off the fact that he wasn’t any closer to finding Dario and murdering him.
Pretty damn drunk.
He definitely needed a change of scenery.
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