THIRTY
Geordie pulled away from Sir Hannibal and staggered forward, stopping just beyond the growing pool of blood. As he neared, the pool boiled, fizzing and popping and quickly drying to powder.
He made a sound of disgust, going a bit green, and rounded on Quincey, who took an involuntary step forward then stopped, confused and angry.
‘What are you—’ Quincey began.
Geordie cut him off. ‘Whose blood?’ he demanded, pointing to the little gouges of teeth around Quincey’s mouth.
Quincey blinked. ‘Mine. She bit me.’
‘Only yours?’
‘I… I think so.’ He looked at the charred spot on the carpet. ‘Not that there’d be any way to tell, now.’ He paled, his jaw tightening. ‘She’s… She’s Nosferatu?’
Geordie stepped back, shaking his head. He swayed, and in an instant, Sir Hannibal was there agai
