Grigor’s pale face went whiter still and he took an involuntary step backward, forking the sign of the Evil Eye at Vox and barking out a few sharp words in a language Vox could not recognize.

“Okay,” said Vox in a hushed tone that did not carry beyond the small circle of lamplight in which they stood. “Now we know whose dick is bigger. Let’s cut right to the chase. You think I came down here as a gofer for the Scriptor. Pretty apparent now that it isn’t the case. Though the Scriptor thinks it is. He thinks I’m kindly old friend of the family. I can’t begin to tell you how fucked up LaRoque is. He has no insight into people at all. He’s known me his whole life, knows about the Seven Kings, and still thinks I’m just some guy he can send on errands.”

He took a step forward. Grigor tensed, clearly debating whether to attack or run, but Vox showed him the trigger. A red light glowed beneath the arm of the detonator. “Dead man’s switch. I die, you die. Stop thinking bad thoughts and let’s see if we can talk serious business.”

To his credit, and to Vox’s appreciation, Grigor’s body gradually relaxed and he held his ground. Still on the dais, a king of death looming above the king of fear.

“Why have you come here, then?” asked Grigor. “What do you want?”

“I’m here because you need me.”

Grigor smiled, revealing his unnatural teeth. “What I need from you I could take.”

Vox shivered despite himself. “Christ, don’t do that, you big freak. I’m trying to talk business here.”

The candlelight glimmered on the wicked points of Grigor’s fangs. Vox licked his lips. It felt like the cavern floor was tilting under him. The moment was as terrifying as it was surreal, but he stood his ground even as sweat poured down his face and stung his eyes.

Finally, Grigor allowed his smile to fade and the fangs slowly vanished. He sat back in his chair. “Then talk business.”

Vox let out a tremendous sigh. “Jesus H. Christ,” he growled. “You really groove on your own mystique, don’t you? Shit.” He used his free hand to mop his forehead with a handkerchief, and despite the fact that every nerve he possessed screamed at him to run, he took a step closer to the foot of the dais. Grigor arched an eyebrow in surprise, or perhaps in appreciation for the nerve that such an action displayed. Vox said, “Since you know about the Kings, then it’s only fair that I tell you that I know everything about the Red Order, and I do mean everything.”

He watched Grigor’s eyes, saw them jump in surprise, and saw how Grigor looked quickly away to hide his reaction.

“That is between you and the Scriptor,” said the pale man.