Morton had been forced to sit next to Seymour on the plane. He hadn’t wanted to, of course, but what he wanted had never mattered to Seymour.
Albert and the two thugs that had been holding Graham sat in the row ahead of them and there was an immortal flight attendant. Strange that. He hadn’t known there was such a thing as Vampire Airlines. He supposed Seymour, via Albert, could arrange anything.
The row in which they sat had only two large seats. He’d been placed on the inside seat, Seymour on the aisle.
The flight attendant handed him a glass of blood and then another larger glass to Seymour, who immediately downed his.
Turning his cold eyes to Morton, he said, “Drink that.”
Grimacing, Morton drank it, though not with the speed Seymour had. He wondered briefly where the blood had co
