I followed the wide, paved road that leads to a main house styled like an Italian palazzo. It’s huge, with amenities like an actual ballroom, a movie screening room—you know, the everyday stuff. There’s a servants’ wing, where David and Inez live. It’s twenty-five hundred square feet, renovated and decorated to their taste, with a separate outdoor entrance to ensure their privacy. There’s a pool house to go with the Olympic-size pool. Vicki had had a weight room and exercise equipment put in there. My rent includes use of the pool and exercise facilities if I want to. I swim every day—in the pool or the ocean—and use the pool house to do my ballet stretches and martial arts kata. But I don’t do weight training, so those machines would be gathering dust if David hadn’t decided to drop that extra ten pounds he’d been carrying.
My place is the guest cottage. It sits a couple of hundred yards back from the main house, at the end of a winding brick path that passes through beautifully landscaped blooming plants and shade trees and over a tiny man-made brook that burbles in a rocky bed. The cottage isn’t large, as those things go, probably eight hundred square feet, with one bedroom, one very ordinary bathroom … well, ordinary except for the big claw-footed tub … and a back deck that is only a few hundred yards from the little strip of sand and rocks that edge onto the ocean. It’s too rough and rocky for good swimming, boating, or surfing. But it’s beautiful. When I’m troubled I go there and sit on one particular rock, listening to the ocean as I watch the gulls dive-bomb each other as they compete for tasty tidbits. When I want to swim in salt water, all I have to do is go a little farther down the beach. All the residents here have unlimited access to the private beach.
This secluded spot has been my home for several years now, since before Vicki went into Birchwoods. When my lease ran out, we never got around to signing more paperwork. I pay month to month, direct to the attorney. What my status here would be once the Will got read I had no clue. I might inherit it. It might go to David and Inez, or charity. Most likely it would go to Vicki’s folks.
I didn’t want to think about things like “inheriting.” It was too soon, and I would rather be as poor as I’d been growing up than have lost Vicki. I’d give just about anything to have her back. But all the money, all the power, in the world can’t manage that. Magic or no, dead is still dead.
I dragged my mind away from the sucking hole of grief by thinking of practical things—primarily my ongoing survival. I got the feeling that so long as Edgar considered me useful he wouldn’t kill me himself. I believed that. The same couldn’t be said for his associates. And I wouldn’t want to bet my life that he’d be able or willing to keep them in line. Then, of course, there was my sire—whoever he was—and the folks who’d set me up in the alley. I’d been supposed to die. Instead, I was alive and a witness to whatever the hell was going on. They wouldn’t like that. Not one little bit.
Oh, and let’s not forget the demon spawn. Nothing else could do that perfect of an imitation.
I pulled into the small parking area by the cottage and climbed out of the car, shaking my head. There was a line: a freaking line of people who wanted me dead. Worse, they weren’t normal folks. No, I had monsters and professional killers hunting me.
Such were my cheery thoughts as I made my way up the sidewalk, burdened with bags of groceries. There was a note in Inez’s handwriting pinned to the door with a strip of duct tape.
Dawna brought by a pot of her grandmother’s pho for you. I put it in your fridge. I was afraid if I didn’t bring it down here David would eat it all. Hope you are okay. We’ll talk in the morning.
Dawna’s grandmother is Vietnamese. She married Al, a Marine, during the Vietnam War, coming back with him to the states. Tiny, exquisite, she is smart, tough, and one hell of a cook. Her pho is legendary. I might have to run it through the new blender, but by God I would eat it. In fact, I could smell it already, if ever so faintly.
I promised myself that it would be my reward as soon as I got my purchases put away. It took a couple of trips to get it all inside. The weapons bag came inside, too. I’d be putting on my knives momentarily—just in case. I mean, I thought the wards would hold. But better safe than sorry.
In the course of hauling everything out of the car I found the new cell phone. The light was flashing. I hadn’t set up my voice mail yet, but I had a lot of missed calls and text messages. The texts were probably from Dawna. Unless she’d given the number out to everybody. Which she would.
I didn’t really want to talk to anyone. But I could text. I sent a couple of quick messages out, letting everybody know I was safely home, thanking Dawna for the pho, sending condolences back and forth about losing Vicki. It didn’t take long, and my friends really did need to hear from me if I wanted them not to worry.
The “cottage” isn’t as large as David and Inez’s place, but it’s bigger than the house I grew up in, bigger than my gran’s. It’s also considerably nicer. The living room is airy and open, with French doors leading out onto a deck and skylights that let in sunlight or moonlight dappled with the shadows from the palm trees that surrounded the building. I plugged in the slow cooker with the pho, cranked the dial, then headed outside. I’d put everything away later. Right now I wanted the kind of solace I can only seem to find next to the ocean.
I made my way down the familiar path that led to that rocky little stretch of beach, my heart heavy and my mind too full to focus on any one thing. Just as well, I supposed. Any one of my thoughts was likely to send me over the edge.
Emerging from the path onto soft sand that glistened in the same moonlight that shone bright silver off the water’s surface, I sighed in relief. Pale stars winked like diamonds from the velvet black sky. I clambered up onto a large rock, scraping my hand. Fast as a thought, the small wound began to heal. I watched the flesh knit itself together. It was eerie and deeply disturbing.
“What are you thinking?”
I jumped and whirled, silver knife drawn, to face the source. My skin began glowing with power. “Crap! Kevin, you scared me! Couldn’t you make some noise or something?”
He waded out of the ocean, naked, water pouring along the long muscled lines of his body in a way that drew the eye. My irritation evaporated as I watched him glide forward with inhuman grace. Normally he works to make himself seem human. Tonight, under the light of the full moon, he didn’t bother. Under normal circumstances I’d have felt a wave of lust. But these weren’t normal circumstances. Either stress or sorrow was keeping my libido in check. Pity.
He sensed my lack of interest, but it didn’t bother him. Nor did the drawn knife. He came up to the foot of the rock and lowered himself onto the sand, sitting comfortably, facing me.
“It isn’t safe for you here. You should be in sanctuary.”
“The sun had gone down by the time I was done at the hospital,” I explained. “And this place is warded nine ways to Sunday. I’m surprised you were able to get in.”
“Moving water doesn’t bother a werewolf the way it does a vampire, and even permanent wards aren’t as powerful underwater. I swam. I got burned a little by the wards, but I’ve already healed. And if I can get in, you can bet Edgar could find a way.”
I looked out over the ocean at the rising and falling surf. Would it burn to swim? I was born a water baby, a Pisces. I’ve never lived away from the ocean. If I couldn’t swim … shit.
But there was no use talking about that. “I’m not worried about Edgar tonight.” I slid the knife back into its sheath and settled into a comfortable sitting position.
“You should be. Celia—” Kevin’s voice dropped almost a full octave and took on a rumbling edge that wasn’t quite a growl. “You don’t know him like I do. Believe me—”
I interrupted him before he could get more upset. “Oh, he’s a major badass all right. Scares the crap out of me, if you want to know the truth.” I shuddered a little, thinking about the threesome I’d spoken with earlier. “But he wasn’t my sire, and he wanted to make sure I let you know. In fact …” I paused for effect. “He gave me a message for you.”
“What do you mean, he’s not your sire? You spoke with him? When? Where?” Kevin’s voice was cold and his eyes had gone dark. I could see the muscles in his jaw clenching as he fought to control his anger.
“He’s not. Trust me. Edgar showed up with two of his people when I was at the drugstore. They couldn’t cross the protections.”
“Don’t be so sure. If Edgar’s your sire—”
“Hello? You’re not listening. Edgar’s not my sire.” I ran my hand through hair damp with spray. “He and his friends showed up after I’d been bit, before you and Amy came charging to the rescue. And thank you again for that.”
Kevin met my eyes, his own gone wide. “You remember?”
I looked away, at the stars, the ocean, anything but those demanding eyes. “A detective who’s investigating what happened took me to a clairvoyant. It triggered the memories.”
“Oh.” The word fell into the air between us like a rock thrown down a very deep well. We sat in silence for a while before I answered the question he hadn’t voiced but was waiting for me to answer.
“My sire was a thin guy who looked like a kid, with dark hair cut short. He died young enough not to be able to grow a decent beard, just this straggly little soul patch. I remember my blood dripping off of it as he started chanting the spell.”
I turned my head, to watch Kevin’s reaction. It was worth seeing. Normally he has one hell of a poker face. Not now. He sat on the sand, his entire body vibrating with contained rage, his eyes glowing with the magic he held back by force of will.
“I figured you knew him. Care to share a name, maybe a daytime resting place?” When Kevin didn’t respond, I continued. “He and the others in the alley were scared to death of Edgar and the vamps with him.” I shook my head. “Can’t say as I blame them. Edgar wanted me alive to give you a message, but the other guy would’ve killed me right there in the parking lot if he could’ve. And that woman was just …” I struggled to find the right words to describe what I’d sensed about her. I couldn’t. “He couldn’t have held them back. He might be their master, but he wouldn’t have been able to hold them. They wanted me dead too badly.”