“Yeah, well, it’s a lot more money than all three communities have in their rainy-day funds. Like, thirty-eight million dollars more, I hear.” I gave Lurine a speculative look, trying to remember how much her octogenarian husband’s estate was rumored to have been worth. “Are you offering to make up the difference to cover the damages?”
“Well, not the whole amount,” Lurine said. “Do you have any idea what the property taxes are on my place? But I’d be happy to spearhead a fund-raising effort.” She cocked her head thoughtfully. “You know, that would make for great PR if I planned on a third act in the public eye.” She struck a pose and read an imaginary headline. “Can’t you just see it? ‘Gold-Digging, Trailer-Trash, D-List Celebrity Uses Ill-Gotten Fame and Fortune to Save Her Hometown!’”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Let’s,” Lurine agreed. Then she added, “But I’ll update my contact list just in case.”
If it hadn’t been for the shadow cast by my mom’s reading, I might have found Lurine’s assurances more, well, reassuring. After all, Lurine was hella wealthy, at least by ordinary mortal standards. But Mom’s reading had indicated that wealth was part of the problem in the brewing war, not the solution.
I was not reassured.
All things considered, a worst-case scenario was best avoided, and so I practiced the art of unobtrusibility, scheduling regular sessions with Sandra Sweddon, slowly mastering the craft of diffusing and gathering my aura at will, trying not to think about the day when I’d face the ultimate test of putting it into practice in a courtroom in Grand Rapids, because it still made me feel sick to my stomach. Sinclair promised me that the wolfsbane charm he and Warren were assembling would augment the effect, though they didn’t want me sapping its power by testing it beforehand.
I did attempt the unobtrusibility spell outside the boundaries of Hel’s territory, though. That was something I needed to know. Did I carry enough of the underworld inside myself to make magic function in the mundane world?
As it happens, I did.
I drove twenty minutes north and spent a day in downtown Appeldoorn, wandering up and down the sidewalks, my aura as vague and insubstantial as a winter breeze. I browsed my way around various boutiques and department stores, slipping through the crowds of holiday shoppers, overlooked and unseen deep in the heart of the mundane world.
I owed that revelation to Daniel Dufreyne, which was an uncomfortable thought. I still didn’t know what his ultimate angle in this whole business was.
And I still didn’t know who was behind Elysian Fields.
Since that was beyond my control, I concentrated on things that weren’t. That pointedly did not include Cody Fairfax and his clan’s upcoming werewolf mixer, a prospect that still made my heart feel bruised.
However, it did include dating Stefan.
It was probably a gross exaggeration to suggest that I was in control where anything involving Stefan Ludovic was concerned, but at least for the moment, he seemed content to let me establish the pace of our evolving relationship.
As far as dates went, our outing to the Bide-a-Wee Tavern was the most successful one, well, to date.
It was one of my favorite places in town, and I hadn’t been there since I’d taken Sinclair and his sister there on Labor Day. To be honest, the Bide-a-Wee with its cheap wood paneling, worn carpets, and outdated decor had seemed a little shabby to me when I looked at it from the perspective of the very composed and Oxford-educated Emmeline Palmer, and I was a little bit worried that seeing it through Stefan’s eyes would have the same effect, but I didn’t have any cause for concern. Stefan saw what I saw in it, a place where an unlikely assortment of professional, semiprofessional, and flat-out amateur musicians and singers gathered to share their love of jazz and blues.
Okay, the quality varied, but the house band was always solid, and the harmonica player I’d heard about was outstanding.
I watched Stefan as I listened. He lounged in his chair, jeans-clad legs stretched out before him, motorcycle boots crossed at the ankle, longish black hair brushing the collar of his leather vest. In the dim light, there was no mistaking his ghoul’s unnatural pallor. Stefan’s eyes were at half-mast, pupils gleaming beneath his lids. I had the feeling he was surfing the wave of complex emotion coming from the bar’s patrons, and maybe siphoning off just a hint in the process. Strictly speaking, that was against the unwritten code of the Outcast, but I trusted Stefan.
I also had the feeling that the band was playing to Stefan, sensing in him an audience that appreciated the emotions they evoked on the deepest possible level.
“They’re good,” Stefan said when the band took a break. He smiled at me, flashing those unexpected dimples. “Thank you. I’m enjoying this.”
I smiled back at him. “I’m glad.”
There were things I wanted to ask him. I wanted to know if I was right about his siphoning emotion from the audience. I wanted to know what that felt like. I wanted to know if something Cooper had told me was true for Stefan, too: that it was more painful to devour positive emotions than negative ones.
But instead, I kept my mouth shut for once. Right now, it was enough that we were actually enjoying ourselves together.
Afterward, I drove Stefan home to his condo. Since this excursion was my idea, I’d offered to drive and he’d taken me up on it with only the slightest hesitation, allowing me to maintain my illusion of control.