by Seana Kelly
Later, when I heard Owen’s voice warm in greeting, I stood slowly, not wanting to lose my balance and go down. Pleasantly surprised at feeling mostly fine, it was time for a long-overdue prank retaliation.
I looked around the bar and spotted a gorgeous guy in a green sweater that matched his light eyes sitting at a table close to the bar. Owen was mixing a drink, his gaze on Mr. Large Exotics. Perfect.
I walked in, leaned against the bar closest to the bookstore and pretended not to notice his beau. “Hey, Owen, aren’t you off now?”
“Almost. Good timing. I just brewed you some tea.” He placed the mug in front of me and tilted his head toward my apartment. “Go lie down. I can stay.”
“Thanks, but I don’t want to wreck your—” I pretended to spot George, glared at him, and spat, “You!”
He looked from Owen to me, swallowing nervously.
“Did you think you could just waltz back in here? Is that it? You’ve been 86’d! That status doesn’t change.”
George stood, holding up his arms in surrender. “I just thought maybe enough time had passed. Maybe you’d forgiven me.”
“Forgiven? There’s no coming back from, ‘Hey, baby. You look like a hooker I knew in Fresno.’”
He goggled, his face reddening. “Um.”
“‘I only have a twenty,’ you said. ‘Do you have change?’”
I glanced over my shoulder at Owen, and saw his eyes bugging. I smiled and winked at him before turning back to George and offering my hand in introduction. “I’m Sam.”
He laughed, pulling me into a hug. “A ten-dollar hooker, really? Did I have to be a sleaze in this scenario?”
“You didn’t have to be, but it made it more fun for me.” I didn’t even mind the hug, which was odd. Owen’s fella smelled nice. Familiar. Yep, this was Coco’s brother, all right. I wondered if I could get him to shift for me.
Owen came around the bar and snapped the wet bar towel at my backside. I yipped and jumped, my leg starting to throb in earnest. He gave me a one-armed side hug that was tighter than necessary, saying, “That was not nice.” But he had a big smile on his face, so I knew he wasn’t too upset.
I whispered, “Dragon? Nice!”
He nodded smugly, releasing me in order to grab George’s hand.
“How’s Coco doing? No more break-ins, right?”
“No,” George said. “She told me. I’m so sorry about what happened. Don’t give up hope, though. Coco is seriously pissed that it was stolen right out of her shop.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what she’s working on, but she’s trying to make up for your loss.”
“Please thank her for me but let her know I don’t hold her responsible for any of it. It’s my fault her store was vandalized, not hers.”
Owen leaned closer, his voice low. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? George can keep me company while I work, and you can rest.” Owen turned to George. “Do you mind?”
Shaking his head, George said, “Not in the least.”
“Nope. I’m much better since your sister visited. You two have fun. Oh, and George, it was lovely meeting you. Thanks for playing along. Owen lives to torment me, and I rarely get a chance to pay him back.”
George kissed me on the cheek. “It was my pleasure.” Then he and Owen walked out, hand in hand. Young love. It gave me hope.
The phone rang, and I limped behind the bar. “Slaughtered Lamb. This is Sam.”
“I’ve been speaking with your wolf.” Screaming in the background drowned out Clive’s voice for a moment. “Quiet.” Silence echoed. “I think it would be best if you came here so you can hear this for yourself.”
“Where’s here?”
“My home. I’ll send a car to pick you up.”
Apparently, the quiet portion of my evening was over.
Sixteen
How the Posh Vampires Roll
When I made it up the stairs and to the Land’s End parking area, a car was already waiting. Clive’s dark-suited driver stood by the open back door. “Ms. Quinn.” His head tilted toward the car in invitation.
I slid onto the soft leather seats as the door closed. The man got behind the wheel and the engine purred to life. As he drove down the deserted road, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Lights from the dash illuminated dark skin and darker eyes.
“Ms. Quinn, I am Russell. If there is anything you require, please let me know.”
“I’m fine.” The last time I was in this back seat, I’d been trying desperately not to freeze. Now, though, I was able to take it all in—buttery, black leather upholstery, wood-grained side panels, what may or may not be a mini-fridge. I would have checked if I weren’t sure Russell was watching my every move, ensuring I didn’t steal anything.
“So, where are we going?”
“The Master’s home is in Pacific Heights.”
Of course it was. Pacific Heights was an enclave within San Francisco of the ridiculously wealthy. Every mansion was worth multiple millions, often in the tens of millions.
Russell eventually slowed before an edifice that glowed like white marble in the moonlight. We stopped before ornate, wrought iron gates. A man waited at the entrance for Russell to lower his window. Once he’d verified who was driving, he opened the gates. A circular courtyard of dark slate paved the way to the residence. A portico jutted above the carved double doors, while delicate, night-blooming trees encircled the urban palace.
Homes in San Francisco didn’t have large yards. Pacific Heights was no different. The homes, albeit spectacular, took up most of the property, leaving only small side and backyards.
Clive’s estate, however, was an exception to that rule. It was a three-story architectural gem that reminded me of the Spreckles Mansion a few blocks away. Tall stone walls encircled a property that boasted rolling lawns, leading down to the next street. His home encompassed a city block in a town where every inch of real estate came at a sky-high price.
The eight-foot, double doors were opened by what appeared to be a real-life butler. He nodded to Russell, before stiffening at me.
“Master is downstairs with the prisoner.”
Russell thanked him and then led the way. The entry was marble, white with veins of black and gray, showcasing a large, round table with a massive floral arrangement. Sweeping up on either side were curved stairways to the second and then third floors. I knew Russell was moving quickly, but I was transfixed by the ceiling. A dome of stained glass rose forty feet above the marble floors. Lights must have been trained on it from the roof because the glass glowed in spite of the night sky.
I didn’t want to fall too far behind, but my head swiveled this way and that, trying to see everything. Clive’s home was extraordinary. Russell skirted around the large, round table and disappeared through a doorway, hidden by the flowers. When I stepped through a moment later, I found myself trailing him through a hall that led deep within the property, albeit by a circuitous route. It ended at a rounded doorway that opened on stone steps leading down. There were wall sconces that insufficiently lit the darkened passage. I could barely make out the glow of Russell’s white shirt collar in the torchlight as I descended.
The dark stairs opened on a sitting room, the décor mirroring the opulence above ground. I wasn’t expecting Persian rugs and Degas paintings in a basement. I guess this was how the posh vampires rolled.
I followed Russell down an adjoining hallway, passing closed doors before stopping at the final room. He opened the door. The room was empty of furniture but for a metal folding chair holding Ethan, bound by ropes, as Clive and two of his vampires ranged around him. All four turned at the sound of the door. I didn’t scamper away, but it was close.
I recognized one of the vampires. He’d come into the bar once with Clive. I’d never seen the other. She was a woman, blonde, petite, and lethal-looking who seemed somehow familiar. The vampires remained stony-faced. It was only Ethan who appeared both desperate and contrite, his body language screaming submiss
ion.
“Sam,” Clive said. “This is William and Leticia,” He said, gesturing to the vampires. “Please join us. Ethan has been telling us some very interesting things.”
Ethan made a gagging sound.
“Or, I should say, his inability to answer certain questions has been quite enlightening.”
Ethan struggled with the ropes, his face sweaty and pained. “That wasn’t me. I could see myself doing it, hear the words coming out of my mouth, but it wasn’t me. You need to let me go before—” Choking sounds took the place of words.
“I’ve been trying to lead him through the tale, switching tack every time he begins to choke. He appears to have been forbidden from sharing information. It’s fascinating.” Clive motioned me closer. “What we’ve been able to glean so far is that he was sent to look for you. He says he doesn’t know why. Given the pattern of his gagging, I don’t believe him.”
“An Alpha can do that to a pack member, forbid him from saying something,” I offered. “At least, I’ve heard that’s how it works.”
Clive nodded. “The magic of wolf packs is unusual.” He gestured toward Ethan. “Would you touch him, please? I’m testing a theory.”
I didn’t want to appear nervous in front of Clive’s vamps, so I strode up to Ethan and placed my hand on his cheek. The change was instantaneous. He snarled and snapped. If my reflexes weren’t as fast as his, I’d be missing fingers. Muscles bunching, he struggled violently against his bindings, a low, angry growl reverberating in the cold, stone room.
“Whatever is controlling him is still there, lurking, waiting for the opportunity to act.” He touched my elbow, wanting me further away from the werewolf. “That’s why I wanted you here. I needed to see how he’d react to his target. With us, he was contrite and confused, unable to explain beyond assuring us he didn’t know what happened. I knew he was lying. I did not, however, know if he knew he was lying. Is he under orders or being possessed? The answer to that leads us in different directions.”
“If he’s possessed, isn’t someone listening to us, through him, right now?” Please, don’t let it be the demons. I did not want to wrangle with them again.
“Whoever is in there has been watching and listening for a while. I could kill the vessel, but that won’t help us discover who’s lurking behind his eyes. We’ll give it some time. A starving wolf should be easier to break.”
And this was why it was good to have Clive on your side. Instead of simply killing an enemy, he was trying to track the sorcerer through the connection that had been forged with Ethan. Very tricksy, this one.
He studied Ethan a moment and then said, “William, I’m afraid you must continue on guard duty. Leticia, you may resume your usual duties.”
Clive led me out of the room, where we found Russell leaning against a wall, waiting. On seeing Clive, Russell stood straight and bowed his head, murmuring a “Master.” Russell followed us down the hall and up the stone steps to the main floor. Clive turned in the opposite direction of the front doors.
We ended up in a two-story library that put the Beast’s to shame. I stopped walking, just stopped. I couldn’t get past the sheer number of books. His library had to be four times the size of my bookstore. I wanted nothing so much as the time and freedom to climb the ladders and scan the shelves.
Clive turned. Taking in my expression, he shook his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Russell, I need to update you. Sam, you can explore but first I need to properly introduce you two.”
“Oh, we’ve met.” I glanced at the man who stood beside Clive. “He drove me here.”
“Yes, I know.” Clive moved to his dark, mahogany desk. “What I mean is that I’d like you two to become better acquainted. Sam, Russell is my second.”
Russell flinched at the words.
“Russell is uncomfortable that I have informed someone outside the nocturne of his status. He prefers others believe him to be a kind of servant, because they never see him coming.”
Russell cleared his throat.
“This is important, my friend.” Clive turned back to me. “If you are in trouble, if you need me, but can’t find me, seek out Russell. Most vampires wouldn’t bother to throw water on a burning wolf, unless they were discomfited by the heat. Russell is unlike the others. I trust him to protect you, as I trust him with my life.”
Russell bowed. “Liege.”
“Good. Sam, you’re welcome to join us, but if you’d prefer…” He inclined his head toward the shelves.
“The books are calling. I must make friends.”
Clive grinned. “That’s what I assumed.”
I tried not to run, but I made haste to the shelves. He had everything here. And, oh, little brass tags screwed into the wood shelves gave browsers the subject headings. The first case I came to contained books on world religions, the next mythology and folktales. Some books were old and crumbling, others new and crisp. My head was spinning as my fingers brushed over spines. I heard the low murmur of voices across the room, but I didn’t care. I was surrounded by every kind of book. The sheer volume of thought and imagination contained within this room was humbling.
I climbed a ladder to Brontë and pulled down a first edition Jane Eyre. I held the book like a fragile baby bird. Looking around, hoping against hope he’d have one, I spied a window seat. It even had curtains, pulled back with a sash. I strode past Clive and Russell, who were discussing a party of vampires visiting the city, and climbed into the window seat, releasing the curtains. The bench was the size of a twin bed, with cushions and pillows. The heavy drapes cut the men’s voices to a lower rumble.
The view from the window was breathtaking. A large fountain dominated the portion of the patio I could see. Trees and flowering shrubs were dotted throughout the garden that stretched to the bottom of the property. Clive’s estate was at the top of a hill, though, which meant I saw far beyond the walls to the rest of the city, lights sparkling in the dark, fog rolling across the bay, the bridge dwarfed in the distance.
There was a sconce on the wall opposite me. I looked above my head, and sure enough, there was another. Feeling around, I found a cleverly hidden button that turned it on. The window seat was bathed in warm light. I fluffed the pillow and got comfortable before turning the first page.
Ever since I was young and read Jane Eyre for the first time, I’d wanted a window seat of my own, one like Jane’s, a place to read and hide, far from the real world.
Jane had just arrived at Lowood when the drapes were pulled back and Clive sat down. My legs were curled to the side. When I started to straighten, Clive patted my knee, letting me know I was fine. He left his hand there, as he glanced around.
“So, you like it, then?”
“Like?” I put my finger in the book to save my place. “This is the most perfect room ever created. In fact, I was wondering if we could bring the builders back to create a tunnel from The Slaughtered Lamb to this window seat. I promise not to make noises and bother anyone. The other vampires won’t even know I’m here. Just lock up the room at night—no, day—and I’ll content myself to wander and read.”
“Good.” He squeezed my knee, before moving his hand. “Now, since I wouldn’t want to ruin this space for you, we should probably move. I need to share with you what Russell has learned.”
“Oh.” That didn’t sound good. I glanced around for something I could use as a bookmark.
Clive plucked the book from my hands and placed it open to my page, face down on the seat.
“No! It’s a first edition. You’ll weaken the binding.”
“Then I guess you’ll need to return soon to continue reading, won’t you?”
Seventeen
How Many Enemies Could One Book Nerd Have?
The drive home was less exciting, given the topic of discussion.
“You’ve been living a quiet life in the city for seven years. Now, it doesn’t seem as though a day goes by without someone trying to kill you.” Clive
studied me. “It’s not only the wolves. They can’t trap you in visions. I’m not sure how many directions the attacks are coming from. What prompted all of this?”
Shrugging, I gave the only answer I had, “The necklace? I lost my mother’s protection and all hell broke loose.” I stuffed my hands in my hoodie pocket.
“Russell, turn up the heat, please.”
I sat up from a slouch. “I’m okay. Just feeling like I have a huge neon sign pointing at me. ‘Unprotected Idiot Ready to be Slaughtered: Apply Within.’”
“One thing you are not is unprotected,” Clive said.
“Mr. Clive has been keeping an eye on you since you moved to San Francisco, Ms. Quinn.”
Russell caught the squinty-eyed look I directed toward Clive and laughed. “Not like that. Mr. Clive is—” Russell sought Clive’s okay in the rearview mirror before he continued.
“Please, Russell, drop the Mister. I feel like a primary school teacher when you call me that.”
I snorted a laugh. “I was thinking the same thing!”
Clive rolled his eyes, settling back more comfortably to talk with me. “Russell was being respectful, albeit awkwardly. A lack of respect is tantamount to an open declaration of war among vampires. Russell, it is far less important with wolves. When Sam is with us, you may speak to me as you do when we are alone.”
Russell’s eyes shot to Clive’s in the mirror. “I see.”
“After speaking with you, I asked Russell to do some investigating of your past and lineage. On your birth records, your mother is listed as Bridget Corey Quinn.”
“Yes.” At least I remembered that.
“Your father is listed as Michael Quinn, brother of Marcus Quinn, son of Alexander Quinn, the original Alpha of the Santa Cruz Mountains’ pack.”
“Wait. Are we related to the Quinn in that story I researched about the first werewolf?” Why had my mother never told me?
