As soon as Dawn had been old enough to leave—Frank had done a couple of stunt gigs years ago and she’d gotten her first job through a friend of his when she was eighteen—they’d gone their separate ways. Sure, there were stilted phone calls while she was on the road, birthday cards he remembered to send, but the two of them had never been your typical Hallmark ad.
She didn’t want to go back to that house.
“Dawn can camp out at my place,” Kiko said.
Relief seeped through her, and she smiled at him. He nodded back. It looked like he’d come to terms with what had happened at the Cat’s Paw. Or was this Kiko’s puritanical way of babysitting, keeping tabs on all the naughty misadventures he didn’t approve of?
“Is everything settled then?” Breisi half-rose out of her seat, eager to be on her merry way.
“I’ve got something else,” Dawn said.
Breisi plopped back down to her ottoman.
“At the Cat’s Paw, there was a PI. A Matt Lonigan. He’s looking for Frank, too.” She told them almost everything: how he wouldn’t give her any of his information about Frank, how he wanted to meet with her tomorrow. She didn’t, however, offer any chin music about the complicated little details, like how she’d thrown herself at him and he’d semi-rejected her.
In the aftermath, Breisi and Kiko watched the blank TV, as if for a reaction. Dawn swallowed hard, sensing that prickle of being observed again. Her gaze flew to the velvet-curtained window, where the raindrops kept knocking.
Suddenly, the TV screen pinged on, showcasing a picture of Matt Lonigan. She felt her skin pink with heat and amazement.
“This is the man?” The Voice asked.
“Yeah.” He’d probably accessed some database from his hovel. Quick work.
“Don’t contact him, Dawn, not until I’ve checked a few matters out. Leave his number with Breisi, and if he approaches you again, refer him to my phone. There’s a chance he could be of some help.”
“Or he could be trouble,” Breisi added.
For a full fifteen seconds, there was no answer.
Breisi held up her hands. “I hate when he doesn’t even sign off. I think he gets bored with us.”
“Boss is busy.” Kiko started to walk out of the room.
Breisi followed. “Kik, before you two leave, can I see you downstairs?”
“Sure.” The psychic glanced over his shoulder at Dawn. “Meet you in the foyer?”
“Yeah.” She got up, gathering her ice packs.
With the meeting at an end, she felt like crashing, all systems down. Couldn’t help it: even though she didn’t require anything more than four hours of sleep per night, she was one of those fast burnout cases when she didn’t get decent rest.
She yawned. Alone in the room, it sounded like the wind’s wail had been pumped up. It groaned against the window, the tiny scratches of tree branches like claws against the glass.
Dawn, it seemed to say. Let me in.
She shook her head, clearing it. Nothing but my stress talking, she thought, turning away from the window.
But then she found herself facing one of The Voice’s erotic paintings, and that wasn’t much more comforting.
This particular lady looked like she was from Queen Elizabeth the First’s court, with her starched, stand-up collar halfway undone, her lips red and moist and open for a kiss that would never come. Her bodice was unlaced, her frizzy hair unfurling from its pins. Her heavy-lidded eyes were latched onto Dawn, searing into her.
A sound filled the room—a woman’s sigh of pleasure, barely discernible over the wind. Dawn’s body tightened, blood heating and pumping into that hunger she could never seem to appease.
Clearing her head again, she left the office and ambled into the hall. She couldn’t escape the sense that the woman looked as if she’d been feeling sorry for Dawn, even in the midst of her passion.
I’ve got to get out of this house, she thought. It isn’t good for my sanity.
Darkness escorted her, one step, two steps…
The drift of soft glass chimes halted her progress.
Dawn…
Warmth flowed into her, trickled downward, relaxing her for the first time since…
A door creaked open, revealing a slit of amber light.
Lured, she dropped the ice packs, pushing open the door as it moaned on its hinges, then wandered into the massive room.
It looked like a boudoir, complete with divans draped with sheer gauze, a changing screen etched with Asian patterns, a chandelier that tinkled in glass-graced song, and three more paintings: one of an exotic lady whose veils were being unwound from her body by the gentle wind, one of a half-nude Japanese woman with kanji symbols painted on her bared back. The third picture was out of place, featuring a pristine landscape: the shoreline of a beach, the water blue and pure.
Dawn sank against a satin-lined couch. It smelled of jasmine. Like an afterthought, the door closed.
The Voice came to her, even though she didn’t see any speakers. “I noticed that you’re weary. In so many ways.”
“Didn’t you disappear for the night?” she whispered, lacking energy.
“I’m right here.”
Shivering, she glanced around, finding nothing.
Weary, she thought, her eyes drooping closed. He’s right. So, so weary.
“That’s not going to stop me,” Dawn whispered. “I just need a little…”
“I know.”
A light breeze dusted near her.
Was it happening again? Was he coming into her, hypnotizing her?
The mere thought raised her hackles, but she was also remembering how nice it had felt, how satisfying. How much like the physical release she’d been longing for tonight.
She closed her eyes. “Peace would be nice.”
The breeze swirled closer. “Why aren’t you resisting, Dawn? I want you to get used to doing that.”
“I will, but there’s a difference between resisting a vampire mind meld and…” Her body clenched, so needful.
“Then I have your permission?” he asked.
Was it her, or did he sound eager?
A battling pride made her hesitate, but the temptation was too overwhelming. Peace. Contentment. The addiction of forgetting everything else.
“Yes,” she said, relieved now that she’d allowed herself to give up. “But when I want you out, you’ll go out, ri—?”
The next thing she knew, she was soaked with his mind, hot and heavy with damp gratification. Warmth licked her skin, in between her legs, like a tide pulling in and back, lulling her.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring at the sky, wet sand sucking at her back. An easy roar built, approached, splashed and covered her with wetness as the sun stroked her body.
In dreamy shock, she realized that this was the scene from the painting. It was like she’d become one of his women, caught by oils and textured by an artist’s hand, preserved in a languorous pose.
Or maybe this was some kind of exhaustion-fed fantasy…
She heard his voice as if it were part of the air.
“Tell me more about this Matt Lonigan, Dawn.”
This wasn’t the reason she’d invited him in. She didn’t want questions. She wanted escape.
Burrowing further into the sand, she opened her legs as the tide lapped at her, bathing her thighs, her sex.
Matt Lonigan.
She conjured up an image of him hovering over her, sand and sun glistening on his skin, emphasizing his muscles as water dripped down from his body onto her own. Her mind forced him to lower himself, to fit his length over hers and slide down, lower and lower, until his mouth reached her belly.
He kissed her, using his tongue to glide southward. With it, he separated her, delved inside, making her swell and grasp at the sand.
She craned her neck to watch him, turned on by seeing his head moving between her legs. But when he looked up—
A wave crashed, pounding him i
nto nothing.
She heard The Voice laughing, a cruel sound of revenge.
“Jealous?” The tide hissed, retreated.
His laughter faded, too. “Yes. I am.”
An incoming wave tickled her thighs, gurgling against her, and she gasped, closing her eyes again.
Another light breeze combed her skin, and she knew it was him this time. The Voice.
“None of your pictures do you justice, Dawn,” he said.
She thought she felt fingers threading through her hair, unbinding it from the ponytail, allowing the strands to float in the rush of water, free, like a mermaid’s.
He continued. “I didn’t realize you would be so…”
“Don’t.” She couldn’t handle the inevitable comparisons, the new heartbreak.
“No, you shine with spirit. You have no idea how that affects someone like me. Ah, Dawn, I have so much to teach you, to bring out in you…”
A heavier pressure moved down her body, as if hands were on her, shaping her, memorizing her. The scars she’d earned from her work didn’t exist anymore, only the touch, the sensations.
Even though there was no one there, the sensuous homage made her feel womanly. She loved when that happened; she thrilled to it on the movie sets when she moved among the stuntmen, was always aware of it when she caught the glances that acknowledged her femininity in a world dominated by males.
Until she remembered she could never be as perfect as Eva.
But that’s not how it was now. Here, she wasn’t competing against a ghost. Here, she was wanted for what was inside of her, for what was…
Emotion—fluid and combustible—churned, building, stiffening as the invisible climax tingled against her sex. Powerful, strong; damn it she couldn’t hold it back…
With a whoosh of release, she arched up against it, moaning, biting her lip to keep it inside, failing as she reached up her arms to hold on.
Finding nothing.
Hands empty, she panted, looking around. “Who are you?”
Without warning, the pressure lifted from her body. The seductive tide thrashed back into the ocean, leaving her on the shore, alone. Little by little, the boudoir lifted into focus around her as she sprawled on the recliner.
He was gone.
Finally, sated, she sighed into the cushions, exhaustion catching up with her as she burned with something else now.
Languid curiosity.
“Why won’t you tell me?” she slurred as the room continued to change. It faded to darkness while the melody of the chandelier dragged her into unconsciousness.
As she was consumed, she fought to stay awake, especially as the door creaked open again.
Letting someone—or something—in.
Ten
The Lesson
Dawn woke up late the next morning on a strange couch with a new crucifix hanging around her neck.
As things came into focus, she saw a pin-neat living room, complete with a TV, a TiVo box, a stereo system, and about a thousand CDs and DVDs stacked against the walls. The reason the place was so clean was that these were the only things in it.
Well, besides a framed poster of Pam Grier as Foxy Brown, the ultimate cool badass.
Slowly, Dawn sat up, her body tender with cuts, bruises, and dull pain. Like a one-second newsreel, it all came back to her: the plane ride back to California, the nouveau gothic dollhouse of Limpet and Associates, the vampires, and then…
Her skin flushed, heat flowing inward.
Thanks to The Voice, she’d actually slumbered well last night. In fact…She glanced at the digital clock on the TiVo. 9:11. She hadn’t slept this long in years.
“Morning!” called a cheery voice.
Kiko burst into the room from the hallway, tossed a PowerBar at her and deposited a glass of milk into her hands. He was already showered, shampooed, and shined for the day, his blond hair dried into slight curls, his soul patch neat and trimmed.
He pointed at the crucifix. “Happy birthday.”
“You’re about three hundred days off, but thank you.” She touched the sleek safety of it. “I appreciate it, Kiko.”
“Don’t get too sentimental. You’re gonna need it.”
“I’m gonna need some information, too.” She gestured to the couch. “How did I get here?”
“Here?” He half-grinned. “I drove you last night. You were out cold in one of the rooms. The boss told me where you were, so Breisi helped me carry you and your baggage out to my customized car. Your hunk of junk is back at the office, by the way.”
Even though Dawn was thankful that Kiko didn’t know about her and The Voice, it left her feeling stranded, isolated in her struggle to understand everything that was going on.
While she thought about the wisdom of telling her associate what had happened in the boudoir last night, Dawn unwrapped the bandage that had been covering her burns. The bindings were nasty with remnants of Breisi’s wonder gel as well as spots of burn goo, but Dawn was stunned to find that the wounds themselves were already healing. Pushed by curiosity, she started taking off her jeans to check the cut on her leg, too.
“Hey.” Wide-eyed, Kiko turned his back.
“What are you, a virgin?” Jeans on the floor, Dawn glanced under the bandage, finding that the slice from the vamp’s barbed tail had mended together. “Say, what’s in Breisi’s voodoo gel? She could market this stuff and become a zillionaire.”
“Maybe after we take care of our other priorities.” He was still facing away from her. “So, when you’re done with your Pussycat Dolls routine, we’ll do some training. You need it before we get back out there tonight.”
“Speaking of which—when am I going to get all that education I’ll need to fight these vamps, if they show again?”
“We’ll start today, but I have to be honest…”
Kiko peeked behind him, yet when he saw that Dawn was still pants-less, he turned back around. Aw, a gentleman. Dawn covered herself with the sheet just for his sake.
“We’re all still feeling our way around these vamps,” he said. “The boss tells us that different types have different powers, just like human races have various skin colors or cultural mores. He says to always expect anything to happen, whether it’s hypnotic powers, shape shifting, or even flying. That’s why you’ve got to stick with me or Breisi from now on, all right? We have more experience than you.”
From the set of his shoulders, the tone of his voice, Dawn could tell he was absolutely serious. She didn’t need to see his face to figure that out.
“Besides,” he added, finding that she was tucked under the sheet now, then turning all the way around, “all you have to do is find Frank and stick around until we crack this case, then you’re out of here. We’ll take things from that point. You can drive your pop to bum-fuck wherever and settle in a place like Kansas where there aren’t any vampires.” He paused. “I think.”
Dawn massaged her temples. He made it sound so easy.
“Capisce?” Kiko asked.
“I got you.” Dawn became suddenly aware of how sticky she felt under all the grime she hadn’t had the chance to clean off yet. “But before we save humanity, how about a shower?”
“Please.”
She speed-ate her PowerBar and chugged the milk, cleaned up, and told herself that her body wasn’t hurting. And, really, it wasn’t too bad. Even her sore wrist was cooperating.
Then, after checking in with the cops to find that they’d made no progress on Frank’s case, Dawn decided to hell with them. She extracted sweats and a T-shirt from her luggage, slung her hair back in a low ponytail, and armed herself for some mental warfare, investing fully in the hope that Limpet and Buddies would be her ticket to getting Frank back.
For the rest of the morning, she and Kiko sat on the worn carpet and faced each other as she practiced blocking him.
“Push against me with your thoughts,” he kept saying. “Do it from the inside, like your mind is a wave.”
It go
t to the point where he was throwing surprise attacks at her. As the afternoon passed, she became pretty decent at fending him off, even if she still had a way to go.
“As the boss said, you’re already good at this.” Worn out, Kiko slumped onto his couch. “Isn’t it nuts that in our normal, daily lives, we don’t even tap a fraction of what our minds are capable of? Imagine if everyone just admitted that the sixth sense isn’t all about con men and Gypsies.”
She remembered The Voice’s comment about her being an expert at keeping people at bay. Was her habit of ignoring what she didn’t want to deal with actually her own sixth sense at w—
A dart of invasive confusion parted her thoughts.
Out! Dawn said to herself, pushing mentally.
Beaming, Kiko gave her a thumbs-up. “Good reflexes.”
“Is this going to be the extent of our day?” she asked. “Me dodging your psychic bombs?”
“Actually, I thought I’d start you on some reading. Vampires, Burial, and Death, for one, and some writings by Montague Summers. He was this famous supernatural expert.”
“Can’t I just watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”
Kiko looked intrigued. “That might be surprisingly valuable. Maybe later. I also thought we could go through some of Frank’s paperwork—you know, bills and such. Maybe you’ll see some sort of pattern in his spending habits. Something weird.”
“You mean relatively weird.”
Kiko pursed his lips, as if wanting to ask a question, but then he seemed to think better of it.
“What?” she asked.
“Your relationship with Frank…If you two don’t get along so well, why’re you going to such extremes? I mean, yeah, I know he’s your dad, but there’re a lot of people in this world who would leave the finding to us instead of dealing personally with all this crap that’s hitting the fan.”
She thought about the gleam of pride in Frank’s eyes after she’d shown him some arm bruises from her first stunt gig. Thought of how she’d once caught him bragging about her to a table of drunks at the Cat’s Paw.
Night Rising Page 10
