He brought the chain to her. Macey felt a little spring inside her belly that matched the mattress’s jolt as he sat next to her on its edge. His arm brushed hers and the mattress caused her to tip slightly toward him. For one crazy moment, all she wanted to do was lean against him…sink into his warmth, taste that warm mouth, and forget about vampires and stakes and Venators.
“See here? This bead…it’s an extra one. With the small silver cross dangling from it. Usually, one big crucifix suffices for the rosary.” Grady’s smile was crooked and so very close to her, and the beaded chain appeared flimsy and delicate against his strong fingers. They were ink-stained again.
“I didn’t realize it was an extra one.” The truth was, she hadn’t noticed. But now as she fingered the beads, she wondered about the fact that the extra bead and its tiny silver cross were very much like the Venator vis bulla. A little shiver of awareness took her by surprise…and for a moment she wasn’t certain if it was because of the rosary or Grady’s nearness.
“I was worried about you today. I was afraid…well, I didn’t want you to meet the same fate as Jennie Fallon.” He was so close and he smelled so good Macey found herself hardly able to breathe. His eyes were like Lake Michigan on an autumn day, dark blue and turbulent.
Then came the terrible thought that he might have known the woman after all, even though he’d denied it originally; that Jennie might have been a girlfriend. A guy this intelligent, good looking, and charming had to have a gal. “Did you know her?”
“No. But I told you, I’m a newshawk. And my uncle—Linwood, you met him the other day—keeps me up to date on important news so I can get the scoop.”
“You could be the next Mulro or Goldstein.” That made sense—Grady was out for the story, emulating the young, determined reporters who’d broken the infamous Leopold and Loeb murder case.
“I could. But there’ve been two other victims found in the same condition in the last month—the same mauled torso, left in a back alley. Another young woman and a young man. The story is one thing—and if it’s a matter of public safety, then you’re damn right I’ll write it. But I’m more concerned about finding out what’s happening and how to stop it so we can keep other pretty young lasses from meeting the same fate. Like yourself.” He reached out, tracing his finger over the bite wounds on her neck. The soft touch over her warm, sensitive skin made her shiver pleasantly, and her belly did a delicious little dip. “You could easily have been another victim, Macey. I think it’s miraculous—and no mere accident—that you weren’t.”
“I consider myself very lucky things worked out the way they did.”
“And I also find it quite interesting that this morning, these little marks were oozing blood. They were still fresh and bleeding. And now…they’re nearly gone. How can that be?” He withdrew his hand.
Nearly gone? Macey reached up to touch the injury and was surprised when she could hardly feel the bumps. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.
“I read in the book that Venators—surely you know they are vampire hunters—heal extremely quickly.”
“I must not have gotten that far,” Macey said, suddenly breathless. “I only read a few pages.”
“Enough to know that silver and holy objects repel the undead. And that a wooden stake to the heart will kill them.” He looked at her for a long moment. Then, his voice gentle, he asked, “What exactly happened when you stabbed him?”
She swallowed. “He…uhm…froze in place. And then all at once, he sort of exploded. The stuff went everywhere, and it smelled awful.”
“His clothing too? His shoes? Everything just…went away?”
“Wait! Is this an interview? For the paper?” She was outraged, and gave him a shove. “Are you going to write a feature about me and my experience killing a vampire?”
“No!” He glanced toward the door, then turned back to her, lowering his voice and taking her hands in his. “No, this isn’t for the paper. Even if I wanted to print this—which I don’t—do you really think my editor would believe it? He’d have me certified insane and sent off to an asylum.” He squeezed her hands. “It’s you, Macey. You’re not just a pretty lass with great legs. You’ve got a brain. That broomstick didn’t break by coincidence. What else is going on?”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she tugged her hands away and stood. She put space between them. “I got lucky. That’s all. There’s nothing more to tell.”
Grady merely looked at her with steady blue eyes. “If that’s the way you want it.”
That was how it had to be.
~*~
“Who the bloody hell is that with her?” Sebastian muttered, shifting his stake from one hand to the other.
“Probably that Irish bastard we had to ditch earlier today.”
Sebastian gritted his teeth. Dammit—he hadn’t even heard Chas come up behind him. Blasted sneaky bastard. What the devil? Was he getting too old to notice these things, now that he was over a century in age? Or was Chas that damned good?
More likely he was simply ready to pass the torch—to Macey or Chas or whoever the devil would take the responsibility from him. Where the hell was Wayren now that he needed her?
“Bastard’s going to be a problem. I can already see it.”
Sebastian frowned, looking up at the window of Macey’s apartment just in time to see the two silhouettes merge into one. Something inside him shifted as he watched the two kiss—leaving him feeling empty and distant, in more ways than one.
Ah, Victoria.
By God, even in the short time he’d known her, Macey reminded him so much of Victoria…but Victoria, melded in with Giulia. The two women he’d loved beyond all reason, now represented in one being. A petite, stubborn one who held his fate in her hands.
And he’d thought he was damned before.
He choked on a bitter laugh.
Watching the two lovers from a distance created stirrings in Sebastian that had lain dormant, or been suppressed, for decades. He remembered now the pain, the renewed wave of emptiness when he finally realized Victoria didn’t love him the way he loved her. That she’d chosen someone else.
As for Giulia…
The stab in his heart felt as pointed and real as if someone slammed an ash stake there. Giulia had never wavered in her deep feelings for him. It was Sebastian who’d destroyed their love, sending her away.
Sentenced her to eternal Hell by driving a stake into her heart.
“What’s wrong?”
He turned to Chas, who was too damned nosy for his own good. Spying on him. “I’m going to walk around to the north side.”
“I’ll keep a close eye on things up there.” Chas was looking up at the window. “Damn…peepshow’s over.”
Sebastian followed his gaze just in time to see Macey pull the curtains, swathing the light-filled rectangle with gauzy material. He was about to walk away when his companion spoke again. “You’ve been around for a long time. How much do you know about the feud between Alvisi and Iscariot?”
Sebastian’s lips moved in a wry smile. “So have you. Longer than I, I think.”
Chas shook his head wearily. “In age, perhaps. But not in years on this earth. You forget—I was brought here. You lived it.”
It was rare Chas spoke in such a raw, heartfelt manner, and Sebastian blinked. “I cannot argue with you on that, Woodmore—and to be truthful, I’m not sure which of us has had the easier path getting here. Perhaps one day we can sit down over a bottle of excellent Bordeaux and hash it out. The losses, the sacrifices, the heartbreaks.”
Chas gave a sharp, appreciative laugh. “That would be quite instructive. Perhaps when this is all over.”
“When this is all over.” Sebastian looked at him consideringly. “Interesting. I feel the same way. As if I’m on the brink, waiting for something to happen…some event, some culmination. Some truth.”
“What was it the prophecy said? The one you mean to fulfill? Something about a ‘long
promise’?”
“‘And in the New World shall be a savior who carries the deepest taint. A long promise shall the savior make, and in the end those for whom he lives will be saved.’” As if Sebastian could ever put those words from his mind. They’d been burned there, branded inside him, his holy mantra since the day he realized what he must do.
“We’re most certainly in the New World,” Chas said. “But you—a savior?”
“‘A savior who carries the deepest taint,’” Sebastian reminded him, not at all put off by the other man’s wry comment. He heard the acknowledgment buried deep in Chas’s voice—the acknowledgment of sacrifice. And admiration and respect. “God knows the taint I carry.”
“And you took it willingly. Allowing yourself to be turned undead, giving up your mortality and your soul. For a woman.” Now there was the barest hint of a sneer in his voice. Or perhaps it was disbelief.
“For two women.”
“Two? It was not merely to save Victoria Gardella?”
Sebastian’s lips moved in a wry smile. “There was no need to save Victoria. In fact, in the end, it was she who saved me. But it was, indeed, for her that I…became the way I am.”
“And the other woman?”
Giulia.
Before he could decide how—or whether—to respond, a sharp, unmistakable chill settled over the nape of his neck. He and Chas became silent and exchanged looks.
And then, stakes in hand, they went to work.
~*~
Macey opened her eyes to morning sunlight, and the first thing she saw was Grady. He was sitting in the chair by her bureau, head tilted against the wall, eyes closed.
Even in sleep, he gripped a wooden stake.
His unruly sable hair was mussed, and he had the dark shadow of stubble over his square chin and jaw. Tie, vest, and shoes had long been removed. He’d unbuttoned the top few buttons of his white shirt, and Macey couldn’t help but notice the hint of more dark hair peeking from behind his tight undershirt. Something inside her quivered, hot and slow, and she swallowed hard. He looked rumpled and delicious and more than a little dangerous, especially with that stake in hand. Had he been holding it all night? Watching over and protecting her?
Then she realized—it wasn’t the broken broomstick he was holding. It was a real carved and whittled wooden stake.
At that, her heart gave another little awkward bump. He’d brought it with him.
Just then someone knocked on the door. Grady’s eyes flew open. He seemed instantly awake and aware, bolting silently from his seat, facing the door. Then he looked at her.
What should I do? he mouthed.
Damn. She was completely rolled. Mrs. Gutchinson would have a fit if she found Grady—or any guy—in here. The landlady might even evict her.
The pounding grew louder and more insistent. “Macey! Are you in there?”
“Flora!” A rush of joy and relief flooded her. Still fully clothed, she had nothing to hide from Grady except a flash of thigh beneath the flutter of her skirt as she flew from the bed. “Shhh,” she warned him just before she grabbed the doorknob and turned.
“Thank God you’re all right!” She and Flora said the same thing in the same breath as the door opened. Macey assured herself Mrs. G wasn’t lurking on the landing, then flew into Flora’s arms.
Her best friend was taller than Macey by more than a head, as well as slender and boyish-looking in build. She had the perfect flapper figure: narrow hips, small breasts, and long legs. Flora also had a head of curly orange-red hair cut in the same style as Macey, and freckles everywhere.
Macey knew exactly when Flora saw Grady over her shoulder, for the taller girl froze and then pushed her friend away. She barged fully into the room, her light blue eyes wide as saucers.
“Who is—”
Macey hushed her friend as she shut the door, then turned. “This is Grady.”
Flora was looking back and forth between them as if they were batting a tennis ball, her wide mouth curving in an approving smile. “You are rolled, Mace! Mrs. G is going to blow her stack.”
“Only if she finds out. Which she won’t.” Macey looked at Grady, who’d slipped his shoes on, at least. The stake was nowhere in sight. “Time for you to go. Where is Mrs. G anyway? I can’t believe she didn’t follow you up here to spy on me. Did she let you in?”
Flora flounced onto the edge of the bed, patting it with her hand as if to test its springs. She winked at Grady, who managed—barely—to look innocent. Which, as a matter of fact, he was.
But then Macey remembered that long, tonguing, sensual kiss and her stomach butterflied. Innocent…at least for now. Her cheeks warmed and she felt that little internal quiver again. She averted her gaze before he noticed her ogling him.
“Of course Mrs. G let me in,” Flora said as Grady pulled on his coat. “But apparently my visiting you isn’t newsworthy or unusual enough for her to walk me up here. She said her coffee would get cold.”
“And it’s Sunday. She’s probably getting ready for church.”
“That old bat goes to church?” Flora laughed. Her eyes danced, then slid to Grady, then back to Macey. Her smile became slightly wicked. “I assume your friend isn’t just an early morning visitor.”
“He was just leaving.” Macey gave him a firm look. After all, kiss or no kiss, she’d never actually invited Grady to be here. He’d sneaked in—and laid in wait. With a stake.
“What—no breakfast?” he said, looking longingly at the kitchenette. “Not even a coffee?”
“Not even a coffee.” Macey smiled sweetly at him. “And you can leave that—uh—broken broomstick here. I’ll take care of it.”
“Maybe I’ll just stop by Mrs. G’s and see if she has a cup to spare,” Grady said with an arch smile—then slipped out the door before Macey could stop him.
Surely he wouldn’t do that.
“Broken broomstick?” Flora appeared fascinated. “Jeepers—what were you two doing last night?”
Macey shook her head. “It’s a long story. But enough about that—tell me what happened at The Gyro. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”
Flora’s bright expression sobered. “It was a terror, wasn’t it? I looked for you too, and Chelle and Dottie, but it was such a madness, I just got out of there.”
“I did too. Did you—uh—see what was happening? Who was doing the raid?”
“Not really. It was all so scary, I just got outside, to safety. But,” Flora said, her eyes shining, “it all worked out. Because one of the fellas who was bolting out with me—we got to talking after, you know, when we got far enough away and we were all standing around trying to figure out what happened. Not only is he really snorky, but he gave me a lead on a job!”
“That’s great! What kind of job? Are you going to see him again?”
Flora made an offhand gesture. “Oh, I already did. See him again.” Her grin was wide and infectious. “And I have the job interview tonight.”
“Tonight? What kind of job is it?” Macey frowned.
“Don’t get all worried over it. I know you wouldn’t approve, but it’s serving tables at a club. It’s really good money, Mace.”
“A club? A speakeasy kind of club?” Aside from the legality of the situation—not to mention the personal danger that could be involved if it was a place gangsters frequented—Macey couldn’t imagine the fun, long-limbed, gawky Flora waiting tables, pushing her way between crowded tables while carrying a tray of drinks. She couldn’t even do a job interview without knocking over a cup of coffee into the hiring person’s lap…how could she wait tables? It was a disaster waiting to happen. I’ve got to find something for her at the university.
But not with antique books. Or in a lab, with all the beakers and burners…
“No, goof. It’s a dance club like The Gyro. I’ll tell you more later, after I go. But now you have to tell me about your Mr. Grady—or is that his first name?”
Macey realized with a start she didn’t even kno
w the answer. But she was saved from formulating a reasonable reply when someone knocked peremptorily on the door.
It could only be Mrs. G, and for once, she was glad for the interruption. Unless her landlady had seen Grady leaving and was coming to lecture her…
With no little trepidation, Macey looked out the peephole. Temple stood there, and even through the small view, her impatience was obvious. Macey glanced at Flora, but saw no choice but to open the door.
Temple flowed right in. “All right, sister, we’ve got to get—ah, hello. Who’s this?” She looked from one to the other and paused, hands on hips.
Both women were taller and sturdier than Macey, and for a moment, the group of them was reflected in the mirror over her bureau. Flora, gangly and looking like fun and sunshine, was slightly more slender than the Negro woman. Temple was the picture of grace and elegance, with her café au lait skin and sleek cap of black hair. While Flora looked like a farmgirl, Macey thought Temple resembled a Nubian princess dressed in modern fashion.
“I’m Flora. And who are you?” There was no small note of surprise and suspicion in her voice. She looked at sharply at Macey.
“This is Temple. I met her the night of the raid at The Gyro. We ran out together—like you and your new guy. What did you say his name was?”
“Antony.” She was still looking at Temple. “So, what are you doing here?”
Macey’s cheeks heated. Flora, aside from being sunshine and fun, could also be painfully blunt. And her father was a member of the Ku Klux Klan. Not that Flora herself donned white hooded cloaks and burned crosses on the lawns of Negroes, Catholics or Jews, but she’d grown up in a family who spoke with open prejudice toward those minorities.
“Temple was going to take me to—”
“I promised Macey I’d show her my auntie’s millinery shop. Would you like to come?” Temple’s voice was cool and polite, yet the glint in her eyes acknowledged Flora’s aversion to her presence.
“I haven’t seen you for days, Mace. Can’t you do that another time? Jimmy wanted to take us out tonight too. He was mad he wasn’t at The Gyro with us the night of the raid—to take care of us.”
Roaring Midnight (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles | Macey #1) Page 10
