“Bloody hell, you are. You’ve written about what has come to be—these people in your series—all of them. And you just made them all appear. You are the prophesied seer sent to bring freedom to the supernatural world.”
I struggled against my metal cuffs. Clang. Clack. “Help!” I screamed.
“No one can hear you. You will remain here with me until we get this done. No matter how long it takes or what it means in the end. My kind is more important than you.”
I glanced over at the women in the cages. “How many do you have up there?” Each one of them had family, friends, a history, and now they were dealing with this horror of a real-life golem in a cave who believed he could kick off some supernatural civil war.
“Waiting to be transformed? Hmm, maybe around nine. You know, nine is the holy number for us.”
I’m on my way. Alistair’s voice lit up inside my mind. I just needed to buy some time.
“How long have you been doing this? With these women?” The longer I prolonged all of this, the higher the chance I had to save them, too.
“It’s not that simple, and these women, well, it’s not like they have roots. They can be easily replaced in life. They are commodities, just like the cows and sheep that litter the fields. Vampires need a source of food—human blood—and that is what they shall be until they are emptied.”
“Is that what happened to Bridget?”
“Oh, heavens, no. I needed a way to get your attention. She reminded me of your character, Scarlet. You know, the one that is just horrible to everyone, and I thought she’d do perfectly as my sacrifice to you.”
Not a moment too soon, the air hummed with Alistair’s arrival. And his loud screech shook the cave walls.
Elm clapped. “What a wonderful day! The prince has arrived, too. The Order shall be toppled for sure. Who would have thought it possible?” Elm moved toward a stainless-steel cabinet and opened it up. Therein rested enough weapons for an army to fight—automatic and semiautomatic guns, along with grenades. Elm retrieved a harpoon, steadied it, and took aim.
“Duck, Alistair. Elm is armed!”
If I didn’t get up, Alistair might die, and I’d feel guilty about it. And since he’d saved me from true death, I had to try to do the same.
Focusing all of my energy and strength on the stainless-steel cuffs, they began to stretch enough for me to pull my hands free.
My sword nowhere in sight, I quickly ripped the rest of them off my feet and grabbed one of the guns from the cabinet. I reached out and attempted to summon Spike the Sword to my hand. He said no one could wield it, not that it would return to my hand automatically. Damn it!
Thank the gods for the citizen's police academy; at least I knew how to use an automatic rifle. I loaded it and rushed after Elm. Even with his dragon’s breath, Alistair might not be too much of a challenge against a sharp, modern-day harpoon.
It might end up being emasculating, but at least he’d be alive.
I moved forward and aimed. “Halt!” I yelled. “Don’t make me shoot you, Elm. You have been my friend.”
“What is friendship worth where there is no freedom?”
“If you shoot that creature, I’m going to shoot you.”
“But why? I have your blood.” He held up the beaker, tilted his head back, and drank it.
The gesture reminded me of those people who liked to fry pigs’ blood or include the steak juices from the package into the pan.
He swallowed it, and my face twisted in disgust. The stuff dripped down his chin from the corners of his mouth, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. I waited for the true reaction—nausea, regurgitation, and possible death. It was pretty much like drinking a mixture from a corpse. I mean, would you take a straw to the funeral home and take a sip? Just yuck!
Alistair closed in, ready to blow fire, and as Elm aimed, so did I.
My vision allowed me to see every nuance of his movements, and before he could pull the trigger on the grenade harpoon, I fired off two rounds.
Crap. They passed right through him. No blood. No gore, just clay.
And so, I fired two more rounds. Tossing the gun to the ground, I clapped my hands as hard as I could.
Abruptly, Elm collapsed to his knees, withering in pain and holding his head as if my invisible hands squeezed it. The harpoon dropped firing and striking Alistair square in the chest, only to bounce right off.
Guess he didn’t need my help, after all.
Elm then released a piercing scream. He shook his head, his hair flopping back and forth out of his face. There, on Elm’s forehead, lit up a glyph I couldn’t read. Suddenly, his grunts and sounds turned to gibberish, like a record played backward.
There were two sides to every person and three sides to the truth. And as Elm slowly transformed to unanimated high-clay soil, I stared at the large heap.
Alistair then opened his mouth and released an engulfing flame of alkaline blue fire, turning the golem into ceramic to slowly crack and break.
Maybe now the nightmare could truly be over, but I had a feeling this was only the beginning.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Leslie
When Rose entered the cave with her paranormal investigative team, I tried to be civil. She’d accused me of being the evil in their midst, not even wanting to look anywhere else. She must have been a jealous woman just to want to alleviate a threat, even if that threat had nothing to do with the actual crime. There might have still been feelings between Alistair and Rose, for all I knew, but their dysfunction wasn’t what I’d wanted, needed, or even desired to be around.
It was simply implied that the golem had malfunctioned, an answer everyone swallowed easily. Beau promised to follow up with the replicas of Elm to ensure this didn’t happen again, but I wasn’t too sure. Inside of him had been a sunflower. Sunflower… Could that have been a coincidence, too?
Rose moved to my side. “It appears that I may have misjudged you, but your kind has not been a part of this Order in centuries.” Her face was squished together as though she’d been sucking on lemons, and all I felt was pity. Wasn’t it hard enough to just survive without pitting people against each other? I knew nothing about this world, and she made sure I wasn’t welcomed in it.
“What happens to him now?” I asked.
“They were all connected to Charming, and with his owning a better part of the city, this made it easier for the golems to work together, or at least share information. This one seemed to develop a conscience. He will be returned to brittle clay. Alistair’s fire and the removal of the symbol on his head stopped him. It would seem like the Order lucked out, this time.” Rose didn’t wait for my response. Instead, she simply turned her attention back to the shards that had once been Elm.
My thoughts drifted to Bridget. Oh, what might have happened if we’d been able to save her—any of them?
Alistair came and placed his hand on my shoulder in a comforting gesture. I shrugged it off. I needed space. This debacle had been a palate cleanser. I could look at Alistair and see the potential in him, but I didn’t need a man who required fixing. There were too many issues of my own, which now needed tending to.
“So, is this where you tell me goodbye?” Alistair asked.
“I hadn’t planned on telling you anything. In one way or another, you still have a lot of things to work on. How you can be centuries old and not know how to treat a woman is beyond me. I don’t have time for a fixer-upper project.”
“A project. Is that what I am?”
I considered my words carefully. “You said that pressure makes diamonds. Well, maybe you, too, need to be shined up a bit. I can’t give up my life for you. After a while, I’d end up hating you. You gave me life, but you can’t just take away what I’ve been building for myself.”
Alistair glanced down at his feet. “You’re right, Leslie. I didn’t treat you very well, and that had to do with me, not you.”
I nodded. “That doesn’t change anythin
g. You could learn a lot from Killian. In fact, you should take a few lessons from him on how not to be a giant asshole.” I brushed past him, thinking that at one time, I believed we could have been something.
I heard the vampire within still whisper, “Mine.”
“Leslie!” Gran raced into the cave, giving everyone the stink-eye. “Are you okay?” I could see her panic, and when she wrapped her arms around me, now that was home. I’d never been so relieved to fall into her arms. My vision blurred with unshed tears.
“Don’t you let them see you cry,” she chastised. “They’ll take it for weakness, but you sure did have this old woman worried. I liked it better when I was just a ghost. I know I asked you to consider staying here with the Order, but I think we were better off in Manhattan.”
The sun began its rise, and soon the compound would return to its usual routine. This threat, now alleviated, meant the return to normalcy.
“Well, I did have enough of an adventure to start that next book,” I said.
Gran shook her head. “I’ll never understand where all of these characters come from.”
“Me neither, but I’m sure the ideas are there.”
We quickly called a taxi to return to the city. The sight of the yellow cab waiting for us gave me strength to keep walking away. Slathered down in sunblock and clad in a leather bustier, with matching BDSM long gloves, and with black leather with tons of buckles, I must have looked like I’d signed up for some sort of sex play convention. It didn’t matter. Black leather was the Order’s uniform, and all had been made available for a quick escape. I topped off the look with a baseball cap, letting almost no sun peek through, as well as large, dark sunglasses.
When I cast one last glance at the compound, sadness and indifference mingled. I knew my value, my worth, and I wasn’t willing to settle for less—even if fate bound Alistair and me together. Nothing had given me a reason to stay, and everything had forced me to go.
Once away from the magic-heavy compound and its lands, Gran returned to her ghostly form, and we both heaved a sigh of relief. I couldn’t escape that place fast enough—credit card balances and all be damned.
“I think it was your ring and their magic that made it so I could be both incorporeal and corporeal,” Gran admitted. “Both items would be needed for future adventures, I fear.”
I returned to my apartment to find paparazzi waiting. They swirled with their lights and cameras, and loud calls for my attention. It seemed that it was good to return from the dead.
I’d barely made it to my floor when I found Claudine exiting my apartment, clutching newspapers to her side, as well as a large coffee. “I had this feeling you were coming home today.”
“And I’m dead tired,” I said.
“Well, you’re going to need to fix your face soon. It looks like the big guys have taken notice of your recent numbers. After your supposed death, I’ve been able to schedule you for this afternoon’s and tomorrow morning’s news shows.
“Donovan was arrested and is awaiting his first court hearing. Especially since you returned, I’m guessing the DA will want to make sure to get his case closed, and quickly.”
“If you weren’t my sister, I’d so fire you.” I hugged her tightly.
“Got to get it in when you can.” She shrugged, then continued, “And Maurice called. He said that he’s taken a fresh look at your proposal and thinks he can sell it now.”
I stepped back, gritted my teeth, and turned on my heel.
“Where are you going?” Claudine called after me.
“To take care of some final business.”
After a quick cab ride, I arrived at Maurice’s building. Bypassing security with a smile, I then caught the elevator up to the eleventh floor where Maurice’s private office was located—not where he’d meet clients. Seeing my reflection, I looked badass—like I’d stepped off of an urban fantasy novel. I just needed a sheathed sword to complete the ensemble, and maybe some magic to make my reddish hair glow a bit pinker.
The elevator doors slid open, and I pasted on the most perfect of smiles. Something had changed within me.
“Ma’am, you can’t go back there,” the receptionist cautioned.
“But I can, and you’re going to buzz me in.”
“Sure,” the receptionist said as if under a trance, and the glass door unlocked.
With his corner office, Maurice was supposed to be one of the best in the business. His office overlooked Central Park, a view that most would envy. Even with his expertise, though, he hadn’t performed. And it was time to cut those from my life who suffered from underperformance.
“Maurice,” I said, then stepped across the threshold into his office.
“Leslie. Oh, my, it’s good to see you. I’d heard you were lost at sea—what a miraculous return. I’ve been fielding so many calls for you. The press is going to love your reappearance, as will your fans. I can’t wait to see what we’ll be able to make possible with your career now.” He cleared his throat.
I took a seat, leaned back into the chair, crossed my legs, and stared at him until an uncomfortable silence built up between us. He tugged at his collar.
The confidence in his voice evaporated like hot air. “I think I owe you an apology.”
“Oh, no, what you owe me is a letter reverting my publishing rights back to me.”
“That’s not possible, Leslie.”
“But it is. You fired me, and with me goes my work.”
“Please, Leslie, you can’t do that. In the last couple of days, you’ve sold more books than any other author over the history of us taking numbers. We can’t keep up with the demand.”
“I guess that’s something you should have considered before you were so callous. Now, take out that paper and get to typing. I can wait.”
Magic pulsated around me, filling the room. I bathed in it and waited patiently for my letter, where ownership of all of my books would be reverted to me, effectively nullifying the agent and publishing contracts.
Sparks of orange magic swirled around my fingertips to jump and zing around the room, to then zigzag across Maurice’s office. It fluttered the pages, passed along rows of books on bookshelves to then encase around Maurice.
Maurice’s fingers flew across his keyboard. With a final hard-hitting return, his nearby desk printer hummed to life.
“You’re ruining my life.” Droplets of sweat formed on his brow. Reaching into his desk, he pulled out a paper bag and began to blow in and out.
“Oh, but I’m sure your life can change, too, with a horrible cruise. Even more, with the publisher losing so much money, there’s no telling what sort of cruise it might be. Anyway, I hate to just demand and dash. I wish you all the best, Maurice.”
He signed the letter and passed it to me, panic replaced with acceptance.
I held on tightly to that letter. Never again would anyone walk all over me. That was the greatest thing about now being a vampire—that confidence.
I might still have a lot to learn, and there would be a great learning curve, too, but at least I wouldn’t have to stop being Leslie Love to do it.
“Ms. Love?” the receptionist called after me. “You forgot your check.”
I smiled. It had enough zeroes for me to start all over on my own terms.
Who knew that once bitten, I’d get exactly what I wanted? To be me.
Epilogue
Leslie
Two weeks later
I’d found a way to keep my hunger at bay. Nothing like sushi for that, and back in our apartment, Gran and I reverted to our usual routine.
It felt good to be home.
“Have you heard anything from him?” Gran asked.
She didn’t need to name him—we both knew who she meant.
Alistair.
My guess was that he’d returned to Scotland. Yet, something inside of me still called out to him—every night, every second of every day—as if a part of me was missing.
I squashed that,
though, by stuffing myself with more sushi and working on the next Ivan Macleod book. With all of that adventurous fodder, I had to write. “You know, though, dear, I’ve been thinking about our adventure; something that isn’t quite clear. Elm was magical, right? An inanimate object created and controlled by magic.”
“Yes,” I said, still punching the keys to accomplish my daily word count.
“Magic? There’s just something that is bothering me here with what he did. Besides the whole serial killer thing.”
“Well, not a serial killer, but more of a spree killer. He was a golem that wished to become a real man like an adult Pinocchio.”
She ignored me and continued to talk. “There are rules to magic, a system even. It is not just used willy-nilly.”
I paused. When I’d been there in that cave, I’d thought of the same thing. For a golem bent on bringing down the Order, he seemed very limited on his directives.
“I know golems must be created and then given directions. But does that make it that they can still do magic?” Gran asked. “Would he be blessed by the gods, or did someone give him something that might make him more magical? Does it happen like they do it on that witchy television show: just uttering an incantation? But, how did he cast the spells?”
“The sigils.” I stopped typing, lost in thought. “A golem has no faith.”
“If he wasn’t magical, how did he cast the spells?” Gran stepped in front of me, concern marring her face.
We stared at each other.
Elm might have been involved, but he wasn’t the top of the maleficence there. I now remembered what I’d felt in the forest. There’d been something else, someone else, and they were indeed powerful if they wished to attack a community filled with supernatural beings.
As the seer, I would soon be called on to fight a battle I wasn’t sure I could win. After all, I was just a romance writer who loved hot men in kilts, Vikings, and maybe even dragons. But even more, as a vampire connected to Alistair, I knew I had to help. He could not go this alone. I wouldn’t let him. “Oh, my god. Oh, my goddess.” I started to hyperventilate.
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