by R. S. Black
A. I met a death priest who, oddly enough, still seemed reluctant to kill me. Many times I’d had opportunities to do him in, but every time I got around Billy all I ever seemed to focus on was getting that man’s clothes off and having my dirty, dirty way with him. Almost like I was under some sort of thrall, now that I thought about it. Was he spelling me? Was that why I couldn’t bring myself to give up his name to Grace? And yet there I still stood. Sure, he’d given me a concussion the size of Texas the first night we’d met, and tonight he’d stabbed me. But they weren’t killing blows. As a priest he knew that.
Therefore, the only logical explanation was that he had a plan of his own. No doubt in my mind he meant to kill me, eventually. He was a death dealer. That’s what they do. But there was more to this game than simply chasing me down, and even though I’d accused him of getting off on the fear, thinking about it now, that didn’t feel like his style.
I sighed, remembering I’d meant to ask Grace for access to the library. In all the Grace/Mary drama, I’d forgotten. When I called her tomorrow I’d have to ask. I needed clues. Something had to be there.
I shook my head, flexing my shoulder a little to see where it stood. A few more minutes, and then I could take a bath.
I sighed, wanting sleep but unable to calm the constant thoughts and worries nagging me. The night I’d killed all those vamps in the clearing, someone or something had killed the fourth. I’d have sworn it was Billy, but now... I wasn’t sure about anything. I’d gone back many times, trying to get a fix on the place, maybe find a clue inadvertently left behind, but whoever it was left nothing. Which made me wonder—had the knife been meant for me and not the vamp at all? It was a possibility I didn’t like.
I still felt like he might be the one stalking me, and yet... that question led me straight to another. B, who the hell was the Gray Man?
I’ve lived a long life. You’d think somewhere between the Stone Age and the Bronze Age, Iron Age, modern age... whatever age, I’d have heard something, somewhere, at some point.
He said trust no one. So why should I trust him? I’d point blank asked him, and he’d neither confirmed nor denied that I could or couldn’t.
I licked my lips, a headache burgeoning on the horizon. I glanced at the clock next to my bed. already past one in the morning.
I flexed my arm. It twinged, but it would heal nicely without the use of the brace now. I undid the Velcro, tossed the brace to the ground, and stalked toward my bathroom. I turned on the faucet for a long, hot soak in my ivory claw-foot tub and undressed the rest of the way.
I know what you’re wondering. How in the heck do I have a claw-foot bathtub in my trailer? To some extent, we all have a little magick. Not much. Not the way witches do. But we can ward things, hide things with our glamour. And with a little extra practice, we can even distort the dimensions of reality.
In all the nights’ confusion, I’d forgotten about the ring. The bag fell on the tile with a woomph sound when I pulled my boot off. I picked it up, held it tight in my hand, and considered opening it, then dismissed the idea almost immediately. I didn’t want it anywhere near my bathwater; I had no way of knowing how it worked and didn’t particularly relish the thought of getting electrocuted by ignorance.
But thinking of that inevitably led my thoughts back to where I’d begun. I poured lavender-scented bath beads into the tub, slipped in, and let loose a giant ahh of relief as the oils sank into tired, achy muscle.
C. Grace. The Vamp club. The cold.
Grace had set up shop. Why? I know what she told me, because she was old. And though I didn’t trust the Gray Man as far as I could throw him, I hated to admit his words were eating me up like a slow-leeching cancer of doubt.
Was she telling the truth? Or was she still keeping secrets? And why had I grown so cold that, for a second, I’d sworn it was killing me?
D. Sanguinary, that was the real kicker. That ate at my craw. Since when had vamps grown so bold as to actually set up shop in the middle of town and not even try to hide the fact they were doing it?
I flicked at the water, staring out the skylight at the star-studded sky, aggravation building.
Part of me wanted to say screw it. Mow through the vamps and learn by threat of pain what they were up to. But another part—the sane side of me—knew torture could only take you so far. Something was changing. Much as I hated to believe it, I was beginning to think there was a purpose to the vamps’ madness.
And if that was true, then there had to be a leader to guide them.
I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and tried to cook up any excuse that would absolve my people. But all roads led to the same inevitable conclusion. Only something more powerful, stronger than a vamp, could ever truly hope to guide them on to whatever type of end game they had plotted.
Just the thought of it made me want to scream and rip my hair out.
I didn’t want to believe anyone I knew could be capable of this. Grace did say that the order wasn’t sure. Maybe it was a Neph. Fine. I could deal with that as long as the Neph wasn’t one of mine.
But what if it was?
I growled and sat there thinking so long the water finally started turning cold.
Temper hot, I jumped out, grabbed a towel and the tiny black sack, and stalked back into my bedroom. Water soaked the carpet beneath my feet.
Dropping the towel, I snatched up a pair of socks and underwear, dressed, then took the sack over to my bed and sat down cross-legged.
My heart pounded as I slowly pulled open the drawstring and peeked inside. I’m not sure what I expected, but by the way Grace had carried on, I thought it would be more than a simple band with a tiny stone.
I frowned, tipped the sack, and pulled out the ring. The band was a dull gold, a little nicked and grooved around the edges, as if it’d been scrapped continuously over a rough surface for a couple of years. I studied the stone. It was a vitreous reddish-purple. I’d seen this color before. It was precious and uberrare, sometimes called bixbite but more commonly known as red beryl.
“Hmm...” I cocked my head, a thread of memory trying to worm its way to the surface. There was something about beryl that nagged at me. I gripped the ring, scooted off the bed, and ran to my bookshelf.
I scanned my shelf, looking for the title I wanted. I’d read something about this stone before. Some magical quality it was said to possess.
I yanked my copy of Occultism & Parapsychology Encyclopedia off the shelf and sat down on my couch. It was dark. Which normally isn’t a big deal for me—I can see fine in the dark—but I was hunting for clues. Any advantage I could give myself, I’d take.
I turned on the floor lamp, scooted back, and flipped the book open to the glossary section, searching for an entry on beryl. Once I found it, I turned to the page and began reading:
Beryl, a gemstone, also known as a precious or semiprecious stone, is a highly attractive and valuable piece of mineral...
Blah, blah, blah. I already knew that. I turned the page, scanning for one thing in particular:
It is said to preserve weeded love and to be a good medium for magical visions.
I stabbed the page with my finger many times, feeling like I’d finally stumbled across something, but what? It clearly was not being used for love in this case. Magical visions? Maybe. But how could a vision help me kill a priest?
I frowned and looked at the ring still in the palm of my hand. I held it up, the glassy surface turning a lighter shade of red, almost pink, under the lamp. I squinted, seeing something I’d missed earlier. Blowing on it, thinking maybe the squiggle was dust, I realized the squiggly lines were inside the stone, not outside.
It was a circle.
No, that wasn’t right.
I turned the ring up and on its side so the light caught it at just the right angle. It nearly glowed when the light touched it, and I could finally make out what was inside. It was a snake eating its tail. I’ve always thought the symbol somewhat ominous, even t
hough its meaning implies security. The circular snake is an ancient symbol of rebirth and protection against evil.
As I rolled it between my fingers, I noticed a faint line of black script along the inside of the band.
“Cinis cinerem, pulvis in terram.” Latin for ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
The second the words were out of my mouth the ring, which had been cool to the touch, began to grow warm in my hand. Startled, I threw it to the floor, eyes wide and pulse racing, hoping I hadn’t triggered the power by accident.
After a few tense seconds that felt more like hours, the ring quieted and was once again a ring.
I licked my lips and cautiously approached the talisman. I tapped it like one would to test the heat of a stove, and when it failed to bite back, I figured it was probably safe enough to pick it up again.
This thing was powerful and deadly. And I was pretty sure I now knew how to use it. I gripped it tight in my palm.
Could I really bring myself to use it on him? That was another matter entirely.
Chapter 13
I munched on a Krispy Kreme glazed doughnut—the only one worth eating if you’re going to eat a doughnut, in my not so humble opinion—and studied a glowering Luc.
“You’re not telling me something.”
I gave him wide, innocent eyes which didn’t fool him for a moment, I’m sure. I’d decided to tell him everything Grace had shared but nothing more. No Gray Man, no Billy. Those were mine. “You callin’ me a liar?”
He pushed back his chair and walked into his kitchen, grabbed the pot of coffee, and brought it back to the table. He poured himself a mug full. Luc drank his black. Me, I’m a cream-and-sugar kind of girl, a fact he always rags on me about.
“If the shoe fits.” He eyed me evilly over the rim of his cup, then took a long, slow draft of the bitter brew.
I’d met him at his trailer, just like I’d promised last night. Yeah, it was five in the morning, the sun hadn’t come up, and maybe that was why he was cranky, but hey. Not my fault he’d gone back to whoring after he’d left my place. I hadn’t slept much last night. The talk between Grace and me, Gray Man and me, Billy and me—heck, pick your poison—left my thoughts jumbled and more confused than ever.
I’d gone for a walk around my trailer, not far, within earshot of the carnival, trying to work out the puzzle, but it hadn’t helped. Finally, I’d given it up as a lost cause, ported myself to Winston-Salem—home of the original Krispy Kreme ’cause if you’re gonna buy them you ought to get the best—picked up three boxes, and then knocked, very loudly, on my boss’s door.
He’d scowled, had sworn he was gonna rip me a new one, but eventually my feminine wiles won him over. That and the smell of deep-fried fat. He’d devoured three doughnuts before I’d even set them down. He’s such a pig, but I guess you know that already. Wine incident ring any bells?
Luc’s house is sterile, and by that I mean the man is seriously into the whole concept of feng shui. Less is more. Objects placed in certain areas for optimum health benefits and all that other mumbo jumbo crap. That stuff is so freakin’ ridiculous. Moving your couch next to the window instead of the door isn’t gonna help you not catch a cold come fall. But whatever. Not my house.
The only thing to take away from the feng-shuiness of it, in my opinion, was his love of technology. He and Kemen had taken to it like fish to water. Everywhere I looked, Luc had his gadgets, cell phone, computers, television, stereo—now that I could understand; personally I lived and breathed music. But the rest held little appeal to me.
I leaned back, sucked the sugar off each of my fingers while still maintaining eye contact with him, and sighed.
I wasn’t lying, not exactly. I was keeping things. Though I was only running at half speed at the moment, one thing had become glaringly obvious this morning. Regardless of my emphatic denial that Luc was not in any way, shape, or form involved, I really couldn’t know that for certain.
And I until I found out otherwise, everyone was suspect.
“Listen, trust me or not, what I told you is the truth.”
He licked his fangs. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s true. It’s what you’re not telling me that makes me wonder.”
I shrugged.
He rolled his eyes, shoved his fingers through his long blond hair, then growled. “So she suspects someone among us is playing both sides. I can’t believe this, Dora.”
“I know.” I took a sip of my coffee. It was creamy and sweet and delicious. The caffeine didn’t affect us the way it did humans, but Luc and I have developed a taste for the stuff anyway. “I thought that too the first time she told me.”
“It doesn’t make any kind of sense,” he snarled, “so we have to infiltrate this club and what... stand by and play patty-cake with the mosquitoes?”
“I have to gather as much intel as I can. The first trip is recon only.”
“I don’t like this.” He shook his head. “Something feels wrong.”
I muttered a low agreement.
“I’ll send Bubba with you.”
“No,” I said a little too forcefully, looking up from my mug, “Grace said no one should know. Hell, I had to fight to get her to agree I could talk with you.”
Open mouth, insert foot. I wanted to groan.
“What?” he all but growled, standing so fast he knocked the chair down. “She suspects me?” He honestly and sincerely looked stupefied, which I must say helped calm some of my own fears. “Please tell me that’s not why you’re keeping secrets from me, Pandora.”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
He narrowed his eyes, slammed his coffee mug down on the table—sloshing half the contents onto the wood—then pinned his arms on my chair and shoved his face into mine.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that look of guilt flash across your face.” His voice blended with another, and his eyes started to swirl an angry purple.
Luc was wearing nothing but a pair of silk boxer briefs this morning. His hair was tousled, eyes a little puffy, breathtakingly gorgeous. Last night had left me very dissatisfied. I bit my bottom lip and slipped my sandal off, then dragged my foot along his muscled calf. His breath caught, and I purred at the sensation of his coarse hairs tickling my toes.
“Pandora, don’t think screwing me is gonna get you out of answering my question.” There was anger in his words, but the husky baritone of his voice said he was not as unaffected as he might pretend to be.
I ran my hands across the washboard expanse of his abdomen, and when I got to his nipples I took them both between my fingers and rolled them.
He hissed and laid his forehead against mine, taking short, choppy breaths. I grabbed his face and forced him to look at me.
“There are times,” I said, “when I don’t know who I can trust.” He stiffened. “But I do know this...” I caressed his cheek, then trailed my thumb against the seam of his lips; he opened his mouth and took my finger into his warm heat. He sucked, bit, and nibbled, pulling things down low in my body and making me squirm with need. “I can always count on you to teach me the hard lessons and save me from myself.”
Knowledge filled his face. Luc fell to his knees, then pulled me into a fierce hug. My cheek rested against his chest, and I could feel the rapid beat of his heart like a steady drum against my ear.
“Pandora, you can trust me. You can. I would never hurt you.”
But he had. And he knew it.
~*~
Two hours later—now that’s more like it—I rolled over and watched him settle in comfortably beside me on his large four-poster bed, balancing a plate of doughnuts on his lap. I’m not sure how to define what Luc and I just did. We didn’t screw. That would imply something hard and swift and all about meeting the needs of our demons. But could things like us make love? It had felt that way. Slow and lingering, methodical, touching and kissing. No words of worship or awe, but a deliberate feast of touch and taste.
“You want?” He offered me the last
doughnut on the plate.
I wrinkled my nose. “No, thanks. Two’s enough for me.” I patted my belly. We couldn’t get fat, but I was still strict about what I ate.
“Suit yourself.” He shoveled the final doughnut in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, then sat back with a satisfied sigh. His belly bulged slightly.
I smiled. “You look very pleased with yourself.”
He gave a lazy nod. “I am. But...”
Oh great.
“I still want to know what you’re keeping from me.”
I knew it. I’d hoped sex would take his mind off this. What could have possibly possessed me to believe that? Stupidity. “Luc, please—”
“Don’t, Pandora.” He flicked his wrist. “Just don’t. I’m not going to force you to tell me. You do whatever you think is best. I trust your judgment.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “You really know how to make a person feel like crap—”
“Why?” He rolled on his side, cradled his head on his hand. There was anger and bitterness in his gaze, maybe even a touch of disappointment. “Because after all this time you still can’t trust me enough to let me know what went down.”
That wasn’t fair. I had my reasons. He might not understand them, but I couldn’t forget the feeling of those phantom fingers squeezing the life out of me. Or the echoing words of trust no one constantly beating at my skull.
“I told you everything that happened at Grace’s.”
He eyed me coolly. “No, you didn’t.”
I’d set the ring on my nightstand, not daring to wear it for fear that someone would see it and maybe recognize what it was. He was right. I hadn’t.
“And the fact that you phrased it that way lets me know something happened outside Grace’s. Didn’t it?”
Ugh, we’d just had two of the greatest hours of sex, and here he was grilling me like I was some common criminal. And men say we’re difficult.
“It was that priest. Wasn’t it, Pandora?” A vein throbbed at his temple. I could feel his power beginning to ride the air between us. It made my skin tingle.
