by Lexi George
There were shoes—Sunday shoes, sneakers, clearance sandals left over from the summer, flip-flops, boots, Mary Janes, and four pairs of fuzzy house slippers in assorted colors. There were dresses, casual and flouncy; more than twenty in all. There were jeans and stretch pants, tops, blouses, sweaters, and three coats—a wool one for Sunday and two jackets. A huge shopping bag contained tights, socks, under things, and pj’s; another bag was stuffed with girly doodads, including bows, hair ribbons, barrettes, headbands, and scrunchies.
A smaller sack overflowed with assorted costume rings, bracelets, and necklaces. There was a jewelry box to hold all the bling, and even a tiara. Conall also produced a teddy bear; a stuffed unicorn; a Madame Alexander doll; a hand-painted rocking horse; an easel, paints, and brushes; puzzles; a tea set; and three bags of books.
“Holy shit,” Beck said when she’d seen the haul. “I asked you to get a couple of things, not buy the frigging store.”
“I did not buy the store.” Conall crossed his arms on his wide chest and looked superior. “I purchased enough that we do not have to go back.”
“She’s a kid,” Beck had said. “They grow.”
A frown line appeared between Conall’s black brows. “I confess, I did not think of that.” He shrugged. “Then we will purchase more.”
We. Beck sighed. She liked the sound of that, way too much, but she mustn’t get sucked into that kind of thinking. Conall would leave. It was inevitable. Today, tomorrow, or next month, but he would leave. The thought made her insides shrivel, so she pushed it away. He wasn’t gone yet.
“Why do you sigh?” Conall asked, recalling Beck to the present.
Beck folded up the paper and set it down. “Just thinking about Annie. I don’t want her raised in a bar like me.”
“Come here,” he said softly.
Beck got up and went around the table and sat in his lap.
“Annie will be fine,” he said, nuzzling her throat with his lips. “Already, you are a wonderful mother to her. You cannot help it. It is in your nature.”
Beck put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Thanks,” she murmured against his sensuous, serious mouth. “I needed that. I have no idea what I’m doing. I never thought I’d get the chance to find out.”
Conall wrapped his hands around her wrists and looked her in the eye, his expression solemn.
Here it comes, Beck thought, bracing herself. Here’s where he says sayonara.
“That is something I have been meaning to talk to you about,” he said. “Are you certain this contraceptive procedure you had worked?”
“Sure,” Beck said. “Why wouldn’t it?”
“The kith regenerate, do they not? The situation might have reversed itself.”
Beck gaped at him in shock. “I never thought of that.”
She should have. Once the bullet was removed, Toby’s leg had healed in a matter of hours. She felt like an idiot.
Conall cleared his throat. “Even if your reproductive organs did not regenerate on their own, it is . . . possible I unknowingly rectified the matter.”
“Say what?”
“The other night after the gathering, I healed your wounds. Remember?”
She recalled his gentle touch and the light and heat that had flooded from his hands to her body—her entire body. Conall Dalvahni was nothing if not thorough.
Her heart hammered. “And we’ve been going at it like rabbits. You’re trying to tell me I might be pregnant.”
Nah, what were the odds? Some people tried for years to get pregnant, like Jason and Brenda.
And other people got pregnant at the drop of a hat.
“I thought you should know,” Conall said.
A baby. With Conall. It was hard to process. It was a disaster, right? Then why did she feel like grinning?
“What about you?” she blurted. “Won’t you get in trouble for fraternizing with the enemy? You could get drummed out of the Dalvahni. This must be your worst nightmare.”
“My worst nightmare is something happening to you.” He slipped his arms around her and held her close. “Yesterday, when you threw yourself on top of that monster, my heart stopped and my bones turned to water.”
Beck held her breath. “What are you saying?”
“I am saying that I—”
Junior Peterson materialized. “You better get to the bar and quick. Earl Skinner just pulled up. Hank’s at his house and Toby’s in the woods looking for Tommy. Verbena’s there by herself.”
Beck squealed into her parking place at the bar and slammed the truck into park. “Stay with Annie,” she told Conall. “I’ll deal with pretzel dick.”
“No,” Conall said.
“Yes.” Beck jumped out of the truck. “Let me handle this.”
If Earl looked at her cross-eyed, Conall would take his head off. Then she’d have another dead Skinner on her hands and there’d be questions, and the sheriff, and no end of hassle.
She slammed the truck door and ran for the employee entrance. There were raised voices coming from the kitchen when she stepped inside. She hurried down the hall.
“—ain’t going anywhere with you, Earl,” she heard Verbena say.
“You’ll do what you’re told, Beenie,” Earl said. Beck recognized his nasal voice. “Things are in the crapper since Daddy died. Quit screwing around and get your ass home.”
“I done told you, I ain’t going.”
Beck heard the meaty smack of a fist hitting flesh, and a cry of pain. The sorry sack had hit Verbena.
Beck charged into the kitchen, ready to take on Earl Skinner and his whole weasel army. A cold shadow swept by her; Conall. So much for staying in the truck and letting her handle it. He was a pip at giving orders and lousy at taking them.
He lifted Earl by the scruff of the neck like a recalcitrant dachshund. Earl kicked his feet in the air and tried to shift, but something was wrong. The best Earl could manage was a ferrety button nose, some whiskers, and a few patches of fur on his hands. If he’d sprouted fur in other places, Beck couldn’t see. Thank God.
“Lemme go,” Earl said.
Cold rage poured off Conall, icing the kitchen floors and counters. “I should kill you for striking your sister and for shooting Tobias.”
Good thing Conall had no idea Earl had taken a potshot at her and Verbena. He’d kill him.
Beck laid her hand on Conall’s arm. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”
Conall’s black eyes were flat. “It would be worth it to me.”
“Please,” Beck said.
“Very well.” Conall shook Earl. “But only because she asked. Hear me, varlet and listen well. Leave this place and do not return, if you value your worthless hide.”
He drop-kicked Earl out the back door. Earl rolled across the gravel and got to his feet, red-faced with fury.
“You’ll be sorry,” he raged at Conall. “You done messed with the wrong guy, you son of a bitch.”
He whirled at a low, angry growl. A dog charged out of the bushes and sprang at Earl, teeth bared. Earl yelped and ran for his truck, a blue and green low-rider with black flames painted on the front hood, but the dog was faster. He caught Earl as he was trying to open the driver’s side door, and bit Earl in the butt.
Earl yelled and swatted at the dog, but the dog held on. Earl’s jeans ripped, exposing his red and blue Superman undies. The dog lost his grip and Earl dived inside the truck. Cranking the engine, he spun out of the parking lot, his truck tires spewing gravel and kicking up dust.
Toby shifted to human form. He was wearing his favorite CCR T-shirt. Twigs nested in his long braid and there was dirt on the bottom of his jeans. Raising his fist, he shook it at the vanishing truck.
“I can’t believe that sawed-off little rabbit turd had the nerve to show up here,” he fumed. “Not after he shot me and tried to shoot Becky.”
“What?” Conall roared, startling Beck. “The blackguard accosted you? Why did you not tell me?”
�
��He missed,” Beck said. “And I took care of it.”
“I should have killed him,” Conall said. “I will kill him.”
“Not if I get to him first,” Toby said. “What’d he want, anyways?”
“Me.” Verbena stepped outside. “He come to fetch me, but I wouldn’t go. He said the ’shine’s gone bad and the dawgs run off, like it’s my fault.”
“Things ain’t going well for the Skinners?” Toby’s eyes shone with amusement. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Much as I hate to admit it, Earl’s probably right. It is your fault.”
Verbena blinked at him. “What?”
“You’re an enhancer, gal. Knew it the first time I got a whiff of you.”
“A what?” Beck and Conall asked at once.
“An enhancer,” Toby repeated. “Like a walking power plant. She juices everybody up. They get stronger and better when they’re around her, at whatever they do.”
Verbena flushed. “No disrespect, Mr. Toby, but that can’t be right. I’m a dud. Ever’body says so. I can’t even shift.”
“So what?” Toby said. “Any old part blood can shift, but an enhancer comes along once in a blue moon. You’re something special, girl.” He chuckled. “Kinda funny, when you think about it. Verbena’s the only thing them Skinners ever had worth a damn, and they done throwed her away.”
Chapter Thirty-four
Verbena was an enhancer. Beck thought back to Charlie’s comment at the gathering. The Skinners are late bloomers.
No duh.
Beck would be willing to bet the Skinners’ rise in the moonshine trade coincided with Verbena’s birth. Then there was the kith attack in the woods. The four of them—Beck, Verbena, Toby, and Hank—had taken on dozens of shifters and won, and handily at that. After the fight was over, Beck had planted Earl and his buddies up to their elbows in dirt, easy as pie, in spite of being exhausted and hurt. At the time, she’d attributed it to adrenaline and the proximity of the underground spring.
Maybe it had been Verbena, instead.
Verbena had been with her yesterday during the demon attack in the store. Beck remembered her glowing makeshift sword and her confidence and feeling of invincibility. Maybe that had been Verbena, too.
The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Verbena was a walking talking generator the Skinners had been running off for years. A few days away from Verbena and the best Earl could manage was a half-ass shift. The Skinners had lost their one and only good luck charm. The Skinner goose was cooked, although they didn’t know it. Heck, even their dogs didn’t want anything to do with them.
Served them right as far as Beck was concerned.
She examined the bruise on Verbena’s cheek. “Your face is starting to swell,” she said. “You’d better put some ice on it.”
“Banana peel,” Toby said. “Pulp side down. Good for cuts, too.”
“You heard the man.” Beck pushed Verbena in the direction of the door. “Go stick a banana on your face.”
“Any sign of the zombie?” Conall asked Toby after Verbena had gone inside.
“Oh, yeah.” Toby rubbed the end of his long nose. “Signs all over the place, but that zombie don’t want to be found. He walks in circles and he never stops moving. My nose is sore and I’m plumb dizzy from trailing him.”
Beck walked over to the Tundra and opened the door. “You can come out now,” she told Annie. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
“I don’t want to meet him. He’s mean.” Annie folded her arms and stared straight ahead. “He doesn’t like me.”
Beck held out her hand. “Toby doesn’t know you, not really. I want you to give him another chance.”
“He’s a dog,” Annie said with an unmistakable air of feline superiority. “He hates cats. I heard him say.”
“He doesn’t mean it. That’s just his way. Do you know what my go-to animal form is?”
“No.”
“A panther,” Beck said. “A black panther.”
Annie gave her a look of disbelief. “Really?”
Beck nodded. “And Toby’s still my friend, my oldest friend. He’s more than a friend. He’s family. You’re my family, too—if you want to be. So, you two need to get along. You do want to stay with me, don’t you?”
Beck held her breath while Annie digested this.
“Okay, I’ll be nice to him,” Annie said with a scowl. The knot of tension in Beck’s belly eased. “But only if he’s nice back.”
Beck smiled. “Nice is a relative term. Toby puts on a good snarl, but he’s all bark and no bite.”
“He bit Pretzel Dick in the butt,” Annie pointed out. “It hurt. Pretzel Dick screamed. What if Toby bites me?”
Pretzel Dick? Beck winced. She’d better clean up her act with the kid around.
“The man’s name is Earl, and Toby bit him because he hurt Toby and tried to hurt me,” Beck said. “Toby is very protective. He takes care of family, and you’re family now.”
Annie gave her a look that said if you say so and climbed out of the truck.
Beck led the child over to Toby. “Toby, this is Annie.”
“Annie who?”
“The Annie,” Beck said. “You know, meow?”
His eyes widened. “You don’t mean to say that she’s—”
Beck nodded. “Yep.”
“Great jumping Jehoshaphat,” Toby said, looking floored.
Verbena stuck her head out the back door. She had a banana peel pressed against her bruised cheek, sticky side down, like some kind of hungry alien life form. “Telephone for you, Beck.”
Beck took the call in the kitchen. “Beck Damian,” she said into the phone.
“Hello, Cookie.”
Her hand tightened around the receiver. “Evan.”
Conall was at her side in a heartbeat, his eyes like chips of black ice. “Let me speak to him.”
Beck shook her head. “What do you want, Evan?”
“We need to talk.”
“I don’t think so, bro. I stopped listening to you after you fed those two kids to the demons.” And tried to feed Toby to a troll.
“Where’s Hagilth?”
“Where she can’t hurt anyone.”
He was silent for a moment. “You’re not being very friendly, Cookie. I tried to come see you, but I couldn’t get in.”
“I know. You sent Tommy to do your dirty work. He did what you asked. Now let him go.”
Evan sighed. “Still yammering about the zombie? You’re good, real good—even now, I almost could believe you care. What’s your angle?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Everybody has an angle. I just haven’t figured out yours.”
“Knock yourself out,” Beck said. “Hope you give yourself an aneurism.”
“Same old sweet Cookie. Want to know what I’ve been wondering?”
“Not really.”
“I’ve been wondering if you broke into Peterson’s safe.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Too bad. I was hoping we could work together.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t like the way you do business, and I sure as hell don’t like your friends.”
“I’m not crazy about your friends, either. Why didn’t you tell me your boyfriend is a demon hunter?”
“Oh, let’s see,” Beck said. “Maybe because it’s none of your damn business.”
“It occurs to me that you may be smarter than I thought.” There was an edge to Evan’s silky voice. “How much are they paying you to be the demon hunter’s whore? Are you supposed to screw him stupid, like Delilah did Samson, so the demons can kill him?”
“What do you know about the Bible?”
“Plenty. My ‘parents’ possessed an evangelist and his wife when I was fifteen. Had their own cult for a while—fun times.” He paused. “Or do the demons want you to do the job yourself?”
Beck hung up the phone. She looked down at her hands. They were shak
ing.
“Rebekah?” There was concern in Conall’s rough voice. “What did he say to upset you?”
“Forget it. He’s just trying to get under my skin. What’s this about somebody breaking into Peterson’s safe?”
“It seems Trey Peterson found some papers his grandfather left behind. Based on the information in those papers, he had the Key Man make a number of special bullets packed with crater dust. Bullets, I believe, he hoped to sell to the djegrali. Before he could accomplish his goal, however, someone broke into his office and stole the papers and the ammunition.”
“I don’t understand,” Beck said. “What’s the crater got to do with it?”
“Everything,” Conall said. “I believe the crater is the source of magic in Hannah and the very reason the djegrali and other supernatural beings are drawn to this place. They find it . . . irresistible. I have thought on the matter, and I also believe the crater’s unusual properties explain Latrisse’s sudden and unexpected reappearance after so many years.”
Beck’s eyes widened. “The urn Song kept her ashes in was made from Hannah clay. Something about it kept Latrisse from regenerating.”
Conall nodded. “Exactly. Until the thieves burglarized Song’s house and the vase got broken. The knife that almost killed Ansgar was fashioned from crater rock. The crater has some quality, some deep magic, that renders the Dal vulnerable to harm—perhaps even death, should the wound be severe enough.”
“Holy cats, the crater’s like Kryptonite,” Beck said. “You’ve got to find that thief before the demons do.”
“I concur. I have assigned Duncan the task.”
The back door slammed, and a clean-shaven bear of a man in olive fatigue shorts and a crisply laundered crewneck T-shirt lumbered into the kitchen. Beck stared at him in surprise. It was Hank, without the scruffy beard. His bushy black hair had been cut short, and curled at the ends. With his hair trimmed and the facial hair gone, he looked years younger.
