by Karen Ranney
"I'm not magical."
“No? You are the essence of magic. You should not exist, but you do. You violate every natural law." She sighed. “And now you violate every vampire law.”
I put my cup down, folded my hands on top of the table, and studied her.
"Did you tell your coven about me?"
"I have shared certain facts with my sisters of the faith, yes."
“Are they coming after me?”
“Do you pose a danger to us?” she asked.
“Not that I know of. Not on purpose.”
“Then we shall not bother you.”
She stretched her hand across the table. Dark purple veins wriggled on top of her hand, punctuated by liver spots. She'd aged in the last month. Hadn’t we all? Okay, maybe not me.
“I suspect you have tremendous powers, Marcie. The exact nature of them, or how powerful you truly are, I don’t know."
I wish I could say the rest of our conversation consisted of recounting tales of my youth, bonding in that way that grandmothers and grandchildren do. She didn't ask me anything about my life and I countered by not asking about her coven.
Charlie made a little sound, not a whine or a whimper, just a reminder to let me know that he was still here. I leaned down and petted him, feeling his head pressed against my knee.
"He's a good dog," Nonnie said.
"He is."
"Could he have a treat?"
"It doesn't have a potion in it, does it?"
She sent me a wobbly smile. “Linda has a Pomeranian. I keep them for her. They taste like bacon.”
I felt Charlie sigh against me.
He might not be a shape shifter, but I swear he spoke English.
"I think he would love one," I said.
She stood, went to the counter and opened a pottery canister. Up until then, I hadn't noticed that it said Dog Treats across the front and had a handle shaped like a bone.
She retrieved two treats, returned to the table and bent underneath. Charlie left my side faster than you could say bacon and sat in front of her.
"Good dog," she said.
I suddenly wanted to remind my grandmother about all those times we’d spent together. Her favorite movies had become mine, goofy things that were impossible to find nowadays. The Private Eyes, Blazing Saddles, Murder by Death were all movies we loved and watched repeatedly.
She disliked Monopoly, loved the game of Life, and was a Wheel of Fortune fanatic. I knew so many unimportant things about her that, until the last couple of weeks, I would have bet any amount of money that I knew Nonnie well.
Now I wasn't so sure.
I finished my tea, thanked her with the politeness with which I'd been reared, and left. Before I opened the front door, however, I turned to Nonnie, bent down and placed a kiss on her papery cheek.
"I love you, Nonnie,” I said.
Whatever I was hadn’t taken that away from me. I still had the capacity to love.
She reached up and patted my cheek with cold fingers.
That was all.
She didn't say, “That's nice, dear." Nor did she respond in kind. "I love you, too, Marcie."
Nothing but that pat. Still, I treasured it for what it was, more affection than I’d gotten from my one other relative.
CHAPTER SEVEN
In her defense, she’d been trying to kill me
All the way back to the castle, I talked to Charlie.
“Do you think there’s something I’m missing, Charlie? Something Nonnie’s not saying?”
I glanced over at him. “No fair being prejudiced because she gave you bacon treats.”
He only smiled at me.
“I suspect my grandmother is a bit more in tune with the paranormal community than most people. I also think she’s a very powerful witch. She’d have to be, to have kept me alive when other people were opting for doing me in.”
It gave me a spooky feeling to know that, even as a defenseless child, people had wanted me dead.
I looked over at Charlie again, but he had his nose out the window.
“If she doesn’t know what I am, who do I go to next?”
Two thoughts occurred to me: Eagle Lady and Hermonious Brown.
Eagle Lady, Miss Renfrew - and if that name wasn’t a pseudonym, I didn’t know what was - had already betrayed me to Maddock, so she was one of those last resort options, but Hermonious Brown might be able to help.
Once back inside the parking garage, I waved to Mike and got no response. Not that I’d expected any. I made my way to the first intercom and asked directions to the kennel. A maid immediately appeared, almost by magic, and offered to take Charlie.
“Could you show me where it is?” I asked, feeling a curious reluctance to surrender Charlie.
We wound our way through one corridor after another. I had the vague thought that we were heading toward the back of the castle, but since we’d started not far from there, that couldn’t be right.
The kennels were as plush as the rest of Arthur’s Folly. I didn’t remember how many dogs Dan said were at the castle, but it seemed as if each of them had their own home, an air conditioned space with a bed suspended above the floor and an opening to the outside.
My initial reaction was lots of stainless steel, noise, and doggy smells. My second impression was that Charlie had already made friends. Dogs barked at him and he wiggled a response.
I finally gave him up to a young man with a bright smile who looked about sixteen.
“We’ll feed him, shall we?” he asked in a British accent.
“Please.”
I bent down, gave Charlie a hug and a quick rub, then managed to make my way back to the main part of the castle. Okay, I got lost twice, but I finally got to my room.
Once there, I started making lists again, writing down everything I knew about my condition.
At six thirty, just as I was going down to dinner, my new phone rang.
I stared down at the number, not recognizing it. I didn’t want to answer. It could be Maddock. I didn’t want to see him or talk to him. But I’d already decided to put on my big girl panties and be an adult about all this, so I took the call.
It wasn't Maddock.
It was Kenisha. I hadn't seen Kenisha since she arrested my mother for vehicular homicide. The pitying look in her eyes still stayed with me, however.
We hadn’t spoken since that night. Nor had we discussed my mother’s famous words: Paul knew you were a genetic mutation, a freak. He was going to make us money by turning you over to the vampires.
Kenisha had never asked me about that statement and it was like the sword of Damocles hanging over my head. One of these days she would and I’d have to come up with something.
Right now I had zip, nada.
I’d heard someone call Kenisha an angry black woman and she was, but she had a perfect right to be. First of all, her son had turned her and been executed for that violation of the Council rules. Secondly, she and another of the fledglings, Ophelia, had been close friends. My mother had killed Opie. In her defense, she’d been trying to kill me.
"I need to talk to you," Kenisha said now.
If it had been anyone else I would've flippantly said, “So talk."
But this was Kenisha and she was a vice cop in addition to being a vampire. One did not sass the police. At least that's one of the rules I remember my mother imparting to me as I grew up. She’d also sent me to Sunday School where I learned the Ten Commandments. Thou Shalt Not Kill was on the list, something she’d evidently forgotten.
"All right," I said. "What about?"
"Not on the phone."
She named a restaurant. Thankfully, not The Smiling Señorita where Opie had been killed.
"At midnight," she said.
Before I had a chance to think of an excuse, she hung up.
At eleven thirty, we were in Dan's Jeep. He was driving, I was riding shotgun and Mike was in the backseat.
He didn't understand why I insisted
on him coming along. Both men had looked at me funny when I said I wanted extra protection. I don't think they bought it, but it didn't matter. From the first moment I met Mike, I thought he and Kenisha might make a couple. They were both the paramilitary type, neither one took guff from anybody, and they each had a pugnacious attitude about the world.
I didn't know if Kenisha had a significant other, but I frankly doubted it. I hadn’t actually come out and asked Mike if he had someone in his life. According to Dan, strategic people lived at Arthur’s Folly, in apartments in the east wing. Mike was one of those strategic people and if he had a roommate, she was invisible.
I’d already mentioned to Mike that I thought Kenisha might be a great date for him. He’d countered with the comment that he couldn't date a vampire. If nothing else, tonight might provide me with the answer why not.
I’d freshened up a little, which meant I put on new black jeans, a pale pink top, and a lightweight flowered jacket. I kept my sneakers on, however. I never knew when I’d have to run like hell.
That's one of the great things about retiring, in a manner of speaking. I didn't have to wear heels anymore. I didn't have to wear heels ever again.
Dan was dressed in one of his ubiquitous polo shirts. This one, a pale yellow with a dark blue jacket and trousers. I'd always liked that yellow/blue combination, but I didn't tell him. It wasn't that I didn't want to complement him. It's that mentioning his clothes was a giveaway that I noticed what he was wearing. I didn't think that was a good idea.
Mike, on the other hand, never seemed to change clothes. Tonight he was wearing the same kind of dark blue shirt he always wore, coupled with black trousers. Another reason I knew he and Kenisha would get along. They had the same fashion sense.
His face was grim, as if he'd forgotten how to smile. With any luck, maybe he’d be smiling by the end of the evening. Either that, or wanting to strangle me.
Get in line.
Of all the people who wanted to see me breathe my last, I probably should've felt the worst about my mother. But something flipped over in my chest the night she confessed to trying to kill me and hitting Opie, instead. Maybe it was that last shoe dropping in a relationship. You know it sucks. You know it's bad. Yet you continue on with this notion that if you pretend everything is all right, you'll eventually fake it until you make it.
My mother's words killed that fairytale completely.
Ever since that night, I had no illusions that there was any kind of relationship between us. Yet, at the same time, I had this cognitive dissonance going on. (My minor was psychology.) My brain told me I should feel something: regret, pain, rejection, grief, you name it. The fact that I didn’t worried me a little.
Maybe one day, when things were quiet and I had the answers to all my questions, I’d break down and cry for hours. I didn’t have that luxury right now. I was too busy trying to figure out what I was and how to stay out of harm’s way.
I wasn’t doing too good on either front.
We were quiet on the way to the restaurant. I wanted to ask if the late nights were playing havoc with their schedules, but didn't. Dan had worked for Maddock for a while, an undercover assignment he’d given himself, so he had to be available at all hours of the day and night.
Me? I had to get into a routine and stick to it. Maybe I could be up and about in the afternoon and then go to sleep again at three or four in the morning. That way, I could function as a human and still watch for Maddock.
I didn’t like the idea of sleeping while he was trying to get to me. That was just too creepy.
Dan pulled into the parking lot of Dukes.
I glanced at him, said, “It's okay, I'll get it," and opened my own door. Otherwise, he would've made a point of coming around the hood of the car to do it for me. I appreciated the chivalry, I really did, but it seemed a little foolish to sit there and wait for somebody to open a car door that I could open on my own.
“What’s going on with your disappearing humans problem?” I asked when he got to my side of the car.
I could barely see his face in the darkness. Dukes didn’t believe in parking lot lights like The Smiling Señorita. This would have been a much better place to kill me, a thought that had me doing a once over of the cars around me. I didn’t see anything, but more importantly, I didn’t feel anything. No witch buzz and I didn’t have to worry about my mother for a few decades.
“It’s going,” he said and smiled. It was one of those I don’t want to talk about it smiles. The kind that instantly made me want to know more.
I wasn’t obnoxious by nature. Becoming a Dirugu was making me a little cranky, however.
“Like how?” I asked as he put his hand in the small of my back to guide me around the car.
I really didn’t like him touching me. I really didn’t like it because I really liked it, if you know what I mean. I didn’t want to feel anything for Dan, especially the hormonal surge whenever he looked at me. After what Maddock had done to me, I shouldn’t have been feeling anything, but I was evidently still affected by a good looking human guy and when that good looking human guy put his hand on me, I naturally reacted.
“Well?”
“Now’s not the time, Marcie,” he said, dropping his hand.
I didn’t know what annoyed me more, his comment or the fact that he moved aside so I could enter the restaurant in front of him and Mike.
Chivalry was all well and good, but not if it was a way of shutting me up. I was going to get answers from Dan. Just as soon as the meeting with the scariest vampire I’d ever met was over.
Not Maddock, but Kenisha.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kenisha and Mikey, sitting in a tree
San Antonio isn’t really a foodie town. Not like Portland or San Francisco or even Austin. We do, however, have hole in the wall joints that produce excellent Mexican food. The restaurant Kenisha had chosen wasn’t one of those, unfortunately. It was Dukes, a steak place where the dress code is practically western.
I wasn’t wearing boots.
The place was dark with flickering red candles on each of the dozen or so wood tables. Kenisha sat with her back to the wall, her eyes on the front door.
I could barely see my hand in front of my face. If vampires needed to pretend to eat, this was the place. It was probably a vampire hangout for that very reason.
Kenisha was dressed in what I considered her uniform: a dark blue blazer and a white blouse. Since she was sitting, I couldn't tell if she was wearing a skirt or pants, but my guess was pants and steel toed shoes.
Her eyes widened a little as she saw us but she didn't say anything as we took the other three chairs.
I recently read something on the Daily Mail Online describing a black model as a Nubian Princess. I wasn't exactly sure what a Nubian Princess was like, but I bet Kenisha would qualify. Her lips were full, almost pouting regardless of her expression. Her nose was flat and broad yet had the ability to flair when she was especially displeased. Trust me, I’d seen that expression a lot. Her complexion was not the coffee au lait I'd seen so often, but much darker, almost chocolate in color. Her high cheekbones gave her an air of queenly superiority. Or maybe that was the Nubian Princess coming out. Her hair was tightly braided and arranged in a bun at the nape of her neck.
She was studying Mike.
Gone was the flatness in her eyes, replaced by what I interpreted as interest. One eyebrow arched upward, marring the perfect brow and a corner of the pouty lips turned up.
I don’t care what she said from that moment on, the half smile gave her away.
“This is Dan," I said, motioning to my right. "And Mike," I added, gesturing to my left.
"You really don't need bodyguards, Montgomery," Kenisha said.
"They’re not bodyguards. They’re friends.”
We took a seat at the table. I sat across from Kenisha with Mike on my left and Dan to my right. I felt like I was in a testosterone sandwich.
I noticed, with a
little bit of smugness, that Kenisha and Mike were giving each other the once over. Neither of them looked at me, which was a sign that my matchmaking skills were alive and well and living in San Antonio.
Dan, however, sent me a glance, one that said we were going to have to talk about this later. Fine, as long as he spilled the beans about the disappearing humans.
"I wanted to talk to you alone," Kenisha said, when she could tear her eyes away from Mike.
I smiled. "Trust me, Dan and Mike can hear anything. My life is an open book to them."
They knew everything: the way Maddock wanted to latch onto me as an incubator and what I’d done to Il Duce to try to kill him. The only thing I hadn't come out and told Dan in so many words was the rape, but I suspected he’d figured that out on his own.
She shrugged, a gesture that opened her jacket a little more. Mike's eyes fastened on her endowments, to the point I wanted to elbow him to get his attention back where it belonged.
Her tone was brusque as usual. “I don’t know how it happened,” she said. “But your mother has escaped. She hasn’t even been arraigned yet and she just walked out of the jail.”
I stared at her, wondering if I’d heard her correctly.
“In view of the last time you saw your mother,” she was saying, “I thought it was best to warn you.”
My mother didn’t know where I was. My grandmother didn’t even know. I doubted my mother even knew about my townhouse. She’d never been there. I never bothered to invite her. Why stick your heart on your sleeve when you know someone’s just going to knock it off and stomp on it?
It’s not that I was broken up about my mother. Ever since I was a child, I knew that she was different, that our relationship was not the type that other people had. Other girls actually liked their mothers, shared confidences with them, looked up to the women who raised them.
I’ve spent most of my life avoiding my mother at all costs. Even into my adulthood I had found that it was a good choice.
