by Maria Lima
Her silvery laugh chimed in my ear. It didn't make me feel any better disposed toward her. I'd heard her laugh in the exact same manner after a hunt while she was blooding her kill. Not exactly calculated to put one at ease.
"You've come to your senses, then?” she asked. I could imagine her sitting in her opulently-appointed sitting room decorated like some Arabian Nights fantasy. She loved her little luxuries. That was one of the reasons she never hunted now. Too much dirt and sleeping out in the woods for her taste. It was easier to have dinner brought in, even though she did prefer it still kicking. There were plenty of flunkies to cater to her whims.
"Come to my senses about what?"
I cradled the phone against my shoulder as I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine.
"Coming home, of course,” she said with the same infuriating self-righteous cheeriness that I hated so much. Some people called it “perky.” I just called it annoying, especially in a woman who was my senior by more years than I cared to think about.
"Gigi, I don't have any clue what you're talking about,” I said, being deliberately obtuse. I went back to the living room and curled up in the big armchair.
"Keira, I'm your great-great-grandmother and the chief of our clan. I know what's happening with all my people. I know you're changing. I can feel your power even from here."
She sounded pleased, but she was also putting on her chieftain voice. The second-grade schoolteacher mixed with head librarian and Mother Superior all in one. I could even feel myself sitting straighter.
"Okay, so you know,” I said. “And you know that I know, considering that you sent my brother here to spy on me. But let's not change the subject."
"Subject?"
"Gigi, I called to find out what's going on."
"What are you talking about, dear child?"
"Don't play games,” I said. “Since you're so damned all-seeing, then you're bound to know that Marty's dead—murdered.” As I spoke, I suddenly realized something. There didn't need to be a vendetta. I blurted out the words without thinking."Did you do it?"
The silence on the other side was thick, nearly tangible. Not even a breath or a sigh escaped my ever-so-perfect granny. She was either trying to figure out an excuse, or a valid reaction.
"Do you really think I'd have him killed, Keira?"
Not the right answer. In fact, it wasn't an answer at all, only another question to deflect the truth. Damn her.
"I'm not going to pretend I'm stupid, Gigi,” I said. “You're not exactly a candidate for grandmother of the year. I know how you felt about Marty. Did you have him killed?"
I was insistent. I wasn't going to hang up until she told me the facts.
"Do you really care?” She said it with the bald certainty that only our clan chief could have. Marty had been human and, therefore, not worth the paper his birth certificate had been printed on. A degradation and shame to our people who was better off dead.
"Yeah, Gigi, damn it. I care.” I did. “Besides, you were the one who assigned him to me."
Gigi's light laughter danced over the phone. “You haven't changed a bit, Keira.” There were those words again.
"Neither have you,” I said. “You still haven't answered my question, Gigi. There were fang marks on Marty's neck. Which one of your muscle-men was it?"
She laughed even harder this time. “Darling child, do you really think that if one of my enforcers had been sent out there that they'd leave evidence so tacky as fang marks? Besides, why would I bother? You know the drill. You were trained in our ways. He was mortal. Eventually, we'd all just outlive him.” I could picture the easy shrug and her dismissal of the topic.
She had a point. We almost never bothered with humans. Why kill something you'll just outlive? Survival is, after all, the best revenge. Gigi may tease, may skirt the issue, but deep down, I knew she really didn't care enough about Marty to inconvenience herself by having him killed. As long as he didn't affect the clan. As far as I knew, he hadn't.
"I take it you're investigating?” Now she was being sarcastic.
"Yeah, well, I wasn't,” I said, “not really, just poking around a little. Then it occurred to me that there might be some sort of feud going on and Marty got caught up in it. Tucker didn't know anything so I called you."
"Keira, do you really think I'd forget to tell you if some family disagreement involved you or the human?"
"No, Gigi,” I said, realizing she was telling the truth. “I'm just tired of this whole thing and punchy with no sleep."
"Hmmph. I imagine you're planning on finding out who killed him, then."
"I suppose so."
"Fang marks, you said?” The question was tossed out, casually.
"Two,” I answered.
"Throat intact?"
"Yes."
"Doesn't sound like one of ours,” she said. Another point to Gigi, since our brand of hunter usually ended up tearing out the throat of the victim, not just sinking fang and blooding the kill, but anything was possible, including killing him and making it look like a vampire kill. Why on earth had I not just stopped to think and avoided this call altogether? The only excuse I had for myself was that I was overly tired and not at my best.
"Any visitors lately?” she asked, meaning non-clan paranormals.
"No. At least none that I know of, but maybe."
"Maybe?"
I sighed. I told her about the visions and the dead cat. I could almost see the pretty frown on my granny's face as she pondered what I'd said. Gigi could pass for my sister—my younger one. It was her dainty size and delicate features that did it. I was far from dainty and delicate.
No matter that she was one of the most ruthless predators I'd ever known. Practical to a fault, her only raison d'?tre was the well-being of the clan.
"Use Tucker. He's a tracker, better than you. He'll help. Try not to get yourself killed.” She hung up without further explanation.
My brother was back in the house the second I put the phone down.
"She told me to use you. You're a better tracker than I am."
"She's right,” he said. “Centuries of practice.” His grin took the sting away. “Tell you what, Sis, why don't I spend some time roaming. Sniff around. See what I can find out? You can concentrate on the front end of things."
He meant the sniff part literally.
"Sounds like a plan, big brother,” I said. “Let's keep in touch. If I hear anything from Carlton, I'll let you know."
"Or if you find out something from Mr. Walker.” He was teasing.
"Yeah, whatever. I'm not giving you details of my date, though."
His laughter echoed as he walked back out and down the porch steps. Brothers. Sometimes, I wondered if they were worth all the trouble.
* * * *
I pulled the Rover up, hiding behind a stand of live oaks just in front of the entrance to the strip center. I'd finally managed to relax a little after Tucker left, whiling away the night by burying myself in a good book. I'd fallen deeply asleep sometime before dawn, waking up sometime after four in the afternoon. At least, I hadn't had any nightmares, or any phone calls either, at least none that counted.
Carlton left a phone message about eight in the morning. Bexar County had picked up Marty's remains. He expected autopsy results in a few days. Odd word, remains. Made me think of scattered papers and bits of trash.
His message said he was headed for Houston to serve a subpoena for the bank records and one of his deputies was on the trail of the still missing Albrights. He'd be in touch. Sounded like he had it all under control. Bully for our man in brown.
Tucker hadn't called, but I didn't expect him to until later. He'd probably spent the night wandering the countryside, snooping around. Now that it was daytime, he'd sleep, hidden from prying eyes. I wasn't worried. I knew he'd done this more times than I could count.
My plan was to drive out to the ranch early, do a little snooping myself before I had dinner with Ada
m. With Carlton out of town for the rest of the day, I could poke around freely. Even if he hurried, it took at least three and a half or so hours to get to Houston, putting him there about noon. Then it would probably take a few hours to get the information he needed. If he left right after he was done, he couldn't be home any sooner than seven or eight. That meant I could go out to the ranch, do a little pre-dinner reconnoitering and not have Carlton mess up my plans by showing up unexpectedly. Planning was a good thing.
When I passed the deli, Boris was in front of the store loading the van. Precise rows of crates and boxes filled the inside. This had to be a delivery to the Wild Moon. If I hung out and followed him, I could watch from a distance, see who he talked to. Maybe the infamous mystery man would show up.
Boris loaded the last box and shut the van door. He mopped his forehead with his bandana and placed it back in his pocket. He reached over to fiddle with the door handle as if to check he'd shut it properly, and then walked around the van and peered at each of the tires. He finally pulled keys out of his pocket, got in the driver's seat, and cranked the engine.
We drove through the silent, darkening evening in tandem; me keeping about a quarter of a mile back, trying not to close the distance between us. I wouldn't have followed so closely, but I wasn't completely positive he was heading to the Wild Moon. Sometimes Boris made deliveries to other outlying ranches.
The delivery van slowed as Boris approached the nearly-hidden Wild Moon gate, his speed dropping automatically, with the assurance of someone who made this trip on a regular basis and didn't need to keep an eye out for the tiny sign. Even though I'd been out here just a couple of nights ago, I hadn't realized we were already approaching the entrance. The massive gate opened as Boris punched in a code.
The sun had nearly set, but I didn't want to risk turning on my headlights and alerting him I was there. The night was clear and the moon still almost full, so even without lights, I could see nearly as well as if it were day.
I pulled over to wait on the side of the road to allow Boris to drive through to the main complex; I'd just drive in after. At that point, if he saw me, he wouldn't necessarily jump to the conclusion I'd been following him. Maybe. I wasn't sure why I really cared if he thought that, only that the whole thing was a little sordid. Me following an old man whose only crime was the fact he might possibly know something about my cousin's dealings at the Wild Moon.
I watched as the van's taillights faded beyond the first small rise. The sun had truly set, throwing everything into a weird graying twilight.
I'd always liked this part of the night. It seemed as if you were poised on the edge of something, a promise kept secret by the near dark. You almost lost the ability to see, but enough light still remained to turn even the most mundane shapes of bushes and mesquite trees into living things that hovered on the verge of movement. It was as if, with the right words or proper ritual, they would pull up their roots and slide out of the imprisoning ground.
I'd actually thought I'd seen it once—the trees shifting. But the night had been darker then, as had the company. I missed that feeling. The sensation that the night was endless and so were the possibilities. Maybe once I came into my own power I could experience it again.
I put the car in gear, banishing the mood, and drove forward, punching in the security code Adam had given me.
I drove slowly, letting my eyes adjust to the almost perfect darkness of the ranch property. A few street lamps punctuated the black night, but those pitiful little spots of light did more to accentuate the shadows than to banish them.
There was an odd lack of life around the complex. At most inns and resorts, there were always people around, whether they were walking in between buildings on their way to dinner or to one of the scheduled events that were so common at these places—a movie, a dance, whatever—even just the common hustle and bustle of the staff going about their normal routine. But the Wild Moon was silent, as empty of sound as it was of light. I downshifted and pulled around the side of the main inn, toward the back, where I expected to find Boris.
Abruptly, a group of people appeared, walking across the road about thirty feet in front of me, causing me to slow even more. They all came into the pool of light by the road at once, as if they had materialized from the darkness. Each of them was tall, pale-skinned, and dressed in dark clothes, like refugees from a Goth concert or bad movie. None of them paid any attention to the fact I was there.
I tapped the brakes lightly to stop. The flash of red light seemed to capture the attention of one especially young-looking man with paper-white skin and red-gold hair. He wore a black duster over an equally black shirt and pants. I watched him through the windshield as he came to a stop and turned toward me.
His skin was more than just pale, it was almost translucent in the reflected streetlight, and stretched over fine bones tautly as an artist's canvas over its frame. I couldn't quite make out the color of his deep-set eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about him, something that tickled my memory.
He stared directly at me, as if he could see my face in the dark. He stood with the stillness of a mannequin; the only part of him moving was his long hair, which waved slightly in the night breeze, the ends lightly brushing his shoulders. Behind him, more people walked by, some glancing at the man; some at my car, but none of them stopped.
I stared back, not sure of whether I should honk or move forward or just stay where I was. The man was completely immobile, not a twitch or even a sign of breathing, a mannequin of flesh and bone.
My skin prickled, goose bumps raised on my arms and an odd thrill slid up my back. I felt power and it didn't feel the same as what I'd experienced before when I'd had visions—no overwhelming sensations or disorientation. Instead, I felt an odd expectation. Of what, I couldn't say. But it was as if, somehow, I knew something was coming; something I wanted more than anything else in the world, and it was just around the corner, over the hill, behind the curtain ... I only had to find it. I edged forward in my seat, anticipating.
My jacket suddenly felt oppressive, hot, heavy and binding, but I wasn't able to move to take it off. A drop of sweat slid down the side of my face and down my neck. As it touched my collarbone, my entire body shivered as if an icy finger had slid down my back and caressed the base of my spine.
I tried to reach out, to feel what, who was out there, but it was as if my senses were wrapped around me, held in place like a cocoon, bound to my skin. Someone else was running this party and wasn't letting me dance.
The man's eyes narrowed slightly and then he smiled, flashing white teeth. Bowing quickly, he straightened up, smiled again and licked his lips slowly, wetly, as if savoring a particularly delicious thought.
I gasped. It was as if he'd reached in and grabbed me by the crotch. I could almost feel his hand caressing me; intimate in its knowledge of me, parting the fabric of my jeans and beyond.
As abruptly as it had begun, I was released. Another young man appeared behind the first one. The second man's white-blond hair framed a pale face set off by his black clothing. He laughed and grabbed the first man's arm, leading him away from the pool of light to join the others who were hovering at the edge of seeing.
I sat back in my seat and let out a deep sigh. I'd been gripping the steering wheel so hard it had made dents in my hand. All of my senses seemed expanded a little but not as severely as when I'd had an episode. The low rumble of the engine provided a counterpoint to my heavy breathing. Behind that, I thought I could hear whispers in the darkness. Sounds of shadows, tastes of—
"She's not for you. Mustn't frighten the locals."
I whipped my head around but saw no one. I knew it was the voice of the second man, humor still evident in the words. But where was he? Where were they all? The entire group of people had disappeared into the darkness, vanishing as if they'd not been there at all.
I got out of the car before I could even think. The soft breeze touched my face, bringing the scents of t
he night with it. But there was no scent of people. Nothing to corroborate what I'd thought I'd seen.
I peered down at the road in front of my car. Even in the dark, I could see that the dirt shoulder didn't show any footprints. There should have been scuff marks or something, some evidence that several people had just walked by.
I rubbed my eyes and stared toward where I'd seen the group vanish. But there was nothing but darkness and the shadowy shapes of trees and bushes sitting silently in the night, undisturbed by the passage of anything more than the night breeze.
Damn it. Either I'd had another hallucination or there were something other than just a couple of vampires hiding out at the Wild Moon. Well, not exactly hiding, more like hiding in plain sight. Ghosts, maybe?
"Miss Keira?"
I jumped, stumbling back against my car. “Boris, sorry, I ... I was distracted."
"What are you doing here?"
"I ... Did you just see a group of people walk by?"
He stared at me, his face expressionless. “There were no people."
Shit. It had been a hallucination. This was beginning to suck beyond the telling of it. If I was going to start having visions every time I turned around, I might have to sequester myself in my house for the duration. That wasn't an option I particularly liked. Even a well-appointed prison was still a prison. Besides, there was still the matter of my cousin's death.
"Come around to the dock. It is too dark here. You can sit there for a while."
I nodded and followed Boris around the side of the building. I really did need to sit down before I drove again.
"What's that you're holding?” I asked.
"Protection."
It looked like a cattle prod, but had some sort of extra attachment.
"Looks serious,” I said.
He nodded. “I modified it. Added a taser attachment. Six hundred twenty-five thousand volts. Will take down an angry bear."
"Bear? There aren't any bears here."
"There are plenty of other wild animals."
The store's delivery van was backed up to a loading dock, obviously the rear of the restaurant. There wasn't a soul around. I started to move up beside Boris, when I stumbled and instinctively reached out, grabbing for support. My hand landed on the top of his hand, bare skin to bare skin.
