“You could probably use the sleep, too.” When he shrugged, she asked, “Stefan, why are you doing this for me?”
“Why not?” he asked, staring hard at her. “This means a lot to you. Why wouldn’t I help you out?”
Crap. Answering that would involve digging up ancient history. She shouldn’t have questioned him. “Never mind. I’m grateful. Let’s leave it there.”
He said nothing for several seconds. That keen look made her feel like a germ under a microscope. Damn it.
“It’s a reasonable question,” she insisted, “considering we didn’t exactly part as friends.”
“Uh-huh.” He maintained the hard stare and the low, lethal tone. “Why do you think I’m helping you?”
“I don’t know. I just…if you think you owe me—”
“Owe you?” He ground the words out. “If anyone owes anyone, Ms. Wray…” His jaw set. After a moment, he said, “Let’s not get into a pissing match over the past.”
“Let’s not.” He couldn’t mean she owed him, not when she’d been the wronged party. Arguing, though, would only increase the strain between them. “Let me just say thank you, and we can drop it.”
He crossed his arms, his face still stony. “I would’ve done this for any colleague in your situation.”
“Okay.” Mel raised her hands, palms out, in token surrender. “Maybe you would. I have no reason to doubt that.” Or to feel that nip of hurt over it, but that was her business, her private moment of lunacy.
“Fine.” He gave her a curt nod. “I’ll be back in three hours.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She followed him to the door.
With his hand on the knob, he turned to her. His face had softened, and his eyes held an odd light. Was it sadness? “Who sings ‘If Ever I Would Leave You’ in Camelot?”
“Lancelot.” She answered without thinking.
“Right. See you in a little while.” Stefan’s glance flicked over her face. “Get some rest.”
As the door closed behind him, Mel thought about the Camelot tickets he’d bought for her twenty-first birthday. They’d enjoyed each other so much that day, watching the show, splurging on a dinner out. That night, after they’d made love, he’d quietly sung that song to her and seduced her again.
For the first time in years, the soft, bitter shroud of grief for what she’d thought they had brushed over her heart. Biting her lip, Mel forced the memories back. He’d evoked them on purpose, she was sure. But why? To punish her? To yank her chain? The odd, almost sad light in his eyes argued otherwise.
Calling up the past would only make things more difficult between them, and being around him was tough enough already. She had to keep everything focused on the case.
* * *
Damned prickly woman. Why couldn’t she just accept a favor, not examine it nineteen different ways?
Scowling, Stefan let himself into his motel room.
Of course, she’d always been like that, except where music was concerned. She didn’t trust anyone to want to help her, merely for the sake of helping. That was probably because of the ostracism and petty tricks she’d suffered growing up. But music had been her safe zone. When she played or sang, she dropped her barriers and let her true, bright self show.
Being around her made him wish he’d handled things differently in the past.
He shook his head. Done was done.
Yet he’d managed to forget their estrangement for a few minutes in that dimly lit, intimate hotel room. Remembering what her loose pajamas concealed had made him ache to touch her. That didn’t speak well for his sanity. Every barrier that had ever stood between them remained in place. At least her spurt of temper had irritated him, trumping his arousal.
Better to think about the encounter at Wiley’s, though that only raised new questions. Ghouls ordinarily screened their encounters with Mundanes. Screening deflected not only normal vision but magical scrying. Yet this ghoul hadn’t bothered. Then there were the purple eyes, signs of Void demon possession, except there’d been no brimstone stench. And that muddy shield aura was pure ghoul.
He glanced at his watch. Four twenty a.m., too early to call Will Davis, the Collegium’s assistant loremaster and an ace researcher. An e-mail, though, wouldn’t disturb Will’s sleep. Stefan sent a quick one telling Will about the ghoul’s appearance and behavior.
A couple of minutes later, as he turned back the bed linens, his cell phone rang.
Will’s face showed on the screen. Dropping onto the bed, Stefan swiped the screen and took the call. “Hey. What’re you doing?”
“Playing computer chess until I got your message. That’s seriously weird shit, bro.”
“Tell me about it. And I’m hoping you can.”
Will groaned, and Stefan could almost see him at his computer, his tall frame kicked back in the chair, feet on the desk, keyboard in his lap. His longish blond hair would be rumpled from his hands running through it while he thought, and he probably needed a shave. At first glance, no one would suspect he had a laser-sharp brain or imagine he’d earned two doctoral degrees, in history and archaeology, before his twenty-seventh birthday.
Stefan continued, “If you’re playing chess, your date must not’ve gone well. What was her name? Sarah, Cindy, something like that?”
“Kara. The date was great, but the lady, alas, is looking for permanence.”
“Which you’re not.”
“Y’know, your amazing talent for remembering names may explain why you have the social life of a brick.”
“I date.” Some. “But we’re not talking about me. Ghouls, Will. Possible Void demon possession. Focus. Unless not getting laid tonight has warped your brain.”
“As if.” Will chuckled. “Control your jealousy. The lovely Kara might be your type, Doc Sobersides. We agreed this was a mistake, but she’s funny and smart as well as hot. I can set you up if you want.”
Yeah. Like Stefan wanted to be somebody’s consolation prize. “What I need right now are answers, not a social commitment. If there’s a Void demon running around, we have to find it before it unleashes another Black Death or something worse.”
Void demons, unlike those from the earthly plane, were stronger than any three mages. They were also more analytical and disciplined than ghouls. They’d managed to open a portal to Earth in 1347, unleashing the plague. The battle to drive them back had scoured croplands, destroyed parts of cities, and killed hundreds of people as well as exposing the mageborn’s power to Mundane neighbors who reacted with hysterical violence. All of which Will shouldn’t need reminding about.
“Yeah, okay.” Will’s voice sobered. “I’ll see what I can find, though I doubt it’ll be much. I may shoot an e-mail to my new pen pal in Finland and see what his library can offer us.”
“That’d be great.” It was also a much better topic for conversation than Stefan’s admittedly sparse love life.
“How’s the victim?” Will asked.
“I had a few minutes alone with him on arrival in the ER and was able to draw most of the venom from his blood. He should be okay. I got a blood sample but haven’t had a chance to analyze it yet.”
“Curing the guy’s more important. How’s the Fed? Was he hurt badly?”
“She, and no. She has a mild concussion.”
“A female Fed, huh? Is she hot?”
Yes. But Will wasn’t adding Mel to his lengthy string. “Will, damn it—”
“Just yanking your chain.” A chuckle came over the phone. “Seriously, I hope she’s okay. If you notice anything else weird, let me know. I think my Finnish pal will find all of this very interesting.”
Now they were back on solid ground. “Does this guy have a name? I’ve never heard you mention one.”
“Yeah, it’s Jonas Takala. I’m slammed in the morning, but I’m off this afternoon, so I’ll dig around.”
“Thanks, Will.”
“Anytime.” Will paused. “You’d thank me for setting you up with Kara, too, so let me know when.”
Before Stefan could answer, Will disconnected.
Scowling, Stefan set the phone aside. If he wanted a date, he could arrange it himself.
Between patching up wounded mages and writing the occasional research paper, he had little time to waste on dates that went nowhere, as most of them did. Will had an easier approach. He found women he enjoyed, kept everything light within the confines of serial monogamy, and thus had enjoyed numerous friends with benefits.
And he didn’t have to worry about the protocols for explaining magic to a Mundane.
That lifestyle seemed to suit him, but it would make Stefan nuts very quickly. It wouldn’t suit Mel, either, unless she’d changed.
He grimaced. What suited her or didn’t wasn’t his concern. Asking that Camelot question hadn’t been wise. She’d made him think of things he usually avoided, like how good they’d been together and how much he’d wanted what he thought they had.
Moron. He knew better than to waste energy on might-have-beens.
She hadn’t blinked at the question, so she must be as over all that as he’d assumed he was. Good for her. He’d moved on, too…hadn’t he?
* * *
Standing on the Burke Street sidewalk, Mel waved good-bye to young Deputy Mitchell as his cruiser cut a U-turn. She’d tried to accept with good grace Stefan’s benching her for the day. At least he’d let her leave the motel and had dangled before her the possibility of light duty, meaning nothing that could involve firearms or physical confrontation, tomorrow. Assuming she could convince him she was hitting on all cylinders today.
To pass the time, she could catch up on e-mail, research outlandish online news stories to see if anything similar to their case turned up, and maybe even explore the town of Wayfarer a bit. Stefan’s restrictions included a ban on driving, but Mitchell had offered Mel a ride into town.
The motel clerk had recommended Serenity’s Rainbow Java Spot on Burke, the main street. Cinda, Mel remembered with a pang, had loved the place’s funky atmosphere. They had planned to come here together so Cinda could show it to Mel.
There were plenty of empty parking spaces and no meters or posted time limits. Wayfarer had serious small-town-itis. The clean sidewalks and the two-story brick and wood frame buildings, many with green, blue, or dark red awnings over the sidewalk, gave the place a welcoming look. No wonder Cinda’d liked it here.
Unfortunately, one of the spaces was occupied by a blue sedan with the National Investigator’s logo on the door. Across the street sat a white van with a Jacksonville, Florida, TV station logo on it. Mel scowled. She’d better hurry inside before any of the press spotted her.
As she reached the coffee shop’s glass door, her cell rang. Dave Wade, the caller ID read. Excellent. Mel punched accept to take the call. “Hey, Dave. What’s up?”
“I’ve been thinking about this case you’re on. It’s a strange one.”
“On that we agree.”
Mel pushed through the door and into a dazzling realm of light and color. Sunlight coming in the big front window glinted off crystals of varied sizes and shapes suspended from the ceiling. Rainbows ranging in length from an inch to nearly a foot splashed across the cream-colored walls. Mel blinked.
“Mel? Wray!” came from her cell phone.
“Uh, sorry. I was distracted. What did you say?” She sidestepped the young, blond woman bent over a book at her table.
“I said, and this is for your ears only, a buddy in Seattle tells me you’re on the short list for the job out there, so keep the woo-woo profile as low as possible.”
“I’m investigating a possible serial killer.” Lowering her voice, she turned away from the rest of the room. “How is that bad?”
“Your name’s in the tabloids. The special agent in charge for the new unit hates that kind of publicity.”
“Hell. I could probably thank Ms. Jilly Persistence from the National Investigator for that.”
Mel passed a thirtyish brunette sipping coffee in a booth near the counter. The woman’s eyes were unfocused and dreamy as she absently jiggled a baby seat with an infant in it.
“What’s the latest?” Mel asked. “Do they think Elvis came back and did this?”
The young mother raised her head at the mention of Elvis. Mel ignored her and walked past the end of the counter, away from everyone. She perched on the edge of an overstuffed, brown leather armchair, adding, “He’s about the only candidate nobody’s suggested yet.”
“I’m not up on the details. Sorry.” Dave paused. “I called mainly because I heard Seattle’s going to start interviewing soon. Thought you’d want to know.”
“I appreciate that.” Seattle was starting a new, cutting-edge program combining computer-based analysis and fieldwork. Its success could fast-track participating agents, and Mel wanted to be one of them. At the moment, though, what mattered more was that her stint in the criminal division gave her the experience to handle Cinda’s case. If Stefan ever let her go back to work.
He hadn’t said anything about coming by her room tonight. That was good.
She and Dave signed off. Mel glanced around the shop.
Besides the guy behind the counter, the only man among the half-dozen customers was gray-haired and wiry, enjoying a mug of something while he marked some papers in a booth by the back exit. Even with the gaudy crystal decorations, the place had a quiet, restful air.
Mel ordered a latte and eyed the crystals hanging from the ceiling. The shapes varied from discs to hexagons, all glowing in the sunlight. If half of what the New Agers like her mom claimed about crystals and energy was true, either Mel could charge her laptop without plugging it in or there was way too much interference in here for the computer to work.
She took her fancy coffee and settled into an armchair by the plate-glass window. Crystals dangled in the window and over the chair, too, but they looked securely fastened, unlikely to fall and bonk her. She opened the laptop and booted up. As expected, it showed no effects attributable to crystal-related hocus-pocus.
News of supposed vampire, alien, shape-shifter, or Elvis sightings would be a reasonable place to start. Frowning, she pulled up the Google home page.
The bell over the door jingled. A woman in Birkenstock sandals, a loose, magenta tunic, and jeans walked in. Turning to hold the door, she revealed a neat, gray braid hanging halfway down her back. Through the door behind her came the largest golden retriever Mel had ever seen. The dog’s head was bigger than a bowling ball.
Cinda’d said her friend Hettie had a big golden. Mel watched over her cup as the woman ordered a black coffee with “a you-know-what,” jerking her head toward the beast sitting at her side with his head cocked, ears up, and eyes alert, “and a peach strudel.”
The young man behind the counter said, “I’ll have that strudel warmed in just a minute, Miss Hettie. Bring it to you with the you-know-what for himself, there.”
Miss Hettie. There couldn’t be two women with such an unusual name in a town this small, certainly not two who owned ginormous golden retrievers. This woman looked younger than the seventy-odd years Mel had expected, though. As the woman accepted her coffee, the dog gave a slight, impatient whine.
Miss Hettie sighed. “You know better,” she told the dog. “You get your snack in a bit.”
“Miss Hettie.” The clerk hesitated. “I was so sorry when I heard about Miss Cinda. We’re all going to miss her.”
Pain flashed in the woman’s eyes. Fatigue swept over her face, dispelling the illusion of youth. “Yes,” she said in a low voice of tight control, “we are, Brian. Thank you.”
When she reached for her wallet, the young man said, “Oh, no, ma’am, today’s on the house.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
Such thoughtfulness was one of the good things about small-town life.
Mel watched Miss Hettie lead her dog to a table by the window, where crystal-spawned rainbows played over her cup, her hands, and the dog’s head. The young man hadn’t asked about
heating the bun, so he’d already known she wanted it warmed, and he’d understood her coded reference to the dog’s treat. She was obviously a regular.
Like Cinda, Mel thought with another stab of guilt.
Miss Hettie was also Cinda’s friend. She might have useful information. Of course, she might resent Mel’s failure to get her butt down here before it was too late.
Mel’s throat tightened. She forced herself to take a swallow of coffee that did nothing to ease the tension. Hell, this Miss Hettie couldn’t say anything Mel hadn’t already said to herself.
Cinda’s home had been a haven for Mel. When she’d asked her dad for advice about the bullying, he’d blown her off. Lily, Mel’s older sister, had told her to “toughen up.” Now they couldn’t understand why Mel rarely came back to Essex. Only Cinda had understood. And Stefan. His empathy had been a big part of his appeal.
Mel rubbed her aching forehead. She should’ve been here for Cinda the way Cinda had always been there for her.
Miss Hettie and her dog studied the sparse traffic on the street outside. The clerk brought her order and handed a small, bone-shaped treat to the dog. The retriever gulped his treat, snuffled up the crumbs he’d scattered, and turned his attention to a couple of sparrows squabbling over a crumb on the sidewalk.
Mel closed her laptop, squelching the urban dweller’s reluctance to leave it in the chair. She could keep an eye on it from six feet away, and there was hardly a crowd here to conceal a theft. She set her coffee on the table by the chair. Carrying it over to the other table would imply that she expected to sit, and she had probably already offended this woman enough by failing Cinda.
She was stalling. Obsessing about coffee, for God’s sake.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked to Miss Hettie’s table. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
Miss Hettie didn’t seem to hear at first. Just as Mel was about to speak again, the older woman’s brown eyes rose. Keen intelligence sparked in their depths behind gold-framed trifocals. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry to bother you. I’m—”
“Camellia Wray,” the woman said softly. As Mel tried not to wince at the sound of her full name on a stranger’s lips, Miss Hettie’s glance sharpened. “I recognize you from your picture at Cinda’s. Sit down.”
Guardian (The Protectors Series) Page 7
