“Yes, please,” Parker said brightly.
Santo grunted, retrieved the carton of OJ and poured a full glass for the boy. After returning the carton to the fridge, he carried the drink to the table. Parker immediately scooted to the same chair he’d used the night before and sat down.
“What else?” Santo asked as he set down the glass, and then thinking about what Zani and Bricker usually had for breakfast, suggested, “Cereal? Toast?”
“Toast, please,” the boy said promptly. “But I can make it myself if you like.”
“No.” Santo turned back to survey the kitchen briefly. He’d watched Bricker and his cousin make toast at least twenty times over the last month. It wasn’t hard. If you knew where the bread was kept . . . and the toaster. Grimacing, he started opening cupboard doors until he found one and then the other. Santo set up the toaster on the counter, plugged it in, popped two pieces of bread in, and then grunted with satisfaction. Easy-peasy. He could do this, he thought, and then turned to Parker. “What do you want on it?”
“Peanut butter and jelly, please,” Parker answered, and then added, “And butter of course. Or margarine I guess if you don’t have butter.”
“Right.” Santo turned away to start his search. He found the peanut butter in the cupboard, the butter on the counter in a little white dish, and grape jelly in the fridge. He then grabbed a plate and knife. Once he had everything set up next to the toaster, he retrieved another glass and poured more juice, this one for Pet when she came down. He then moved back to the toaster to wait . . . and wait.
“How long does it take?” he asked finally.
“It’ll pop up when it’s ready,” Parker assured him. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I make it?”
“No,” Santo repeated, and then turned back to the toaster as the bread suddenly seemed to try to leap out of it. Grunting, Santo snatched both of the golden brown slices and set them on the plate. He slathered one with butter and one with peanut butter, and then hesitated about the jelly. Finally, he just smeared some on both pieces of toast, stuck them together, cut the sandwich he’d made in half and carried the plate to the table.
“Thank you,” Parker said politely, but Santo noted the way the kid eyed the toast uncertainly, before picking up one half and beginning to eat. It made him suspect he’d done something not quite right, but the boy didn’t complain, so he decided he’d ask Marguerite later what he might have done wrong.
Heading back to the toaster, he set two more slices of bread in, but didn’t press them down. He wouldn’t do that until he heard Pet coming down the stairs. He’d get her a coffee then too, he thought as he glanced at the spitting coffeepot. That way it would be warm for her.
Nodding to himself, Santo turned to lean against the counter and crossed his arms as he watched Parker eat. The boy took his time, taking small bites and chewing each one about a thousand times before swallowing and taking another bite. At least, that’s how it seemed to Santo as he watched.
He’d left the peanut butter and jam jars open, and their scents drifted to him as he waited, making his nose twitch. It was a scent he’d smelled each morning when Bricker and Zani had toast, and was usually a scent he could take or leave, or just didn’t notice. This morning it actually smelled . . . good, he realized, turning his head to glance to the peanut butter container. He stared at it silently for a minute, then picked it up and dipped his finger in to catch a small amount on the tip. Drawing it out, he then popped his finger in his mouth and sucked it off.
Santo closed his eyes with surprised pleasure. It was creamy and thick and rich and . . . The taste was like nothing he remembered from when he used to eat. Although, he supposed they hadn’t had peanut butter back then, at least not where he’d been born. Santo opened his eyes and dipped his finger in again.
“Don’t let Aunt Pet see you sticking your fingers in the food. She’ll give you heck,” Parker warned.
Santo glanced guiltily toward the kitchen door at that news, but didn’t stop eating the peanut butter. Instead, he grabbed a spoon out of the drawer to eat it with. When the peanut butter ran out, he turned to the jelly with curiosity and started on that. This was a totally different flavor, sweet and light on his tongue.
He was a much faster eater than Parker, Santo acknowledged when he finished and saw that the boy was only three quarters of the way through his sandwich. Parker was also humming and swinging his feet while he ate. Strange boy, he decided, and carried the now empty jars to the sink to rinse out.
Once that task was finished, Santo glanced around impatiently, wondering what was taking Pet so long. It wasn’t like she had to dress and do her hair and makeup. They hadn’t even thought to grab her toothbrush last night, let alone anything else. She should be down in the kitchen by now, he thought, and turned to Parker. “Your aunt is taking a while coming downstairs.”
Parker stopped chewing to peer at him blankly and then said, “I don’t think she’s awake. She only fell asleep as I woke up.”
“What?” Santo asked with surprise.
Parker nodded. “I woke up several times in the night and she was pacing every time. But then about an hour ago, she dropped onto the bed next to me. It woke me up. I tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t, so got up,” he explained. “She was snoring when I left the room.”
Santo stared at him with dismay for a minute, then closed his eyes and bit down on his tongue to hold back the curse that wanted to slip from his lips. If he’d known that, he would have gone right back to bed on seeing the boy. They still could have had their shared sex dreams. And still might, he thought suddenly, blinking his eyes open.
“Bed,” he announced, opening his eyes and straightening away from the counter. “No school today.”
“What? No!” Parker cried, dismayed at the very thought. “I have to go to school.”
Pausing on his way to the door, Santo turned to frown at the boy. “Why?”
He’d expected him to say he had a test that day or something else he couldn’t miss. But the boy’s answer was simply, “To learn. I like school.”
“Of course you do,” Santo muttered, thinking that was just his luck. Fifty million kids in America hated school and would use any excuse to avoid it, but Parker liked school and wanted to go. Perfect.
“Besides, there are only a couple weeks left before summer break starts.”
Santo grunted at this news, but thought it was a shame it wasn’t already on break. He really wanted to go back to bed, and was considering controlling the kid when the boy asked, “Do you think someone else can drive me to school this morning, though?”
He noted the worry on the boy’s face, but before Santo could say anything, Parker added, “I don’t think it’s safe for Aunt Pet to drive me when she hasn’t slept. According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, there are at least six thousand fatal accidents each year due to drivers falling asleep at the wheel. And that doesn’t count the seventy-two thousand accidents caused just by drowsy drivers who have trouble paying attention to things around them, have slow reaction times, and make poor decisions due to their drowsiness.”
Santo stared at the kid with disbelief. “Did you just make that stuff up?”
“No. I read it at the CDC website,” Parker explained before taking another bite of toast.
“The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention?” Santo asked, recognizing the initials. When Parker nodded, he stared at him with bewilderment. “Why the hell would they have statistics on driving while drowsy?”
When Parker just shrugged and continued to eat, Santo shook his head and said, “Fine. I’ll drive you to school.”
Parker stopped eating to peer at him suspiciously. “Did you sleep last night?”
“Oh, yeah,” Santo said dryly. “I had several hours of uninterrupted sleep. No dreams at all . . . Not even nightmares,” he added with surprise as he realized it was true. It wasn’t the first time he’d managed a night terror free. They had reduce
d in frequency since his trip to Punta Cana, coming only a couple of times a week now. But it had been four nights since his last nightmare and he didn’t usually go that long without the memories of his years of being held captive and tortured visiting him in his sleep, yet he hadn’t had one last night.
Santo was pondering that when Parker stood up to carry his plate to the sink and began to rinse it. “I have to go home to get dressed and get my schoolbooks,” he announced.
“And brush your teeth and hair,” Santo muttered distractedly, his thoughts still mostly on this new sign that he was getting over a past that had haunted him for centuries.
“Okay.” Parker finished with his dishes and hurried from the room. “I’ll be back.”
Santo hesitated, but then sighed and followed to walk the boy next door. Pet would never forgive him if anything happened to the little nipper. Hell, he wouldn’t forgive himself either. He kind of liked the boy, he admitted.
Bricker saw them coming and opened the French doors in the living room for them to enter.
“What?” Santo asked with a scowl when he noted the way Bricker’s eyebrows had risen. “I’m driving the kid to school.”
“You might want to get dressed then, buddy,” Bricker said with amusement. “You take him to school like that and his teachers are likely to think you’re some kind of pervert. If you even made it to school with him and weren’t pulled over by suspicious cops on the way.”
Santo glanced down at himself and closed his eyes briefly when he saw that he was prancing around the neighborhood in his boxers. Cripes, he’d been in the kitchen waiting to greet Pet in them too. Wouldn’t that have been a heck of a greeting?
“Damn skippy. Something has your boxers in a twist,” Bricker said on a laugh as he watched the expressions traveling across Santo’s face. “It’s almost like you’ve met your life mate or something.”
Santo eyed him sharply. “Marguerite told you.”
Bricker shook his head. “Julius told us last night that Marguerite suspected Pet was your life mate. I’m guessing she was right?”
“Is she ever wrong?” Santo asked dryly.
Bricker eyed him with interest. “You don’t sound happy.”
“I’m happy,” he growled, and turned on his heel to head back to the Caprelli house to get dressed. He ignored the be-robed man who had stepped out onto his porch across the street to get his newspaper and had stopped to gape at him. But when he spotted the middle-aged woman farther up the sidewalk, gawking as she walked her schnauzer, Santo sighed to himself and started to slow. If he didn’t take care of the pair, he’d be the talk of the neighborhood.
“Go ahead, Santo. I’ve got them,” Bricker said behind him on a laugh.
Growling “Thank you,” Santo continued on to the house, entered, and started up the stairs, nearly mowing Marguerite down.
“Good morning, Santo,” she said on a laugh as he caught himself at the last moment and stopped before her.
“Morning,” he mumbled, stepping to the side, and then stopped again as it occurred to him that Marguerite and Julius usually slept late in the mornings. Turning his confused gaze to her, he asked, “Why are you up?”
“I was just going to make breakfast for Julius before the two of you head over to relieve Zani and Bricker. Should I make some for you too? Are you eating again yet?”
Santo simply stared at her. Dear God, he couldn’t go back to bed and enjoy the shared dreams life mates experienced even after he got back from driving Parker to school. He had to take over watching the Purdy house. The knowledge was enough that Santo could have wept. Instead, he growled a grumpy “no” to Marguerite’s question and continued up the stairs.
He’d only taken a couple of steps when Marguerite suddenly asked, “What time do you think repairmen start work?”
Pausing again, he glanced back with confusion. “What?”
“I have to call and get someone to fix the door,” she reminded him. “I was just wondering what time I should start making the calls.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “Nine?”
“Right. Mortal hours. Well then, I guess I’ll do that later.” Beaming at him, she added, “I think I’ll make bacon and eggs for breakfast.”
Santo merely grunted and continued up the stairs. He wasn’t hungry. He had to dress, drive Parker to school, and then relieve Bricker. There would be no shared dreams for him.
Six
Pet turned in bed and snuggled deeper into the blankets with a little sigh that turned into a yowl of pain as something stabbed her in the boob. Jerking up from the bed, she peered bleary-eyed at the ball of fur hissing at her with claws upraised. Right, it hadn’t been a something that had stabbed her but several little claws, she realized with a groan, and then flopped onto her back away from the animal she’d nearly crushed.
Mrs. Wiggles. Damned cat, she thought with disgust, and then raised her head to examine her chest. A grimace claimed her lips when she saw the spot of blood growing on her cropped top above her left breast. The feline had got her good.
“Great,” she muttered and sat up, then swung her legs off the bed. She’d spent most of the night pacing and fretting over Santo and whether he’d controlled her, and how dangerous Mr. Purdy’s “cousin” might be. Then she’d switched to considering her plans to take Parker to her place after school today, and making a mental list of everything she should probably bring along with them. Aside from clothes and such, she knew the kid probably wouldn’t go anywhere without his game setup. Which would mean taking the television from his room too since she considered them mind-sucking appliances and didn’t have one.
And then there was Mrs. Wiggles. That could be a problem. She couldn’t take her back to Mr. Purdy’s house, nor would she just leave the poor thing to wander the neighborhood. Not that Parker would allow that. But her apartment was a pet free building . . . she’d have to sneak the cat into her apartment.
The cat, a litter box, kitty litter, and cat food, Pet corrected herself, and thought that could be tricky. The apartment manager of her building was a bored busybody who thought it was his right and duty to know everyone and everything that went on in the building. To that end, he had cameras everywhere and actually watched them like a reality show junky. They were going to have to be very clever to get the cat in unnoticed.
Pet had paced the room and fretted over that until sunrise, and then had stumbled over to sit on the bed as she continued pondering the issue. That was the last thing she remembered. Apparently, she’d fallen asleep during her pondering.
Sighing, she scrubbed her hands over her face and then glanced to the bedside clock. Pet stiffened briefly as she saw 11:14 on the digital display, and then cursed and swiveled around, already reaching out to prod her nephew awake before she realized Parker wasn’t there.
Pet stared at the empty space on the other side of Mrs. Wiggles and then stood abruptly and ran for the door. The hall was silent and dim when she stepped into it. The bedroom door across from the one she came out of was wide open, revealing the empty room beyond. Marguerite and Julius were up then, she thought, and turned to head for the stairs, nearly tripping over Mrs. Wiggles as the cat came out the door she’d left open.
Cursing, she sidestepped the animal and then bent to scoop her up. The cat meowed in protest, but Pet ignored that and carried her with her as she hurried to the stairs and down them. She knew Mrs. Wiggles probably had to relieve herself and wasn’t risking her doing it in the Caprelli house. She didn’t set the cat down until she’d reached and opened the front door. She set her down on the porch floor then, and waited just long enough to watch her run into the garden before closing the door. She then started up the hall, reassuring herself that she’d find Parker in the kitchen, probably sitting at the table, chattering Marguerite’s ear off as he drank juice and ate her cookies.
Those hopes died the moment she reached the room and saw that it was empty . . . as was every other room on the main floor, Pet discovered when she whi
rled and raced back up the hall, looking through each doorway she passed.
Pet almost went back upstairs to search every bedroom, but knew that if he’d been up there he would have been in the room with her and Mrs. Wiggles. He wasn’t in the house. That thought raised such panic in her Pet could hardly breathe, and her next thought was the house. He had to have gone back home for some reason. That hope had her hurrying out of the Caprelli house and running down the driveway and around the hedge, desperate to find Parker and ease her building panic.
Santo was watching the Purdy house, his gaze sliding from the front of the house to the front yard, the road, and back to the house again when movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
The lady with the schnauzer was back and he could see that she was straining to hold on to the leash as her little dog went “Cujo,” as Parker had called it. It was a suitable description, Santo thought as he watched the dog snarl and bark and lunge madly about as if torn between racing up to the house to attack whatever was distressing him so, or dragging his mistress away to safety as quickly as he could. The woman on the other end of the leash was obviously distressed by his behavior. She wrapped the end of the leash around her wrist to guard against losing it and began to walk more quickly, but then suddenly glanced over her shoulder and then stopped dead, her eyes widening and jaw dropping.
Curious, Santo stood and walked to the front window to look out over the yard. His own eyes widened when he spotted Pet racing madly up the lawn toward him. Her hair was a wild black mass around her head, she was barefoot and still wearing the outlandish sleepwear she’d had on last night. Marguerite had mentioned giving her something to wear when she woke up, but if she had, Pet wasn’t wearing it. She also obviously wasn’t wearing a bra. He’d noticed that last night, but was noting it now again as he watched her breasts move up and down with each running step. The shirt was moving too, riding up to reveal the bottoms of the small globes and then dropping to cover them again.
The Trouble With Vampires Page 8
