by Adams, Cat
my date with Bruno. I texted Emma and
told her not to bother coming in. She
replied, “You okay?” I assured her I
was, and wasn’t staying long. A minute
or so later I saw her SUV pull away.
Thinking about Bruno while I waited
for my smoothie helped me relax a little.
It had been a long time since we’d had
an actual date-date. He’d been busy with
his studies; I’d been on a job. And while
they may work for other people, I think
long distance relationships suck. E-
mails, calls, and texts are just not the
same
as
face-to-face,
skin-to-skin
communication. Absence does not make
the heart grow fonder. It makes it grow
lonely. At least in my case.
Juan paused as he crossed the patio,
carrying a tray laden with food that
smelled like heaven, to hand me my
drink, already in a to-go cup. I forced
myself to look away and took a long pull
of my Sunset Smoothie, a concoction
whipped up specifically for me and only
available at La Cocina, where I’ve been
a regular since my first week of college.
When Barbara and her husband found
out I’d never again be able to eat solid
food, they took it as a challenge and
created something that I could actually
drink, digest, and enjoy. When I first
heard what was in it, I was a little
freaked.
I
mean,
cow’s
blood?
Seriously? But it tastes great and I
always feel better after I’ve had one.
I can try to deny it, but the vampire
part of me has different nutritional needs
than the human and siren parts. It’s a bad
idea to ignore them. Control is about
knowing your limits and working within
them, not pretending they don’t exist.
I plunged back into the crowded
restaurant, heading for the cash register
line to pay the tab. It was a long line, so,
rather than waste time being bored, I
decided to call Dawna and check in.
“Are you coming back to the office?”
She had to shout so that I could hear her
over the restaurant noise.
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
“Crap.”
“What’s up?”
“There’s an Agent Baker here from
the Serenity Secret Service. She says she
has the packet you requested and needs
to brief you before you start your
assignment tomorrow.”
Shit. I looked at the clock. I didn’t
have time to go back to the office for a
briefing and still get ready for my date
tonight. I just didn’t. And while most
times I’m all about the work, today I
wasn’t. I needed a night off.
“See if she can meet me at the office
tomorrow morning early, say eight
o’clock? I doubt Adriana gets out of bed
that early.”
Dawna put me on hold; I’d moved up
to the second spot in line by the time she
got back to me. “She has another
appointment at nine o’clock, so eight
won’t work. But she can do six thirty or
seven.”
Six thirty? Really? There must be a lot
of information to cover. I did some quick
calculations in my head, considering
travel time from either my house or
Bruno’s, and made a decision. “Tell her
seven o’clock is as early as I can do.”
“I’ll let her know.”
We hung up without saying good-bye
and I paid my tab, then headed out the
door, still sucking on my smoothie. But I
was especially careful crossing the
parking lot and I used the little button a
friend in the FBI had given me to make
sure nobody had tampered with my car.
It’s not paranoia if they’re actually
trying to kill you.
7
After the hit-and-run, it took a little
effort, but I succeeded in pumping
myself up once more. I kept telling
myself that tonight was going to be a
good night. I was going to Bruno’s for
our long-awaited and (in my case) much-
anticipated date. I’d be going back to the
old neighborhood and seeing what Bruno
had done with my grandmother’s old
house while I’d been gone.
Gran’s working-class neighborhood
had been on a downward slide for a
while, but now the area seemed to be
turning around. The most recent wave of
newcomers had been yuppies with small
children; they wanted to live close to the
city without paying exorbitant prices.
Before Bruno moved in, the Murphys
had briefly lived in the house. I really
liked Molly and Mickey and their girls,
Beverly and Julie. Beverly was going to
be a true siren, the first Atlantic siren
since the Magna Carta, and her family
had spent about a year living in my
grandmother’s small house so Beverly
could benefit from being near Serenity
and Queen Lopaka.
But the whole family missed their old
home in Arkansas, and when they
decided to go back, Bruno bought the
house from them. It’s a pretty little
place, gray with white trim and a big
front porch. The old rocking chair where
Gran had nursed my skinned knees is
still there, joined now by a matching
antique glider just big enough for Bruno
and me to sit on comfortably enjoying
the sunset and the distant sound of the
ocean.
He’s been tending Gran’s flower beds
religiously; the poppies and Shasta
daisies gave the place plenty of color
and brought bumblebees and butterflies
calling.
By the time I got there, it was almost
too late in the afternoon for butterflies.
I’d taken my time getting ready. I wanted
to look my best. At the risk of going too
dressy, I’d pulled on a strapless little
black dress that was cut to make the
most of my natural assets, short enough
to show off my long legs and the ivy
tattoo that wrapped around one of them,
and low cut enough to flaunt a bit of
cleavage. I’d even put on high heels. I
wouldn’t be able to run worth a damn,
but I wasn’t planning on running. My
only concession to safety was a little
black bolero jacket that was spelled and
tailored to hide a pair of knives, a stake,
and a little One Shot brand squirt gun
filled with holy water. I never go out
without some weapons. Besides, the sun
was setting. The monsters would soon
be on the prowl.
Fortunately, the smoothie had taken
the edge off of my hunger. I wasn’t
having the usual problem with sunset
another kind of lust entirely. I hoped that
once he got a look at me in this outfit,
Bruno would share the sentiment.
Just thinking about it made me want to
stomp on the gas pedal of my little blue
sports car. But these days, when I drive,
I make sure to obey all traffic laws. I
glanced in the rearview just to make sure
and, yep, as usual, there was a cop car
following me, staying a couple of cars
behind. The guy at the wheel was way
too big to be my old friend Officer
Clarke. Of course, I’d already seen
Clarke, earlier that day, when he’d tried
to run me over. I wondered idly where
he’d gotten the car, but figured a cop
would have easy access to a stolen or
towed vehicle.
Don’t think about it, Graves. It’ll
make you grumpy. And tonight is no
night to feel grumpy.
A wicked little smile tugged at the
corners of my lips as I pulled the car
into Bruno’s driveway and parked. As
the cop who had been tailing me drove
past, I reached out the window and came
this close to flipping him the bird. I
settled for a cheery little wave that
would probably irritate him almost as
much. I got out of the car and went
around to the passenger side to retrieve
my purse and the bottle of wine I’d
brought as my contribution to dinner.
I strolled happily onto the porch and
rang the bell.
No response. I took a deep breath and
smelled … food burning. Leaning closer,
I peered through the window and saw
Bruno lying limp and unmoving on the
couch.
Oh, shit.
I grabbed the doorknob as the smoke
detectors inside the house blared to life
—and the protective wards on the house
blew me off my feet, throwing me over
the porch railing. I landed hard on my
ass on the front lawn and skidded across
the grass.
Bruno appeared in the doorway,
yawning and half-befuddled by sleep,
but radiating power. He took one look at
me and said, “Oh fuck, Celie, are you all
right?”
I was breathless. Lethal wards are
illegal, but his had packed quite a punch.
I managed to wheeze out “Peachy” and
“Fire?” That got him swearing again,
and he rushed back into the house,
presumably to deal with whatever was
going on in the kitchen.
I rose creakily to my feet as some of
his neighbors appeared at windows and
doorways. The new people didn’t
recognize me, but old Mrs. Evans gave
me a wave. Her husband was sitting in a
lawn chair on their porch and laughing
so hard there were tears on his cheeks. I
was pretty sure he was going to wet his
pants.
“Ow.” I limped carefully toward the
house. One of my shoes was simply
gone. The seat of my dress had mostly
vanished from my little trip across the
lawn on my bottom, exposing the
expanse of pale, bruised flesh my thong
didn’t cover. My vampire vision and
hearing had kicked in—looking through
the front door, I could see Bruno in the
smoky kitchen, flinging open the
windows to air the place out. I could
hear Mr. Evans gasp, “Ethel, that’s one
boy who won’t be getting any tonight,”
before falling back into helpless
laughter.
I found the wine bottle, miraculously
unbroken, a few steps from the porch.
And while true aficionados would throw
twelve kinds of fit at how it had been
shaken, screw ’em. I needed a drink.
Bruno met me at the door. His
expression was a strange mix of sorrow,
frustration, and embarrassment. “I fell
asleep.”
“I can see that.”
He didn’t touch me. Instead, he took
the wine bottle from my hand and backed
up enough to let me pass. The smoke
alarm cut off abruptly. In the sudden
silence I heard a car pulling to the curb
in front. I could hear Bruno swallow
before he headed down the steps.
Glancing back, I saw that the new
arrival was a police car.
Bruno began explaining even before
he reached the cop, who was a woman.
Evidently Clarke’s buddy hadn’t been
the one to respond to the call—a small
mercy, but I’d take it. Although Lord
help me if the officer wasn’t wearing
one of the police force’s anti-siren
charms. I tended to bring out hostility in
most women. That’s never good, and
worse when I’m dealing with the police.
“It was just an accident, officer. I was
cooking lasagna for dinner and fell
asleep on the couch. I’ve got the wards
set to activate automatically when I fall
asleep. When my friend arrived, she saw
me lying on the couch and smelled
smoke…” Bruno let the sentence drift off
unfinished. “We’re both fine.”
“I think I’d like to check that out for
myself, if you don’t mind.” The
policewoman stepped onto the porch and
into the doorway.
I turned to face her from the entrance
to the kitchen, giving her a rueful smile.
“Hello, Officer…?”
“Dade. Karla Dade. Are you all
right?”
“I’m embarrassed more than anything.
I’ll probably have some bruises. Did
you happen to see my shoe?”
“It’s in the next yard.” She returned
my smile. “Do you want me to call the
paramedics so you can get checked out?”
“No. Thankth.” Crap. A lisp. I’d
avoided it before, but sometimes those
final ess sounds gave me trouble. And
just like that, she saw the fangs she
hadn’t
noticed
before.
Her
eyes
narrowed and she gave me a long, long
look.
“What is your name, ma’am?”
“Celia Graves.”
She
gave
a
little
nod
of
acknowledgment.
The
name
was
familiar. The face probably was, too.
But she was smart enough to check. “Do
you have any identification?”
“In my purse.”
Bruno handed her my bag—he must
have retrieved it from the lawn; I hadn’t
even thought to look for it—and she
handed it to me. I opened it and shoved
aside my travel toothbrush and comb to
pull out my wallet, which I passed to
Officer Dade. She checked out my
driver’s license and my concealed carry
permit
before flipping the wallet closed
and returning it to me. “Everything
appears to be in order, Ms. Graves. If
you’re sure you don’t want medical
attention…”
“Not nethethary.” Damned fangs. It
was harder to control my speech when I
was rattled, which I was, a little, though
I was trying not to be. I fought hard not
to react when she flinched. “Thank you
anyway.”
“Sorry for the trouble, officer,” Bruno
mumbled.
She eyed the charred remains of the
pan of lasagna in the sink. “No trouble,”
she assured him. “You two try to enjoy
the rest of your evening.”
He led her back through the house and
closed the door behind her. I went back
to looking for a corkscrew.
“I am so sorry.” I turned to find Bruno
standing in the kitchen doorway, looking
frustrated and hurt. “I wanted everything
to be perfect. Fucking Creede, with his
winery, and his…” I stepped forward
and put my finger to his lips, cutting off
the flow of words. He looked down and
discovered my cleavage. There was a
long, silent moment. When he was able
to speak, his voice was a little rough.
“That is a really nice dress.”
“You’re just now noticing that?” I
teased.
He lifted his head and I saw that his
eyes had darkened with desire. “You
wore heels”—he took a breath—“and a
thong.”
“Yup.” I was smiling now.
“You hate thongs.” He stepped into
me, his body pushing mine against the
kitchen cabinets.
“I didn’t want to ruin the line of the
dress.”
He drew a ragged breath, his eyes
locking with mine. “Is there any possible
way for me to salvage this evening?”
“Tell you what. You fix me some
broth and a stiff drink, and we’ll find
out.”
It was his turn to smile. “I can do
that.”
8
The earthquake woke me at 3:00 A.M.,
even though it wasn’t a particularly bad
quake and didn’t last long. It was just
enough to rattle the windows and knock
things off shelves. I’m pretty used to
them; this is California, after all. But
even little ones tended to wake me up
since I changed, and I didn’t know if that
was the vampire, the siren, or just me.
Not surprisingly, Bruno was still out
cold. He was so exhausted I think he
could probably have slept through
Armageddon.
He’d been pushing himself too hard.
Again. He was finishing his doctoral
