Williams shakes his head. Maybe. But it's far less dangerous than if you attract the attention of the media.
I can't believe what I'm hearing. How much worse can my life get? Acid churns in my blood. And just where am I supposed to go?
I've given that some thought.
What he projects is unacceptable. "Not Avery's. I won't even consider it." Speaking it aloud sounds more forceful than projecting it mentally.
"Why not?" He responds in kind. "It's a beautiful house. Secluded. There's a caretaker living there so the neighbors won't be suspicious of lights on in the house at night—"
"Caretaker?" I screech in protest. "Who hired a caretaker?"
"I did. You can't leave a house like that unprotected." He doesn't sound the least bit apologetic. "He's one of our own. And he's discreet."
"And you didn't think to ask me before you hired this caretaker?"
"What would you have said?"
"No, of course. I want that place closed down. I'd burn it to the ground if I thought I could get away with it."
"Then you are even more foolish than I thought."
This time it's me rubbing my hands over my face. "I won't go there."
He accepts the finality of my answer. "Beso de la Muerte, then? Won't have quite the amenities of the house in La Jolla."
The mention of Beso de la Muerte snaps my attention like a rubber band. It also reminds me of what I'd intended to ask Williams this morning. "Who's Belinda Burke?"
Williams looks at me. "Where did you hear that name?" His tone is mildly curious, but his face reflects more than that. I feel his interest pique.
"Yesterday. I saw the poster when we were bringing Guzman in. Who is she?"
"If you saw the poster, you know who she is."
"Okay then, what is she?"
For the first time since I got into the car, Williams' expression is more anxious than put out. He doesn't answer right away. When he finally does, it's with cautious undertones. "She's a very dangerous woman," he says.
"And?"
"And what?"
"I know she's more than a dangerous woman."
He acts reluctant to answer so I add, "Culebra called her a Wiccan."
Williams abandons caution. "Culebra knows her? How?"
I tell him. When I finish the story, he says, "Burke is much more than a witch. She's the most powerful practitioner of the black arts I've ever known."
"You mean she deals in more than love potions and black cats?"
He looks positively grim. "Much more, I'm afraid. If you've seen her, I need to know. We have to find her before midnight tomorrow night."
"Why? What happens tomorrow night?"
"It's October thirty-first."
"October thirty-first? Halloween?" I'd completely forgotten. "So?"
There's an instant when I think Williams isn't going to answer. He seems to be weighing options, but not for long. "It's Samhain, the Celtic New Year," he says. "Do you know anything about Wiccans?"
I shake my head.
"At midnight on October thirty-first, the worlds of the living and dead—human dead—converge. It produces a crack in time that lasts only an instant. But during that instant, a door to the underworld can be opened. Belinda and her coven are preparing to use their magic to bring forth a demon from the underworld. A demon who will do their bidding."
He falls silent.
I stare at him, waiting for the punch line because this has to be a joke.
He stares back. He's serious.
After all that I've experienced, you'd think I would accept what he's telling me. We're two vampires having a conversation about a witch who is about to summon a demon. Another day at the office. Instead, I do the only rational thing a person can do in a situation like this. I laugh. It erupts from my gut like spew from a volcano.
Williams' expression darkens. "You think this is funny? Well, maybe that will change if she succeeds. Demons have an interesting predilection. They like to eat vampires."
I see the seriousness of his expression, hear the concern in his voice, feel the anxiety rippling off his skin. But it doesn't change the image I have in my head of a leathery skinned, horned toad trying to eat me. I can't help it. The more I try to suppress the laughter, the more it takes control until my shoulders are shaking so hard, I almost fall over on the seat.
ENOUGH.
When someone yells in a closed car, it's bad enough. When someone yells in your head, it hurts.
I sit up straighter in the seat, wiping tears off my face. When I can form a coherent thought without hiccoughing, I say, Come on. A crack in time? Demons who eat vampires? Why wouldn't I have heard of this before? And if it's happening tomorrow night, for Christ's sake, why aren't you marshaling the forces to track this Burke woman down?
What makes you think I'm not?
That's a question it gives me pleasure to answer. Because you didn't put me on the case. You didn't even tell me such a thing was happening. You'd want my help.
Williams says nothing. His mind is closed. He doesn't even glance my way.
That's the giveaway.
The muscles at the back of my neck bunch. "You purposely kept me in the dark about Belinda Burke?"
He shifts in the seat, his back straight, his eyes hooded.
"There are a lot of things I don't tell you, Anna. I can never be sure you won't go off half-cocked."
Like today.
He doesn't say it or think it, but it hangs in the air between us.
The implication is like a knife in the gut. "Are you saying you trust me to take care of scum like Fisher but you don't trust me to take part in something as important as finding a witch who may unleash a demon?"
His expression is unapologetic. He offers neither a denial nor an explanation.
His mind reaches out to mine and I feel something close around my thoughts like a noose drawing tight. Now, he says, tell me what you know about Belinda Burke.
I'm angry. Angry enough to close him out of my head. But if I do that, I won't get what I need from him. Information about this witch who threatened Culebra.
It doesn't take long to fill Williams in on what I saw in Beso de la Muerte. The discussion/fight that took place between Culebra and this Belinda Burke. The way she disappeared like a puff of smoke, to be followed minutes later by Culebra. The utter barrenness of the camp. The creepy sensation of being chased out of there by a malevolent spirit.
Nothing concrete.
Now it's his turn to tell me what he knows. I look to Williams for answers, but he's shaking his head.
"This is not good. Burke is a powerful witch, but teleportation is a new trick for her. She has tapped into a new source."
He's talking in riddles. "New source? What does that mean?"
"Witches derive their energy from the elements of nature. Earth, wind, fire. They are bound by them. Teleportation involves escaping the bonds of earth. It shouldn't be possible."
"You and I shouldn't be possible, but here we are. And I saw Culebra do the same thing, too."
Williams shakes his head. "If that's true, the situation is even more serious than I thought. If Culebra and Burke are working together—"
"No way. I saw the way he looked when he was talking to her. And after, he was distracted. He sent me away. Said not to come back until it was safe." I'm replaying the scene in my head. "Then he disappeared. We were face-to-face. One minute he was there, the next, he was gone."
Williams doesn't buy it. "Then he tricked you somehow. He's a shape-shifter. He can't teleport. It's impossible unless Burke …"
It's there, unspoken. Gave him the magic—or used magic on him to transport him somewhere he didn't want to go.
Williams resolve is hard and unbreakable as concrete. I know that from past experience. Still, I have to try.
"What do you want me to do?"
He has his face turned away from me, his mind unreadable.
"Williams?" I prod. "What do you want me to do?"
At last he stirs, half turning in the seat to look at me. "Nothing."
"What do you mean, nothing?"
A flash of annoyance tightens his jaw. "I told you what you were going to do. Disappear. If not to Beso de la Muerte, then you pick another place. But it has to be away from here and it has to be tonight."
Now the annoyance is mine. "You're kidding, right? You're going after this all-powerful witch and you don't want me to help?"
"You can't help."
He says it without equivocation.
He says it like I have no say in the matter.
He says it like Max telling me to butt out of his investigation.
But Williams isn't Max and this isn't a human matter.
"Culebra is my friend," I whisper.
He remains unmoved.
I have to change that. All the aggravation and frustration of the past two days sweeps over me, driving away any hesitation, any vestige of good sense. I launch myself at Williams with the ferocity of a tiger.
He doesn't see it coming. One minute he's sitting up in the seat, his resolve like a smug halo. The next, I have his throat in my hands and his body pinned beneath me. I feel Ortiz' startled reaction from the front seat. The car begins to slow.
Drive on.
He hesitates, glancing backward.
I put more steel in my voice. Drive on, Ortiz.
The pure heat of my fury convinces him. His foot presses the accelerator and the car resumes speed.
Good.
I've had a bitch of a week, and I'm really tired of arguing with men.
CHAPTER 22
WILLIAMS DOES NOT STRUGGLE. HIS MUSCLES go slack, his face clears of emotion—no anger, fear or surprise. He simply waits for me to recover my senses and let go of his throat.
He knows I will. I know I will, too. I just want his attention.
Culebra is my friend. I don't know what part he is being forced to play in this witch's scheme, but he is being forced and he needs my help.
You're sure he's being forced?
Yes.
Williams' eyes reflect skepticism. Culebra is a shapeshifter with powers of his own. He is an old soul. Burke is a powerful witch, but a young one. She could not force him to do something he doesn't want to do.
I don't accept that. I saw the way he looked at her. She has some kind of control over him.
Williams doesn't respond, but his thoughts are clear on the subject. He doesn't believe it.
I sit back, uncurl my fingers from around his throat. He slides back away from me and sits up, tugging at his collar.
You wonder why I call you impulsive?
He can call me anything he wants. As long as he understands that I intend to play a part in whatever he has planned for tomorrow night.
Williams is staring straight ahead. I may be more powerful physically than he is, something I still don't understand, but if he closes off his thoughts, I can't get inside his head. Unless I forcefully take his blood. Doing that would break the tenuous bond we've formed in the last couple of months. I'm not ready for that. There has to be another way.
I blow out a breath and work at the kinks in my neck with the palms of my hands. I temper the anger out of my head and replace it with contrite rationality. "I'm sorry. It's been a rough week. First Max, then David. The telephone calls. Now this—"
Williams swivels toward me. "What telephone calls?"
I'd forgotten that I hadn't mentioned the calls before. "Someone is harassing me. Or trying to. I think it's Foley, trying to get me to lead him to Max."
Open mouth, insert foot. I know as soon as those words are out of my mouth that I should have left that last part out. I'm glad I didn't say more because Williams jumps all over it.
"Then how do you know he isn't here in El Centra? That he didn't see what happened in that canyon?"
Jesus. I'm pretty sure he did more than see it.
My silence confirms Williams' suspicions. "Anna, you're keeping something else from me, aren't you? No matter. If there is a mortal following you, it's even more important that you get away."
Williams pauses and I see the thoughts churning behind those eyes even if I can't read them. Then his expression clears and he snaps his fingers. "You are going to Beso de la Muerte."
"What? I just told you …"
"That the place was deserted. That's what makes it perfect. Culebra is gone, but the protection spell will still be in place. No one can follow you there."
"I don't care about that. I want to find Culebra. He needs my help, I'm sure of it. This is ridiculous. You're doing this to keep me away from the witch thing. You know where they're going to be, don't you?"
When he refuses to answer, irritation boils up, once again washing over me like a tidal wave. I have an overwhelming urge to grab Williams again and shake him like a dog with a chew toy.
He senses it. He responds with red-hot anger that matches my own. "I let you get away with throwing your childish tantrum once today. I don't intend to let you do it again. I'm trying to help you whether you realize it or not."
He must send Ortiz a telepathic command because the car coasts to a stop. Williams opens the door and steps out. He turns around and leans inside. "You'll find money in the glove compartment and a suitcase in the trunk. I'll get a message to David. Something to the effect that you need to get away for a little while. After what happened between you, he shouldn't be surprised. Don't come home until I send for you."
He doesn't give me the chance to argue. Like every other man in my life lately, he's here one minute and gone the next.
CHAPTER 23
ORTIZ LEAVES WITH WILLIAMS. THEY CLIMB INTO another car parked a hundred feet or so down the road. I was wrong. Williams didn't tell Ortiz to stop. This was all prearranged.
I climb out of the backseat and slam the door. I have an overwhelming urge to shout something obscene at the departing car but what good would that do?
I slide into the driver's seat and reach over to open the glove box. There's an envelope inside. Ten hundred-dollar bills.
A thousand bucks to spend where? Certainly not in Beso de la Muerte.
I look into the glove box again. There's a cell phone. One of those disposable ones with the prepaid minutes. Sixty in this case. Williams wants to make sure I don't get chatty with anyone. Sneaky. Calls can't be traced, either. Just for kicks, I pull out the car registration. It's in the name of Anita Long. There's a California driver's license attached to it with a paper clip. My picture. Not my name. Anita Long.
He's thought of everything, hasn't he?
I don't even look in the backseat to confirm my next suspicion. My purse will be gone. Along with life as I know it and my real identity.
The engine is still idling. I turn it off and lean my head back against the seat.
Part of me understands why Williams wants me out of the way. But a bigger part knows there's more behind his concern than the fact that I exposed myself to mortals yet again. This vampire existence is still new to me. If I had chosen to become, if I were an orphan with no friends, if I were simply evil, I might be more inclined to go along with the rules about disengaging from mortal concern. Of course, if I were evil, I wouldn't be interested in becoming a real Watcher. I know it involves more than policing our community, which is all Williams is allowing me to do at this point. It involves doing what Williams has done, placing oneself in a position to offer the most protection to our human charges.
Because, when all is said and done, that's what mortals are. We're in a partnership, a symbiotic relationship. We need blood to survive and they need to be protected from the more aggressive of the supernatural species. Unfortunately, there are many of us whose sole purpose is to kill without remorse or discretion. There are bad seeds in every species.
What should I do now? I could go against Williams wishes and simply go home. What's he going to do? Kill me? Been there, done that. But Williams is my lifeline. Just as Culebra offers sustenance, Williams offers com
munity. I need both. As David so eloquently pointed out, I've disconnected from humans in every way that's important. I purposely lied to my parents, told them that Trish was my brother's child, so that they would have her to care for when the time comes for me to dissappear from their lives. And Max? If we'd made love again, would I have resisted feeding from him, knowing it was that sensation he really craved?
Maybe Williams keeping me out of the witch thing is for my own good. He knows I have an affinity for Culebra. Perhaps he sees that as a disadvantage. Maybe he's afraid I'll do something rash and get us all in trouble.
Why would he ever think that?
Shit.
Maybe I'm thinking too much.
I can't do anything about David. I have no idea how to find Max. I'm tired and I still have the vestiges of a hangover from last night. Now that I'm alone and the adrenaline has stopped pumping, there's an annoying, dull ache behind my eyes. I want nothing more than to find a bed and get some sleep.
I crank over the engine.
If I try to make Beso de la Muerte tonight, I'll be on the road at least two hours. Too long for the way I feel to say nothing of the fact that once I get there, where will I sleep? The idea of curling up on the bar floor or trying to get comfortable in the backseat of this car is not appealing. I plan to cross the border at Mexicali, so it would make sense to spend the night in Calexico. It's only a short drive south from El Centro and there are a couple of truck stops offering big food and soft beds. Won't need the food, but a bed would be nice.
I release the emergency brake and coast onto the road. If Williams takes care of Belinda Burke tonight, Culebra may be there to greet me when I pull into Beso de la Muerte tomorrow. If not, I'll still have one day to come up with a plan. In any case, a search for Culebra would have to start in that town.
Within thirty minutes, I've found a place that looks like it might offer more beds than bugs. I visit a gasoline station washroom first, though, to scrub Alan's blood from my face. Can't walk into a motel office looking like a character from a horror flick. Evidently blood-spattered jeans aren't cause for alarm, though. The manager doesn't give my clothes a second look.
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