“So they’re fed. The project list shows delivery of food for the others is pending. Should be here within the hour.” He was also watching the Beholders, who had lined up as bidden, though they had taken it upon themselves to separate their line into two groups.
Mountain must have noticed me eyeballing the Beholders. “Heldridge’s men are in for a rude awakening today,” he said. “There’s going to be a lot of sore backs and blistered hands tonight.”
“Do you think you’ll have a problem with them?”
“When a haven dissolves, everyone wants to go to a master with a reputation for treating his people well, but generally the vampires who step up to take on the extras are the ones who tend to break their toys, if you know what I mean.”
“What reputation does Menessos have?”
“That he won’t tolerate disrespect and is exceedingly harsh on anyone who opposes his rules, but otherwise safe. They’ll behave. Besides, the boss is sending sentinels for you.”
“Yeah, we talked about that.” I wrinkled my nose. He promised no monkeyshines.
“They should’ve been here first. Before Heldridge’s Beholders anyway—wait—there they are.” He pointed with his pinky as he pushed the last of the biscuit into his mouth.
A sleek black car rolled past the semis and up my gravel driveway.
“Oooo. Audi A8,” Mountain mumbled. He readjusted the coffee, dug in the bag again, and promptly bit into another biscuit.
“They won’t know I’m out here,” I said to Mountain. “It’s probably best not to have them accosted by my Nana first thing.”
He waved me on. “Don’t worry about us out here. I’ve got this under control.”
“I believe you do.” I patted his enormous upper arm. “Thanks, Mountain.”
“No. Thank you. The boss let me stay because you asked and … I’m glad to have this task.”
I jogged away feeling that having him here—in addition to my gratefulness for having someone with farm knowledge in charge of the new livestock—was giving him part of his heritage back. A positive contrast to all those lives that had been lost on my account.
As I rounded the house enough to gain a clear view of the driveway, I saw a pair of women dressed like federal agents. Each had taken a position behind open car doors, holding handguns aimed into my garage.
Sweet Goddess, what’s Nana done now?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stop!” I shouted.
The woman nearest me kept her weapon aimed into the garage as she shouted to me, “You are the Erus Veneficus? Persephone Alcmedi?”
“Yes.” I couldn’t imagine what kind of exchange Nana had instigated to provoke these women, but my Great Dane pup, Ares, was barking his head off inside. “Put your guns away.”
“My lady, there’s a creature in your garage.”
A creature? My jog accelerated into a sprint. The woman who’d shouted at me abandoned her position behind her car door and for a moment it seemed she intended to tackle me to keep me safely back. “Whoa,” I commanded, hand up and out to stop my well-meaning defender. She pulled up short but spread her arms to block me. I demanded, “Let me see,” even as I thrust past her to where I could view the trunk of my Avalon in the garage.
A feathered tiger’s tail swished at the front edge of my car.
At least it’s not Nana causing the ruckus.
“Do not shoot,” I commanded them. “Put your weapons away and stay back.” Walking slowly into my garage, I saw the injured griffon with his beak in the big plastic bin where Ares’s dog food was kept. He’d overturned the bin to get it open. His blind side was toward me. “Hey there …” I said softly from inside the garage.
His head shot up, neck feathers fluffing menacingly. His wings rose as much as the garage would allow. He opened his beak and made a noise like the rumble of distant thunder. It was the griffon version of a growl. “Whoa, there, Thunderbird,” I said softly. “Didn’t you get any deer last night?” I eased forward. His wings lowered a little and he moved to keep the Avalon between us. To the women outside I said, “Get into your car. If he leaves, let him.”
They unhappily obeyed.
For each of my slow steps toward the hood of the Avalon the griffon countered, hobbling to the trunk. When he was clear, he took to the air. I hurried outside to watch; he went back to the grove.
They were sentient creatures of magic. While they couldn’t speak, I was certain they were able to reason and think in ways that typical animals could not. Therefore, I wasn’t worried that the griffons would fly off and eat little children, but I was concerned that they might migrate to a ley line in a warmer state.
Sounds of car doors shutting brought my thoughts back to the sentinels in their Audi that Mountain thought was so terrific. The women were approaching me. The one that had been ready to tackle me was a platinum blonde; the other a lovely Asian woman with dark hair.
Being gorgeous was a requirement to be an Offerling, but they had toned that down with the stern effects of their tightly bound hair. The brunette wore her hair in a low ponytail. I was delighted that she was dressed in a suit of battleship gray with a black silk blouse and sensible shoes. She settled her gun into a shoulder holster. The blonde wore a camel-colored double-breasted suit with a black turtleneck. Her pale hair was in a prim bun.
No Menessos monkeyshines. Yay!
As the blonde walked, she lifted the jacket to put her gun into a waist clip holster. “What the hell was that thing?”
“A griffon.”
“You’re shitting me,” the Asian said.
My expression said clearly that I was not. “Right now I have many unusual animals running around here. Don’t shoot any of them.”
“What else can we expect to see?” the blonde asked.
“In the house is a fast-growing Great Dane.” Who, I remembered, wasn’t fond of Beholders. Still barking though the griffon had gone, Ares clearly wasn’t fond of Offerlings either. “Out in the back there’s … the unusual livestock.” I left it vague.
The blonde nodded, conveying that she was an accept-what-you’re-told-and-worry-about-what-it-really-means-later type. That didn’t mean she wasn’t able to think on her feet. I was willing to bet that, if I had claimed to be Mae West and asked her to set my hair on fire for me, this lady—without losing her unshakable and in-control demeanor—would have simply poured something on my head and told me it was flammable while she texted the higher-ups and ordered a psychiatric evaluation for me.
She extended her hand to me. “My lady, I’m Maxine Simmons. This is Zhan Hong. We’ll check the house, then take up our positions for watch.”
I introduced the women to Nana while holding Ares’s collar as he acquainted himself with them. They must have been carrying some residual scent of things undead, because Ares was unimpressed. I shut the garage door before any more griffons found the dog food, and let the behemoth pup help me clean up the kibble while the women satisfied themselves that no one was hiding under my bed, in my pantry, or under the sink.
I left Ares in the garage and joined Nana in the kitchen, where she was watching out the window. The permits from the manila envelope were on the table; she’d been looking them over.
“About those runes.” It was, after all, my intended goal for the day. “That wasn’t exactly a reading, and it wasn’t for me. It was for Johnny.”
“How so?” Her forehead wrinkles deepened.
“I used Great-El’s slate.” My great-great-great-grandmother had been named Elpis, but Nana had always referred to her as Great-El, so I did, too.
“Lord and Lady, I haven’t thought of that eccentric old thing in years.”
I hoped she meant the slate, not Great-El.
“What were you trying to do with it?”
“I wanted the name of whoever gave Johnny his tattoos.”
“I’m sure any tattoo artist can touch up the scars he might end up with. Look up tattoo parlors in the phone book.”
“I
t’s more than that, Nana.” I moved closer and lowered my voice, not sure I wanted the Offerling-sentinels to hear. “We’ve learned that his power as Domn Lup was magically bound into the art. We have to find the artist and make him unbind it so Johnny can change at will without so much effort.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “And fast.”
“What’s the hurry?”
In whispered tones I told her about the Rege coming on Wednesday. “So I tried Great-El’s slate thinking if I could tap into his subconscious—some part that remembers—and get an answer, we’d know who did this. We could start searching. Instead, I got some cryptic rune reading.”
Nana stood at the end of the dinette and twirled my note page to her. “That changes everything, and yet … the reading isn’t without truth.”
“What?” I asked.
“Because it came out like a reading, indicating reversed meanings and such, you thought of it like a reading. If you think of them like letters, though … this rune, Ansuz, may look like an F, but its alphabetical equivalent is an A.” Her finger tapped along the row as she mumbled, “Uruz is a U and Mannuz is an M …” Then, more clearly, she announced, “You got your answer, Persephone.” Nana passed me the paper. “You got a name. Arcanum.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Arcanum?” Theodora Hennessey asked, the warmth of her alto voice coming through the phone. She was one of the wærewolves who kenneled in my cellar during full moons. Her day job was owner and sole employee of Revelations, a service providing background checks on anyone from a possible employee to potential spouses.
“Yes.” I spelled it to make sure there was no miscommunication.
“Male or female?”
“I don’t know.”
She asked more questions and got the same answer. Theo sighed. “I’m good, but honestly, finding someone via a pseudonym, without a full, real name and a birthday is seriously iffy. Finding it without an address or even a confirmed city or state is next to impossible. Do you have anything else?”
“This person is a tattoo artist and probably a witch.” At least I was hoping one person had accomplished this. If we had to track down two …
“Well that’s something. I’ll do my best, but no promises.”
“Thanks, Theo. And hey, Beverley’s birthday is Thursday, will you come for dinner? We’re having a big kid party on Saturday, but I’d like to have all of you who were friends with her mom over on Thursday.” I heard pages shuffling.
“I can do that. Just promise me Johnny is making the cake.”
I grumbled.
“What?”
“I can’t promise that. I doubt he’ll have time to bake. The Rege is coming to meet him on Wednesday.” Over the next few days the whole pack would know, so I didn’t fret about telling her.
“Hell, that was fast. The Rege himself, you say?”
“Yeah.” I had a thought. “What do you know about him?”
“Keep your head down and stay the hell out of his way.”
“What do you mean?”
“You ever see The Godfather?”
“Yeah.”
“You see The Terminator?”
“Yeah.”
“What about the Nightmare on Elm Street movies?”
“The scary guy with knives on his fingers? Yeah.”
“Combine them. That’s the Rege.”
The well-drilling team was hard at work in the field when semis and trailers carrying two more backhoes, a crane, and some large sections of concrete were brought in. It seemed someone had quickly decided where the buildings would go and had measured and marked the areas, and the machinery was barreling around the cornfield.
As the first trucks left and the crane began unloading the concrete chunks, another arrived with prefabricated barn sides, trusses for the roof, and more. Some logistic genius was at work here.
All the hubbub was making Nana nervous. She announced that she was going to the store. Though she no longer had a hairdo that required gallons of Aqua Net and regular salon maintenance, she still tied a babushka under her chin before taking my car and fleeing.
Now that the runes had been deciphered, I could get some work done on my column, but I wanted to call Johnny first and tell him about Nana’s interpretation. While my computer booted up, I hit speed dial. Expecting to leave him a message, it surprised me when he answered.
“’Lo?”
“I thought you’d be busy,” I said.
“I am. But I wanted to hear your voice.”
“Aww … Well, thanks to Nana we’re making a little progress on those runes.” I told him the name and he was ecstatic, until I added what Theo had said. “On top of that, even if this person is found, convincing them to undo the binding may take time.”
“We’ll go with the vamp’s backup plan, then. I’ll try to get the forced-change spell scheduled ASAP. It’ll reassure the men if I’m participating with them.” I’d promised to perform a ritual for pack members who had volunteered to fight the fairies. The spell would force a painful and out-of-cycle full transformation on them, but afterward they would be able to retain their human minds whenever the full moon hauled their wolf form to the surface.
“Good point. I’ll get my supplies. And, I was going to ask you to make Beverley’s cake for the family party Thursday, but you’re going to be busy so I’ll order two from the bakery. One for us, and one for the kid party.” The idea of the Domn Lup baking was ridiculous, yet the first time he met Nana he’d brought her the most marvelous Macadamia nut cookies. There wasn’t anything Johnny couldn’t cook.
He was silent. “I wanted to make her something special, but you’re right. I can’t commit to that. I don’t know what to expect from this dog-and-pony show with the Rege.”
Maxine, the blond sentinel, entered the dining room where my computer and desk were set up. “Another car has pulled into your driveway,” she said, drawing her gun. “A woman is approaching your door.”
“I gotta go,” I said to Johnny. By the time we spoke brief good-byes, whoever it was had knocked. “I’m sure you can put that away,” I told Maxine on my way into the living room.
She followed me.
I stopped.
She stopped.
I spun on my heel. “You don’t have to escort me to the toilet, do you?”
“No.”
“A little space, please?”
“You’re not going to the toilet now. You’re answering the door.”
“Not usually a dangerous thing.”
“It can be. Do you recognize the older blue Corvette?”
I glanced out the picture window. “No, but this isn’t the haven.”
“You are the Erus Veneficus of the Regional Vampire Lord now. Like it or not, your world is changing.”
I was already irritated with her, and those words didn’t help. “Back off.”
Maxine retreated two steps. At my arched brow, she relinquished one more step and arched her own at me.
This was going to be annoying.
“I answer my own door, okay? I’ll call you if I need help.”
Maxine took a pose of readiness behind the opening from the dining room to the living room, just out of sight from whoever was on the porch. Stepping into the hall, I opened the door.
And was totally unprepared for who I saw.
In black jeans and a light-blue long-sleeved T-shirt, she stood an inch shorter than me, even in her snakeskin cowboy boots. As she stared at me, her lips moved soundlessly, saying my name. Her hair was the same dark brown as my own, but hers was lightly streaked with gray and fastened into a loose braid. She was me, with twenty-four extra years and twelve extra pounds.
Eris. My mother.
She reached for the screen door and clumsily jerked it open, hands shaking. The smell of menthol cigarettes hit me hard. “I saw you on TV. I traced you through an online people finder.” She swallowed hard; her voice was shaking as well. “I thought you might be living at the haven now, but I had to try he
re before I went traipsing into a place like that.” She forced a smile. “And—what luck!—here you are, my girl.” Her dark eyes welled up with tears, imploring me to say something.
After sixteen years, she’s standing on my doorstep.
I was too stunned to speak.
I opened the floodgates—the reservoir of anger I’d saved for this moment. I let that anger flow free … only to find the reservoir had dried up. All the words I’d meant to say were gone.
My heart recognized this was a critical moment, a remarkable chance, but my brain sent a signal down my arm and, without breaking my stare, I slammed the door shut in her face.
“I was such a fool,” she pleaded from the other side.
I flipped the lock. This is how things are supposed to be. The barrier of a door between us, me locked in.
The knocks become angry pounding.
I’d felt those fists on my body, once. I turned and walked away.
How dare she show up here.
Why now?
The news coverage. Was she worried about me now? That would be ironic. It was more likely she thought I’d acquired some status that might benefit her somehow.
She didn’t say she was sorry.
I don’t know how long I stood there in the kitchen or how many times Maxine prompted me by calling my name. When the car’s motor revved, it snapped me out of my astonishment. I found I could breathe again when the sound of the tires throwing gravel was followed by an engine’s roar as it rocketed up the road.
“Get out,” I said. The women sent here to protect me couldn’t shield me from this pain.
No one moved.
I grabbed the Lady of Shalott coffee mug from the counter and pitched it at the wall. It shattered. “Get out!”
My favorite mug was in pieces all over the floor. With my vision blurry from tears, the cleanup process was more troublesome than productive, and it wasn’t until my fingertips were bloody from multiple little nicks that my emotional fog dissipated enough for me to remember a broom and dustpan were ideal for this kind of chore.
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