“Donuts,” she growled, claws poking through her fingertips. “Now.”
The weepy-gooeys must have passed. These must be the scratchy-maimies.
“Don’t bite.” I popped her hand. “Lethe, no. Bad girl.”
Masculine laughter rolled over her shoulder, and Hood made a gimme motion behind her back.
Nostrils flaring, she narrowed her eyes to slits. “Do not let him have them.”
“Okay, okay.” As the tension drained from her shoulders, I feinted left then passed the boxes off to Hood on my right. “Run.”
He sprinted off into the night, his mate hot on his heels, and I doubled over laughing.
Beside me, Linus shook his head. “I thought you needed to talk to her.”
“Fiddlesticks.” I straightened then anchored my hands on my hips. “The temptation was too strong.”
And I was a total wimp who didn’t want to break the news of her brother’s promotion to her.
A call distracted Linus from outing me while I scanned the tables looking for the check-in point.
“I’ll ask,” he said to the caller then brushed his fingers over mine. “Do you have a sample of Dame Marchand’s handwriting?”
As much as I wanted to tell him I had torn her letter into pieces then set them on fire, I had it tucked in my pocket like a sap. “I have the note Johan delivered.”
Hand covering the receiver, he held the phone away from him. “Would you mind if I scanned it?”
“Why?” I retrieved it, embarrassed that while I might not have tossed it, I had rumpled it within an inch of its miserable life. “Who’s asking?”
“Bishop.” He studied me and then the paper. “Anca says a new collection has been logged into the Athenaeum.”
The Society’s Athenaeum once contained original tomes on all subjects necromantic, but the grand building housing the collection was devoured by fire back in the 1300s. The loss hit the community hard, and several High Society families had dedicated their lineage to restoring the collection they now called the Athenaeum.
Contents of the Athenaeum might be owned by the Lyceum, but it was guarded by the Elite. An index of currently available titles was accessible to all Society members, but its location was a closely guarded secret. You could request a book, and an Elite would bring it to you. Then he or she would breathe down your neck while you spent your four allotted hours with it before personally returning it to the collection.
But while the index might be easy to access, we didn’t have time to check them out one at a time when we had no clue what information each book contained. That meant we had to go to the source. Somehow, we had to get our hands on the whole collection.
An emotion I hesitated to label as hope swept through me. “Do you think she would be that obvious?”
“Her signature is almost illegible, but her name was typed on the intake forms. The bulk of the collection is logged in as journals written by Marchands. The Athenaeum curates the rarest and most valuable tomes, and generational diaries don’t fit the bill.”
“Unless the journals are actually instruction manuals on goddess-touched necromancers,” I mused.
“Anca wants to check the signature against an authenticated source before she pursues this lead further.”
“Here.” I passed over the letter. “I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
Linus took the paper, and his fingers trembled with the same urge to crush the hateful words as mine.
“I don’t mind if Bishop sees it,” I reassured him. “Flush it, burn it, feed it to the paper shredder when you’re done. I don’t care. I shouldn’t have kept it. It’s toxic, and I’m trying to purge my life of negativity.”
“She was your grandmother,” he said gently. “It’s natural that you’d want to hold on to her last words.”
“They’re acidic.” I raked my hands through my hair to keep from reaching for it anyway. “It’s a miracle they didn’t burn through the paper.”
They sure scorched themselves into my brain. I would never forget them.
“Are you sure you want it destroyed? I could scan it and file it in the basement.”
“I wanted to meet her.” A lump made swallowing hard. “I didn’t expect a miracle. I didn’t even expect to like her. I just…wanted to meet the woman who raised Mom. I wanted to see where Mom grew up. I wanted to be able to picture it in my head.”
“We can petition the new Dame Marchand after a respectable mourning period.”
“Looking back stops us from moving forward.” I shook my head. “I have to let it go. There’s nothing in Raleigh for me.” I gazed up at the old house where I had spent most of my life, the only home I had ever known. “Woolly, Oscar, Lethe, Hood, Marit, Neely, even Cruz.” Linus arched an imperious eyebrow. “And you.” I banished the sadness thinking of stolen futures always brought me. “You’re my chosen family. You’re the people I love and who love me back. You’re all I need.”
Lips cool on mine, he kissed me gently before heading into the house.
I was still tingling in all the right places, tempted to follow his lead, when I spotted Neely.
“You look fantastic.” He bumped me with his hip. “What did you think of your goodies?”
“They were great.” I dredged up a smile, a real one, for him. “I didn’t realize you were on the clock.”
“I’m used to holding down two jobs and moonlighting on the side. Sitting around the house, even though it’s a great old house and you’ve been a terrific hostess, I’m going nuts. It was a relief to have a purpose.” He hesitated. “I didn’t get too purposeful, did I?”
“Ignorance is bliss.” I patted his shoulder. “You exceeded my expectations, and I don’t mind if you exceeded the budget while you were at it.”
“Oh good.” He flashed a brilliant smile. “I didn’t see any luggage. What happened to the clothes? The toiletries? The flash?”
Wincing, I admitted, “We had to leave them in the van. We’ll have to retrieve them later.”
“And the makeup?” He clutched at his heart. “Did you leave that too?”
“Yes?”
“It’ll melt.” He shut his eyes. “Rest in peace, you beautiful darlings.”
Fighting the smile that kept tickling the edge of my mouth, I maintained a solemn mien. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” he chastised. “What a waste of quality product.”
“She had larger concerns than skincare.” Cruz wrapped his palm around the base of Neely’s neck in a claiming gesture that made me question if he worried I might turn Neely into a vampire if left unsupervised with him. “Look on the bright side. This means you’ll get to order replacements for what she ruined.”
“You’re right.” Neely glowed with purpose. “There’s this red lipstick I wanted to try on her, but I told myself it was too much for meeting her granny. I didn’t want to give the old biddy a heart attack.”
Using his gentle grip, Cruz steered Neely back to their table while his husband prattled on about carmines, crimsons, and corals.
Watching them go, I spotted Marit making eyes at a gwyllgi twice her height and three times her width. She was arranging canned food as the foundation in a box before passing it on to the next table for their contribution. That’s where the gwyllgi came in. He lent his considerable muscles to the task of delivering each completed one to the next table.
I was on top of her before she noticed me, and when she did, her face went all dreamy.
“He’s so handsome.” She started filling her next box. “And so tall. And so muscly.”
“Have you spoken to him at all?” They had been working in companionable silence when I noticed them.
“Oh, not much.” She frowned at me. “Why?”
“No reason.” I held up my hands. “I’m sure it’s only what’s on the outside that counts.”
Marit touched the bright-red birthmark covering the lower half of her face, and I tasted foot. I hadn’t meant it as a dig at her looks, just her tenden
cy to choose guys based on theirs. Pretty was nice and all, but substance was required for a relationship to last past hormones.
“Okay, you win.” She rubbed her chin like the birthmark might scrub off with enough pressure. “I’ll talk to him.”
Catching her hand, I dragged it away from her face. “You got this.”
The better we got to know each other, the more I suspected she judged people based on their physical appearance rather than their personality to beat them to the punch, and I hated how the world taught women to tie their worth to their looks.
Marit was beautiful inside and out, and I would keep chipping away all her preconceptions until she saw it too.
“With any luck”—she recovered her bravado—“I will be getting that.”
The lumbering giant of a man with gentle eyes offered me a shy grin that made Marit whimper.
“I’m Jack.” He stuck out his hand, which engulfed mine. “You must be Grier.”
“I am Grier.” I gestured toward Marit. “Have you been properly introduced to my friend?”
“Marit,” he whispered, staring at the ground rather than her. “I overheard Neely call her that.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Jack.” Marit beamed at him. “A girl should know the name of the guy she’s been rubbing elbows with for the last four hours.”
“Yeah.” He shifted on his feet. “I should have mentioned it earlier.”
“You’re entitled to a little mystery.” She placed her hand on his forearm and wet her lips as she tested the muscle beneath her palm. “Nothing piques a girl’s interest quite like a brooder.”
“I’m a pianist,” he confessed. “I zone out sometimes.” He rolled his massive shoulders. “The music…”
“A musician.” Face lit up like Christmas, Marit leaned in closer. “Would you play for me sometime?”
Leaving her to reel in her catch, I found an unmanned station and fell into a mindless rhythm. I couldn’t spare long, an hour or two tops, but I needed this. Both the mental break and the physical exertion of doing something to help Savannahians.
Coming home minus Plan A and Plan B goaded me to put in sweat equity to pay off the guilt of leaving in the first place.
All too soon I ran out of time. Three hours. More than I had meant to give, but nowhere near enough.
Crossing the yard to Woolly, I rested a hand on the nearest column, the paint faded, flaking in places.
“I’m so glad to be home.” I rested my forehead against the aged wood and smiled as her warmth flooded me, better than a hug. “Linus still in the office?”
Woolly grew distant, checking on his location, but indicated the kitchen.
“Lethe and Hood aren’t back yet.” I scanned the yard, thankful for the extra security to keep an eye on them. “Let me know when they show?”
A faint strain of music, her wards recalibrating, filled my head that I took for her agreement.
I found Linus at the stove, humming softly while he stirred a pot that smelled faintly of cinnamon.
“I baked blueberry muffins, though blueberry is a generous descriptor considering the mix came from your pantry, and they’re blue pellets instead of anything found in nature.”
“You’re such a food snob.”
“There are also steel-cut oats with dried cranberries, pecans, and golden raisins mixed in.” He handed me a tall glass with frosty sides. “Your smoothie, with an extra shot of Vitamin L to make up for the stress put on your body during the trip.”
Relief hit my gut like a fist on the first sip, untangling the knots lodged there since yesterday. “Are you eating?”
“I ate earlier.” He popped a raisin from a small dish into his mouth. “I couldn’t hold another bite.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I took another sip or five. “Would you like some milk to wash it down?”
He wasn’t the only one capable of embracing the role of caretaker. I just had to be sneakier about it.
From the way he explained his bond with Cletus and the other wraiths, I wondered if his ability to draw on their power had struck him as a more economical food source. Hardly a surprise, but he had admitted to running a few experiments on himself during his adjustment period. Such as skimping on food and water in order to determine how long he could survive on his new powers alone and then how little he could ingest to remain at peak efficiency.
Since he was a man who enjoyed cooking, and was good at it, I had a working theory of my own.
Linus didn’t take care of himself. That wasn’t theory, that was fact. So if he discovered he could cut more corners in his self-care routine by not cooking healthy meals for himself, or even ordering them in, he would in a heartbeat. What likely started as an experiment had become routine, and I aimed to break him out of his rut.
This might all blow up in my face. It wouldn’t be the first or last time I was wrong about him. Linus may not need sustenance taken in through traditional means, but I couldn’t help wondering.
Lately, he was eating more. At first it was to fool me into believing his appetite was normal, then it was sampling while he worked in the kitchen.
After our confinement at Woolly, where we took all our meals together, I had caught him stealing single grapes from the fridge or biting into a strawberry here or there. Now he had a second raisin in his hand, and I pretended not to notice him pop it into his mouth while I poured him a glass of two percent.
To placate me, he took a few sips, but I caught him drinking from the corner of my eye while I mixed extra toppings into my bowl of oatmeal. While he was in no danger of polishing off the full eight ounces, he had managed two or three. A couple more pulls, and he just might set a record.
A balanced diet was the first step, and then who knows? Maybe he could be eased into REM too.
Pleased with the progress of my own experiments, I hummed as I claimed my seat at the counter.
“I need to make a few calls.” He topped off his glass for me. “I’ll be in the office when you’re done.”
I took my time eating, and I cleaned my plate. It was weird not having Lethe breathing down my neck or stealing food. Maybe that’s why I chewed thoughtfully, enjoying the novelty of cleaning a plate without help. When I was done, I washed the dishes I’d dirtied then meandered to check in with Linus.
The office wasn’t an actual office. Well, it was an actual office, but it was also a façade. Maud had done all her work in the basement, in her sanctuary. The room where I found Linus had a desk, chair, laptop, and the other amenities you would expect. Including the printer/scanner/fax machine flashing as it awaited further instruction from him.
Amelie had worked out of that room, and I had updated the antiquated equipment as needed. I hadn’t expected to get much use out of it, seeing as how I didn’t need to entertain clients the way Maud had on occasion, but it looked like the investment was paying off.
“Well?” I leaned against the doorframe. “Any news?”
When Linus turned, he held a bronze bowl no larger than his cupped palm. A tight ball of paper filled the center, and he palmed a box of matches off the desk then offered them to me. “Not yet.”
The matchbox weighed fifty tons in my hand. “You scanned and sent it?”
“I forwarded a copy to your email,” he said, understanding my hesitation. “You can access it any time you want, or never again. It’s your decision.”
Filing emails wasn’t so different from filing away memories. The information was there, on your computer (or in your head), when you wanted to access it. But clearing your inbox erased it from the forefront of your mind, giving you an excuse to forget, for a little while.
“Let’s do this.” I struck the match and dropped it before I changed my mind. The hateful words blackened and curled, and Linus used the eraser on a pencil to mash them into fine ash. “I do feel better.” I took the whole thing from him and tossed it in the trash. “I should set fire to more of my problems.”
The old house creaked around me, nervous
about me getting any ideas.
“I was joking about the fire.” I patted the nearest wall. “Sadly, if you go around setting fire to every person who annoys you, you get labeled a murderer for some reason. I’ve done my time. I’m not going back in the clink.”
Even if the mental picture of the Grande Dame running circles while swatting at her hair as it haloed her in a plume of flame did amuse me.
And then there was what I would do to Boaz…
“I don’t entirely trust that smile.” Linus reclaimed the matches and tucked them into his pocket. “What were you imagining just now?”
“I don’t want to lie to you.” It set a bad precedent. “I also don’t want to tell you the truth.”
Head angled to one side, he pursed his lips. “Did it involve my mother?”
Dang it. How did he always know? “When did you say Bishop would get back with us?”
Willing to let it go, he pretended I hadn’t invited his mother to a mental BBQ. “The comparison shouldn’t take more than a few hours.”
Nodding to myself, I murmured, “So anytime now.”
That was great and all, but confirmation might still come too late. We had to act, and soon, if we wanted to prevent the media from discovering the truth, that an unnatural disaster had hit Savannah.
As much as it pained me to accept defeat, it had to be asked, “When do we start talking next steps?”
“I’ll speak with Commander Roark and request a meeting. We can coordinate with the sentinels, combine our efforts.”
“That works.” The bustling lawn scene drew my eye. “We can’t keep going like this. We’re already pushing the limits. If the Society didn’t have the mayor and the governor in its pockets…” I rubbed my arms, but I couldn’t banish the chill. “We have to drive Lacroix out of the Lyceum, even if that means we smoke him out.”
“Corbin’s intel makes it impossible to guess how many of Lacroix’s followers are loyal by choice and how many are acting under compulsion. We need to minimize casualties for the sake of the innocents, but you’re right. We have to take action before our situation draws national attention. We have to end this, and we can’t afford to wait any longer.”
How to Wake an Undead City Page 11