by Cat Adams
watched the flesh knit itself together. It was eerie and deeply disturbing.
“What are you thinking?”
I jumped and whirled, silver knife drawn, to face the source. My skin began glowing with power. “Crap!
Kevin, you scared me! Couldn’t you make some noise or something?”
He waded out of the ocean, naked, water pouring along the long muscled lines of his body in a way
that drew the eye. My irritation evaporated as I watched him glide forward with inhuman grace.
Normal y he works to make himself seem human. Tonight, under the light of the ful moon, he didn’t
bother. Under normal circumstances I’d have felt a wave of lust. But these weren’t normal
circumstances. Either stress or sorrow was keeping my libido in check. Pity.
He sensed my lack of interest, but it didn’t bother him. Nor did the drawn knife. He came up to the
foot of the rock and lowered himself onto the sand, sitting comfortably, facing me.
“It isn’t safe for you here. You should be in sanctuary.”
“The sun had gone down by the time I was done at the hospital,” I explained. “And this place is warded
nine ways to Sunday. I’m surprised you were able to get in.”
“Moving water doesn’t bother a werewolf the way it does a vampire, and even permanent wards
aren’t as powerful underwater. I swam. I got burned a little by the wards, but I’ve already healed. And if I
can get in, you can bet Edgar could find a way.”
I looked out over the ocean at the rising and fal ing surf. Would it burn to swim? I was born a water
baby, a Pisces. I’ve never lived away from the ocean. If I couldn’t swim … shit.
But there was no use talking about that. “I’m not worried about Edgar tonight.” I slid the knife back into
its sheath and settled into a comfortable sitting position.
“You should be. Celia—” Kevin’s voice dropped almost a ful octave and took on a rumbling edge that
wasn’t quite a growl. “You don’t know him like I do. Believe me—”
I interrupted him before he could get more upset. “Oh, he’s a major badass al right. Scares the crap
out of me, if you want to know the truth.” I shuddered a little, thinking about the threesome I’d spoken
with earlier. “But he wasn’t my sire, and he wanted to make sure I let you know. In fact …” I paused for
effect. “He gave me a message for you.”
“What do you mean, he’s not your sire? You spoke with him? When? Where?” Kevin’s voice was
cold and his eyes had gone dark. I could see the muscles in his jaw clenching as he fought to control
his anger.
“He’s not. Trust me. Edgar showed up with two of his people when I was at the drugstore. They
couldn’t cross the protections.”
“Don’t be so sure. If Edgar’s your sire—”
“Hel o? You’re not listening. Edgar’s not my sire.” I ran my hand through hair damp with spray. “He
and his friends showed up after I’d been bit, before you and Amy came charging to the rescue. And
thank you again for that.”
Kevin met my eyes, his own gone wide. “You remember?”
I looked away, at the stars, the ocean, anything but those demanding eyes. “A detective who’s
investigating what happened took me to a clairvoyant. It triggered the memories.”
“Oh.” The word fel into the air between us like a rock thrown down a very deep wel . We sat in silence
for a while before I answered the question he hadn’t voiced but was waiting for me to answer.
“My sire was a thin guy who looked like a kid, with dark hair cut short. He died young enough not to be
able to grow a decent beard, just this straggly little soul patch. I remember my blood dripping off of it as
he started chanting the spel .”
I turned my head, to watch Kevin’s reaction. It was worth seeing. Normal y he has one hel of a poker
face. Not now. He sat on the sand, his entire body vibrating with contained rage, his eyes glowing with
the magic he held back by force of wil .
“I figured you knew him. Care to share a name, maybe a daytime resting place?” When Kevin didn’t
respond, I continued. “He and the others in the al ey were scared to death of Edgar and the vamps with
him.” I shook my head. “Can’t say as I blame them. Edgar wanted me alive to give you a message, but
the other guy would’ve kil ed me right there in the parking lot if he could’ve. And that woman was just …”
I struggled to find the right words to describe what I’d sensed about her. I couldn’t. “He couldn’t have
held them back. He might be their master, but he wouldn’t have been able to hold them. They wanted
me dead too badly.”
“Did they say why?” Kevin’s voice was bland. His expression wasn’t. Not only could I see the muscle
in his jaw jumping, but the hands gripping his knees had grown white-knuckled. If he hadn’t been healing
too fast, there’d be bruises forming under them.
“Something about my kil ing Luther.”
He blinked slowly. Twice.
“You kil ed … Luther ?” The lilt in his voice made it a question.
I shrugged, stil not sure what it meant. “I kil ed a couple of bats in the al ey. One with a gun, at least
one other with my knives. One of them might have been Luther. I wouldn’t know. It’s not like they
introduced themselves. Why is it important?”
Kevin gave a snort of combined aggravation and amusement, then shook his head and muttered
something under his breath that I didn’t quite catch. A day or so ago I might have been insulted by the
reaction. I mean, I am a professional. But that was before I met Edgar and company. If they were
impressed, wel — Now I not only wasn’t insulted, I was almost as surprised as Kevin. Of course I didn’t
say that. Instead, I tried to look aloof as I stared out at the incoming waves.
“Luther was very old and very smart. He was also ruthless as hel . I wouldn’t have wanted to hunt him
alone. I’m real y surprised you were able to take him down.” Kevin was staring at me as if he was real y
seeing me as a person for the first time instead of as one of his father’s students or his sister’s
sometime friend. It was a little unnerving.
“What was Edgar’s message?” Kevin asked.
I repeated what the vampire had told me, verbatim. Kevin sat as if frozen. He didn’t answer. Didn’t act
as if he’d even heard. But I knew he had.
It was a long time before I broke the silence. “Can I ask you a question?”
He gave a curt nod.
“Who are these people?”
He shook his head. “I can’t tel you. I wish I could, though, because you’re in so far over your head
that you may never see daylight again.”
“What should I do?”
He rose to his feet in a single fluid movement. “Eat, then get some rest. But don’t sleep too sound. I’m
going to check a few things out. Try to put the pin back in this grenade.”
“And if you can’t?”
“That would be very, very bad.”
I nodded glumly. I was afraid of that. He stood up and I stood with him. We stared at the ocean for a
long time before he said, “I’m sorry about Vicki, Celia.”
Without warning, he pul ed me into his arms and held me. Just held me. I pressed my cheek to his
warm skin and let out a ragged breath. I would not cry again. I wouldn’t. But it was tempting. He stroked
my hair and just let me breathe and get control of myself. It had been a
long time since I’d let a man just
hold me. Since Bruno, real y. There were a thousand things I’d always wanted to say to Kevin, and
you’d think this would be the perfect time. But it wasn’t. This was quiet time, the calm before the storm
that would undoubtedly come. And while I realized his body was starting to react, rather strongly, to my
presence, he didn’t let the tension build. There was comfort in the knowledge that we could touch, skin
on skin, without feeling the need to go further.
I was a little afraid of further with Kevin. Too, I wouldn’t want to ruin what he had with Amy. That
wouldn’t be fair to any of us. And then there was the question of whether he wanted me. Maybe,
sometimes. Maybe not. To him I might just be another “little sister” or forever a “good friend.”
But I wouldn’t worry about that tonight . For now I would take his comfort. There was little to be had
elsewhere.
13
I’d had a long cry and a hug from a friend. I’d taken my drive. I’d walked on the beach. Nothing had
helped get rid of the sorrow, the anger, and the sense of impending doom. That left a bath. Not just any
bath, either … a long, hot bubble bath. I mixed a tal , stiff margarita to sip while I soaked. It’s part of the
ritual, lying in the water, sipping that lime-flavored nectar of the gods, careful y licking every single grain
of kosher salt off the rim of my glass. I don’t climb out until either the bubbles are gone or the drink is. A
second drink gets me through a home pedicure and one of those mud pack facials everybody likes to
make fun of.
Tonight I put a gun on the toilet seat and skipped the facial. My skin looked human, but I wasn’t sure
how it would react to magical y imbued salt mud.
I stood in the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and trying real y, real y, hard not to think too much about
anything—which is harder than it sounds, particularly when I could watch the nicks from the razor heal
fast as a thought and see last night’s injuries fade in fast-forward.
After the third margarita I figured I was as relaxed as I was going to get. I slipped into the most comfy
“jammies” I own: a worn T-shirt I’d stolen from Bruno back in col ege and a pair of flannel boxers. I
tucked the gun into the drawer of my nightstand and went to bed. Almost as soon as my head hit the
pil ows, I was asleep.
It was a dream. I knew it. But I couldn’t make myself wake. I knew what was coming. It was always the
same. The dream ended the same way the day had ended in real life. I didn’t want to go there. I just
didn’t have a choice.
It was so clear, as if the sunshine from that long-ago morning were streaming through the
windows warming my skin right now.
We were in the old minivan. My parents were in front. Ivy and I were in the backseat. My
birthday presents were piled in the “way back,” as my father cal ed it. It was my eleventh
birthday. I felt like such a big girl. And I was real y excited because I was sure, almost positive,
that I’d gotten exactly what I wanted.
We were driving past Woodgrove Cemetery. Normal y we went the other way, but there was
construction and the roads were closed and we were running late. So we drove past
Woodgrove, for the first time since Ivy’s talent had started manifesting.
The memory rol ed inexorably forward, like a movie playing in my mind. I could hear my
parents talking about whether or not we could afford for me to continue taking bal et. The
teacher said I had real talent—like I could make a career out of it—so they real y wanted me to
keep going. But it was expensive, and Dad’s company might be having layoffs soon.
Our happy little family drove past the cemetery, with its neatly manicured lawn, pretty brick and
wrought-iron fencing, and row upon row of tombstones.
And the ground shuddered, rol ing visibly beside us so that the pavement cracked. A
maintenance truck rocked on its wheels on the gravel road behind the fence, and I saw the
groundskeeper throw down his tools and sprint for the vehicle at a dead run as tombstones
tipped over and skeletal hands began clawing their way free of the ground, decaying bodies
fol owing suit.
My mother started shrieking at the top of her lungs; my father swore and pressed the gas
pedal to the floor, swerving between slower vehicles as if it were a Formula One race and we
were headed for the checkered flag. Ghosts started whipping through the car and Ivy clapped
her hands and squealed with delight.
But al of that was just so much background noise. Because I couldn’t take my eyes off of the
filthy, decomposing bodies that were shambling to the wal s, climbing the fence, and flinging
themselves at an invisible barrier over and over and over … trying to get at us.
We made it to Gran’s without wrecking the car. Things got better the farther we got from the
cemetery. By the time we stopped the car, even most of the ghosts were gone, with my baby
sister waving bye-bye to them through the back window.
I got out first. Then Ivy. It was a long time before Mom climbed out, and I could see a huge wet
spot on the back of her dress where she’d been sitting. She moved like she was a hundred
years old, climbing out of that car. She closed the door gently, and stepped back with a sad
expression.
My father drove away with a squeal of tires that left black marks on the concrete driveway. I
watched him go, waving from the front step as though he were just going to park the car. But he
never looked back. He kept driving down the road. And final y, my mother burst into tears.
I sat bolt upright in bed, shivering from a cold that had nothing to do with the temperature. My skin was
covered in gooseflesh and felt as though it would crawl off of my body. My heart was pounding in my
chest; my breath came in rapid gasps.
It was just a dream. Just a memory. It can’t hurt you. Of course that was a lie. It had hurt me—hel , it
stil hurts me every time I let myself think about it, which is every time I have the dream.
I glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 3:15. I’d slept through the alarm and was overdue for a
feeding. Never mind that I wasn’t hungry—in fact, I was again a little bit nauseous. I wondered if maybe
that was a warning sign. I didn’t want a repeat of the incident with Dr. Scott, so I’d eat … or rather
drink… . Oh, shit. I’d left the pho cooking. I’d gotten distracted, talking to Kevin, and forgot about it
completely—despite the fact that the smel of it was fil ing the house. Wel , it was certainly hot enough
to eat now. Besides, I wasn’t going back to sleep.
When I’m stressed I have nightmares. Three particular nightmares. They’re based on memories, and
no matter what I do, I can’t seem to keep them from playing out completely. The adult me is a helpless
observer to the worst things that happened to me as a child.
It sucks.
If I went back to sleep now I’d drop right back in where I left off. So no. Throwing back the covers, I
sat up on the edge of the bed. By the light of the moon I padded into the kitchen. I was reaching for the
light switch when I saw a shadow moving outside. I froze. Listening hard, I could hear the rustle of
leaves and what might have been a careful footfal on the wooden steps of the back deck.
Stealthily as I could manage, I slid over to where my b
ag was stil sitting on the breakfast bar.
Reaching in, I drew Bob’s gun and checked it. Loaded. Good. Clicking off the safety, I rose and edged
gently across the carpeted floor to the edge of the French doors leading out onto the back deck. By the
silvered light of the nearly ful moon, I could see a shadow squatted down near the base of the house,
near the kitchen door.
My vision shifted as it had that morning, into a sort of hyperfocus. I could see every stitch in the black
knitted ski mask the prowler wore, every mark in the gray and black camouflage pattern of his clothing.
Quietly as I could, I turned the key in the lock of the door in front of me and reached down to lift the
brace bar that served as a second lock, blocking the door’s movement. I cringed at the soft metal ic
noises I couldn’t help making. With the bar out of the way, I hit the latch and slid the glass door gently
aside, never taking my eyes off the man, who had set a handgun onto the floor of the deck beside him
and drawn a wrench from inside a black backpack. An unmistakable smel fil ed the air.
Oh, shit. He’s messing with the gas line.
I needed out of here. Now.
I clicked the safety back on, thrusting the gun into the waistband of my boxers. A gun would be worse
than useless right now. I could hear the hiss of gas escaping. I burst through the door and ran forward,
kicking his gun off of the deck and out of reach before slamming into him, sending both of us tumbling
down the wooden stairs to the hard concrete sidewalk below.
He started to swear, and we rol ed together, struggling for supremacy. I was strong for a human, even
before the bat got to me. Now I was stronger. But he was a match for me, not just in power but also in
skil and pure, unrelieved viciousness. He went for my eyes, forcing me to rear back. I hissed, flashing
fangs, and my power started to rise, making my skin glow a pale greenish white and cast an eerie light
over the shadowed corner we’d rol ed into. That made him pause for an instant. Less than a second,
but it was enough. I put everything I had into a punch to his jaw, just as spotlights came on al over the
grounds and David shouted from the main house that he’d cal ed the police.
The man lay limply beneath me, his jaw at an angle that practical y screamed “broken.” His pulse,