by Cat Adams
would be secure enough to consider themselves her equal, and I wasn’t sure she’d accept it if they did.
But saying that wouldn’t be polite, so I settled for something a little more neutral but no less sincere:
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She gave a rueful grimace. “I came here intending to raise hel —accuse you of seducing my
daughter to get her money and not even giving enough of a damn about her to arrange for a decent
cremation.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“Because”—she looked around her—“because of this office. Because looking at you right now, I find
that I can’t.” She sounded exasperated, frustrated. “My husband told me you weren’t using Vicki, that
you never had. He said that you were the one who saved her from the fire, that you visited her several
times a week at the hospital, that you cared. ”
Unexpected sorrow lanced through me. “Yeah. I do … did.”
A single glittering tear tracked down her perfect cheek. She sat up straighter in the chair and
uncrossed her legs. “I’m told that Vicki told you her wishes with regard to her funeral arrangements?”
I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. Yes, she’d told me—and Alex and Dawna, after we’d finished our second
pitcher of margaritas at the little Mexican restaurant not a block from here. Fortunately, I stil had the
cocktail napkin I’d made Vicki write it al down on. Just a little square of paper covered in tiny, smudged
handwriting. I’d filed it in the same folder with the receipt for my pre-paid arrangements because Vicki
had made me promise not to lose it.
“What’s funny?”
“Just remembering.” It had been a good night, one of the best, with good friends, good food, and bad
karaoke. I scooted the chair back from my desk and got up. It was the work of a moment to find the file.
I pul ed out the cocktail napkin.
Cassandra laughed, then gave a startled, guilty look as if it was too soon. She was grieving, and
nothing should be funny.
“I’l go downstairs and make you a copy.”
“You’re going to keep the original.” She stated it as a fact.
I nodded. She was right. It was sil y and sentimental, but I’d do it. Because every time I ran across
that little piece of paper it would remind me of that night and the fun we’d had. I wanted to be reminded.
Because in the press of day-to-day life it was too easy to get caught up in the bad things, let the smal
joys slip away.
“You’re sentimental. I wouldn’t have expected that.”
I shrugged, my hand on the doorknob. “You don’t know me.”
Her eyes seemed to dim, the last of the humor draining away, leaving sorrow in its wake. “No. I don’t.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. She could’ve gotten to know me at any time over the past several
years—if she’d cared enough to bother. She hadn’t. Any more than she’d bothered visiting her
daughter at Birchwoods. Saying that, however, would be cruel. I try not to be cruel—unless I’m real y,
seriously provoked. “You’l need to talk to her attorney about the funeral arrangements. He already has
a copy of this and is probably getting started. I think she made him the executor.” That was so
obviously a slap at both of her parents that al Cassandra could do was open her mouth in shock. I
used the excuse of someone coming in the front door to duck out the door before she could say
anything unfortunate.
I ran into Dawna in the hal . She was back from her errands. Her face was flushed with anger, her
eyes flashing. She had several shopping bags hooked over her wrist. “If I throttle that bastard, wil you
help me to hide the body?”
“Dawna!” Ron bel owed. I watched her eyes narrow, saw her take a deep breath as if to answer.
I took the packages from her hands. “I’l deal with him,” I interrupted before she could say something
she’d regret. Ron was being a jerk, but she needed the job. And if he pushed, he could probably get the
others to agree to fire her even if I fought it. “Can you make me a couple of copies of this?”
She took the cocktail napkin curiously, opening it ful y to make sure there was writing only on the one
side. “No problema.” She went down a few steps and stopped. Turning to look over her shoulder, she
grinned at me. “But if you kick his ass, I get to watch.”
I laughed and fol owed slowly behind her down as far as the second floor. My knee was stil twinging.
She peeled off toward the copy room. I continued down to the landing. Ron was taking a deep breath to
shout again when I came down those last few steps. I stopped one step up from him. It was close
enough to invade his personal space and high enough to put me at exactly eye level. I smiled and
started speaking to him, keeping my voice, soft, gentle, and al the more scary for it.
“Ronald, what time is it?”
He didn’t bother to look at me. That’s not unusual for him. I sometimes think he doesn’t actual y see
anybody else. Ron’s world revolves around Ron. He stepped back, intending to walk around me. I
stepped forward, taking back the space he’d just given himself. “I asked, ‘What time is it?’”
He puffed himself up, taking in as much air as his chest would al ow, trying to loom over me. He
expected me to back down. Nearly everyone does. He’s not a smal man, and he’s loud and obnoxious.
Most people don’t want to antagonize him. They seem to sense that he lives to dominate others. But
I’m not most people. I’d had a really rough couple of days. And I was wel and truly tired of Ron’s
bul shit.
“Eight fifteen. Why?” He spit the words at me like a curse, and started to lean around me, drawing in
another huge lungful of air, preparatory to screaming.
I stepped directly in front of him. “Dawna’s hours are nine to five. It’s not nine. She’s not on duty.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but I silenced him with a look and a gesture upward, reminding him
that we had important clients on site. “Bel owing like that does not make you look important, Ron. It
makes you look like an ass. Hogging the facilities and the secretary’s time does not make you more
important than the rest of the tenants, who pay just as much for the privilege as you do. It makes you a
selfish, obnoxious prick.” I hadn’t raised my voice once. In fact, my tone was gentle enough to be
conversational. But that didn’t fool him. Because I wasn’t backing down. My body language was
aggressive. And my skin had, yet again, started to glow. He flinched, taking a half step back. This time I
let him keep it.
“I have had two attempts made on my life in as many days. I am tired and out of patience. As a
personal favor to me, Dawna went on her own time to the store so that I would not have to meet with
potential clients looking like this. Unfortunately, the clients arrived early. But you wil not berate her for
not being here at your beck and cal . You wil not, in fact, berate her for anything.”
“Is that a threat?” he blustered, but I could smel the fear on him. Fortunately, I’d already eaten. My
stomach didn’t even rumble.
“Ronald.” I smiled, making sure to flash plenty of fang. “If I decide to threaten you, you’l know it. In the
meantime let’s just cal this a friendly sssuggestion. ” The lisp was back, but oddly, I didn’t mind. Not
even a little.
And that was when he f
inal y took a good look at me. He backed away, his eyes huge at the sight of
the fangs. But despite his obvious fear, he continued to bluster. “How dare you!”
I was saved a response. The front door opened and Bubba stepped in with my mother at his heels.
Right behind them were Kevin Landingham and Bruno DeLuca.
For a ful ten seconds the world stopped. I swear. Right on its axis. I stood there, staring at Bruno, the
man I’d thought was the love of my life back in col ege.
My mouth went dry, my heart racing. For just a minute the rest of the world disappeared and it was
just me and him.
Bruno had changed. He was stil five feet, eleven inches, of pure Italian studliness. But there were
touches of gray at his temples, and worry lines had appeared between his brows and at the corners of
his mouth. A smile was twitching at his lips and there was laughter sparking in his dark brown eyes.
Then again, there nearly always was, when he saw me.
It was my mother who broke the spel , drawing me back to the present with more speed than grace.
“Celie?” My mother’s voice rose nearly an octave between the first and second syl ables of my name.
“Oh my God, honey, what’s happened to you? You look like hell. ”
Everyone turned to stare—including Ron. He seemed to see past his anger, fear, and the fangs for
the first time, looking me over from head to toe.
“She’s right, Graves. You look … terrible. Are those your pajamas?”
Oh, hell. I decided to take charge of the situation before things got any worse. It didn’t seem likely
and the mere thought was horrifying, but you never could tel . “Yes, Ron. I came here in my pj’s
because the gas company wouldn’t let me back in the house.” I turned to my mother. “Hi, Mom. It’s
been a rough couple of days. Come by the office when you’re done with Bubba and I’l drive you home.
Kevin, Bruno, why don’t you go join everybody else up in my office? It’s a regular party in there.” Okay,
the sarcasm was a little overdone, but I couldn’t help myself.
I stepped aside so they could trudge past. Bruno gave my shoulder a quick squeeze on the way. It
was a smal gesture, but it real y did make me feel better. When they were past the landing, I turned
back to Ron. He was stil staring, his eyes too wide. “Are you tel ing me the truth? Did somebody real y
try to kil you?”
“Yessss.” I pointed at my mouth “Notice the teeth? I didn’t have them last week.”
“Twice?”
“Yup.”
“Why?” He seemed truly puzzled. Apparently, he didn’t not like me enough to even consider
elimination. That was sort of flattering.
I shrugged. “Damned if I know. But I intend to find out.”
15
I had Dawna deliver the photocopy of the cocktail napkin to Cassandra and make my excuses to
everyone. I needed a shower, and I wanted to put on some clothes fit for wearing in front of people.
Selfish, probably. Chicken, definitely. But screw it. The fact that I’d gone downstairs for a confrontation
with Ron showed me more clearly than any words that I was reaching the end of my rope.
So I locked the bathroom door, stripped, and turned the water on as hot as I could stand. I scrubbed
until I was as clean as I was going to get, checking my injuries as I went. The knee was the worst. Joint
injuries suck. Even with the boost to my healing, it was swol en and hurting. I’d been an idiot to go
downstairs, and now I was paying for it.
If I’d had any sense I’d have put an Ace bandage on the list I’d given Dawna. But I hadn’t thought
about it, which meant that I was probably going to be taking another trip to PharMart. I’d read enough of
the research before I fel asleep to get a fair guess of how fast I could heal—roughly a day’s worth of
healing each hour. At that rate, my knee would be a problem for a few more days— if I took proper care
of it.
I climbed out of the shower and toweled myself off. I used a second towel to rub most of the moisture
from my hair before combing it out. It’d have to air-dry. I hadn’t thought to bring a blow-dryer to the
office. But that was al right. It was clean. I was clean. I opened the bag and found myself grinning.
Leave it to Dawna. She’d bought me underclothes al right. Lingerie- type underclothes. Lacy and pretty,
in silk. And the top wasn’t just an ordinary tee. Nope, she’d supplied me with a matching tank and
overblouse in black, probably the only color that would actual y look good with my new complexion. The
jeans were black, too, and my favorite brand. She’d even sprung for jewelry—smal hoop earrings and
a delicate pendant. White gold, not silver. I hadn’t given her enough money to pay for half of this. But I
was real y, real y glad she’d done it. Because Bruno was here and Kevin and … wel , strangely, Creede.
And in this outfit I wouldn’t have to feel completely outclassed by Cassandra.
The socks were just as pretty but were nylon rather than cotton. I detest nylon ones because they
make me sweat, so I pul ed the tennis shoes on over my bare feet. I left the denim jacket in the bag. It
was too warm to wear it inside. It was probably too warm to wear it outside, too. But I had to cover as
much skin as I could.
I reflected sourly that while covering up would keep me from burning, dying of heatstroke was a
distinct possibility. But wearing the jacket would enable me to carry my weapons.
The whole process probably didn’t take more than fifteen to twenty minutes. When I was as ready as
I was going to get, I took a deep breath, grabbed the door handle, and stepped out into the hal ,
expecting to hear voices and see a crowd in my office. Instead, I was met with blessed silence except
for the gentle clicking of the keys on a laptop computer.
“Where’d everybody go?” I muttered.
Bruno DeLuca’s disembodied voice answered me, coming from my office. “Mrs. Cooper and her
entourage left with her copy of the funeral information. Fair warning, she doesn’t like the ‘no cremation’
thing.”
“Terrific. Just ducky.” I walked back down the hal to my office. I felt an odd tingle as I stepped over the
threshold. Sort of a pins-and-needles sensation that prickled against my whole body. It was unnerving. I
would’ve said something, but Bruno was already talking.
“Kevin is taking your mother home. After the scene with the attorney downstairs, I think he was afraid
what you might do to her if the two of you left here alone.”
I blushed. I probably shouldn’t have threatened Ron. Yes, he was being an ass, but it’s not like he can
help it. It’s his nature. You might as wel blame a dog for barking. And they were right about my mother,
too. Because while Ron is annoying, my mother takes me to a completely irrational level as easily as
breathing.
“Relax.” Bruno looked up at me and smiled, and it warmed me to my toes. We were both older. Maybe
we were even wiser. But looking at that smile, I felt the familiar tug on the old heartstrings and had to
remind myself why we hadn’t worked as a couple.
“You didn’t hurt him, and from what I heard, he deserved an ass chewing.” Bruno looked me over,
from head to toe. “Like the outfit. It almost makes the coloring look normal.”
“Thanks.” I draped myself sideways in one of the visitor’s chairs and ignored the sudden twinge in my
leg. “And y
eah, Ron deserved that and more. But I don’t like the fact that I keep almost losing control.”
Bruno turned away from the laptop he’d been working on to give me a long, level look.
“You’re going to need to be careful about that, Celia. I’ve been reading up, and while the effects of
becoming an abomination are very individualized, uncontrol ed rage seems to be pretty universal. It
also seems to kick in any latent magical abilities that hadn’t manifested in human form.”
“I don’t have any magical abilities. Thank God for smal favors.” In fact, I’d failed the standard tests I’d
taken in grade school so completely I’d have gotten a negative score if it were possible. But the anger
control thing was going to be a problem.
“It’s not al bad news.” He turned the laptop so I could see the screen. He’d been researching on an
internal website for the company he worked with. I could tel because the company logo was
prominently displayed at the top of every page.
“You get improved healing, strength, and speed. Depending on how far the process went, you might
be able to eat some solid food eventual y. You might start with soft foods and see if you can work your
way up.”
I found myself grinning until my face hurt. I love food. Really love food. Especial y the ethnic stuff like
real Mexican, Thai, and good-old-fashioned Italian, heavy on the garlic. Oh, crap— garlic. Was it going
to be a problem? I hoped not. But even if it was, I could cope. I mean, garlic or no, I might be able to eat
real food. Solid stuff. Like a normal person. I could start with scrambled eggs. And maybe a nibble of
bacon. Yum.
Bruno was shaking his head in amused disbelief.
“What? I’m not supposed to worry about eating?”
That earned me a look. “Solid food should be the last thing you’re thinking about. You need to
concentrate on finding your sire, before he—”
I waved that away. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But honestly, I’m more worried about the guys who set up the
ambush than about the specific bat that bit me. And I don’t think that Kevin bugged out with Mom just to
keep the peace.”
“You think he’s hiding something?” Bruno sounded tired enough that I took a closer look at him
—without the glow of nostalgia and sexual attraction.