by P. R. Frost
“Well, I want to thank you both for bringing my baby back safe and sound.” Dad reached across the table and shook first Gollum’s hand, then Donovan’s.
We sat and made polite chitchat, wondering if the weather would break in time for an upcoming tennis tournament. Then Dad stood up and planted a kiss on top of my head. “Have a good dinner and try to stay out of trouble.”
“Oh, uh, Dad, some family matters have cropped up that require your attention,” I mumbled.
“You mean about your mother remarrying?”
“Cecilia called you,” I replied flatly.
“Yes. She wanted to upset me. I refused to play her game. If your mother can find happiness with another man, more power to her. I certainly did.” He turned a fond gaze upon Bill, a wiry Asian man who kept fit as the tennis pro at the country club. His boundless energy pushed Dad to stay on his toes and active, even after sixteen years together. “Maybe the wedding will give Steph a chance to come home.”
“Maybe,” I hedged. My brother had split to Illinois the day after he graduated from college and only came home once a year if he had to. I talked to him on the phone every week and I saw him every time I was in the area. He talked to Mom and Dad less often. A lot less often.
“If Genevieve remarries, I don’t have to fork out alimony every month,” Dad half laughed. “Might think about retiring.”
From what I understood of their relationship, Dad didn’t mind supporting Mom. He did love Mom and us. He just couldn’t live the straight life with the narrow world view dictated by Mom’s church.
We exchanged a few more pleasantries before he rejoined Bill at a table on the opposite side of the dim restaurant.
“One major hurdle behind us.” I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Might be easier to postpone the wedding if he did object,” Donovan growled.
“Why do we have to stop the marriage?” Allie asked. “If Genevieve is happy . . .”
“Darren is half Damiri demon,” I hissed at her.
Her eyes widened in wonder. Then she turned a frightened gaze upon Donovan. “What does that mean?”
“It means that he sleeps hanging by his feet with his wings wrapped around him,” Donovan replied. “He drinks pig and cow blood instead of milk.”
I sensed the anger rising in him before his face flushed and his fists clenched.
“And I’m not one of them,” he insisted.
But you are something. Something strange and wonderful and ever so scary, I thought.
“Darren Estevez gave me his name and an education after he manipulated . . . made a patsy of me. But that is all he gave me.”
“Is he like a vampire bat?” Allie persisted in her questioning.
“Bats aren’t truly vampires,” I said, as much to convince myself as her.
“The Damiri were among the first of the demon tribes to infiltrate humanity,” Gollum jumped in. He put on his professor face.
I prepared to sit back and let him ramble on.
“Besides their need for blood for sustenance—they prefer human but will resort to animals if they can’t get it—they are extremely long lived. I remember reading that they can adapt to daylight, but they are normally nocturnal.”
“Could these Damiri demons be the origins of the vampire legends?” Allie asked, clearly fascinated by the topic. Or by Gollum.
A primal response deep inside me wanted to growl at her.
I took a sip of wine instead. “Allie has read every vampire book printed,” I said quietly.
“Pity there is no such thing as vampires,” Gollum took off his glasses and polished them on his napkin. “No one comes back from the dead.”
Tell that to Dill, I thought.
“One thing the legends are consistent on is the vampire’s ability to mesmerize its prey. And there is frequently a sexual aspect to the exchange of blood.” Allie settled back to discuss her favorite topic in depth. She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t write about vampires.
I found nothing sexy about bleeding or giving over total control of my mind and body to another. Like I almost had with Dill.
Did I really love him? More and more I resented him. Resented his haunting me, resented him dying. Resented . . . too much.
Still the gaping hole of loneliness in my gut that he’d created by dying gnawed at me. I couldn’t move on while he haunted me. Maybe that’s why I held Donovan at arm’s length.
I still didn’t trust him.
“Damiri have that hypnotic ability,” Donovan said quietly. “It would explain the love-at-first-sight aspect of Genevieve and Darren’s romance.”
“Is Genevieve in danger from your . . . er . . . foster father? ” Gollum asked.
“I don’t know.
“Of course she’s in danger!” I insisted. “The question is: how is he going to use her before he disposes of her?” I borrowed the phrase from Scrap.
“I don’t even know why he’s here.” Donovan shrugged his shoulders.
“He’s after me.” I began to shake. “He’s the latest in a pack of demons that are hunting me. I’m a rogue, outside the protection of my Sisterhood or a Citadel. I’m vulnerable. But, I’m also outside the hidebound rules of the Citadel, and therefore unpredictable, a serious danger to them all.”
“And you are a danger to the demons who are living among us. A lot of them are just trying to get by, settle in to a human lifestyle.”
“Until their craving for blood overcomes their human gloss and they kill,” I reminded him.
“You’re the only one around who can defeat them in open battle.” Donovan moved closer, as if to put his arm around me.
I told them about the Windago.
Gollum whistled through his teeth.
Donovan sat up straighter, worry creasing his brow and around his eyes.
I held myself stiff and aloof, distracted by a flurry of activity near the entrance. Flashes of vivid red and bright green darted around people’s ankles.
Chapter 15
The Masons who laid the cornerstone of the Washington Monument in Washington, D.C., chose the date July 4, 1848 because the moon went into Virgo at noon of that day.
"DONOVAN, I WANT you to finish your dinner and then take Allie home in a taxi. Quickly.”
By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes. Actually it was a tingle at the base of my spine.
“Tess . . .” Allie and Donovan protested at the same time.
“I’ll take her home,” Gollum said.
“Don’t argue with me. I know what’s best.” I fixed them all with a glare that had been known to quell a classroom full of rowdy seventh graders.
“Scrap can’t come near me with Donovan around. I’m going to need Scrap very soon.”
“What?” Gollum asked. He stretched casually, using the gesture to look around the crowded restaurant. Tall plants and a scattered seating arrangement gave the illusion of privacy. It also blocked a clear view of the enemy.
From my place in the corner, with my back to the wall, I had a better line of sight to the hostess podium at the entrance.
“From ghosties and ghoulies and long legged beasties, and things that go bump in the night, good Lord deliver us,” I quoted an old Scottish prayer attributed to Robert Burns but really much, much older. I must be nervous if I started spouting literary citations. “Ankle biters hiding in the shrubbery at your seven o’clock.”
“Those are just statues,” Allie protested. But there was a note of question in her voice.
“Not statues. Just very good at holding still as stone when someone is looking. Now get out of here.”
“You’ll need help.” Allie set her shoulders stubbornly. She reached for her capacious purse. Allison Engstrom always carried a weapon, on and off duty.
“Allie, I need to know that my best friend is safe.” I grabbed her hand and pleaded with her through my eyes. “Please let Donovan take you out of danger. Conventional weapons and tactics won’t faze these
guys. Leave them to me. Please. I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m armed.” She patted her purse. No room for a shoulder holster beneath her good tweed blazer.
“Won’t do any good. You know that bullets bounce off them. You tried that already.”
“Are the bullets silver?” Gollum asked. His raised eyebrows almost hiked his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose.
“Plain old lead.”
“Won’t do any good,” I repeated. “I’ve seen a man shoot a dozen demons with a military automatic weapon.” That man was Donovan, and he might have been aiming over their heads to make them take dives. Then, again, maybe he had been aiming for their hearts knowing the bullets wouldn’t penetrate demon skin, even in human form.
Donovan had the grace to blanch.
“The bullets just bounced off demon hides,” I continued. “I tried slicing these garden gnomes with the Celestial Blade, which is sharper than any mortal-made razor. They used the curved blades as a swing. I had to pierce them with the tines.”
Gollum whipped out his PDA and started taking notes.
“Donovan, take Allie home and keep her safe. I’ll call if we need reinforcements back home.”
Donovan reached for his wallet. I stayed his hand. “I’ll take care of it. Just get Allie out of here and keep her safe. I trust you to do that.” I fixed him with a look that brooked no defiance.
“You can trust me, Tess.”
I kept my mouth shut.
“At least let me leave the tip.” He tucked a ten under his water glass, flowed to his feet, and held Allie’s chair for her.
While he was occupied helping my friend into her parka, I slipped a twenty into his pocket for the taxi. I didn’t know just how strained his finances were and I could afford to help a little.
He reached into his pocket and took out the bill. Without really looking at it, he pressed it back into my hand. “I may not be wealthy anymore, but I’m not broke.” He bristled with affronted pride.
They left without looking back.
I didn’t take the time to breathe a sigh of relief.
“Scrap, you around?” I whispered into the air.
I am now, babe. Now that you’ve ditched El Stinko lover boy. My imp settled onto my shoulder. His skin took on a pink cast as he surveyed the remains of our dinners. You could have left me something, he wailed. I’m wasting away to nothing and you didn’t even order me a beer.
“Can the crap, Scrap. Keep an eye on the Orculli hiding in the shrubs.”
“So what’s the plan?” Gollum asked, all business. He hadn’t even looked twice at Allie when she left with another man.
Part of me sighed in relief.
“Plan? You don’t have a plan?”
“I’m just the archivist. I research. You fight. That’s the plan.”
I snorted something disgusting and waved the waiter over for the check. Gollum paid out of a thick wad of bills he always seemed to have hidden somewhere on his person without obvious sign of a bulge.
“More of the archivist’s trust fund?” I asked. Gollum’s family had a history of working with rogue Warriors of the Celestial Blade, male and female. When they were on duty, they had access to a seemingly limitless bank account.
“Moving money and apartment deposit that I won’t need now. I’ll reopen the trust tomorrow after I check in at the college.”
“Provided we survive the trip across the parking lot.” As we moved toward the exit, with studied good-byes to Dad and Bill and a few patrons and staff, I caught flashes of bright colors around the edges of my vision.
“I really don’t want to fight these guys on ice with an arctic wind blowing.”
You don’t? I’m the one with a bare tushie hanging out. I could lose a wart to frostbite.
“Nice to have you back, Scrap.” I suddenly felt more complete, more confident, ready to tackle this world and several others. “Stay behind me, Gollum.”
We made our way across the parking lot with an escort that kept a six-foot circle around us. One cute little guy in blue and yellow—almost surreal colors in their brightness—strayed inside that perimeter. Scrap growled and bared his teeth. He had almost as many as the bad guys. The gnome jumped back to his place, eyes wide and frightened.
Okay, so they respected the Celestial Blade. What else could I fight them with? Flattening them with a frying pan barely set them back. But if I spilled their blood and didn’t burn the bodies, they’d reanimate. What would work?
Fire.
“Scrap, can you light a little fire?”
Sure, babe. What’s up? A tiny flamelette appeared at the end of his finger.
“Point it at the bad guys.”
The gnomes scuttled backward, giving me a wider circle to work in.
Mom’s car sat beneath a light—no shadows for the Windago to hide in.
The little king of the Orculli trolls perched on the hood of the vehicle, the gilded braid perfectly straight on his sagging pointed cap. Bright gold buttons also gleamed on his red-and-green tunic. He held a miniature white flag on a chopstick.
An honor guard of three in green stood behind him, arms crossed and elongated chins jutting aggressively.
I stopped at the rear door, finger poised on the unlock button on the key chain. “You mind getting off my car?” I glared at the pushy troll.
“I request parley,” he said, as arrogant as ever.
“Talk to him,” Gollum whispered in my ear. I hadn’t realized how close he had come to me. The warmth of his long body against my back reassured me.
“What do you want?” I extended my left hand, palm up. Scrap jumped onto it, skin turning redder than the fire that bounced from pudgy fingertip to palm and back again. He stretched and thinned, halfway into a transformation.
The king jumped to his feet and scrambled to the center of the car hood.
“Call off your imp,” he demanded.
“Answer my question first.”
“The girl. The one you call WindScribe.” The king’s voice sounded a little squeaky to my ears, without the resonant tones of the otherworlds.
“Not an option. She’s under my protection.”
“Then we are at war.”
“Sorry, I’ve already got a war with a Windago Widow.” There was that title again that demanded attention. A scrap of an idea whistled around my brain louder than a Windago generated wind.
“My mission takes priority over Windago revenge. You will deal with me first and if you survive, then you are at the mercy of Lilia David. Choose the time and place for our battle.”
I raised an eyebrow at that.
“Noon, three days hence,” Gollum hissed.
“Why?”
“Just do it. I’ll explain later.”