Bram’s gaze snapped on Marcy, who was leafing through one of the many birth and death logs kept in the vault. She hadn’t seemed to notice that her tiny furry friend had been located and delivered by way of a shoebox.
Had the box not moved on its own, Bram would have worried the rodent met with an ill fate—not because he was fond of squirrels or anything of the like, but because Marcy was.
Austin started to walk in the direction of Marcy, but Bram interceded, taking the still-thumping box from him.
The young slayer shook his head. “I don’t know how the thing does it, but it’s fast and can scale you in less than a second. I should know. It pulled a Mission Impossible move on me, leaping on me from the top shelf of your closet and then got down my shirt before nearly managing to get down my pants. Have you seen the size of it? It’s huge.”
“It’s not as big as most Southern fox squirrels,” countered Elis. “In fact, it’s on the small side for squirrels in general.”
Austin shot him a hard look. “What are you? The Jane Goodall of squirrels?”
Surprise lit up Elis’s face. “Anyone else shocked he even knows who Jane Goodall is?”
Bram sighed, feeling a great deal like he was herding cats rather than heading an elite team of slayers. “He often sleeps with the animal channel still playing on the television in his room.”
Austin cocked his head to the side. “And how is it you know that?”
“I can hear it from the other side of the mansion,” Bram stated evenly, still holding the thumping box. It was evident the small rodent was agitated. “You say he was in my closet?”
Nodding, Austin pointed to the box. “He went right for your Italian loafers. Tried curling up in one—side note, he’s not huge for a squirrel but your shoes managed to make him look even smaller than he is. How big are your feet?”
Elis stepped closer and bent, examining the side of the shoebox. “Evidently, he’s a fifty by European measurements, which is around a size fifteen here, if I did the math right.”
Austin’s eyes widened. “I’m a size eleven.”
“Aww, just slightly above average,” mocked Elis. “Is everything about you that way? Nearly inadequate?”
“You’re kind of an asshole,” Austin snapped.
Bram continued to hold the box and finally the small animal stopped fidgeting.
Is it dead? asked the demon, a small hint of worry noticeable. The blonde will be most displeased if it is.
The demon was right. Marcy would be upset if something happened to the tiny creature.
Bram gave the box a minute jiggle and the squirrel tapped on the box, almost as if it was doing a version of call and answer.
Austin eyed the thing as if the animal might break free and attack.
This only made Elis laugh more. “You face down demons on a regular basis and you’re freaked out by a squirrel, Austin.”
With a hard glare over at Elis, Austin grunted. “Well, none of them are that fast, furry, and almost able to get down my pants.”
“There are so many jokes to be had with that information,” said Dana, strolling over toward them all. She didn’t seem the least bit fazed to see Bram holding a moving shoebox.
“Um, I can explain,” said Bram.
Dana shrugged. “Don’t bother. I know the tree-rat has a soft spot for Italian leather. I’m just happy to see it’s not limited to my shoes. Be forewarned, he can and will show up at random with or without Marcy in tow.”
Bram stood a bit straighter. “Really?”
Elis failed to hide his laughter. “Why am I thinking he’s less excited by the tree-rat showing up unannounced than he is the idea Marcy might.”
Holding his breath, Bram waited, wondering what Dana might say to that. Out front, she’d not seemed overly open to the pull Bram had toward her friend.
Dana glanced in Marcy’s direction but stepped closer to Bram as if on autopilot.
Marcy was looking through another set of records with her back to them all as she danced in place. The act was quickly accompanied by the alluring sound of her voice as she sang softly. For a moment, Bram thought he recognized the song as being one of the Grateful Dead songs he’d been listening to earlier, but it was slightly off.
“What is she singing?” asked Austin.
Dana chortled. “A mashup of the Dead and John Denver.”
“That’s a thing?” Elis questioned.
Dana shrugged. “It is now. You get used to her and her oddities. She’s a very strange woman. I once had to listen to her blend James Taylor with the Beastie Boys. That’s not something you forget.”
“I think she’s perfect.” Bram held the box firmly, his gaze never leaving Marcy as she swayed back and forth, her voice wrapping around him, sliding over his body.
It took him a second before he realized those around him were staring—at him.
“What?” he asked.
Austin pursed his lips and slid his thumbs into the beltloops of his jeans. He glanced away in an obvious manner.
Elis simply stared at Bram.
Dana studied him before speaking. “Perfect, huh?”
“Come again?” asked Bram.
A snort escaped his daughter. “You said that you think she’s perfect.”
Horror gripped Bram as his stomach dropped. “I did?”
There were two thumps from the box as if the squirrel was weighing in on the matter.
A thin smile pressed to Elis’s face as he gave a curt nod. “You did.”
Paling, Bram swallowed hard and tried to thrust the box at Dana.
She pushed it gently back toward him. “Nope. Sounds like he’s your problem now.”
Confused, Bram merely watched her.
“You wondering what I’m wondering?” asked Elis of Dana.
She sighed. “I’m starting to. But we’re probably wrong. I mean, that would be so freaking weird.”
“What would?” Bram asked, hugging the box against his chest. He needed someone to explain what was happening because he was lost. Between Marcy’s hips swaying and her voice, it was taking all of him to hold himself together. He didn’t have the extra brainpower to sort out cryptic talk.
They ignored him.
“I have got to pee again,” Dana said, clicking her fingers in Elis’s direction. “It’s like all I do anymore.”
“Come on.” Elis grinned. “I’ll show you where the nearest restroom is.”
Dana slid closer to Bram.
He didn’t want to break the magic moment, so he remained still, worried he’d scare her in some way.
Her gaze slid to the box. “You do realize there are no air holes in that box, right?”
Bram jerked the box and the lip popped open. The next Bram knew, the box was going in one direction and its occupant was flying through the air in the other. Since the small creature lacked wings, Bram wasn’t sure how it would fare upon landing. Reaching out quickly, he snatched the squirrel from midair with as much care as he possibly could manage. He then brought it close to his chest once more.
The animal’s heart was pounding a mile a minute in its tiny chest.
Dana directed her focus toward Marcy, who was still leafing through records. “Marcy, your tree-rat is misbehaving…again.”
The squirrel began to make tiny noises as it tucked in tighter against Bram’s chest.
Bram couldn’t be sure, but it sounded a lot like the squirrel was giving Austin a piece of its mind.
Marcy glanced over her shoulder at them. “Really? He tells a different tale.”
Austin’s brows met. “Huh?”
Dana leaned in his direction and grinned. “You know she talks to animals. What do you think that tree-rat is telling her right now? Maybe how it is he came to be in the box to start with and who put him there?”
“Shit,” said Austin. “What is he saying?”
“That you didn’t find him asleep in Bram’s shoe. You first found him at the base of the stairs and then you chased him up them and in
to Bram’s room. From there, the two of you played a fun game of hide-and-seek.”
Austin groaned. “Otherwise known as me trying to figure out where in the hell he went.”
She shrugged. “To him, it was a game.”
Dana snorted.
Bram continued to hold the animal gently.
“He says you stepped on his tail,” said Marcy.
Austin gasped. “Not on purpose! I didn’t know he was under the bed. I didn’t see his tail sticking out when I walked by. The next I knew, he was letting out a screech heard around the world and bolting into Bram’s closet.”
“And then what happened?” asked Marcy, grinning from ear to ear.
Groaning, Austin glanced toward Elis and then Marcy. “Can we talk about it when Elis is gone? He’ll never let me live it down as it is.”
“What occurred?” Bram demanded.
With a grunt, Austin lifted an arm. “I was looking for him and then he leapt on my head again and I freaked and fell backward in your closet. He scaled me and ran up your shoe shelves to the top. I may be tall but I can’t reach the top of that with ease. I had to jump. I grabbed a box he was standing on and it fell. So did he. I caught him.”
“Really?” asked Marcy.
“Fine. He got in the box willingly,” admitted Austin.
Elis bent his head, laughing silently.
Even Bram found it hard to refrain from chuckling as he pictured what a sight Austin and the squirrel must have presented.
“I know,” said Marcy, going back to record checking. “He told me. He also said he got in the box because he felt bad for you. He’s also fairly sure you bruised your tailbone in the fall.”
“As amusing as this is, I need to pee.” Dana gave Elis a tiny push. “Let’s go, Van Helsing.”
Elis laughed more. “Look at you, just like your father—bossing me around.”
Dana smiled. “We can add that trait to the list Marcy is making of our similarities.”
“Dana,” said Bram, finding his nerve.
She paused in her exit. “Yes?”
A million different things to say all ran through his head at the same time, yet none found their way to his lips. He was left standing there, holding a squirrel, staring dumbfounded at his grown daughter.
Tell me when it’s over, said the demon. I can’t look.
Bram grabbed for anything that would come. “Is the alpha wolf good to you?”
She looked as if she was struggling to keep from laughing at him. “My husband, Jeffrey, is very good to me.”
Nodding, Bram scrambled to think with a clear head. “Good. Should he ever upset you, I will tear his limbs from his body—slowly.”
Austin actually covered his eyes, apparently siding with Bram’s demon on being unable to look.
Elis just shook his head.
The edge of Dana’s mouth tugged upward, and her expression softened more. “Weird that I find that sweet and endearing?”
“Not really,” said Marcy from the other side of the large room. “You’re cut from the same cloth. You’d show affection by harming anyone who hurt someone you care about too. Pretty sure Donald would agree.”
Dana’s gaze snapped to Bram quickly and her shoulders squared. “That’s someone I’d be fine with you tearing limbs from.”
“Who is this Don? Did he hurt you?” asked Bram.
His demon took a keen interest in the topic as well.
“Me? No,” Dana said, before tipping her head toward Marcy. “Not me.”
Marcy had returned to her search through the records and to singing softly as if the conversation no longer held any interest to her.
Someone harmed the blonde? asked the demon. We shall feast upon his spleen.
Elis reached out fast and tried to take the squirrel from Bram. It refused to go. “Come here, little guy. The big guy there has murder in his eyes. You’re safer with me.”
Austin stepped in closer, leaving the four of them forming a circle of sorts. He lowered his voice. “Someone hurt Marcy?”
Dana looked at Marcy, who walked down a row of bookshelves, vanishing from sight. “Not my place to say. But I will say that if I ever catch that evil asshat near her, I’m not sure I’ll leave enough for anyone to tear his limbs off.”
Austin stiffened. “Who is this guy and how fast can everyone be ready to go hunt the prick and end him?”
Dana grinned half-heartedly. “You’re all right, Austin.”
Chapter Fifteen
Marcy
Running my fingers over the smooth, deep-colored wood of the shelf before me, I scan-read the remaining books while humming the Dead. Dana and Bram were still engrossed in material about slayers. They’d been going strong for over an hour now, enthusiastic about the topic. It had all started when Dana had found a leatherbound journal written in German.
Bram had confessed the item had belonged to his mother, and then they’d started to discuss everything to do with their slayer history.
Since it was something they shared and had them talking steadily, I knew it was important in their bonding process.
And yet, envy stabbed at my gut. A small portion of me—a part I didn’t like to acknowledge existed—wished they were as invested in my family history as they were their own. Since the feeling was one that I’d label as ugly, I didn’t want to feel it.
Closing my eyes, I stopped humming the Dead and centered my breathing, concentrating on my core. The act of grounding myself helped to chase away the negative emotions but didn’t settle my desire to learn more of my past—of my people.
Bram had made mention of there being additional birth records for the town of Grimm Cove in other vaults under the estate. Maybe one of them held answers.
My eyes snapped open and my attention went to the corridor leading from this vault. The double doors to it were still propped open.
Burgess scampered across the very top of the shelf and leaped down at me.
Blessedly, I was used to him by now and caught him. I placed him on my shoulder and turned my head slightly. Our faces nearly touched.
“Up for an adventure?” I asked, not bothering to keep my voice low.
I knew deep down that Bram and Dana wouldn’t hear me. They were too occupied to notice if I slipped away for a bit to look for more record books.
Burgess chirped much like a bird, reminding me of Rogelio, and then pressed his nose to mine.
I gave him a quick peck on the head with my lips and headed in the direction of the back corridor. As predicted, neither Bram nor Dana took notice even though I had to walk right by the table at which they were poring over reference material.
I might as well have been invisible, for all they noticed.
The feeling wasn’t new to me.
Growing up as I had, in the system, I often felt as if no one could see me. That I was as important as a fly on the wall to others. I didn’t miss those days and had no particular interest in standing around reliving the same feelings of inadequacy.
With my head held high and my familiar on my shoulder, I left the main library and wandered into the back corridor. The lighting there was softer, provided by torches mounted on the stone walls that had old-style bulbs in them. Somehow the type of light bulb used fooled the eye into thinking the torches were lit by actual fire.
Portraits that had been oil painted long ago were evenly spaced down the length of the first section of hall. I examined each portrait on my way past to see if I recognized anyone. Just because they looked to have been painted centuries ago held no bearing on if I’d met the person or not.
After all, I did see and hear the dead.
As I strolled leisurely by painting after painting, reading the small nameplates on the frames, I came to the realization that I’d never seen a genetic line that was so strong. All the Van Helsings who were shown so far had the same dark hair, looked to be of a taller stature, and most had green eyes or greenish-brown eyes. There was certainly no denying Dana was part of the fami
ly.
It made me wonder if my birth parents had blonde hair and blue eyes like me. If maybe they weren’t freakishly tall like the Van Helsings. Did they possess the gift of magik too, and if so, how much? Could they see and hear the dead? They were questions I’d had nearly all my life. Before coming to Grimm Cove, I hadn’t really thought I’d ever know the answers to any of them. But now there was hope.
Granted, it was slim, but it was still hope.
A pinch of optimism went a long way when warding off discouragement. It was a lot like salt in that way.
As I approached another of the paintings, I paused in front of it, recognizing the man shown. He’d been one of the spirits I’d seen out in front of the mansion upon our arrival.
Burgess hopped off my shoulder and landed with nearly no sound on the hard floor. He scampered down the corridor, going to its end.
My attention returned to the portrait. I was fairly certain the man was the one I’d called rude.
“Barend Van Helsing,” I said, reading the nameplate out loud.
The moment the name left my lips, he appeared next to me in the hall.
I’d spent my entire life with spirits popping in and out at random. It didn’t startle me in the least. Instead, I smiled. “We meet again.”
He tipped his head to me. “My apologies for earlier,” he said, his voice reminding me greatly of Bram’s but with a much thicker accent. “My brother and I were…”
“Being very rude,” I finished for him.
He grinned and it was then I realized just how much he looked like Bram. Not shocking since all of the Van Helsings had such similar traits. But Barend seemed more so. “Yes. Again, my sincerest apologies. We were surprised.”
“By Dana showing? I’m guessing, since you clearly hang around the estate that you already know who she is,” I said.
“I do,” he replied. “She is Abraham’s daughter.”
He said Abraham in the way it was intended to be said.
For some reason, it made me smile even wider. “She is. What does that make her to you? A cousin removed by how much?”
He stared in the direction I’d come from. “A niece.”
“Really?” I asked. “How many times removed?”
Spellcasting with a Chance of Spirits: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Romance Novel (Grimm Cove Book 3) Page 16