He held her around her waist and kissed her back, talking in short bursts whenever she stopped kissing to bite or lick.
“Goldie, that, right there, that was a vampire, that’s what happens when you see one. You chase him, you want to kill him, and then when the killing’s done you… you do this.”
She bit the lobe of his ear, hard, making him shudder, then she ground against him. “I didn’t see any vampire,” she whispered directly into his ear. Breathy. Soft. Hot. Damn.
He kept trying. She kept grinding but seemed like maybe she was listening. “The vampire was in the limo. I have to tell my… my boss. And his boss, that the vampires are in town again. Goldie there’s a whole crowd of us, The Cause of the Forest it’s called. It’s ancient. Vampires really do exist, although not quite the way the stories say. Vampires exist and witches do too. People who can turn into animals, too. So many things you have been taught are crazy lies your whole life, they’re true. Magic. You’re magic.”
She stopped grinding. “Magic?”
“What did you do out there?” he whispered. “That truck was going to run you over.”
“I don’t know… but… not magic. It doesn’t… I can’t…” She hid her head in his chest, all passion gone, only confusion remaining. He put one arm around her shoulders and held her there tightly.
“There’s someone you need to meet,” he told her, when he thought she was ready for it.
Chapter 11 - Sister From Another Mister
Goldie’s jaw dropped so many times on the drive from Shady Pines, she was considering running a rubber band from one ear to the other to keep it closed. But really, how much more of this could she handle? Vampires and witches. Witches and vampires. Magic. In the old days, according to Flint, the forest was teeming with these switches. And their protectors, Flint kept saying, looking at her funny every time he did so. He didn’t know too much about back then, because there’d been a big war, the Reckoning was what he called it, in this very forest and all the switches had been killed. Every last one. And so the vampires had won, but there were so few of them left after the war, the whole concept disappeared. History forgot about the vampire war and those who fought it. But now the vampires were back and running for office, and somehow the switches were back, too, and she was one of them. Peachy story.
And she believed every word.
Flint was talking. But leaving something out. There was a hole in there somewhere, she could sense it. “Cora was on him. She’s got this railroad spike knife, it’s her special weapon that her sh- that Jameson had made for her, and when she stuck him red light went everywhere. He didn’t even bleed.”
Her grandmother’s affronted voice ran through her mind. This is not polite dinner table conversation.
Goldie put a hand to her head, her stomach flip-flopping as she tried to stay open, tried not to reject him or the words out of his mouth. She liked him. A lot. She wished she had met him in some other way, that this whole vampire thing never existed. He was the kind of guy a girl could build a future with. A burly, yummy guy who seemed to see her for who she was, and he liked what he saw. And he was mostly kind and polite. Not the type a man Tallulah would approve of, but-
Tallulah spoke up in her head again. Don’t tell me I wouldn’t approve of that man, child. We all like the big ones.
Ok, Goldie didn’t know who that was, but it wasn’t her grandmother.
Flint wasn’t speaking anymore. She pulled her blank gaze away from the dark forest speeding by her car window to look at him.
“You okay?” he said.
Goldie couldn’t help but smile at him. “I guess so.” She wanted to be.
One hand on the wheel, Flint lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing each knuckle before resting their joined hands on the bench seat between them. “I think you’re about to feel a lot better.”
He turned between two decorative wrought iron light posts into a driveway, one that she wouldn’t have even seen until the vehicle’s wheels were on it were it not for those lights, it was so well hidden. They drove up a winding path of rust-colored cobblestones lined with more of those decorative lamp posts to an enormous hacienda-style home, a mansion straight out of a lifestyle show. Beside it a meadow of wildflowers spread as far as the light reached.
“Gorgeous,” she breathed. “How is this out in the middle of the forest? Does it have electricity?”
“Generator,” Flint grunted.
Goldie took in every detail of the grand house. The walls were a pale salmon pink, with terra cotta shingles on the roof, and turrets with massive windows standing tall at the front corners. The intricate wrought iron balconies and window boxes reminded Goldie of homes in the Garden District she’d been walking past all her life. Except this was like no home Goldie had ever seen, even on the wealthiest streets. It was more like a small hotel.
The driveway continued on but they parked by the front door, Flint coming around to Goldie’s side to help her out of the SUV’s high seat. He examined her face for clues to her mood. “Nervous. I’m nervous,” she whispered.
She was as embarrassed by her behavior, all her behavior over the last few days. Vampires or not, she was out of control, and there was nothing she hated more.
Flint gave her a smile. “This will make you feel better, I promise. Another switch, like you.”
“Oh,” Goldie gasped. Yeah, that would make her feel better. She tried to put down her sensibilities, her rules about good and bad and right and wrong. She wanted to give all of this a chance. Flint was very convincing. Which also was messing her up in a huge way. She knew he couldn't be as incredible as he looked, and he’d said himself that he was leaving, but she'd found herself wanting, just for one night, to believe he was her Prince Charming.
Flint took her hand. Motioned they should head in. She followed, letting him pull her along, as she marvelled at the stucco archway surrounding the massive wood and wrought iron front door. Goldie heard the locks click as they approached and expected someone to open it from the inside, but Flint reached out and turned the handle instead.
Goldie stepped inside and couldn’t breathe. The place was gorgeous, welcoming, perfect. She wanted to get a job as the manager just so she could spend more time here. It had to be a hotel. But hadn’t Flint called it a house?
It smelled more like a home than a hotel, sweet and warm but fresh, as if a breeze were coming in from the meadow outside. The only sounds she heard were the calling of birds outside, and a quiet, content hum that seemed to come from all around them. Melodic. Peaceful.
Warm rusty-brown glazed tiles covered the floor. Just ahead and to the right was a wide hallway that led to an open living area. But her focus was drawn down a corridor to the left, where the same glazed cinnamon tiles covered the lower half of the walls and where she could just see the lower steps of a tiled staircase disappearing around the corner.
She went that way, unable to help herself.
The circular room formed by one of the turrets she’d seen from outside was impressively large, at least forty feet across. Tile staircase around the room, intricate, astoundingly gorgeous mosaic tiles, green tile vines around windows. It was the kind of place where people came to paint or write the next Great Novel. So much to see, beauty overflowing everywhere. From behind her, Flint tapped her on the shoulder and pointed up.
She gasped. The ceiling wasn’t there! It was all glass, a greenhouse roof and everywhere she looked, live plants grew in pots and shallow gardens whose walls were made of the same glossy terracotta tile as the floor. Like the patio of a Mexican restaurant, except these plants had purpose. Lemon and lime and other dwarf citrus trees were planted at the centers of the raised bed, and in the larger pots there were raspberry and blueberry bushes. A kiwi vine snaked up the wrought-iron railing of the stairway, weaving between the uprights and dripping with fruit.
The place reminded her of her grandmother’s Garden District home, which had an antique glass greenhouse off the side. Tallulah had kep
t hothouse flowers plus bay laurel and citrus trees. Wandering through that greenhouse had felt to Goldie like she was entering a fertile rainforest, like she had access to the very stirrings of life, and this room gave her that same feeling.
Flint took Goldie’s hand and led her back past the front door and down the short, wide hallway to a large open space. On the left was an impressively big dining room table; it had to seat at least twelve. Opposite it was a great room that reached all the way to the front of the house. Goldie was entranced, and her feet carried her closer.
Oversized beige sofas dotted the room all the way to the far end where there was another turret. She stared into the room, heading that way. A bibliophile’s wet dream, it had shelves that reached high on the walls and a ladder - an actual library ladder! On rails! So you could get to the books that soared overhead.
But in plain sight was a book that drew Goldie more intensely than anything hidden on the yards of shelves. It was a book placed on a podium with a light, like the dictionary in her elementary school library had been. Goldie’s curiosity got the better of her and she walked closer.
It looked old. Like, really old. The front cover was missing entirely. Goldie could tell even from feet away that the pages were obviously not made of paper, and the spine was a brown leather that looked impossibly soft. She couldn’t tell what the back cover was made of. She glanced at Flint but her eyes quickly bounced back to the book, drawn to what was obviously some kind of artifact or something. “What’s this book?”
Flint rubbed his knuckles over the scar on his neck. “Not sure, really. Jameson calls it the Keeper’s Book. He’s had it forever.”
Goldie turned to him, eyebrows raised. “May I?”
He acted like it wasn’t even an issue, waving his hands in a go-ahead gesture. “Cora and J look at it all the time. Nobody knows what it says.”
Goldie picked the book up with delicate hands. It looked ancient, as if it could fall apart with a stiff breeze, but as she held it she could tell it was sturdier than it looked. And the back cover was strange as well, made of some metal that had been pounded thin. She flipped through pages full of strange blockish letters she didn’t recognize at all. Shaking her head, she replaced it. “I’d say it was Greek to me, but Greek I’d at least recognize.”
Flint reached for her hand, started to walk back towards the center of the house, but she gave a little pull to slow him down. “Who lives here?”
“I do.”
Goldie couldn’t think for a second. “This is your home?”
He shook his head, “Yes. No. I just moved in two days ago. It’s-” He stopped her and pulled her to face him. “The house is part of The Cause. It’s part of your coven as much as your switch sisters are. Or, maybe I should say ‘she’ is your coven. Resperanza is her name and she wasn’t here a week ago. You know, um, magic.”
Goldie grimaced. She’d been feeling close to Flint, so very close and protected by him, but that didn’t sit well with her. Coven house? Magic? If this was all a joke, it was elaborate as hell, and thinking Flint was playing a joke on her made her stomach hurt. He wouldn’t do that. But that meant it was all true.
She pulled away. Didn’t answer. Made a show of looking around. But it wasn’t a show. The place was fascinating, and she wanted to snuggle up on one of the couches with a mug of hot tea and a book, or maybe no book, just look around, soak the place in.
Flint pulled her to the kitchen, where the walls were a vibrant riot of cobalt, peach, kelly green, lemon, and vermillion tiles. One surprise after another. Goldie clasped her hands in front of her body, twining her fingers together, hard, to try to stop the wave of fierce longing that rolled through her. All those years when it had been just her, Darby, and Tallulah, Goldie had always imagined festive holidays in a warm, welcoming home just like this, surrounded by a big group of people she loved.
A crash sounded from somewhere deep in the house. “Stay here,” Flint mumbled. “I need to see what that was.” He took off at an angry clip, out of the kitchen.
“Okay, but I’m going back to the atrium,” she called after him. She hurried that way, happy to have another look at the place. But when she got there, awareness tingled on the back of her neck, like someone else was there. Watching her? No. She walked through the plants slowly, aware that she was the imposter.
“Anyone there?” she called. “I’m here with Flint.”
She’d made it to the far wall, to one of the enormous windows that looked over the meadow and dimly-lit driveway, when movement outside caught Goldie’s eye. Something coming out of the darkness, big and pale, parting the tiny white flowers of the meadow with its bulk. A wolf. A massive white wolf that was twice as big as a Great Dane, but with that unmistakable wolf’s muzzle and calculating eyes.
Goldie gasped and scrambled backwards. Oh no. Oh no. Too much. This was way too much for her to take. Because she’d seen that wolf before. It was the reason she and her sister were stuck in this town in the first place.
She took a deep breath, scared she was absolutely out of her mind, but halfway hoping that she wasn’t at the same time. What had Flint called her? A vampire killer? Talk about being at odds with polite society; an idea that appealed to her and repulsed her at the same time. But this wolf wasn’t scary. He padded past the glass, not looking her way. When his back was to her, she scrambled closer to the window and pressed her face against it, trying to see the wolf. But it was gone.
One more thing Flint had said teased at her consciousness, when he’d been talking in the car about switches and their protectors. People who can turn into animals. People who can turn into animals. Which sounds like just the right kind of “protector” for a witch who killed vampires.
Dangit. Dangit. Was she really going to believe this?
Someone entered the room and Goldie snatched her head around to see who it was. Flint, looking big and handsome. Even that scar couldn’t detract from his good looks. Shoot, as far as Goldie was concerned it added a rugged danger that was one hundred percent hotness.
“All good,” he said. “A painting fell off a wall downstairs, but hey, I found who I brought you here to meet. Come on.” He reached out to her, then looked at her hands. “What’s that?”
“What?”
Goldie held up her hands, and for just an instant she thought she saw what looked like a hazy green smoke wisping out of her fingertips. Imagination. She shook her hands. “What?” she said again.
He stared into her eyes, then shook his head. “Nothing.”
He led her back into the house, then down dark stairs. She could hear voices echoing up the enclosed stairway, and with them came a feeling, like a vibe that seeped out of the walls and let Goldie know everything was cool down here. Casual. Like a hangout. Some part of Goldie expected to see a bar and fridge and chairs to lounge on, maybe a dart game and card tables. What kind of people hung out here? Animals who could turn into people, and witches, of course. And here comes Goldie, a regular old speech therapist. Butterflies fluttered inside her.
Flint called out as they hit the last step and came around the corner. “Hey, guys, I brought someone to meet you.”
They stepped inside and all conversation stopped. The first person Goldie saw was a woman sitting on a barstool, a tall man with graying blond hair beside her. Flint pulled Goldie over and pointed to the man. A big guy, although not as big as Flint. He looked solid and thoughtful. “Goldie, this is Jameson, he’s the boss around here. And this is Cora.”
Goldie didn’t need him to say anything more. This was who Flint had brought her to see, and Goldie was glad. She somehow knew she would get along with this woman better than she and Darby ever had.
Cora had long, wavy chestnut hair and a pixie face. The rest of her petite frame completed Goldie’s impression of her as one the “fairy folk”, as Tallulah would have said with a whisper. She smiled widely at Goldie and Goldie felt a rush of hope that this woman was the other switch Flint had brought her to meet. The k
inship, the feeling of belonging with her was instant and undeniable, like they were family. Like they would die for each other.
She recited her introductory spiel, unable to look away from Cora. She liked the woman on sight, and Cora was all smiles back.
“So you’re…,” Goldie said.
Cora nodded. “A witch, type savage. Breath Coven, just like you.”
Goldie grabbed on tight to the barstool in front of her. It was out there. Just like that. No ruse. No sugar coat. The woman had called herself a witch. Said a bunch of other crazy stuff.
Cora leaned forward, concern in her eyes. “Wait, you knew, right? Flint didn’t lead you in here blind, did he?” Her eyes went to Flint’s.
Goldie held on tight. “I knew. He told me.”
Cora nodded, like it all made sense. “It’s a lot. I get it. Did he rush you? I told him not to rush you.”
Flint spoke from behind Goldie. She couldn’t see him, but his deep voice calmed her. “I didn’t rush her, Cora, lay off. It’s been a crazy evening. We were just at dinner and we saw the same vampire as before, and Goldie did some fancy magic to avoid being run over in the street. I brought her here to meet you.”
Cora leaned in close again, excitement on her face. “You did what, now? Can you show me how?”
Goldie’s cheeks heated. “I didn’t even know I did it. I guess it was just some kind of…” She hesitated. If she’d really done magic, if she said it out in the open, they would all know she believed. Her throat seized at the thought. “You know what, I don’t even know. I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”
Cora shook her head. “I told you both!” She gestured to Flint and Jameson. “This shit takes time to come to terms with. It can’t be rushed. You can’t rush her.”
Flint leaned his hips against the bar and crossed his arms, calling Goldie’s attention to the lap she’d sat on and the biceps that had crushed her close, held her safe after her almost-run-in with that truck. “Tell that to the vampires, Cora. Maybe if we ask them nicely, they’ll stay out of town on Tuesdays and Saturdays.”
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