by J. R. Ward
When there was no response, he glanced over. Ruhn’s hand was no longer at ease on the wheel, his knuckles showing white—and those brows were now down tight.
“I’m sorry,” Saxton murmured. “I have offended you. My apologies.”
“No, it’s not that.”
The male did not continue, however, and their next turnoff arrived before any reply came.
“Up here, take another right,” Saxton murmured.
Ruhn slowed them down, put a blinker on, and executed a directional change. Then, about two hundred yards farther, a discreetly lit sign reading Blueberry Farm Estates appeared at the side of the road.
Saxton spoke into the thick silence. “That’s where his parents live—I mean, Rocke and Lyric. Blaylock’s sire and mahmen. They were the ones who came to him with the issue, so the older female must be up here a little farther.”
“Is this it?” Ruhn asked as they came upon a single mailbox with a hand-painted number on it.
“That’s the address, yes.”
The driveway into the property was unplowed, but there was at least one set of tracks marring the snow cover. Perhaps the humans who were harassing the female had paid her another visit?
“This will be bumpy,” Ruhn said. “Hold on.”
Saxton threw a hand out to catch the door as they lurched and lumbered off the plowed county road and onto a lane that could accommodate one car at the very most. Barren trees and brush choked the shoulders, as if Mother Nature disapproved of the ingress and was seeking to rectify the intrusion the only way she knew how.
Leaning forward, he glanced up and imagined in the warm months that a tunnel of leaves would form overhead.
And there was the farmhouse.
The manse was bigger than he thought it would be. He’d pictured in his head something the size of a hobbit cottage with maybe cockeyed shutters and a chimney that looked unreliable. Instead, the structure was a proper brick house, with four twelve-paned windows on the bottom, a wide front door, and eight six-paned windows on top. The slate roof was solid and clearly capable of surviving the apocalypse, and yes, there were shutters, but they were all perfectly hung and painted black.
Smoke curled from both of the chimneys. Which were straight as arrows.
There was also a tree.
Or more…a Tree.
In the center of the ring in front of the house, a gracious, thick-trunked maple tree grew out of the ground as if it were reaching for the heavens, great limbs stretching out and upward, the shape so perfectly balanced, surely it proved the hand of Providence existed and that the Creator was indeed an artist.
And yet all was not bucolic and at peaceful rest.
The second-floor window on the left corner was missing a pane of glass. Or at least, he assumed that was the case as there seemed to be a piece of plywood fitted into one of the six squares.
For some reason, that chilled him in a way the cold weather did not.
Ruhn brought the truck to a stop in front of the shallow steps that led to that glossy front door. “We are expected, yes?” the male said.
“Indeed. Or rather, I called the granddaughter. I don’t have a contact number for the female.”
Saxton opened his door, the winter chill rushing in like it was hell-bent on conquering the warmth they had artificially created, and as he put his Merrells into the snow, the squeaky, crunching sound was a testament that the ambient temperature was below zero. Taking a deep breath, the scent of wood smoke tingled in his sinuses and made him think of ads for Vermont.
There were lights on in the first floor, and through the parted curtains, he saw homemade furniture, the lines of which spoke to earlier ages, as well as walls covered in paper the flowered patterns of which had gone out of style in the Roaring Twenties.
This was not a life in decline, he thought, so much as the Old Ways preserved.
The front door opened just as Ruhn came around the bed of the truck, and the female in the doorway was in fact as Saxton expected: slightly stooped, with white hair cut into a bob, and a pleasant face that was deeply lined. But her eyes were alert and the smile was wide and the homemade dress was pressed and had a fine lace collar.
Given the way vampires aged, which was essentially in no manner at all until the very end of their lives, she had a decade, maybe more. But not much longer than that.
“You must be Saxton,” she said. “The King’s solicitor. I am Minnie. That’s short for Miniahna, but please do call me Minnie.”
As Saxton proceeded forward through the snow, he noted there had been footsteps coming and going off the front porch. “Yes, madam. And this is Ruhn, my…assistant.”
From behind him, Ruhn mumbled something and bowed low.
“Please, won’t you both come in.”
As she stepped aside, Saxton went up the steps and Ruhn was right in line, following him into the warm, golden interior. The scents of cinnamon and something sweet permeated the air, making him realize he had forgotten to have anything for First Meal—and oh, was that beeswax?
Stomping the snow from his shoe treads on the mat, he glanced around. Directly ahead, there was a staircase with a carved wooden banister that had clearly been polished on a regular basis—and that had to be where he was picking up that undertone of lemon.
“I have made us tea.” She indicated the front parlor. “If you’ll sit down?”
“Of course, madam. I believe we shall remove our shoes.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is but a moment.” And what do you know, Ruhn was already working on the laces on his boots. “I hate to track in.”
“I appreciate that,” Minnie said. And as Saxton bowed again, the female smiled some more. “You have such beautiful manners. You remind me of my Rhysland, may he be blessed in the Fade.”
“May he be blessed, yes.”
“Do sit down in here while I bring in refreshments.”
Minnie left and Saxton chose a seat on the sofa by the fire. Dutch tiles in blue and white had been set around the hearth, and there was a woven blue and white rug lain before the old brass fender. The rest of the room was done in Victorian red and navy.
Glancing over his shoulder, he looked out the window upon the snowy landscape. What a perfect place to read a book, he thought—and then he realized that he was alone in making himself comfortable. Ruhn was still standing over by the door, the male’s hands crossed before him, his head tilted down, his body at rest as if he were prepared to be thus for however long they were in the house.
“Ruhn? Come and sit with me.”
Ruhn shook his head and didn’t look up. “I would prefer to wait here by the door.”
“I believe it would be more awkward if you did not sit with us.”
“Oh. Okay.”
The male seemed to burrow into his peacoat even though the cold was well vanquished by the fire’s heat, and Saxton had the sense Ruhn was trying to seem smaller. And sure enough, he sat down at the other end of the sofa slowly as if he didn’t want his full weight on the furniture.
For no good reason, and probably a bad one, it was hard not to notice how close they were. The cozy couch was sizable for two—provided one of them wasn’t as big as Ruhn…and their thighs were nearly brushing.
You’re here to do your job, he informed his libido. Not ogle your guard.
Minnie came in with a tray, and before she got far, Ruhn was up off the sofa and taking the weight from her.
“Where may I put this?” he asked.
“Oh, right here. Please.”
Ruhn delivered the tea to the coffee table, and as he bent down, the firelight caught in the longer hair on the top of his head and made it flash with highlights like new copper in moonbeams.
What would touching it be like—
“Saxton?” Minnie said.
As he snapped to, he saw that the female was staring at him in inquiry and he took a gamble. “I would love some tea. Thank you.”
“It’s E
arl Grey.”
“My favorite.” He forced himself to focus and happened to look in the direction of the hearth. “I must commend you on those Delft tiles around the fireplace. They are extraordinary.”
Minnie smiled as if he had just told her her young was the most brilliant thing on the planet. “My Rhysland, he brought them over from our home in the Old Country. He purchased them from a master human over there, and they had been around our hearth since 1705. When he decided that we must go across the great sea to find a better life here, he knew I was heartbroken to leave, and he removed them without my knowledge, packing them with care. It took us fifty years to be able to afford this land, and then another ten before we could build this house, but my Rhysland…” As her eyes watered, she took a handkerchief out of a pocket in her dress. “He did not tell me what he was about, and he installed them here as a surprise. He told me they were a bridge to our future, a tie that brought our past with us.”
While Minnie sought to compose herself, Saxton leaned in to examine the tiles to give her some privacy—and then he was just plain captivated. Each of the white tiles had a little whimsical scene in the center done in blue, the depictions of windmills and landscapes, fishing boats and people at their work, executed in a breezy, painterly style and set off with decorative swirls in the corners. The overall effect was delightful—and they were worth a fortune. These were from the period of the masters.
“Do you take sugar, kind solicitor?”
Saxton nodded. “Yes, thank you, madam. Just one.”
A porcelain cup was passed over to him, and he stirred the cube in the bottom away with a tiny silver spoon. Ruhn declined the tea, but took a big piece of cinnamon coffee cake.
“That looks delicious.” Saxton nodded as a slice was offered to him. “I skipped First Meal.”
“One has to eat.” Minnie smiled. “I always tell my grandchildren that. Even though they are well past their transitions and living their own lives, I took them in when my daughter tragically passed upon the birthing bed. One never ceases to be a parent—are either of you mated with young?”
Saxton coughed a little. “I am not. No.”
“And you?” Minnie asked Ruhn.
“No, madam.”
“Well,” she announced as she sat down in a rocking chair with her own tea. “We should rectify that, shouldn’t we. You know, my granddaughter is unmated and quite lovely.”
As Minnie indicated an oil painting behind her, Saxton dutifully looked over. The female was indeed quite lovely, with long, dark hair and even features. The eyes were objectively arresting, a keen intelligence radiating out from them, and the smile suggested she was kindhearted but no fool.
“She hated that old-fashioned gown I made her put on.” Minnie smiled. “My granddaughter is of the modern era, and that dress is one that I wore long ago when I was her age. I made it for when I first met Rhysland and kept it safe. I suppose I hoped that it would help her see the value in settling down with a good mate and living the life I have. She has other plans, though—which is not to say she is not virtuous.”
Saxton glanced at Ruhn. The male was likewise examining the portrait, and for some reason, whatever opinion he was forming seemed terribly important. Did he find her attractive? Did he want to meet her? As an unattached male, with an invitation from the head of the household, it would not be inappropriate for him to engage in a supervised meeting. He was not an aristocrat, and neither were Minnie and her clan, but there were still rules of conduct to be considered.
“You mention that you have other grandchildren?” Saxton asked. “I was aware only that you had a granddaughter.”
Minnie grew pensive. “Rhysland and I also have a grandson. But we have not been as close to him.”
“What do you mean? And forgive me if I am prying, but I am curious as it relates to your issues with this house.”
There was a long pause. “It is not that I do not love my grandson. There is, however, a side to him that I struggle to understand and accept. He seems to rather prefer the easy road, and this was something that brought him into much conflict with his grandfather.”
“I am sorry. Relationships can be complicated.”
“Yes, I fear my grandson is about to discover exactly how true that is.” Minnie put her tea aside and rose to her feet. “But that is his journey, not mine, to take.”
The older female walked across the room, tilted a lampshade off-center and righted it…then moved an amethyst geode up and back on a side table…after which she straightened a throw pillow.
“Please tell us what is happening with your house, Minnie,” Saxton said softly. “We’re here to help you.”
“That is what my granddaughter told me. But I believe this is much ado about naught.”
“Both your granddaughter and your neighbors don’t seem to think so.”
“Are you referring to Rocke and Lyric?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, they are such fine people.”
Saxton looked at those blue and white tiles around the fireplace. And then refocused on the female. “Minnie, we will not let your property be taken from you unlawfully, whether it is by humans or vampires.”
“You serve the King, though.”
“And do you think Wrath, son of Wrath, is not powerful enough to reach into the human world? I assure you, he is.”
“My hellren always said that humans were best left to their own devices.”
“Forgive me, madam”—Ruhn put his coffee cake down, half eaten—“but that is only true if they are abiding by their own rules.”
She smiled and went back to the rocking chair. “That’s exactly what Rhysland would have said.”
“Tell us,” Saxton prompted gently.
It was a while before the female spoke. And when she did, it was as if she were relating the facts to herself—trying them on as if to determine whether the reality others were seeing was in fact what was happening.
“My beloved hellren went unto the Fade two years ago. My granddaughter, who lives closer to the city, told me to sell the house and come live with her. That would be such an intrusion, though, and moreover, this is my home. How could I leave him—I mean, it. The—subdivision, I guess is what the humans call it—next door was built right around then. I remember when I couldn’t sleep during the days, listening to the hammering and all the trucks going in and out on the road. I was first approached about selling this property maybe six months thereafter. The humans liked what they were building and the houses sold well so they wanted to expand.”
“Who came unto you?” Saxton asked.
“A man named Mr. Romanski. Or, no…wait, it was a lawyer or someone representing him? I can’t remember. They sent me a letter first. Then they called—I’m not sure how they got the number. And when I replied to neither, they called again. More letters. Then people started knocking on the door during the day when I was downstairs. Rhysland had installed a little camera at the front entrance just before he passed unto the Fade and so I could see the human men. First it was only one. Then they came in pairs. It was once every other week. And then more frequently.”
Saxton shook his head. “When did it escalate further?”
Minnie brought her hand to the base of her throat. “They started leaving these phone messages that I was in default on my mortgage? We don’t have one. As I said, my hellren built this house two centuries ago. Then they said there was something toxic on the land—and it was at that point that human officials started calling from something called the EPA? They wanted to get on the property. I let them and they found nothing. Then it was a problem with human taxes that didn’t exist. The water table. It’s been…very stressful.”
The older female glanced toward the windows. “Naturally, I cannot go out in the daylight, so I can’t go down to meet with any of these human agencies—and this caused them to become suspicious. I had to ask a friend’s doggen to pretend to be me and this made me feel even worse because I was imposing. An
d then…”
“What happened next?” Saxton murmured.
“Somebody shot out one of my windows two nights ago. I was downstairs at the time and I heard the popping sound and then the glass shattering all over the floor. It was in what would have been the master bedroom if I didn’t sleep underground—”
At first, Saxton had no idea where the soft growl was coming from. And then he looked across the sofa. Ruhn had bared his fangs—which had descended all the way, their points like those of knives—and his already big body seemed to have swelled with aggression, becoming something huge and very deadly.
As Saxton noted the transformation, his brain bifurcated, half of it remaining engaged with Minnie and the story…and the other part?
All he could think of was what it would be like to have sex with that.
Abruptly, Ruhn closed his lips and appeared to catch himself.
Flushing, he said, “Forgive me. But I care not for you being treated as such in your own home. It is not right.”
Minnie, who had become slightly alarmed herself, smiled once again. “You are a lovely young male, aren’t you.”
“No, I am not,” Ruhn whispered as he lowered his eyes. “But I would keep you safe herein, if I could.”
Saxton had to force himself back to the topic at hand. Otherwise, he was liable to stare at that face for the next night and a half.
Clearing his throat, he said, “How long ago was this again?”
“The night before last. I didn’t tell my granddaughter, of course. I can’t have her even more worried. But I did call Rocke and he came over to patch the glass with a piece of plywood. I ended up telling them everything—and now you came tonight.”
Saxton thought of what he’d noticed on the approach to the house, that something-is-not-like-the-others up in that window on the second floor.
This was much more serious than he’d thought.
—
After Mistress Miniahna completed her story, Ruhn took the tray with all the tea fixings back to the kitchen. He was trying to be polite, and also make himself useful, but what he really wanted to do was inspect the farmhouse’s lower level. There were shutters for the daytime that had been pulled into place along the rear of the house, and that gave him some reassurance—except he couldn’t understand why the front ones remained open. She should have everything shut up tight.