I recounted the evening, starting with the bar fight at MacPherson’s but leaving out any mention of Jackson by name. Last thing I needed to hear was that Jackson Hunter was somehow in bed with the society like everyone else seemed to be. I was beginning to wonder if the whole damn town was in cahoots with them, fattening me up as the sacrificial lamb to bait the spirit back into that book, perhaps with me right along with it.
“He bit me!” I spat. I pulled the neck of the oversized T-shirt down to where the bite mark should have been, but it was practically healed, leaving just a series of faded red spots.
“Your wounds heal quickly,” he noted. “Must be the dragon’s blood in you.”
Come to think of it, they did. I fell from a zip line when I was twelve. I wasn’t allowed on it, but like most kids I didn’t listen very well. Hurt like hell. I remembered one of the other kids screaming like a banshee when she saw the tip of my arm bone telegraphing through my skin. By the time my mother got me to the hospital, the pain was gone and there was no sign of the injury. The X-rays were clean. In fact, I couldn’t recall ever suffering a nasty cut or bruise that lasted more than an hour or two.
I looked at Fin suspiciously. “What exactly are we looking for, Fin? Are we hunting vampires?”
He glanced at the shriveled body as the two men bagged it and carried it toward the trunk. “Of course not. It wasn’t after your blood, Miss Bishop—it was after your essence. It couldn’t help itself. You’re its liberator, kind of like a vampire’s maker. Only unlike a vampire it doesn’t have any loyalty. It just wants to be you.”
I couldn’t resist, it had said to me before vaporizing out of Christopher’s body.
Fin got up and had a few words with the men. Then he motioned for me to follow him out the back door. “I think it’s about time you considered moving into Lillian’s house. You’ll be safe there until we can figure out the best way to trap this thing.”
“Do I look like I need protection, Fin? You saw what I did to—” I swallowed the erupting emotion creeping up my throat. That thing wasn’t Christopher. The moment the spirit took control, Christopher was lost. “I’m not moving in with anyone.”
“You should at least consider the well-being of the folks around you,” he said. “You may be a creature of formidable means, Miss Bishop, but your friends and colleagues will not be as well-fortified if it comes for one of them. It’s watching you, knows your people. This is just the beginning.”
He was trying to manipulate me, but I knew my friends were at risk regardless of where I stayed. I figured the spirit had even more incentive to use the people I loved if I was locked away somewhere it couldn’t get to me, so why not leave myself wide open so it wouldn’t have to? Besides, with what happened here tonight, I think I’d just made my point about the futility of that strategy. “All the more reason I need to stay close to them, so don’t waste your breath trying to convince me that moving into the big house will keep everyone safe, Fin. It won’t.”
He considered me for a few seconds before conceding. “We need to let these men finish doing their job.” Like a proper gentleman, he pulled the sliding door back and waited for me to step outside.
I glanced at the front door. “The driveway is out front.”
“That would be rule number two, Miss Bishop. Never announce yourself at a crime scene you’re cleaning up. Wise, don’t you think?”
Fin drove me back to my car parked behind MacPherson’s. It was late, but the pub was still open. I remembered his comment earlier about no one laying a hand on a MacPherson and considered going back inside to find out why, but he was just sitting there in his big fancy car waiting for me to pull out and head home.
I finally relented and drove out of the lot. I rolled down my window to take advantage of the wind against my skin, seeing how it was the height of summer in Savannah and my air conditioner had only worked for about a week in May before it died. Halfway home I pulled off the road into the parking lot of a closed restaurant, dangling my arm out the window as Fin pulled in behind me.
He rolled up next to me from the opposite direction so our windows were side by side. The air conditioning escaped his window as it rolled down, snaking across my face to mercifully cool my hot skin. “A little hungry?” he asked.
“Go home, Fin. This little following act is kind of creepy.”
“Miss Bishop, did you just call me a creep?”
“If the shoe fits,” I snickered.
He glanced around the dark, empty lot and then back at me. “As you wish.” Then he reached for the pack of cigarettes on his console and lit one. “One more thing before I send you on your way. After you’ve had a few hours to digest the gravity of it all, we’ll need to get our ducks in a row about what happened here tonight. It’ll take about half a day for Mr. Sullivan to be missed down there at the DA’s office, so don’t be surprised when you turn on the news. Folks around here like to hunt things, especially pillars of the community who go missing.”
I stared straight ahead at the dark restaurant in front of me. “I guess so. Should I call you tomorrow?”
“I’ll call you,” he said, flicking the barely smoked cigarette to the pavement and rolling the window back up.
Before breaking down, I waited for him to pull away and disappear down the side street. My chest heaved as I sobbed and let it all out: the death of Christopher at my own hands, fear that the rest of the people I loved might be next, this ridiculous effect Jackson Hunter had on me. I even cried over the memory of Elliot packing up his car and heading off to L.A. Yeah, this Savannah thing was really working out. My life was a shitstorm since stepping foot on Georgia soil.
After about ten minutes of feeling sorry for myself, I was done with it. I pulled out of the parking lot and headed home, keeping an eye out for any other cars that showed up and persisted in my rearview mirror. Before pulling into my driveway, I scanned the block for anything out of the ordinary, which was a loose term these days.
Jet met me in the hallway and did a figure eight around my legs. “Don’t act like you’re starving, mister.” Before heading to MacPherson’s that evening, I came home to feed the cat and change clothes. And if I walked into that kitchen I was pretty sure I’d find half a bowl of dry cat food left. I kicked off my shoes and went into the living room to turn on the TV, expecting to see coverage of a local assistant DA’s murder, with my face plastered all over the screen as a person of interest. Everyone knew “person of interest” was code for suspect. But that was silly, wasn’t it? It would take at least twenty-four hours before my face showed up on the screen.
The sudden urge to vomit had me running for the bathroom. Jet followed and stood up on his hind legs to see that was so interesting in the toilet bowl. “Go away, Jet.” I pushed him away, because the bowl was only big enough for one head. Nothing came up because nothing had gone in my stomach since breakfast, and that was only a banana. I needed food.
I went back to the kitchen to search the refrigerator for leftovers and found some pizza from a couple of days earlier. Pizza was one of those foods that got better with age. Went great with a cup of coffee in the morning, especially when recuperating from a hangover. I leaned back against the counter and chewed it straight from the foil wrap, cold.
Something caught my eye outside on the patio. I tossed the slice on the counter and dropped down to the floor, crawling along the length of the island to the side that was closest to the glass door. “Shhh,” I said, quieting Jet as he started meowing loudly, a reaction to me getting down on all fours. He walked past me and looked out at the patio before heading toward the living room. I could make out the tip of a shoe sticking up over the arm of the chair. “What the hell?” Someone was sitting in one of my chairs, with a foot up on the table.
I moved back around the island and stood up, waiting to see it the dragon felt the threat. It never even stirred. Concealing myself from view, I opened the cabinet door to my left to pull out the small wooden box shoved behind a row of
canned beans. Inside was a 9mm Glock. I hadn’t touched it since the day I got my permit, and I was hoping I’d never have to take it out of that box.
Before unlocking the safety and creeping toward the sliding glass door, I considered the option of cowering in the corner while I waited for the police to arrive. But considering I’d just killed a man a few hours earlier and hadn’t had time to wash the DNA off my skin and clothes yet, I opted for handling the situation myself. I would just scare the intruder.
With both hands fighting to hold the gun steady and my heart about to come out of my chest, I stepped in front of the window and went to knock on the glass to get the intruder’s undivided attention. A second before I knocked, I saw a spray of black hair cascade over the edge of the chair.
“Fuck!” I yelled. The sound was loud enough to travel through the glass. Jackson Hunter stumbled out of the chair when he saw the gun pointed at him through the door and swiftly stepped out of its sight. I really didn’t know the man, so it was kind of stupid to unlock the only barrier between us. For God’s sake, he was trespassing and making himself at home on my patio. What kind of savory person did that?
“What the fuck are you doing on my patio?” I demanded, sliding the door open with the gun still pointed in the general vicinity of where he’d just been standing. “And how do you know where I live? Jesus! I could have shot you!”
“You wanna put that thing down?” he said, coming up from the side and taking it from my trembling hands. He reengaged the safety and walked past me to the kitchen with it. “Where?” I pointed to the wooden box where he stowed it safely away before walking back outside. “You want to try that again and invite me inside?” he asked.
“Why? Are you a vampire?”
He laughed, but it wasn’t funny. Instead I stepped outside. “You still haven’t told me how you know where I live. And where’s your bike?” It wasn’t in the driveway. He motioned to the right side of the house. “Tell me you didn’t drive up on my grass and park on the side of my house.”
“Fine.”
“Fine what?” I asked.
“I won’t tell you. Actually, I drove up your neighbor’s driveway and then over a few feet. What? You got about ten feet between houses around here.” He glanced at the two chairs, inviting me to sit on my own patio.
“Hell no! You stand, because you’re not staying.”
“It’s easy to find out where someone lives,” he continued, showing no indication that he planned to get back on his Harley and drive off my property. “I don’t know this neighborhood, and I kinda like my bike.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t leave it unattended while you nap on other people’s patios.” Thank God my neighbor was out of town. “You’re going to resod my yard if you damaged it with your bike, and you can bet I’ll be out here first thing in the morning to check.”
If he could have had a more contemptuous look on his face, I would have stepped back inside and locked the door again. “Why do you always have that scowl on your face?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. “Did your best friend die or something?”
He glared at me for a few seconds. “Yeah. My best friend died. Now you’re gonna tell me who sent you.”
14
We still hadn’t addressed the elephant in the kitchen. Jackson Hunter stood on my patio, asking me some strange questions about a man named Kaleb, and we still hadn’t brought up the fact that he’d called me a shifter earlier that night.
“Look,” I said. “I’m tired. I’m hungry. And I’m about to walk back in that kitchen and put that gun to my head if this day doesn’t end soon.”
For the first time since we met, his face softened and looked remotely friendly. I don’t know if it was his intense eyes, his long black hair that screamed Goth, or his unusually tall height; the man standing in front of me seemed downright dangerous. But despite the physical warning signs, there was something in his deep baritone voice that was soothing. If he could just say something nice for a change instead of always addressing me like I was intolerable, I might actually like him.
After a few minutes, he made a move to that chair he seemed to like so much. “Hey, hey, hey!” I blurted. “I didn’t say you could make yourself comfortable.”
He ignored the protest and sat, spreading his long legs wide as he eased back in the seat. “You got any beer?”
I laughed incredulously, an immediate response escaping me. Eventually I shrugged and said, “What the fuck. Sure.” I went back inside and grabbed a bottle from the fridge. His brow furrowed as I handed him a bottle of light beer.
“Who’s this Kaleb?” I asked, taking a seat on the other side of the table.
He eyed me like he couldn’t decide if I was fucking with him or genuinely didn’t recognize the name. Then he downed half the beer and told me to take off my shirt.
“What?” I snorted. “Boy, are you in for a letdown tonight.” An uneasy feeling started to make its way up my throat as the snide grin left my face. He was about ten inches taller than me, and since my dragon was being unusually quiet on my back, I figured he’d have plenty of time to do some damage before it woke up and smelled the threat.
I shot out of my chair. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
With the bottle midway to his mouth, he froze. He set it back on the table and shook his head, muttering something I couldn’t understand. “Let me rephrase that. I need to make sure you’re not one of Kaleb’s disciples.” He hesitated, waiting for my reaction, I assumed. When I didn’t flinch, he continued to “rephrase” his request. “There’s a mark between the shoulder blades. I need to know if I’m gonna find it on you before this conversation goes any further.”
“And if you do?” Of course he wouldn’t find anything other than the dragon tattoo on my back, but I was curious—and a little wary—about the capabilities of the man I was conversing with in the seclusion of my backyard.
“Then the conversation is over and I leave—town.”
I humored him, if for no other reason than to hurry the conversation along and get to this Kaleb person. Then maybe we could call it a truce and have that other conversation we’d been avoiding, the one about how he knew what I was, and why it didn’t send him running in the opposite direction instead straight to my house.
Jet strolled out through the open door and looked at the stranger sitting in the chair on his patio. His paw stopped in mid-step. Cautiously at first, he approached, but then picked up the pace and plowed into the side of Jackson’s leg. I almost jumped out of my chair when Jackson bent down to pick him up. “Hey, guy. Who are you?” He deposited Jet in his lap.
I watched him stroke Jet’s back and tail, clearly comfortable with felines. “That’s Jet. You like cats?”
He shook his head. “Nah. Hate the damn things.” He peered up from Jet, a smile on his face.
“Imagine that,” I said, smirking. “A big manly-man like you liking cats.”
He lifted Jet and put him back on the ground. “Cats are about the only thing that show you exactly who they are. I like dogs, but I don’t trust them. Too eager to please before you’ve earned it.”
“So you think you’ve earned it?” I asked. “My trust?”
“I’m still deciding if I trust you,” he answered. “Based on that forthright attitude of yours, I’d say you’re more of a cat than a dog.” He took another swig of beer and nodded toward my shirt. “But I still need to see for myself before we take this conversation any further.”
“Why, thank you,” I said, flashing a sarcastic grin. “Now let me get this straight. You walked into my shop, showed up at my bar, and now you’re sitting in my backyard, and I have to prove to you that I’m trustworthy?”
“It’s a small world, but it seems a little too convenient that I was referred to a tattoo shop that just happens to be owned by a shifter.”
“I don’t call myself a shifter.” I stood up and turned around, knowing damn well he wouldn’t tell me anything unless I proved I
wasn’t one of these disciples he’d referred to. “I’m obviously not taking off my shirt, but if it’ll make you shut up and tell me what you want from me, you can look down the back.” I never thought I’d hear myself say those words to a practical stranger.
He wasted no time taking advantage of the offer, pulling my T-shirt down just enough to get a good look at where my shoulder blades intersected. Then he pressed his hand on the spot through the fabric.
I whipped around and glared at him. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”
He threw his hands up in surrender. “It can take a while for the mark to surface. I’m just making sure it isn’t under your skin.” He ran his hand over the top of his head. “You sure are uptight.” With a quizzical look, he cocked his head slightly right and opened his mouth to say something else.
“What?” I challenged. “Be very careful about what you say to me next, Jackson Hunter. I’ve had a very bad day, and I’m not interested in any more small talk. Are we clear?”
“Got it. No small talk.” He sat back down and finished his beer. “Kaleb Matthew Daniels. He’s the guy who wants me dead. Heads up a biker club out of Atlanta. The Sapanths.”
“Ah. And somehow you got the idea I might be one of them? Are you crazy?” He shook his empty beer bottle. “Forget it,” I said, refusing to get him another one. “Finish what you were saying.”
“They’re shifters, and they’re dangerous. I’ve got a bounty on my head. Dead or alive.”
I found myself glancing around the yard, an involuntary reaction to hearing that the man sitting across from me was wanted by a bunch of outlaw creatures. If they were half as dangerous as I was when the dragon came out, Jackson was looking at an early grave. “What did you do? Steal something from them?” He smirked and shook his head. “You did, didn’t you? A lot of questions have been going through my mind since the day you walked into my shop, but I never took you for a thief.”
Crossroads of Bones (A Katie Bishop Novel Book 1) Page 13