Well, damn, she thought, narrowing her own gaze as she quickly reassessed the situation. Her supernatural-sensing ESP hadn’t picked up anything unusual as she approached the building. She hated being caught off guard, especially when she was already on edge.
The waiter swallowed and cleared his throat. “Ah, Miss Bradford.” The smile was back in place, surprising her with the speed of his recovery. He glanced around very quickly as though checking whether they could be overheard. “It’s an honour to meet you,” he told her in a quiet voice. Then he held up his free hand in an age-old ‘I-mean-no-harm’ gesture, the other still holding the booking register. “Sorry, I’ve just heard so many stories…” He shook his head, looking abashed. “I’m one of Margaret’s grandsons. I don’t shift,” he broke off, his eyes re-scanning the open double doors leading to the restaurant itself, “but I’m part of the Community.”
Gabi relaxed, breathing out the sudden bite of adrenalin. Margaret was a Shape-shifter, one of their Elders, in fact, and someone Gabi considered a friend. Her grandson’s Shape-shifter bloodline explained why she hadn’t sensed him with her ESP. Though she still habitually thought of it as her Vamp-sense, she could actually sense Vampires, Werewolves, demons and even some of the stronger Magi, but she didn’t sense the average Magus and she didn’t pick up Shape-shifters. Or Ghouls, she reminded herself with a slight shudder. The leading, late-night theory was that those she couldn’t sense were all closer to human than to supernatural, and it was the supernatural element that pinged her radar. It was as good a theory as any. At this moment in time, the truth of her heritage relied as much on theory as it did on fact.
“My name is Christopher…Chris,” he continued. “Uh, wow, I never thought I’d actually get to meet you in person.” The onslaught of star-struck awe made Gabi distinctly uncomfortable; she knew some of the stories that still circulated through the supernatural grapevine known as the Community, and while many were close to the truth, some had been blown wildly out of proportion. She was beginning to tire of the notoriety she’d garnered as a vicious, she-devil, supernatural rogue Hunter. In the past she’d played up to the reputation, keeping inquisitive invitations at bay with a facade of bitchy disdain. That mask had grown as tiresome as the one she wore to appear fully human, now she simply wanted to be herself without any need for charades. It was never going to happen, but a girl could always have a wish list, right?
“It’s nice to meet you, Chris,” she said, injecting her voice with friendly professionalism. “I hope Margaret is well. I haven’t seen her for a couple of months.”
“Oh yes,” he told her, his grin once again reaching his eyes. Gabi mentally high-fived herself for her deft redirection of the conversation. “She’s healthy enough to keep us all jumping to her every command.” His expression turned wry, and Gabi had no trouble believing that her elderly friend kept everyone around her on their toes. It hadn’t been an easy time for Shape-shifters since the SMV, the society her father and his best friend had formed to police the supernatural element of the City, had been disbanded. Of all the supernatural groups, the Shape-shifters were the most peace-loving and the most vulnerable to attack or persecution. As an Elder, it would’ve fallen to Margaret to reassure her people on one hand and on the other, secure ties to the ever-strengthening Werewolf Alliance to ensure the protection of her race. Gabi had no doubt the soft-spoken but steel-spined lady would accomplish it all, but she worried about the toll it could take on Margaret’s health.
“That’s good to hear. Please send her my love,” she told him, meaning every word.
“I definitely will.” He nodded and then glanced down at the register in his hands as though he’d forgotten he was holding it. With a slight shake of his head, he remembered that he had a job to do. “Your plus one is already here, Ms Bradford. I’ll take you through.” He held out his free hand with a flourish, waiting for her to precede him into the cool airiness of the main restaurant.
Gabi steeled herself, resisting the urge to clench her fists and roll her head across her shoulders. She didn’t want to scare Chris or the other patrons into fleeing. She needed the witnesses. Witnesses might just be enough to keep things civil. She didn’t miss the bemused look Christopher shot her before she finally strode ahead to meet her lunch date. She didn’t need his discreet verbal directions to find her table, she’d booked the table quite specifically for her needs and, as he’d said, her lunch guest was already there.
The attractive, middle-aged woman sipped from a tall glass of ice water with a small wedge of lemon and a sprig of mint. Her chic, feathered bob was a few shades darker than Gabi’s own fiery auburn and recently coloured, if the lack of greys was anything to go by. She was wearing dove-grey linen pants and a turquoise chiffon top that showed off her slender frame and toned arms, and her make-up was light but expertly applied. Her gaze was drawn to Gabi’s approach, and she immediately set down the glass and came to her feet, a happy smile lighting her face.
“Gabi, sweetheart,” the woman exclaimed, stretching out her arms for a hug and enveloping Gabi in a cloud of Christian Dior. From the corner of her eye Gabi saw Chris’s surprise turn to amusement and she scowled at him. He held up his hands in mock supplication and began to back away. “Whiskey. On the rocks,” she mouthed at him as she awkwardly returned the woman’s embrace and tried not to choke on the powerful perfume.
Christopher gave her a snappy salute and left.
“Hi, Mom,” she finally managed to choke out, gently disentangling herself from the hug. Her mother noticed her discomfort and quickly backed off a small step.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I forgot about your reaction to perfumes.” She sat back down and immediately reached into her voluminous shoulder bag on the chair to her right and, like an illusionist, produced a small package of wet wipes with a flourish. “It’s just that I see you so seldom these days, I forget.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mom, it’s fine,” Gabi said as she took the opportunity to move to the seat on the opposite side of the small table and sit. Her mother ignored her protests and deftly scrubbed her wrists, neck and décolletage before tucking the wipe back into the depths of her bag. The pungent smell ebbed enough for Gabi to breathe comfortably again.
“You look great, Mom. Have you been working out?” In Gabi’s world, the best form of defence was offense, and that could be applied to lunch with her mother as well as it could in any other instance. She wouldn’t be able to keep her mother’s questions at bay forever, but hopefully long enough to get some food and strong alcohol into her before the onslaught began. Her mother didn’t disappoint, immediately launching into a thorough description of her new workout routine and diet as well as her efforts to get her husband, Evan, to go speed-walking with her in the evenings.
Gabi liked her mother’s husband of five years, though she saw him even less than she saw her mother. He was mild-mannered and even-tempered and he was good for her mother, building her confidence and her self-esteem while tempering her more childlike tendencies and gently encouraging her to take charge of her own life. The shocking, if not surprising, death of her father when Gabi was just ten years old had hit her mother harder than anyone could’ve predicted. Her father had left them well-provided for financially but had clearly never quite understood the depth of his wife’s dependence on him. If he had, perhaps he wouldn’t have put himself in harm’s way so regularly.
No, Gabi corrected herself as she fidgeted with her silverware, his altruism was an integral part of his DNA. He simply couldn’t stand on the sidelines while evil stalked the streets.
Her whiskey arrived with ice and a flourish. She wondered if the barman figured her for an alcoholic, which was laughable considering she couldn’t actually get drunk. And yes, she’d made some valiant efforts. Christopher set a glass of chilled white wine in front of her mother, removing the empty water glass as he laid menus down beside each of them and then ghosted politely away.
Her mother hadn’t faltered in her
detailed description of each of the other ladies in her yoga class. Unexpectedly, a soft bubble of happiness blossomed in Gabi’s chest as she listened to her mother speaking so excitedly about life. For so long she’d carried the memory of her mother as a woman broken. One whose reason for living had been cruelly snatched away, a child in an adult’s body, crying helplessly in a corner. In the absence of any grandparents and with her only aunt estranged, Gabi had been forced to become the adult, taking on the responsibility of not only looking after herself, but trying to keep the house running, ordering food deliveries, arranging cleaning services and paying bills. Byron, her dad’s best friend and literal comrade-in-arms, had helped out as much as possible, but her mother had been very adept at pushing people away. And then came the abusive, money-grabbing, asshole boyfriend. When things inevitably turned physical, Gabi had dealt with the problem, and Byron had cleaned up the mess. She snapped back to the present as she realised her mother had stopped talking and was watching her with knowing, sad eyes.
By an uncommon miracle of timing, Christopher chose that exact moment to return for their food order, gleaning her several more minutes of respite.
“Your hair looks great,” Gabi told her mother as Christopher departed for the kitchen, but she knew the look in her mother’s eye too well. The interrogation was about to begin.
“Yours looks as though it could do with a trim, sweetheart. When last did you see your hairdresser?”
Gabi was stumped for a moment; she truly couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a haircut. There simply hadn’t been enough hours in the day, or night, in the last couple of months.
“And you’re looking very pale,” her mother continued, “I think you need to get some sun. Have you had a check-up with Ian lately? I really must remember to call Byron and catch up with him next week.”
Gabi suppressed the sigh trying to escape as well as the suddenly pressing desire to hide her hands under the table where her mother couldn’t see them. That would simply be giving herself away. The positive side to rarely seeing sunlight recently was the lack of a pale, telltale mark on her left ring finger where the stunning engagement ring from Julius usually rested. The bare spot itched with wrongness. Her mother knew that she was in a serious relationship, she even knew that Julius was a Vampire, but she didn’t know that the two of them were connected by a Vampire bond that went way beyond the human concept of marriage.
“Are you having symptoms again?” her mother asked, worry forming a little V between her eyebrows. Her mother was referring to her unusual dietary needs and appearance of ill health that were a direct result of her having Vampire DNA embedded in her own genetic code. She was a Dhampir. Her mother still had no idea that the essential ingredient her diet had been lacking was blood. More specifically Vampire blood. Gabi had no intention of ever filling her in on that particular detail. “I’m sure Ian will be able to help. I know he’s become senior physician at the hospital, but he’d make time for you.”
“No, I’m fine, Mom,” Gabi assured her, forcing a smile as she raised the sweating crystal tumbler to her lips and relished the spicy bite of whiskey over her tongue. Ian would indeed help her any time she called him. He was Byron’s son and had been the only doctor she trusted with her secret until she’d become a part of Julius’s life and had been able to open up to his resident Vampire doctor, Jonathon, as well. Between the two of them they’d somehow managed to keep her alive the past year despite the world’s best attempts to the contrary. “I’ve just been really busy with the new job as well as handing over the bulk of the animal business to Russell.” She hoped the heavy make-up was succeeding in hiding the dark rings under her eyes. She made a mental note to remember bronzer on all her exposed skin in future.
Her mother’s lips thinned into a stern line.
“I’m not sure about this new job, Gabrielle,” her mother began. “You have worked so hard to build your business and your name as an animal behaviourist. You’ve become world renowned”—Gabi only barely stopped the roll of her eyes—”and it was such a relief to hear that you weren’t working for the Society anymore. Why do this to yourself?” And there endeth the pleasant conversation. The pent-up sigh left Gabi with a gusty whoosh.
The excellent beef carpaccio was almost enough to calm her temper, even her mother’s Caprese salad looked good enough to steal, but they’d reached the point they seemed to reach in every conversation since she’d become a Hunter for the Society. The stalemate. The point where her mother rejected the fact that Gabi was her father’s daughter and stubbornly refused to try to understand why Gabi couldn’t spend her entire life pretending to be purely human. She wanted Gabi to have the life she’d yearned for. The renovated house with the white picket fence, a husband who left for work at a normal job every morning while Gabi ran her own business part-time and spent the rest of her time rearing beautiful children for her mother to dote over. It wasn’t a ridiculous dream for a mother to have, but it had never been Gabi’s dream, and it would never be her reality.
Even poor Christopher sensed the tension as he arrived to clear their plates and bring fresh drinks. He caught Gabi’s eye with a pointed look; he’d do anything to help, she just had to give him a sign. Gabi’s gaze flicked to the phone lying face down on the table next to her elbow. One urgent phone call could put an end to her misery.
No, she shook her head almost imperceptibly; she needed to have this conversation with her mother. If she could just hang onto her temper a little bit longer, maybe they could finally come to some kind of compromise. Their relationship had been strained for more years than Gabi cared to think about. Christopher gave her a surreptitious thumbs-up and retreated to check on another table while Gabi buried her nose in her drink and tried to collect her thoughts.
She truly did want her mother to be part of her life, but for years had kept her at arm’s length. At times that was for her mother’s own safety; even now she was anxious about meeting her mother in public, where the wrong person might see them and make the inevitable connection. Meeting at midday in the hustle and bustle of the central City made it hard, but not impossible, for those stalking her to track them. But if she was being honest with herself, this ongoing disagreement over her lifestyle choices was the main cause of the distance between them. Her mother had been elated when Gabi had told her of the SMV’s demise, and she’d hinted repeatedly that Gabi could now begin to live her life, the one her mother wished for her.
Of course, Gabi would never live that life. Even setting aside her role as Consort to one of the most powerful Master Vampires in the world today, she was a Dhampir, the only living Dhampir currently known to exist, and she was in demand with the darker elements of the Vampire world. There were those who would stop at nothing to gain possession of her. And then there was her new role as a key member of SID, the acronym for Special Investigations Division, the task force she and Julius led on behalf of the Princeps, the governing council of Vampirekind. As the lesser of the three most dangerous aspects of her life, this was the one she’d chosen to tell her mother about. The last time the two of them had spoken, Gabi had explained some of their duties, including traveling the world searching for rogue Vampires. Her mother was acutely aware of what dangerous Vampires could do; Gabi’s eccentricities, as her mother called them, were a direct result of her mother’s encounter with one. And even though Gabi had skimmed over, or left out, details of the more life-threatening aspects of the job, her mother had read enough between the lines that she was desperately unhappy with Gabi’s decision to join the squad.
“Mom,” Gabi said at last, setting the drained glass back on the table. Yep, the barman definitely thought she was an alcoholic. “I’ve said this before, but I really, truly need you to listen to me.” She leaned forward, reaching across the table to cover her mother’s agitatedly drumming fingers with her own. Her mother stilled. The thin line of her mouth still radiated tension and her eyes were hard, but she met Gabi’s gaze. “I’m sorry I’m not the
daughter you wished for,” Gabi said quietly.
Her mother’s mouth opened, the disagreement clear in her eyes.
“No, Mom, just listen,” Gabi cut her off. She was aware that several conversations around them had quietened. A mother-daughter squabble was much more interesting than their own chit-chat. “I need you to hear me and know that I’m not confused about what I want in life. Dad didn’t brainwash me into wanting to be something I’m not; I just am what I am.” She squeezed her mother’s hand gently. “I’m sorry you’ll never be a grandmother; I’m sorry you’ll never be able to come over for Christmas lunch at my house and see my husband firing up the barbeque or playing ball with the kids in the backyard. I’m sorry you’ll never get to introduce me to your book club or your yoga friends. Most of all, I’m sorry that there’s a chance what happened to Dad could happen to me too.” She had to glance down, away from the sudden sparkle of tears in her mother’s eyes. “But I can do what I’m good at, I can do what I love. I can try to make the City safer for everyone in it.”
She glanced around the restaurant, noting some of the clandestine, sideways glances. She was good enough at assessing people to make some educated guesses. She nodded towards a nearby table. “So that that lady’s children can play in their local playground,” she glanced at another table, “and that man’s teenage son can go out clubbing with his friends and come home safely at the end of the night,” then to a table with an older woman and a child, “so that girl’s father will make it home tonight to tuck her into bed. So that Christopher,” her gaze settled on the young man hovering at the door to the kitchen, “can meet the girl of his dreams and have three naughty but perfect children who may or may not do incredible things with their lives.” She looked back down at her hand covering her mother’s. “So that when terrible things happen to people, there’s a friend to help them pick up the pieces and rebuild their lives.” She’d had to word things carefully because of the eavesdroppers, but she knew that her mother would understand her hidden meanings. Hopefully the uninvited listeners thought she was police or military personnel.
There'll be Hell to Pay (Hellcat Series Book 6) Page 2