“Sleeping. Don’t you have to ask permission to enter?” he said, slightly annoyed. Jesse turned and followed her toward the sleeping Scarlett.
“Har har. Not for a one-night stay. If you lived here for months and made it your home, maybe.”
Molly’s appearance changed subtly as she hit Scarlett’s radius, but she was used to it and took it in stride. “Damn, she looks like shit. Aren’t you feeding her?”
“Shh! You’re going to wake her up.”
“Nah. She sleeps like the dead. And I would know.” Molly gave him a wide grin and a little see what I did there look, and took off the backpack. “Clothes for both of you. I guessed on your size.”
“Thank you,” he said, accepting the bag.
“Her new Batphone is in there, too. I texted the number to Abby so she can do her phone magic on it.”
“Did you bring Scarlett’s knife belt?”
Molly frowned. “Sorry, no. I was just told the clothes and the phone.”
Jesse nodded. They’d figure it out in the morning. “What about you?” he said. “You know the cottage isn’t safe right now . . .”
“It’s okay. Dashiell has a safe house with a basement in Arcadia. I’ll still be close if Scar needs me.”
“You’ve changed,” Jesse blurted, surprising himself. Molly raised her eyebrows, and he shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I mean, a few years ago, when Scarlett got herself in deep shit, you left town for a few days.”
“That was before,” Molly said simply. She was still looking at Scarlett, fierce love written all over her face. “She’s my sister now.”
Then she turned her gaze to Jesse. “Besides, I’m not the only one. Three years ago you would have tried to convince her to take this mess to the police.”
Jesse expected the words to sting, but he realized she was right and gave a little shrug. “Maybe.”
Molly was watching him carefully. “You’re not going to ditch her again, are you?”
Jesse started. “I didn’t—no. I’m not going to ditch her. I would never.”
He regretted the too-honest words as soon as they left his mouth, but Molly just started shaking her head. “You two,” she grumbled.
“What?”
Molly rolled her eyes and pointed both hands at Scarlett, then at him. “You’re in love with her. She’s in love with you. But you dance around each other like you’re in orbit, because you’re both too goddamned scared to do anything.”
“Shh!” Scandalized, he looked at Scarlett, who hadn’t moved. Jesse grabbed Molly’s shoulder and ushered her into the hallway, snagging his room key on the way. The hall was empty, but Jesse still cinched his robe a little tighter, which made Molly smirk. He pulled the door shut behind them.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he told her. “There’s that guy, Jameson—”
“Jameson is dead, and she was never in love with him,” Molly interrupted. “She was in love with the idea of not being alone. But she never was alone. She’s just an idiot. And so are you.”
Jesse threw up his hands, exasperated. It probably didn’t look very dignified, considering the hotel robe. “What do you care?”
“Human lives are short, dumbass,” Molly said. She stabbed a finger toward the hotel door. “She almost died twice today. And knowing you, when she does die, you’ll be right there dying too. Do you really want that to happen without finding out if you guys would have worked?”
Jesse just stared at her for a moment. He felt like he’d been ambushed into this conversation, and now he was rapidly losing control of his own position in it. “It wouldn’t work,” he said weakly. “Too much has happened. The timing—”
“The timing wasn’t right before,” she agreed. “But get your head out of your ass and look around. She’s right here, literally in front of you, and you’re in love with her.” She crossed her arms over her chest, as though resting her case. Jesse wondered how long she’d been waiting to make this speech.
“Molly,” he said wearily, “I love you, I do. You’re my favorite vampire ever. But I can’t talk about this with you right now.”
“Fine,” she huffed, raising her hands in an I give up gesture. “At least she wasn’t pregnant,” she muttered. “That would have really fucked things up.”
Jesse froze. Scarlett had said not to mention the baby in front of Molly, but he hadn’t realized that she’d actually convinced Molly that it was a false alarm.
Molly took his silence for shock. “Sorry,” she said, looking actually contrite. “I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you, but she had this pregnancy scare. It’s all good, though.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine? The entire Old World would be after that kid, and Scarlett thinks she’s barely keeping her head above water now.”
“She’s stronger than she thinks she is,” Jesse found himself saying.
“Well, duh,” Molly scoffed. “That’s not the point.”
The elevator bell dinged, and a couple made their way down the hall toward them, giggling. They went quiet as they passed, giving curious looks to Jesse in his robe. He turned back to the hotel room door. “Good night, Molly.”
“Tell Scarlett I’ll call her at sunset,” she said, turning to go.
“Molls?”
She paused.
“Thanks for the delivery. You’re a good friend.”
Molly just cocked an eyebrow. “So are you,” she said, “but we both know that’s not going to be enough for either of you. Not forever.”
Jesse took the backpack into the bathroom and unzipped it. Molly had packed him brand-new clothes, still bearing tags from Nordstrom. She’d chosen dark pink boxers printed with little flamingos, just to be a jerk, but Jesse wasn’t about to complain. He was lucky she hadn’t packed him a thong.
He set the alarm clock and his cell phone alarm before climbing into the empty side of the massive bed, careful not to disturb Scarlett. Then he lay staring at the ceiling, running through it all in his head: Shadow being taken, the confrontation with Dashiell, all that fruitless running around searching for the bargest, and then, of course, the explosion at the Schmidt crime scene. Dashiell and his people would be busy cleaning up that mess tonight, but when they met in the morning, they would need a new game plan. Jesse had no idea what to do next. They’d failed to find Shadow, and they’d learned very little at the crime scene, probably because it had really been a trap. A damned good trap.
The Luparii kept getting ahead of them.
Jesse rolled onto his side, looking at Scarlett’s sleeping form. He’d left the bathroom light on, telling himself it was for her, but part of him knew the truth: now that things were finally quieting down, the fears he’d been fighting all day were seeping to the front of his mind. The memory of Sabine rummaging through his mind was so strong; it felt like greasy fingerprints had been left behind. Jesse knew that was ridiculous—whatever she’d done to him had been broken the second Scarlett got close—but he was pathetically grateful that Scarlett had wanted to share the bed. Partly this was so he could keep reassuring himself that she was alive, but there was also no way the Luparii could put him back in the twisted slumber while he was this close to her.
Not that they can put you in the slumber at all, he told himself. The witch, Sabine, had obviously needed to be nearby . . . right?
What if she’d taken a lock of his hair or something and could now use it to fuck with Jesse anytime she wanted?
He worried over this for a long time, and even went into the bathroom to check his hair in the mirror, feeling silly. He climbed back into the bed. He didn’t want to touch Scarlett without her permission, but he found himself scooting closer and closer in the king-size bed, until he could just feel her back against his arm. His behavior reminded him of his parents’ dog, Max, who preferred to sleep so he was just touching someone, to reassure himself that they were still there.
Only then was Jesse able to sleep.
Chapter 23
The next thing
I knew, Jesse was nudging me awake. “Scarlett. Scar.”
I grunted at him and cracked an eyelid. I’d rolled over in the night and was facing him; his brown eyes seemed to shine in the dim light from the bathroom. “Hngh,” I said eloquently. “Time’s it?”
“Just after four a.m. We’re supposed to be at Dashiell’s in an hour.”
“What day is it?”
“Sunday.”
“Traffic won’t be bad. Sleep more,” I mumbled. But then I remembered the night before and abruptly sat up in bed. “Wyatt?”
Jesse was already checking his phone. “Hayne texted. He said Wyatt is alive, but it’s touch and go. They’re feeding him blood as fast as they can.”
I thought about that for a moment, then reached out my hand. “Gimme.”
Jesse handed over the phone, and I scrolled through the contacts and called Lex, who sounded awake, thank God. The moment she answered, I said, “It’s Scarlett. Your blood’s, like, special, right?”
There was a pause, and then she said dryly, “I take it Jesse’s alive?”
Oops. I had forgotten to update her the day before. “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it. “Yes, he’s okay. Here, I’ll put you on speaker.”
I hit the right button, and Jesse said, “Hey, Lex.”
“Hey. You okay?”
“More or less.”
“Good.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, Scarlett, boundary witch blood is unique in some ways. Why?”
“Could I . . . um . . . have some?”
Before she could answer, I explained about Wyatt getting shot and then getting a leg blown off.
“Someone blew up your van?” Lex said in disbelief. “What the hell are you into now?”
I couldn’t really take offense at that. “Something big, I think. We don’t know a lot yet, but we’re working on it. Can you come donate blood to Wyatt?” I wasn’t sure it would be enough to help him, but if Wyatt died and there was something I hadn’t tried . . .
“I have my own life here, Scarlett, remember?” she said, clearly losing patience with me. “There are people who are under my protection, too. I can’t just fly to LA at the drop of a hat.”
“But then you must understand what I’m going through,” I pushed. “Wyatt took a hit that was meant for me . . . right after taking bullets that were meant for me. Please?”
There was another moment of silence, and I started to think I’d gone too far. But then Lex sighed and said, “I could send Katia.”
Jesse and I exchanged a surprised look. Lex’s biological aunt, Katia, had come to LA a few months earlier as a sort of involuntary henchman for a man named Oskar, who had been seeking revenge against Molly. Oskar was dead now, and as part of a deal with Lex’s boss, Maven, we’d sent Katia to Colorado. I hadn’t thought to ask what had happened to her afterward, even when I was right there in Boulder. Stupid Scarlett.
But Katia did have boundary witch blood, like Lex. “What’s she up to these days?” I said. Best to be cautious.
“Right now, Maven has her traveling around Colorado as a sort of vampire ambassador, checking in with various communities. She’s in . . .” There was a pause, like Lex was checking a calendar. “Grand Junction today. But I could probably get her on a flight this afternoon.”
I forced myself not to jump up and down quite yet. “Will that be okay? Will you get in trouble?”
There was a pause, and Lex cleared her throat. “Actually, Katia is—understandably—hesitant to swear an oath of loyalty to Maven, given what happened with Oskar. She helps with things on a freelance basis, but it can get . . . tense. It might be good for everyone if she takes a short trip to LA. Maybe she can clear the air there, too.”
Oh. Right. Katia had kind of terrorized the city a little bit. I took about two seconds to ponder whether I’d get in trouble with Dashiell for bringing her back to town without consulting him, but decided I didn’t care. If Lex trusted Katia, I did too, and if she could help Wyatt, it was worth the trouble.
“That would be amazing, thank you.” I gave her Hayne’s phone number and asked her to have Katia call him as soon as she arrived. I didn’t know where they were keeping Wyatt, but Hayne could arrange the blood donation. Before we hung up, Lex said, “Listen, I was going to call you today anyway. Maven remembered something else last night, about the little girl in Azad.”
“Okay . . .” Jesse gave me a curious look, and I mouthed, Tell you later.
“She and her grandmother both had specialties.”
It took me a moment to parse that one out. Most witches were trades witches, meaning they could work with just about any kind of magic, but a small percentage had a specialty. Lex, for example, could only work boundary magic.
But if the female null in Azad came from a line of specialty magic, and she’d passed it on to her witchling baby . . . that meant that I needed to figure out whether or not my own mother’s witchblood had been specialized or not. “Okay,” I said at last. “I’ll put it on my to-do list. Thanks, Lex.”
As soon as I hung up, I threw back the covers. Jesse obviously wanted to ask about Lex’s information, but I said, “I’ll tell you about it in the car. We need to stop back at the cottage before Dashiell’s.”
Jesse looked at the clock on the bedside table. “We don’t have time. And it’s not safe.”
“I know. But I need more knives. And my bulletproof vest.”
As I’d figured, that made Jesse waver, but he shook his head. “We can buy you a new one. We’ve got the credit card.”
“But it’s a lot harder to replace my knives and my knife belt,” I argued. My voice sounded firm, for maybe the first time in the past three days. “Look, if we’re late, I can keep Dashiell awake past dawn, but who knows where he’s going to send us today. I’m not going to feel safe unless I have my knife belt.”
He sighed. “Fine. In and out, though, okay?”
I nodded. “Promise.”
Half an hour later, we were heading into Marina del Rey. I had filled Jesse in on most of the trip to Boulder, including what Maven had said about the baby.
“Did she give you any advice?” Jesse asked when I’d finished. We were nearly at the exit to get to the cottage.
“No, that’s when Kirsten called me to come rescue you from certain death,” I said solemnly. Jesse rolled his eyes but didn’t take the bait.
I had texted Dashiell to explain why we’d be late, and he had very succinctly texted back, “The Lexus has bulletproof windows.” Which was so comforting.
Okay, fine, Jesse found it comforting. Personally, I thought the Lexus was a very nice car, but its plush seats made me feel like I was lying on my back, which made me feel exposed, which made me want my knives even more . . . not to mention my van.
My van. It was stupid to be so sad about a vehicle that was replaceable, but goddammit, I had loved the van.
Jesse made us cruise past the cottage a couple of times to check it out, but nothing seemed to have changed from the day before, and I didn’t feel anyone with magic even when I extended my radius as far as it would go. Jesse still insisted on checking the house, gun in hand, before waving me inside.
I went straight to the bedroom closet and got out the bulletproof vest and my knife belt. My ex-boyfriend, Eli, had had it made for me by one of those companies that sells stuff at Renaissance festivals and comic-book conventions and stuff. It was sized perfectly for my upper waist, so I could still move and sit down and everything without knives stabbing into my abdomen.
I put on a tank top with a built-in sports bra, wriggled into the bulletproof vest, and strapped the knife belt on over that, adjusting the buckles to fit the vest’s extra bulk. It was a little too easy—I’d lost weight. Opening the door so Jesse and I could talk, I went to the bucket of knives on my dresser and began loading them into the belt.
Jesse came in and sat down on my bed, watching me slide knives into the little loops. Then he asked in a too-casual voice, “Do you ever hear from Eli?”
“Not really,” I said once I’d recovered. “We’ve sort of agreed that I don’t go to Hair of the Dog unless it’s for work, and he doesn’t come to meetings at Dashiell’s unless Will orders it. I hear he started dating one of the new werewolves who came into town last year.”
Jesse’s eyebrows quirked. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah.” I finished loading the belt, covered it with a soft, loose tee shirt, and plopped down on the bed next to him. “I’ve met her. She’s tiny and cute and sort of obedient—not a dog joke, I swear. She worships Eli, which he . . . deserves, I guess? Frankly, I try not to think about it.”
“That all sounds very emotionally healthy,” Jesse said gravely.
I punched him in the arm. “Okay, why don’t we talk about your quickie marriage and divorce?”
I expected him to back down, but he just gave a little shrug. “What do you want to know?”
Oh. Well played. I almost blew it off, but we’d never really discussed what had happened between him and the woman who’d ghostwritten his book, and if I was being honest . . . I was incredibly curious. “Why did it fall apart?” I finally said. I knew Jesse wouldn’t have married the woman if he hadn’t cared for her, and I wasn’t so conceited as to think he was hung up on me, so something else must have tanked the relationship.
“It was my fault. She was nice and fun and easy to be with. I loved her, sort of, but mostly I was trying to will myself a normal life, or at least normal for LA. You know, working regular hours on a creative project, date night with the wife, Sunday evenings at my parents, everything orderly and on schedule.”
“That sounds kind of nice,” I admitted. The only thing I had that approached a schedule involved my DVR.
“It was, for a while. And there was no big fight, no cheating, nothing like that. We finished the book, and a couple of months went by with her taking these meetings for our next project.” He shrugged, looking ashamed. “But I kind of just woke up one morning and knew I was kidding myself. ‘Fake it till you make it’ doesn’t apply to everything. And she couldn’t understand what had changed.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. “The problem was that nothing had changed. I’d changed my life, but not myself. And I’d been using her to make myself feel like a different person. I don’t feel great about it.”
Shadow Hunt Page 13