by Zoe Winters
When he’d left her, he found a broom and dustpan in the pantry and swept up the debris from the lamp, righting the end table as he made his way back into the kitchen to throw away the broken glass. He stopped one last time by her bedroom. She looked peaceful.
He took a deep breath and let it out in a shuddering whoosh of air. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t remember what he’d done. She’d go back to smarting off to him. He’d go back to baiting her. And the next time he drank from her would be different.
Chapter Two
She woke to the sound of a dog whining and scratching at the door. What the hell? Where was she? The next question came tearing through her brain without preamble. Who was she? She scrambled out of bed, her sleep-filled eyes flitting around the room seeking to light on something recognizable.
The bedroom would have been calming if not for the lack of recognition. Pale blue walls, white wicker furniture, and a handmade quilt in pale blues and lavenders with a hint of spring green filled her line of vision. Fresh flowers bloomed happily in a vase on the bureau. The room smelled like a spring meadow, courtesy of fabric softener, no doubt. Her feet sank into thick carpeting.
Ouch.
She perched on the edge of the bed and lifted her foot to find several small cuts, then limped to the full-length mirror to get a look at the stranger in the room. Red hair, green eyes. She wrinkled her freckled nose. Cute. Now who the hell was she?
She was wearing a cami top and pink capris pajama pants. There was blood on her clothing, but not in a place it could have gotten from her foot. She lifted her top and turned to see if there were more injuries. She wasn’t even sure it was her blood. Had she been injured in some sort of fight?
Had she hit her head? She ran her hands over her scalp, not finding any bumps. The dog continued to whine outside.
When she opened the back door, an Irish Setter with bright eyes bounded in, his tail wagging. He sniffed her, then growled, whimpered, and went to lie on the opposite end of the floor, covering his nose with his paws.
Weird.
Her eyes scanned the room until she found a purse. Jackpot. Inside the red leather bag was a leopard print wallet. She spotted a driver’s license and removed the thick plastic card from the sleeve.
633 Oak Circle. Cary Town, Washington.
According to the birth date, she was twenty-six. The name didn’t feel right though: Charlotte Devlin. She didn’t feel like a Charlotte. She sorted through the rest of the wallet’s contents and discovered a library card that read: Charlee Devlin. Better.
“Now what?” she said to the dog. “I don’t suppose you have ID too?”
He slunk warily to her, looking as if he expected to be tackled to the ground. Charlee hoped she wasn’t a dog abuser. She didn’t feel like a dog abuser. When he reached her, she felt around his neck for his collar. The word “Sammy” was engraved on a shiny gold heart, with a phone number underneath it.
“Sammy. At least I’m a responsible pet owner. Now I know two names. I can totally build a life with this.”
She went to the kitchen and filled a cereal bowl with food she assumed she liked and sat at the table with it. A light from a gray box blinked in the corner.
“More clues.” She pressed the button on the answering machine, and a stilted automated voice came on.
“You have seventeen messages. First message 9:30 am: ‘Charlee, where the hell are you? You were supposed to open the store. I got here, and there was a line down the block. Call me if something’s wrong.’ ”
Beep.
“Second message 9:46 am: ‘This is Greta again, you’re not usually this late. What’s going on? The store opens at eight. Call me.’ ”
Beep.
Charlee glanced at the clock on the wall. Eleven-thirty.
“Third message 9:55 am . . . ”
The pounding on the door overpowered the next message which, going with the odds, was from Greta as well. When she opened the door, a woman with short pixie-cut brown hair stood on the other side, all color drained from her face.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’re Greta,” Charlee said.
“Huh?” The brunette paused for a second, like she didn’t know what to do with that statement, then rolled ahead. “At first I was just pissed you weren’t there on time because I had the craziest, scariest night of my life and wanted to tell you about it. But then it got later and later, and I got worried. It took me awhile to find someone to cover the store so I could come look for you. Didn’t you get my messages? Why didn’t you call? You have no idea what happened to me last night!”
“I have no idea what happened to me last night.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said something strange and Charlee-like, but not Charlee-like. What is going on with you?”
The redhead took a deep breath. It wasn’t that she wasn’t freaked. She was definitely freaked. But she was in her house, everything seemed safe enough, and whatever had happened to cause her amnesia, crying about it wasn’t going to make her memory come flooding back.
“I don’t remember who I am. Or anything about my life. I just know my name is Charlee because I found my wallet, the dog’s name is Sammy because he has a collar, and your name is Greta because you left messages on the machine. And I just woke up a few minutes ago.”
“Okay, that’s so completely not funny.”
“Which part? That I just got up or the memory-loss thing?”
Greta’s brow furrowed. “How can you be so damn calm about it? If it were me, I’d be hiding under the bed in my fur.”
“In your what?” Charlee wondered what comfort a fur coat brought in times of crisis, especially with such warm weather.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“I don’t know why I’m not more upset about this. I keep thinking of it as an adventure or puzzle to solve, like a mystery. Does that sound weird?”
Greta smiled. “Not for you. I was on the run for my life recently, and you were all ready to go with me. I think you wanted to start a romance book club.”
Charlee nodded. “That feels right, but now I’m at a dead end. I guess I could look through pictures and home movies if I have any, and you can tell me what you know.” She paused a second, thinking. “Maybe we should take me to the doctor. Isn’t that what normally happens in these situations?”
“I’ve got someone better.”
***
Once they’d left the safety and somewhat controlled circumstances of her house, Charlee’s trepidation grew. It had been hard enough waking in a strange house with a strange dog, both of which were nevertheless comforting. But to ride through a town she couldn’t recognize as people waved to her from the streets was unsettling. She’d fiddled with the radio and had leaned her seat back to listen to music for the rest of the trip. Anything to distract herself from the smiling faces that knew her.
“We’re out of the area you’re supposed to remember now,” Greta said.
Charlee’s eyes snapped open. “You know me well don’t you?”
Greta laughed. “We go way back. If it makes you feel any better it took me about ten minutes to figure out what was going on, and even then it was just a guess.”
“Lucky guess.” Charlee put her seat back up. They were driving through a heavily wooded area now. The redwoods stretched for what seemed like miles straight into the sky around her, enclosing the long, winding road. She rolled her window down and took in the fresh air.
A few minutes later, the car stopped in front of one of the cutest cottages she’d ever seen. It looked like it could have belonged to the witch in Hansel and Gretel, minus the baked goods as building materials. When she stepped out of the car, she heard a babbling brook and birds chirping excitedly in the trees.
“What is this place?”
“Probably my new house. My lease is up soon. But I’m not sure yet, we haven’t talked about it,” Greta said. “Damn, I wish you could remember because I wanted you to have full back story when
you got here.”
Charlee moved closer to the door and stopped. “No.”
“What is it?”
“Oh hell no. Nuh uh. Take me back.” Her skin crawled and goose bumps popped out over her arms. It had all seemed so peaceful and nice until the moment she’d stepped closer to the house. Now the only thing going through her mind was panic. The feelings didn’t match the idyllic scene in front of her. It was a paradise, but something low in her gut screamed, run!
“This isn’t like you,” Greta said.
“Then maybe we should listen to it. Something is very wrong with this house. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t go in there.”
“Oh! Hold on a second.”
Greta walked up to the porch leaving Charlee to question the other woman’s intelligence. After a brief rap of knuckles against wood, the door opened, muffled words were exchanged, and then the feeling about the house dissipated. It was suddenly as welcoming in her head as it was to look at.
Greta called from the front porch, “We’re going to wait just a few minutes, while Dayne straightens the house. He wasn’t expecting company.”
Charlee nodded. She wondered if she was insane, but she couldn’t work up the fear and warning she’d experienced only moments before. She felt so stupid now.
Minutes passed and a man came to the door calling out that he was ready for them. He had dark hair and a voice that could melt chocolate. He also had a strong jaw, and his build suggested he might be preparing to star in a cologne commercial sometime soon. Charlee raised an eyebrow at Greta.
“Don’t worry, we just got together. I was going to tell you about this today. You’re not forgetting anything juicy, I promise.”
“That’s a relief. You did good. He’s a hottie.”
Inside the cottage, the smell of coffee percolating in the kitchen and something decidedly cinnamon-related drifted out to the entryway. A couple of comfortable-looking red leather couches stood in the middle of the room, with a table fountain burbling away, not unlike the brook outside. Soft jazz played in the background.
“You’re a doctor?” Charlee asked, noticing shelves of medical books. She’d thought Greta was taking her to someone better than a doctor. Not that she necessarily agreed with the assessment that someone else could be better than a doctor in this situation.
“Medical researcher,” Dayne replied.
Charlee noticed Greta’s brows arch upward and knew there was something she wasn’t being told, but decided not to press the matter.
“If you’ll come with me to the lab, I can run a few tests so we can figure out what’s going on with you and how we might be able to remedy it.”
“Don’t memories just come back on their own when someone has amnesia?” Charlee asked.
“It depends on what’s causing the amnesia.”
She followed him down a hallway and a sloping, winding path until they were underground where she was surprised to see a fully-outfitted lab. He must be serious about research. Probably privately funded.
There was a medical examining table, more books, charts, and a few machines. Along one wall were computers and refrigerated cases with vials of unrecognizable liquids with little labels on them. Fluorescent track lighting hung from the ceiling, illuminating the light green walls.
“Nice lab,” Greta said, giggling.
Charlee’s brows knit together, not getting the joke. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Dayne rolled his eyes and directed Charlee to sit on the table. He donned a white lab coat and scrubbed his hands in the sink, then returned armed with a needle.
“I’m going to draw some blood and run a few basic tests.”
“Aren’t you going to X-ray my head?”
He looked uncomfortably over at the machine Charlee assumed was for X-raying heads. “CT scan, but it depends on what the blood work shows.”
After he’d filled a vial with her blood, Charlee and Greta went up to the main part of the house and out to the garden, leaving Dayne to work.
Lush blooms dotted the entirety of the stone-encased backyard. In the absence of trees, the sun streamed down without obstruction, sparkling off the water in the birdbath showcased in the center. It was like another world.
The two of them sprawled on beach towels with coffee and cinnamon rolls. They talked about Dayne until he returned, causing both women to blush like guilty adolescents.
“Greta, I need to speak with you privately.”
Charlee looked up. “Is something wrong?”
She wondered what awful thing he could have found in her blood.
“It’s fine, Charlee. I just need to borrow Greta for a minute.”
Greta excused herself and the two of them moved just inside the door. Charlee waited until their voices got louder, and she couldn’t resist going to eavesdrop. She slipped to the edge of the garden and hid behind a spray of greenery arranged in a large stone urn beside the door.
“You are not involving him,” Greta hissed.
“Please be rational. I know you don’t trust him, but I’ve known Anthony for many years. This is his mess to clean.”
There was a long pause, then Greta let out a loud sigh. “Fine, but I hate it. When will Evil Dead get here?”
“I can’t call until after sunset, but then . . . ”
Charlee leaned forward too far and the urn toppled over. She raced back to her beach towel and tried to look innocent.
Dayne poked his head out the door. “Charlee, are you okay?”
“Fine.” But her mind whirred with possibilities. Who was Anthony, why didn’t Greta trust him, and what kind of mess had he made?
Chapter Three
Anthony chuckled as he stepped out of the black Mercedes and felt the wards encircling the cottage. The magic didn’t feel foreboding to him, but welcoming. A thick fog of darkness he could get lost in. He guessed not many vampires had been near the Wickham house or Dayne would have plugged the security hole by now.
The sorcerer hadn’t been forthcoming on the phone. He’d just said he needed Anthony there immediately and that it was of the highest importance. He rolled his eyes.
Humans.
Wickham might have a longer lifespan than the rest of them and a few extra perks from the magic, but he still thought like a human. Everything was life or death and potentially world-ending for them. When you’d lived as long as Anthony had, you stopped listening to dire warnings of doom. These things usually had a way of working themselves out.
And ’lo, the world still stands. Funny how that worked out.
The only reason he’d come out to Deliverance country was curiosity. He assumed there was still poison in Greta’s blood and he’d been called to drink again. His memories of the previous night were chaotic at best. Despite the temptation of her blood, if that was what Dayne needed, he’d have to find himself another vamp.
Starting now, Anthony was adopting a strict just say no policy. It was too close to the tournament to be so careless. He’d worked too hard. He wasn’t risking a full century for one more drink of therian blood, pleasurable though it was. When he became the coven’s king, he could have the stuff shipped in. Hell, he could have a personal stable of therians if he wanted.
Greta opened the door, and he couldn’t wipe the leer from his face fast enough. She drew back, frightened. His jaw clenched at her reaction, far less amusing tonight than normal.
He dragged his gaze over her body. “You look fine to me. No horrible side effects from last night, I presume.”
She glared. “I was against you coming here. And it has nothing to do with me.”
Dayne came up behind the brunette and opened the door wider, gently moving Greta to the side. “Do come in. We can speak downstairs where it’s private.”
Anthony nodded and crossed the threshold.
The door to the garden opened and Charlotte entered the room, a guarded expression on her face. Anthony reached out his senses to read her, upset by the confusion and anxie
ty she projected. He clearly hadn’t done a very good job with it. Was the woman he’d known lost for good after what he’d done? Perhaps a part of the brain couldn’t forget. He ground his teeth together.
“This is the psychiatrist that’s going to help you,” Dayne said. “I need to speak with him privately. We’ll be back in a moment. Anthony, shall we?”
The vampire had only been there two minutes and already he could tell he wouldn’t like where any of this was heading. Psychiatrist? Was he kidding?
“I’m going too,” Greta said.
Anthony zoned out while Greta and Dayne argued about the rudeness or lack of rudeness of leaving Charlotte alone. He absently regarded the redhead, becoming increasingly irked as she edged farther away from him.
This was all Dayne and Greta’s fault. He indulged briefly in a fantasy of snapping their necks, but was brought back to reality as images of how it would affect Charlotte entered his mind. If he wanted her back to the snarky smartass who told him off, killing her friends in front of her probably wasn’t the way to go.
He was drawn back to his surroundings by the dull thud caused by Greta tapping her foot on the carpeted floor. He couldn’t read her, but her body language projected everything he needed to know. Her arms were crossed over her chest, while her lips sat in a determined line.
“I have other things to do tonight,” Anthony said. “I don’t see why we can’t just discuss whatever needs to be discussed right here.”
Both Greta and Dayne looked at him aghast as if he’d suggested slicing up a puppy and cooking it over an open flame.
“We’re sorry to leave you alone,” Dayne said, directing his attention to Charlee. “It’s incredibly rude.” He speared Greta with a glare.
“No, it’s fine,” she said, oblivious to any subtext.
Anthony winced, knowing he made her nervous, and she just wanted him out of the room. He turned and headed for the basement, wanting to get the discussion over with as soon as possible so he could escape the suffocating blanket of Charlotte’s fear.