I’d earned my GED after a few weeks of classes, but there were gaps in my formal education as well as my necromantic one. In a prison where parole was a pipe dream and the inmates were drugged until all they could string together was drool, the Society wasted no funds on bettering us. And, with Amelie nearing her final stretch, I had no hope of catching up to her.
Just the thought of being the new kid again…
“Marketing,” I answered after too long of a pause, quoting the answers she’d given me when I’d asked the same question. “Accounting. Management. Computer information systems, whatever that means.”
“I have an associate degree in criminal justice.”
“Really?” I glanced over at him. “I didn’t know that. Congrats. I bet the pics of you in your cap and gown—” I tried picturing him all solemn and dignified. Instead, I remembered the catastrophe that had been his high school graduation. “Did you wear clothes under the gown this time?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “That’s between me and the goddess.”
I burst out laughing. “That’s a no.”
“Cut me some slack.” His wounded act failed courtesy of the mischief glinting in his eyes. “I’m trying to impress you here.”
Impress? Boaz had been as naked as the day he was born under that gown, and he wanted me thinking long and hard about what I’d missed out on. Emphasis on the long and the hard. That part of Boaz’s anatomy had ceased to be a mystery the day he walked on stage, accepted his diploma with one hand and hiked up his gown to moon the crowd with the other. To this day, I’m not sure if I ought to be thankful I didn’t get the full moon, or if the side-peen I glimpsed was somehow worse.
Exhibitionism was apparently a turn-on for him. Shocker.
A prickling sense of unease swept over me as we neared the restaurant, and I slowed my pace.
“Keep walking, Squirt.” Boaz waited for me to catch up to him. “They won’t make a move in front of so many witnesses.”
They? Three men played checkers on the swayback front porch. When we got within five yards of them, the tallest one lifted his head, met my gaze and winked at me. “It’s my stalkerpire. Looks like he brought friends.”
“Stalkerpire?” He chuckled before patting a chest pocket on the leather jacket he hadn’t removed. “Don’t worry. I brought friends of my own.”
Stakes? There were no laws that said you couldn’t arm yourself against other supernatural races. But the Society found the notion of self-defense so unseemly as to punish those who got caught brandishing weapons sharper than their wit.
They were under the mistaken impression that, as the race who created vampirism, vampires were somehow beholden unto necromancers. While that might be strictly true, and most were respectful enough, the perfume had faded from that rose long ago. Vamps didn’t appreciate being treated as second-class citizens, but the Society never let them forget their place, as evidenced by their subfloor seating at the Lyceum.
“What are the odds of this not ending in blood?” I whispered out of the side of my mouth while smiling back at my victims, hoping they believed the lie they saw written on my face and ignored the clanging of their inner warning bells. Running from a predator was a bad idea. It turned those warning bells into dinner bells real quick. “I need to get these people to safety.”
“These people are your safety.” Cannon fodder was what he meant. “These guys have been following us for the last five blocks. That they got here ahead of us is a bad thing, Grier. It means they’re learning your routes.”
Hunting me like feral cats with one mouse to split between them. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“There’s nothing you could have done, so why worry you?”
His logic was sound, and I got why he’d kept his mouth shut, but his attitude reminded me so much of Volkov at that moment I was amazed when smoke didn’t pour out of my ears. Protecting me was one thing. Coddling me was another. I didn’t care if my only choices were exsanguination or exsanguination with a side order of kidnapping, I wanted to make that call for myself even when the answer was obvious. I wanted the courtesy of being asked instead of having my fate decided for me. Again.
“I’ll do what I can to drag out the last three stops, but we need to hash out a plan.”
“I’ve got it covered,” he assured me.
“I bet you do.” I stormed off to begin my recitation. Though my skin crawled when I turned my back on the vamps, I trusted Boaz to save me from becoming a pincushion. “This is the Rumrunner, founded back in 1789 by the pirate…”
The vamps gave up all pretense of playing their game to listen in and sneer at us. The crowd got restless, their hindbrains twitching without understanding why, and I hurried through the rest of my talking points. As my group hit the sidewalk heading toward a more residential area, with brighter streetlights, they shook off the worst of their unease.
“Why were those guys being so rude?”
I located the speaker—the teenage girl—and took a moment to pause and address the group. “The sad truth is some locals get their jollies by heckling guides and their groups. I don’t see the appeal, but it happens at least once a week. I’m sorry it happened to you.”
At least the skeptics I got. They wanted a forum to voice their contrary opinion, and they were willing to pay money to one-up a guide peddling the opposite of their beliefs even when it ruined what should have been a fun outing for everyone else. A total waste of cash, if you asked me, but whatever.
Locals showing their backsides, though? That I didn’t get. Sure, the Southern-belle thing might be a tad ridiculous, but that was half the fun. Ghost tours were a booming industry in towns with a claim to a bloody heritage. We helped the tourist trade. We kept history, albeit the gorier side of it, alive. Where was the harm? Why the hate?
Of course telling my group that vampires were stalking us was more likely to end with my faux victims becoming actual victims when they swarmed the vamps and started quizzing them on their undead lives and asking the usual questions about how one went about getting bitten. Receiving the bite was easy. Heck, there were vampire restaurants where they chose willing humans right off the menu. But much like the misguided warg lore claiming one bite would turn you into a slavering wolf on the nights of the full moon, a vampire bite wouldn’t turn you immortal either. Neither would drinking their blood, though I did once see a human get high that way.
Want to become a vamp? You need a willing necromancer, a signed contract, and a verified money transfer before that happens.
The group shuffled, eager to keep moving toward the lights. These victims were getting the short end of the stick tonight between the tool debate and the leering vampire debacle. I sensed a few of them were ready for this to end so they could go back to their hotels, and I hated their evening had been a downer. We breezed through two stops when the crowd remained listless. The vamps had trailed us. I could sense them in the prickling of the fine hairs down my nape. Or maybe that was my imagination running wild.
We reached The Point of Hey You Made It Back, and the crowd dispersed in an eager rush. Boaz ushered me inside then set off toward a cluster of shadows pooling under a Bradford pear tree heavy with white blossoms. Amelie met me in the hall dressed in jeans, a tee and sneakers. Wasting no time, she shackled my wrist with her fingers.
“We’re going out the back.” She hauled me toward the rear exit. “Boaz is distracting them for us.”
“I can’t leave. Cricket would murder me if I left in one of her gowns.” I pulled against her. “And I still have one tour left.”
“Not quite.” Neely swaggered from his makeshift salon and struck a pose in the hallway. His dark-gray trousers looked painted on, but his matching frock coat hid a multitude of sins, and his cravat, tied with an intentional air of negligence, made him appear quite the dandy. The stovepipe hat he doffed in our direction completed the ensemble. “I have one tour left.”
I let Amelie drag me a few more steps.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Sure, I do.” He shoved up my skirt in the front, untied the bow cinching the hoop skirt in at my waist and shoved the frame down around my feet like a coiled Slinky. “That’s what friends are for.” He drew back and inspected me. “That’ll do. This way you’ll fit in the car.”
“Thanks, Neely.” I kissed his cheek. “You’re the best.”
“Yes, well, your boyfriend’s tip paid for Cruz and me to rent a cabin for the weekend up on Stone Mountain. It’s the least I can do.”
Caving to Amelie’s sense of urgency, I followed her out the rear exit. “What about your tours?”
“I’m done. Remember when Cricket pulled me into her office? She was telling me the private tour I had tonight cancelled. The bride has mono.” She herded me toward her car. “With Neely covering for you, we’re both off the hook.”
“What did you tell him?” The truth wasn’t an option. “Why does he think I had to ditch?”
“I didn’t have to tell him anything except you needed a favor.”
Stupid tears wavered in my vision. Neely was a good egg.
“Where are we going?” I climbed in her car and waited for her to join me. “I’m guessing Mallow is out of the question.”
“Boaz said to get you home.” She cranked the engine then sped out of the lot, hands white-knuckled on the wheel. “We can have burgers delivered if you want. I don’t have anywhere to be since I’m off early. For once, I don’t have any studying to do either. Classes don’t start back until next week.” She glanced over at me. “It’s been forever since we spent more than five minutes together.”
“Burgers it is then.” I pulled up the app for our favorite pub and started ordering. “To molten lava cake for dessert or not to molten lava cake for dessert?”
“How is that even a question?”
When she was right, she was right.
Thirteen
The delivery girl almost beat us to the front door, and I could have kissed her rosy cheeks once the smell of hand-cut fries hit my nose. Food made my situation seem less dire. Food that I could now pay for without counting out lint-covered pennies I dug from under the couch cushions would taste even sweeter.
While I swiped my debit card through the girl’s card reader and tacked on a fat tip to encourage her to zip out here the next time I ordered, Amelie carried the bags into the kitchen and set up our feast.
“I picked up the Oregon Trail card game last week,” I said while bumping the door shut with my hip. “Do you want to see who can die of dysentery first?”
The Oregon Trail was the first video game I had ever played. Amelie had a brother, so she was no stranger to the virtual landscape. Being an only child with a caretaker who was known to grumble over the switch from horse and buggy to automobiles meant the antiquated program on our school computers was my first exposure to gaming. Though Amelie would bust a gut laughing if I called it that out loud.
“Maybe after we eat?” She stuck her face in the bag and inhaled. “That game always makes me hungry.”
“Me too.” I rubbed my stomach. “I always run out of food first.”
We settled on our usual stools and passed out the grub, not wasting time on things like manners before digging in with moans of approval.
“Boaz told me you’ve been reinstated as the Woolworth heir,” she said around a bite of hamburger. “It’s nowhere near enough for what they put you through, but it’s a good start. I assume that means they forked over your inheritance too?”
“They did indeed.” And it could all vanish again in the blink of an eye.
“Have you considered setting up an offshore account,” she asked too casually.
“I haven’t even checked to see how much is in there, so that’s a no.” I laughed off the suggestion until I caught her expression. “You’re serious?”
“Promise you won’t tell my lunkhead brother about this?”
“Cross my heart.”
“He coped with you being gone by planning prison breaks, and I might have gotten wrapped up in the logistics with him a time or two. He had all these contingency plans outlined, but I kept circling back to how expensive it would be to live your life on the run, and it got me thinking about your inheritance. Maud was old school. Remember how much she hated checkbooks? Forget credit or debit cards.” She shook her head. “What kept me up nights was thinking if she’d diversified instead of lumping all her cash in one bank, and a Society branch at that, you might have been set. Offshore accounts are the best option, and I do mean multiples, but normal human banks would offer you some protection too.”
“You think I might be in a position where I need this one day.” Hard to blame her when I felt the same.
“I think the new Grande Dame has a vested interest in you, and until we know what that is, you’re in danger.” Seeming to have lost her appetite, she set down her food. “You don’t want to draw her attention if she’s watching your account.” Considering the Society had established it themselves, that was a given. “But withdrawing a little here and a little there and using it to pad your contingency plan seems like a solid idea to me.”
Chest bowed with pride, I was seriously impressed with her advice and felt like more of a heel than ever for begrudging her the education she had worked so hard to earn. “Boaz and I were wondering what you planned on doing with your MBA. I’ll have to let him know you’re using your education to mastermind cushy lives for fugitives.”
“Hey.” She dusted off her shoulder. “Somebody’s got to do it.”
After inhaling a handful of salty fries, I noticed we had nothing to wash them down with and stood. “Do you want some tea or lemonade?”
“Tea, please.” A text message chimed in Amelie’s pocket, and she pulled out her cell and skimmed the screen. “Boaz lost the vampires.”
I flicked a glance at the front door like they might be polite enough to knock first before devolving into fist-banging and more threats. “Have they realized you sneaked me out yet?”
“I’ll ask.” Her fingers blurred over the keys. Before she hit send, the phone rang. “I’m not slow,” she snapped in the voice reserved for her brother. “I have short fingers.” She listened for a second. “Grier is right here, safe and sound. No— Are you crazy? Wait. Don’t answer that.” She thrust the phone at me. “You deal with him.”
“What is your damage?” I asked through a mouthful of juicy burger goodness.
“The vamps scattered after the late-late tour departed,” he panted, footsteps hammering in the background. “They must have gotten the tour schedule from Cricket. She wouldn’t think anything of a victim requesting a specific guide. That or they’ve been watching you long enough to figure it out on their own. Either way, it’s bad news. The leader peeled off when you didn’t lead the nine o’clock tour, but I spotted him circling the block in a black Escalade. When the midnight group left and you were nowhere in sight, the whole crew ditched.”
“Do you think they’ll come after me at home?” My stalkerpire wasn’t shy about trespassing.
“I’d bet money on it.” Metal clinked in the background. “Be there in a few.”
“See you when you get here.” I ended the call then exhaled. “Boaz is on his way.”
“What about the vampires?”
“We might have company.” I packed up my food and shoved it in the fridge for later. While I was up, I took a moment to check the jury-rigged wards, but their low-level hum indicated they were holding firm. “Let’s hope Boaz gets here before they do.”
Amelie’s hand lifted to her throat, and she rubbed the skin there with her fingertips.
A knock on the door interrupted me before I could pour us drinks, and we exchanged wary glances.
“Sit tight,” I told her and stalked across the room where I peered through the peephole. Volkov grinned at me, his usual guards flanking him, both armed to the teeth. Blowing out an exhale, I rested my forehead against the door. “Looks like we hav
e backup.”
Volkov might be pissed about how things played out last night, but he wouldn’t burn any bridges until I gave him back his bangle. Still, I double-checked with Woolly. “Is it safe?”
The chandelier crystals tinkled like laughter.
The door swung open under my fingers, and Volkov lifted a gauzy scrap of royal-blue fabric. “This was found in our box. The courier from the Lyceum returned it to me since we arrived together.” The silver purse full of my ID was clutched in his hand. “And this I forgot to return to you last night.”
“Thank you.” I pocketed Amelie’s cell for a minute while I reached out and snagged the purse. “I meant to text you to arrange for a pickup, but I got distracted. You saved me a trip.”
In my haste to welcome our potential allies, I’d forgotten one critically important detail. The part about how Volkov wasn’t technically my ally.
His fingers latched around my wrist where my bangle wasn’t, and he dialed up his lure to smolder. Warmth spread up my arm, through my chest, past my jaw, until sparkles danced across my field of vision. Heat pulsed low in my stomach, and I smiled at him, tipsy, as the purse thudded at my feet.
One slow pull, and I stood in the circle of Volkov’s arms before I registered making the decision to move.
A lightbulb flashed over my head. The vampires. They were the ones who had tampered with Woolly’s wards, tweaking them, testing them, until she allowed one in the house. And I had been too weak to notice them severing our connection until it was too late.
No wonder Volkov hadn’t risked coming inside again. The potential of me locating the damage and repairing it now that I had access to Society resources was too high.
The porchlight flashed in panicked bursts until the bulb fizzled from the overload, and the porch went dark. That explained why my lightbulb moment had been literal.
How to Save an Undead Life (The Beginner's Guide to Necromancy Book 1) Page 16