“Enough.” Kinsey knew that voice, knew his presence as the tall, lean man with the dark hair—the one who watched her, who she now suspected had always watched her—appeared in Cici’s apartment and stepped between Margot and her trembling granddaughter. Kinsey inhaled when her grandmother’s power retreated in a rush, a gasping, shaking breath. The tall man bent and helped Kinsey to her feet, hands cold but gentle, the gold ring on his finger familiar with the curving V made of diamonds.
“Vampir,” she whispered.
“I am,” he said. “Benedict Black. At your service.”
Black. As in Julian? Kinsey shuddered, stepped away from him. “I don’t need your service,” she said. Wiped at the tears on her face, refused to look at the woman who betrayed her since she was a child, who had just attacked her own flesh and blood. The worst kind of betrayal. “I don’t need anything from either of you.”
“Stupid girl,” Margot practically spit the words at her. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Margot, enough.” Benedict’s voice was soft but firm.
“Stay out of this,” she snarled at him.
“I won’t,” he said. Kinsey felt it, the pressure of her grandmother’s power, peripheral this time as it lashed at Benedict. He stood his ground, eyes locked on Margot. Her grandmother finally relented, panting, looking away.
“Damn you,” she said. “This is outside your purview.”
“You made it my business, a long time ago.” His gentle tone didn’t alter, though he had to be hurting. When he turned to Kinsey, gray eyes kind, she shuddered from wanting to listen to him. “You are far more important than you know,” he said. “And if you won’t trust Margot, I beg you, trust me.” One big hand rose, offered to her. She stared at it, the same hand that housed the ring, wrist wrapped in black silk, in the cuff of a black suit. A tall, pale man draped in shadow.
The ring glittered. Beckoned her. And, though she had no idea why, she took his hand and squeezed the cold flesh in her own small grip.
“Okay,” she whispered. “But I want answers.”
He nodded. “As soon as you’re ready for them.”
***
EXT. – CICI’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Gerri was almost to the Charger by the time her father caught up with her. She just couldn’t face him, wouldn’t. How could the man she respected, loved, adored betray her like this?
How could he lie to her since she was a little girl and not tell her what she was?
Maybe he didn’t know. But Gerri didn’t believe that. Even less when she spun at the sound of him whispering her name right behind her to thud both fists into his chest as they both came to a sudden halt.
One look in his green eyes—the eyes she inherited—and she knew. He knew. He’d lied.
Her whole world might as well have crumbled away from beneath her. The rock of her existence, Sergeant Dutch Meyers, the only person in this world she respected without question, lied to her.
“Gerri, kiddo.” He hesitated. It broke her heart, that moment of quiet. He was trying to figure out what to say. More lies?
“Fuck you, Dad.” Such a useless thing, swearing at him. He taught her all her swears, when her mother wasn’t home. Then would cuff her ears when she said them in anger. Asshole.
“Gerri.” He exhaled, no anger in him. That was the hardest. The sorrow, the guilt, seeing his grief and weakness. The tears in his eyes. “I wanted to—”
“Don’t even.” She hit him again, hard. “Don’t, Dad.” So angry she couldn’t even swear anymore, her bheast rising. She saw his answer, though even it had guilt. “I got it from you.”
He nodded. “And your mother,” he said.
Mom. Jesus. “Mom’s like us?” No way. Not her mild-mannered and quiet mother. The woman who sang her to sleep, who calmed her after she punched one of the neighbor boys for picking on her friend, Amy, the sweet girl with Down Syndrome. Impossible.
It wasn’t until her father spoke Gerri understood the depth of his betrayal.
“Not Linda,” he said, voice cracking with emotion. “Gerri, kiddo. Linda isn’t your real mother.”
White light exploded in Gerri’s brain, firing off the deepest pain she’d ever felt. Gasping, wrenching sobs tore her chest wide, drove her over with her hands on her knees, the need to vomit so powerful she gagged on her tears.
Not. Her. Mother.
At least he didn’t try to touch her. Let her work it out on her own. Any attempt at comfort and she would have erupted into violent retribution.
Not. Her. Mother.
And yet, wasn’t there a tiny part of her that knew…?
NO.
Yes.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I love Linda,” her dad finally said. “But she’s my second wife, Gerri. She adopted you when you were just a baby. After your own mother, my first wife, died having you.”
Not only was her mother not her mother, he was telling her she killed her real mother. Could this get any worse? Could it?
Gerri straightened, dry heaves ended for now, numbness washing over her as her bheast retreated, whimpering in sorrow. She’d rather anger. Tried to stir some. Found herself impotent and empty.
“You’re full bheast,” he said, “like me. Your mother was, too. We were both part of the League guard. I had no choice when you were born. I had to keep your heritage secret.”
“Why?” Gerri managed that one word.
“League orders,” he said. “I didn’t ask why. Your mother was dead and I was broken, kiddo. And they had their reasons.” He shrugged, sagging, the tall, strong man she knew now was really a shell of himself. “I wasn’t allowed to ask why. So, I married Linda and we raised you and your brother and sister and never told you.”
“Zack and Tory? Are they…?” Gerri couldn’t bring herself to say the name bheast.
“No,” he said, even sadder if that was possible. “They might have recessive traits, but they don’t have the power of the bheast. For whatever reason, it ended with you.”
He had no idea how ended it was about to become.
“I know you don’t understand,” he said. “But the Nightshade League controls everything. Margot owns me.” Dutch looked away, into the street, shoulders settling, face tightening. “I’m defying them right now, talking to you. Telling you any of this.” He paused, sighed. “All I know, kiddo, is that Kinsey is important. And I was told you were meant to protect her.”
“Who is she, then?” Gerri’s chest tightened, her gut rumbling as she tried to find stability, calm, comfort in something. Found nothing to cling to.
“I wish I knew,” he said, head dropping again. “Maybe then I’d be able to prove to you I’m not the coward and traitor you think I am.”
She let him go, let him walk away, wishing she’d never heard of Kinsey DanAllart.
***
INT. – COLLECTIVE OF ALL SOULS OFFICE – NIGHT
Julian exited the elevator onto the 65th floor, shivering despite his expensive suit as the heavy air conditioning washed over him. Constance’s cold, nasty stare did little to warm him up, though he took the time to hiss at her on the way past. Her face contorted, tiny body shuddering, a wash of wings appearing like a hologram over her shoulders, fangs protruding, eyes black as pits of darkness.
“Careful,” the vampir said on his way by, “your harpy is showing.”
She snarled at him in a language he didn’t understand, and laughed at her, a harsh bark of ugly before pushing open the door and letting himself into Gideon’s office. The tall, broad-shouldered dervish waved absently his way, talking to someone low and private on the phone.
Julian stared at the Collective leader’s back, letting his bitterness show only a moment before Gideon spun around again, hanging up. The towering man didn’t bother to use his kind’s charisma on the vampir, either because he knew it was a wasted effort or just didn’t give a shit.
If the later, the feeling was mutual.
“Simone is plotting to control Kinsey.” Julian’s frustration was showing. He knew better than to appear weak in front of Orter, but he just couldn’t take much more. “You’re welcome.”
Gideon’s frown was backed with power, enough Julian felt the tingle of his regret and guilt at making the man upset. He shook it off with a snarl and a flare of his own vampir energy as a counter.
If Orter was bothered by Julian’s rebellion, he didn’t show it. “How lovely of her,” he said.
“You need to take her more seriously.” Julian paced a few steps, hands clenched inside his pockets, thumb absently twirling the silver and sapphire studded ring on his middle finger. How he longed for gold and diamonds. Simone’s fall might win him such power. “Your trick with her pet Panther is getting you nowhere.”
“We’ll see about that. Subtlety, my dear Julian, has always been lost on you.” The dervish turned, poured himself a drink, and lit a cigar, leaning back with a broad smile on his handsome face, butt resting on his expensive desk as he puffed the ember bright.
“She’s going to use the artifacts.” Why Gideon trusted Simone with them in the first place—
“She may try.” Orter leaned forward, eyes intent. “Simone thinks she has me under control. That she can order the Collective about behind the scenes. But our mistress Nightshade mongrel forgets who holds the real keys to the controls of this city.”
Julian didn’t bother rolling his eyes. He’d had about enough of the two of them, Simone and Orter both. “What are you going to do about it?”
Gideon strode suddenly forward, gesturing to the exit. “Perhaps it’s time to take matters into our own hands.”
Why did that make Julian feel nervous? Likely because if Simone found out he was playing both sides, she’d cut off his balls and refuse to allow him to heal himself. Still, if Orter could deliver, hand her over to Julian for his very own toy… it would be worth it.
The ride in the limousine was quiet, partially because Orter seemed uninterested in conversation. And with Constance staring her harpy evil at him, it was easier for Julian to simply stare out the window and wonder what he’d gotten himself into.
He longed for the noise and crowds at Exotica. His nightclub was the only place he seemed to feel himself, where the pulse of music and the press of young, hot bodies filled him with the primal needs his kind long fought to suppress. Simone had almost ruined everything, forcing him to spread her viper drug to his clients. He hated being in the police’s attention. One more thing to punish her for when she was his.
When the long, black car came to a smooth halt outside Kinsey DanAllart’s condo complex, Julian almost protested. He couldn’t be serious. Orter was a mad man. Surely Simone was having the anthropologist watched? Gideon stepped from the car, leaving Julian to slide out after him, to hide in the shadows with Constance at his shoulder, breathing her foul, filthy breath into his ear, while Gideon calmly knocked on Kinsey’s door.
She opened it, the sight of her turning Julian’s stomach. So innocent on the outside, the Nightshade bitch. He’d hated her as matter of principle from the moment Simone welcomed her into his home. How he’d longed to taste her blood, to cut her throat and drain her dry before hiding her body where no one would ever find it. Another tragic missing person’s case in a large city known for such disappearances. And he still might have, if it weren’t for Simone and Gideon.
They’d know. And he’d suffer for it.
“Dr. DanAllart.” Gideon’s voice, smooth as velvet and full of sex appeal, rumbled through the night.
“Mr. Orter.” She seemed uncomfortable with his presence, but not afraid. She needed to be.
“I understand you’ve left the employ of Simone Paris.” Orter wasn’t fooling around. Julian held his breath.
“I have, though I don’t see why it’s the business of the Collective.” Stiff and formal. Untouched by his power. Julian shivered. How strong was this Nightshade child if the most powerful dervish on the planet couldn’t charm her? And did he want to know?
“Forgive my presumption,” Gideon said, not a trace of the irritation that had to be eating him up showing. Julian knew from first-hand experience how well the dervish took rebellion. “But I had hoped, perhaps, the two of us could come to an arrangement. Considering there is still work to be done cataloguing and interpreting the artifacts.”
That made her hesitate. Julian hated the things, the soul-sucking, life draining remnants of the races, the leftovers of history still devouring power like true blood suckers. The anthropologist couldn’t have known their true purpose.
“I can’t have a conflict with the work I do with the police department.” DanAllart’s voice held regret. So, she’d touched one of the artifacts. He could hear it in her tone, in the longing behind her words. Simone had taken her that far already?
“I can assure you,” Orter said, “neither myself nor my organization have any issues with Silver City’s finest. And that your work with us will be an invaluable help to the Collective.”
She hesitated before nodding. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll come in to your office and we’ll talk about an agreement that suits both of us.”
Just like that, Gideon owned her.
Julian slipped back into the car after the DanAllart bitch closed her door, just ahead of Gideon. The moment the door closed, he gloated, chuckling to himself, the red light of his race showing in his eyes as he firmly slapped Julian’s shoulder hard enough to make it ache.
“And that,” he said, “is how you defeat Simone Paris at her own game.”
As if this was Orter’s idea. Julian didn’t bother to repeat his, “You’re welcome.” Not while his mind churned. “Why is she so important?”
Gideon’s face darkened, eyes returning to their human color. “You’ll find out soon enough,” the dervish said, looking out the window. “Everyone will.”
Julian sat back, rubbing his sore shoulder, and wondering. Pondering. Plotting a visit to the Nightshade League. They might be interested to know what Gideon Orter was up to.
(CUT TO BLACK)
###
Next time on The Nightshade Cases…
The death of a popular congressman turns into a disaster when Gerri becomes trapped with a handful of others in the politician’s panic room, forcing her to leave the majority of the murder investigation to her friends. Can Kinsey and Ray figure out who killed the congressman without any evidence, or will Gerri’s close quarters caging lead to the murderer?
Look for Episode #11: Panic Room, coming on October 31st!
Panic Room
Bad Shoot
Sicko
Federali
Witness
The Hit
Mimic
The Maze
Haunted
Splish Splash
Divided We Stand
Don’t miss a single episode of Season One! Sign up for new release emails at www.bit.ly/pattilarsenemail.
***
About the Author
Everything you need to know about me is in this one statement: I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a little girl, and now I’m doing it. How cool is that, being able to follow your dream and make it reality? I’ve tried everything from university to college, graduating the second with a journalism diploma (I sucked at telling real stories), was in an all-girl improv troupe for five glorious years (if you’ve never tried it, I highly recommend making things up as you go along as often as possible). I’ve even been in a Celtic girl band (some of our stuff is on YouTube!) and was an independent film maker. My life has been one creative thing after another—all leading me here, to writing books for a living.
Now with multiple series in happy publication, I live on beautiful and magical Prince Edward Island (I know you’ve heard of Anne of Green Gables) with my very patient husband and six massive cats.
I love-love-love hearing from you! You can reach me (and I promise I’ll message back) at [email protected]. And if you’re eager fo
r your next dose of Patti Larsen books (usually about one release a month) come join my mailing list! All the best up and coming, giveaways, contests and, of course, my observations on the world (aren’t you just dying to know what I think about everything?) all in one place: www.bit.ly/pattilarsenemail.
And check out all of my books now available (as well as the fun forums where you can connect with other readers) at www.purelyparanormalpress.com.
Last—but not least!—I hope you enjoyed what you read! Your happiness is my happiness. And I’d love to hear just what you thought. A review where you found this book would mean the world to me—reviews feed writers more than you will ever know. So, loved it (or not so much), your honest review would make my day. Thank you!
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