by Amy Vansant
“Joseph?”
“My friend. He owns this house.”
Lucky guy.
“He fell out the window, too?”
“Sean shot him.”
“Ah.” Part of her wanted to ask more about what happened with Luther and Sean but most of her didn’t care. “You’ve been busy.”
Rune held up a finger. “No. Wait. Actually, I’ve eaten two women and a rat.”
“A rat?” Fiona’s lip curled.
Oh hell no. Not even for eternal youth.
Rune wrapped his mechanical fingers around her upper arm and pointed the remote at the television with his other hand.
“Do you like cooking shows?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“There’s a Bentley in the garage.”
Anne looked up from the pool. She’d been staring at the water, trying to find the strength to start all over again with a new, but very familiar collection of monsters, when Jeffrey spoke.
“You were hoping for a Maserati?”
“I was hoping for a driver.” Jeffrey sniffed. “I like the pool, though.”
Anne felt certain Michael had set them up in the enormous mansion to try and distract her from her misery. She had to admit, it didn’t hurt. Though part of her still wondered if Michael had created new monsters for her to kill, just to regain his place in their relationship. While he’d admitted his undying love for her, he didn’t always seem super comfortable with being a boyfriend.
Anne scanned the pool area. From the built-in outdoor kitchen to the slick wall of water tumbling into the square, dark-bottomed saltwater pool, there proved little she could fault.
A melodious chime filled the air.
“What’s that?”
Jeffrey shrugged. “Doorbell?” He remained standing behind her, his head tilted back to the sun like a daisy.
She cleared her throat and he squinted an eye at her. She stared until his brows furrowed.
“What?”
“Go see who it is.”
He rolled his eyes and disappeared into the house.
A minute later, he returned looking miserable.
“What’s wrong?”
She spotted movement behind him and tilted to see her ex, Con Carey, striding through the folding slider door with his familiar swagger. Thanks to a Perfidian attack, Con had lost the use of his corporeal form for over a hundred years, but now that he had his flesh back, it seemed he hadn’t forgotten how to puff his chest. He’d probably swaggered as a ghost, too.
“This is the spot, eh Boyo?” Con said, slapping Jeffrey on the shoulder.
Jeffrey winced and looked at Anne, his expression settling into a stone mask of disapproval. “I’m going to go food-shopping.”
“Get some salsa,” said Con. “They have good salsa here.”
“Irish ape,” muttered Jeffrey as he turned to leave.
“Poncy prick,” responded Con.
Jeffrey left without another word. Con threw open his arms and headed toward Anne like a guided missile. She hugged him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I heard you slipped away from that wanker angel of yours, so I thought I’d make me move.”
“Funny. How’s Boudica?”
Con twisted his lips into a knot and jerked the whole mess to the right. “We’re, em, not seein’ eye-t’eye at the present moment.”
“What did you do now?”
“Nuttin’! Now why would you go assumin’ our problems are my fault?”
“Oh gosh. I can’t imagine what would give me that idea. Other than knowing you for about two hundred fifty years.”
“Now come now, lass, you know that’s not a long enough time to leap to such hurtful assumptions.”
“My bad. I don’t know what I was thinking. So why are you here, really?”
Con dipped his finger in the pool. “Got word from the angels I was to report. Pleased to find you here.” Con turned his head and pretended to spit as he said the word angels. “Guessin’ it wasn’t Michael’s idea to choose me for this assignment, as he knows lettin’ you get too close to me could be bad for him.”
Anne chuckled. “I’m sure he’ll be terrified when he hears.”
“Aye, no doubt.”
Anne stood and walked past Con toward the house. “Where are you staying?”
“Here.”
“Here?”
“So I’m told.”
Anne frowned. The idea of listening to Con and Jeffrey bicker didn’t improve her mood.
“Well, I suppose there are enough rooms. Pick one as far away from Jeffrey’s as possible.”
Con grinned and she recognized the troubling glint in his eye.
“Do not take whatever room Jeffrey already picked.”
Con frowned. “You’re no fun.”
She grinned. “You know that’s not true.”
Con strode forward and threw an arm around her, pulling her close to kiss her sloppily on the lips, cheek and neck as she struggled.
“Let go of me you idiot.”
“Ha! Oh, I missed you, Red. Which room is yours if ye don’t mind me askin’?”
“Don’t even think about it.” She pulled away from him and looked at her watch. “I have to run an errand. You’ll be good?”
“You have whiskey?”
“Probably. Check the bar.”
Con’s infectious grin spread across his face like the sun peeking through the clouds. “Then I’ll be quiet as a church mouse.”
“Good. And don’t give Jeffrey any trouble when he gets back.”
Con grunted and headed in to find the bar.
Anne went inside and opened two wrong doors before she found the one that led to the garage. Jeffrey had left the mechanical door open and the sun filtered in, illuminating the one remaining car, a black Land Rover.
He must have taken the Bentley. Brat.
She found the keys folded up the visor and headed for Parasol Pictures. When she arrived at the studio’s large front parking lot, she immediately spotted the Jeep she’d been told to look for and marveled at her luck.
Good. The girl is here.
She was about to get out of the Rover when a movement inside the Jeep caught her eye. It looked as if people were wrestling inside.
Alarmed she’d arrived during an attack, Anne jumped out of her vehicle and sprinted with inhuman speed across the parking lot, coming to a screeching halt about twenty steps from the Jeep.
She could see inside much better now.
There were two people, as she suspected, but they weren’t wrestling.
They were kissing.
Or trying to swallow each other.
It was hard to tell.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Catriona felt as if her blood had been replaced by fiery lust juice.
If that was a thing.
It has to be.
Restrained by the limited space in the Jeep, she was about to demand Broch get out of the vehicle and march directly to her bed, when she heard a rap on the window. They both jumped.
A striking redhead stood outside the driver’s side, smiling, alternately waving and motioning for them to roll down the window.
It took Broch a moment to find the right button, but soon they found themselves face-to-face with their visitor, both of their chests heaving and Broch’s hand placed firmly over his lap.
Catriona frowned, feeling half-embarrassed, half-annoyed and all still eager to continue the lovefest upstairs. After all, they were married, right? For now?
I’m going to hell.
“Hi, I’m Anne.” The redhead thrust her hand through the window to shake. Broch looked down at his lap, where his right hand rested, and awkwardly took her hand with his left.
“Hullo.”
“Hi.” Catriona reached to shake the woman’s hand, hoping to help Broch through his awkward situation. Though, she wasn’t exactly sure why they were letting the stranger barge into their private space. They just did. M
aybe it was because she was gorgeous. Strawberry-blonde hair tumbled around her fine-boned face so full and radiant it seemed to blow in a non-existent wind. She had alabaster, flawless skin, except for the freckles splashed so perfectly across the bridge of her nose. They looked as if Michelangelo had dabbed them there.
Is it me or does she smell really good?
Catriona realized she was staring and forced herself to talk.
“Do I know you?”
Anne retracted her hand. “No, but you’re going to.”
Catriona grimaced.
Ah. That makes sense. A studio wannabe. She’d been approached before by pretty girls hoping to get a foot in the door at Parasol.
She sighed. “Look, I can’t help you break into show business. I don’t have any pull at the studio. But with your looks and...” She glanced at Anne’s torso and the word rack bounced through her head. “...figure, you shouldn’t have any trouble—”
Anne laughed, flashing two rows of perfect white teeth. That’s when Catriona became aware her own mouth stung, probably thanks to Broch’s stubble. The whole area around her lips was probably pink with irritation.
Ugh.
She rubbed her lips with the back of her hand as Anne watched without reaction.
Is she some kind of alien sent to this planet to make me feel like an ogre?
“I’m not here to break into showbiz,” said Anne. “I’m here to talk to you about your predicament.”
“What predicament?” Catriona would need both hands to count all their predicaments, but Gorgeous Annie wouldn’t be likely to know any of them.
Anne shared another one of her reassuring smiles. “Can I buy you two lunch?”
“We were aboot tae get lunch,” said Broch, always excited to hear food forthcoming. Catriona glared at him. Clearly, they were going to have to have the stranger danger conversation again. They didn’t know Anne from Adam.
Catriona pushed past the siren song of Anne’s calming demeanor and shook her head. “Anne, I’m sorry, we don’t know you—”
The stranger’s smile slipped away and suddenly Catriona felt the nature of the visit had changed.
“I’m here about Rune and Luther.”
At the sound of those names, Catriona’s blood tingled. The lust hormones dissipated, replaced by what felt like seltzer.
“How—”
“Explanation is what lunch is for.”
Catriona swallowed. “You work with Rune?”
“Quite the opposite.”
Catriona glanced at Broch. He was staring at her, his expression telegraphing, whit are ye waiting fer?
She always imagined his expressions had an accent as well.
Catriona opened her mouth to throw out another excuse as to why Anne had to leave, and found she lacked the energy to deny the woman her lunch date.
“There’s a Mexican spot around the corner. Is that okay?”
Anne nodded and pulled a phone from the pocket of her adorable skort. She texted someone and slipped it away as Catriona and Broch exited the Jeep.
“Lead the way,” said Anne, holding out a hand.
Catriona and Broch left the studio parking lot and headed toward Señor Chips, walking side-by-side with Anne behind them on the narrow pavement.
“Why are we going to lunch with this woman?” mumbled Catriona as they walked.
Broch clucked his tongue. “Ah’m nae sure. She’s—ah cannae—” He seemed to struggle for the words and Catriona nodded.
“I know. Me, too.”
She glanced back to find Anne still following them, as expected. She smiled.
Catriona smiled back.
Why is that?
They took a seat on the back patio of Señor Chips in the corner, farthest away from a couple happily chatting about the differences between Modela and Carta Blanca beers.
Catriona sat and spoke the moment Anne’s butt hit the seat.
“What do you know about Rune?”
Anne crossed her hands in front of her on the table. “I know Rune is causing you problems and that you think Luther is dead.”
It took Catriona a moment to shake the initial shock of Anne’s intimate knowledge of her life. “I don’t think Luther’s dead. I know he’s dead. I saw his body.”
Anne suddenly looked up, past Catriona. “There you are.”
Catriona turned as an enormous and very familiar black man sat in the empty chair beside her.
Luther.
“Hey, firecracker,” he said, smiling. He reached out to take Catriona’s hand and she snatched it back as if he were made of acid.
“Who are you? What is this?” She looked at Broch, who sat smiling at Luther’s doppleganger as if nothing in their universe had changed.
“What are you smiling about?”
“’Tis Luther.”
“No it’s not. We saw his body.” She turned to Luther. “We saw your body.”
“It’s him. Ah kin tell.” Broch stood and Luther did the same. They embraced in a loud, clapping hug.
When they were done, Luther looked down at Catriona.
“You got one for me?”
Catriona found herself unable to speak.
Luther touched her cheek. “It’s really me. I promise.”
Tears welled in Catriona’s eyes.
“But how—”
“I’ll tell you the story.” He nodded to Anne. “Or she will. Either way, give me a hug.”
With one final hesitation, Catriona stood and threw her arms around him.
He feels like Luther. Smells like him.
“I thought you were dead,” she said, squeezing him to her. She no longer cared if it was an elaborate trick on them. It felt too good to have him back.
“I wouldn’t leave you all for long. You know that.”
After a long hug, they returned to their seats, Catriona still feeling shaky. She rested her head in her hands, one clamped on each side of her skull.
“Somebody explain.”
Luther looked to Anne and she pointed to her chest. “Me?”
Luther chuckled. “Honestly, I’m not sure if I could.”
“Hola! I’m Jason. How are you all today?” The server bounced to the table as if his shoes were made of superballs. Catriona could tell by his accent he was from the Midwest, and he was handsome enough to break into the movies. In the meantime, apparently, he was going to be the best darn waiter Senor Chips had ever seen.
“Ah lik the carne asada, here, with the flour wrap thing,” said Broch to Anne, helpful as always.
Catriona sighed.
We’re sitting at a table with a mysterious stranger and a dead man like it’s nothing.
“One carne coming up!” said Jason scribbling on his pad like a mad monk transcribing an auctioneer.
“You got a soft steak taco, right?” asked Luther.
Luther always orders steak tacos. Catriona put another mark in the It’s Luther column.
“Sure do. You want corn or flour tortillas?”
“Flour.”
Catriona mouthed the word with him, knowing what he would order.
He really looks like Luther. She wanted to poke his cheek but instead she tapped his arm. It felt solid.
“Is that what ghosts eat? Steak soft tacos?” she asked.
“I’ve got a friend back at the house who could tell you what ghosts eat,” murmured Anne as she looked over the menu. Then more loudly, “I think I’ll take the crispy pork belly taco. Flour please.”
“Will do. And you?” Jason looked at Catriona.
She smiled. “I’ll take a sangria in a bucket as big as my head.”
“So that would be the large...” mumbled Jason, scribbling. “Any food?”
Catriona couldn’t fathom eating. “Not right now.”
“Okay, I’ll be back with some chips.”
Jason bounced off again.
Catriona locked her attention back on Anne. “You were saying?”
Anne nodded. “I’m jus
t going to say all this as bluntly and quickly as possible.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Catriona looked at Luther. “You too, I imagine. You’re probably due back at the morgue.”
Luther laughed.
Sounds like Luther’s laugh.
Anne plowed ahead. “There’s a group of beings—the Angeli. They act as mankind’s guardian angels. They influence people and history to make sure we don’t get too far off track, without really interfering. With me so far?”
“We’ve git guardian angels?” asked Broch.
“Right. Though they’re not angel angels. At least I don’t think so. Whatever. They are what they are.”
Catriona had fifteen questions formulating but decided to let them go as Jason appeared with three waters and a sangria glass as large as a fish tank. He placed it in front of her and she lifted the glass with two hands to take a deep drought.
Thank you, Jason, you strange, wonderful, bouncy creature.
She looked at Anne. “Sure. Guardian angels. Why not. Go on.”
Catriona still hadn’t decided if Anne was trustworthy. Part of her felt the redhead and ‘Luther’ were playing a con. Or that she would wake up any moment to find she’d been dreaming.
Anne continued. “A while ago, some of the Angeli started getting sick. Long story short, they’d sent an angel somewhere he shouldn’t have gone and he came back with a disease called Perfidia.”
Anne’s hand shot out and tapped Jason’s arm as he passed on his way to the far table. His head turned to look down at her, his eyes not unalarmed.
“I’d like five shots of Irish whiskey.”
Yikes. Catriona was already starting to feel the warmth of the sangria running through her veins. She couldn’t imagine what five shots of whiskey would do to Anne. Maybe make her slip up. Talk too much.
She caught Broch looking at her and smiled back, trying to telegraph the message, I’m going to jump your bones the moment we’re alone, but she wasn’t sure if he got every bit of it. He seemed to, though. He swallowed his smile, his cheeks and the tips of his ears coloring.
Catriona returned her attention to Anne to keep from crawling across the table to kiss Broch or, at least, turning and running away from the whole scene and hoping he followed her home. The idea of losing herself in him, far away from the lunch table, seemed like heaven.