I have to admit, I considered it, not least because it would free Bethany whether she wanted it or not. But in the end, I wasn’t a stone-cold killer, and no matter how much I disliked Geoffrey the prat, he hadn’t sent Bethany out to recruit a minor. It wasn’t his fault the girl had lied, and it wasn’t his fault Lady Eris had decided to amuse herself. What he’d done wasn’t a killing offense.
Not today, anyway.
Meanwhile, Cody was looking purpler by the second, and Bethany was on her hands and knees, trying to shake off her dizziness. Taking a page from her playbook, I hoisted the canister and whacked Geoffrey across the back of the head as hard as I could.
He made a weird, breathless, huffing sound, his hands loosening long enough for Cody to draw in a ragged gasp of air, get his legs underneath him, and thrust Geoffrey away with inhuman strength. A werewolf in human shape might not be vampire-strong, but he was strong.
This time I didn’t hesitate. I dropped the canister, drew
dauda-dagr
, and pounced on the prat, straddling his chest and shoving the dagger’s tip under his chin, pressing almost hard enough to draw blood. His body twitched reflexively, his neck stretching in an effort to avoid contact with the dagger. Vampires don’t fear cold iron in general, but
dauda-dagr
is another matter.
I pushed a little harder. “Do you concede?”
Geoffrey fixed his gaze on me, working up a good dose of hypnotic allure. “The girl
wants
to be here, Hel’s liaison. Why must you be so cruel?”
Oops, I’d all but dropped my mental shield. I let it blaze briefly, then dwindle to a compact size again. “Just doing my job.”
Beneath me, his body tensed slightly, telegraphing his intent. Behind me, I heard Cody’s rasping voice tell Bethany, “Don’t even think about it.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t either if I were you,” I said to Geoffrey. “I mean, I know you’re like ten times stronger and faster than me, and you could probably throw me across the room without breaking a sweat—which you probably don’t do anyway, right? Sweat?—but the thing is, what if my hand slips when you do?” I eased the tip of
dauda-dagr
from beneath his chin and let it trail up his face, laying the flat of the blade against his skin and setting the keen edge against his supercilious nose. “What do you think happens when a dagger capable of killing the immortal undead wounds undead flesh?” I mused. “You know, it’s an interesting question. I have to admit, I don’t actually know for sure. But I’m betting the wound never heals. What do you think?”
What Geoffrey the prat thought was that it was better to lose face than his nose. “I concede,” he grated.
I glanced up at Lady Eris. “Does that settle the matter, my lady?”
She inclined her head. “It does.”
Sheathing
dauda-dagr
, I unstraddled Geoffrey and got to my feet. Somewhat to my surprise, there were several polite golf claps.
Vampires. Go figure.
Twenty-six
P
rat or not, Geoffrey Chancellor was right about one thing. Young Heather Simkus did
not
want to leave the House of Shadows.
Bethany led her away in tears to change out of her Salome robes and back into street attire. Cody and I stood around waiting uncomfortably until they returned ten minutes later, Heather still weeping.
She made one last plea to Lady Eris. “Do I
have
to go, my lady?”
“I’m afraid so, dear.” The mistress of the manor touched the girl’s cheek with surprising tenderness, a gesture belied by the fact that she licked her tears from her fingertips. Mortal sorrow, tastier than werewolf blood. “But you have the makings of a fine acolyte, and you may return to take your place among us when you’re of age.” She shifted her gaze, now markedly cooler, to me. “I trust tonight’s outcome is satisfactory, Hel’s liaison?”
That wasn’t exactly the word I would have chosen, but at least we’d gotten what we came for.
Still . . .
“You played a dangerous game for your own amusement, my lady,” I said in a low voice. “If it had gone the other way, I’d be trying to convince the chief of police not to return at sunrise with a search warrant and a battering ram.”
Lady Eris lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “That would be
very
ill-advised for all concerned.”
“I know.” Whatever the outcome, I suspected it would result in a bloodbath that would shatter the tenuous peace Hel’s order maintained between eldritch and mundane communities. “I’m just saying.”
“Very well. If you’re done ‘just saying,’ you have my leave to depart,” her ladyship said pointedly.
“Come on, Daisy.” Cody took me by the elbow, steering me toward the grand staircase, his other hand resting on Heather Simkus’s shoulder. “Let’s go. We’ve got anxious parents waiting.”
On the second-floor landing, Heather pulled away from him to cast one last, longing glance toward the top of the staircase, where Bethany and Geoffrey were standing to watch her departure. He had his arm wrapped around her waist, and there were what appeared to be genuine looks of remorse and regret on their faces. I couldn’t tell if the vibe was sexual or parental or cultish, or a combination of the three.
One thing was for sure—it was creepy.
Outside, Heather slumped morosely in the backseat of the police cruiser while Cody radioed in to report that she’d been found.
“Look,” I said softly to her, “I know high school sucks. But it gets better.”
“Easy for you to say,” she murmured. “You were probably a cheerleader.”
Beside me, Cody overhead the comment and snorted into the radio handset. “Um, yeah, not so much,” I said to Heather. “I just mean . . . I know you thought that’s what you wanted, but it’s a very, very dangerous choice. Vampires in real life aren’t like the ones in the movies. They weren’t going to be playing baseball in a thunderstorm.”
She gave me an anguished look. “You don’t understand
anything
. I know what it was like! I was there! With people who care about art and music,
real
art and
real
music, and history and poetry, and . . . and languages, languages like Greek and Latin, and everything everyone I know thinks is
stupid . . .
”
There was more, but it dissolved in a fresh onslaught of tears.
Huh. I’d never thought of Twilight Manor as a cultural mecca for disenfranchised young intellectuals.
“Heather.” Cody’s voice was deep and soothing. “There’s a steep price for belonging to that community.”
She sniffled. “I know! Jesus, duh! It’s worth it!”
He shook his head. “You’re too young to make that decision. The law says so, and I agree. But if it’s really where you want to be, you’ve got to start thinking about time differently. How long until you turn eighteen? Two years?” He snapped his fingers. “That’s nothing to an immortal.”
Although I was dubious about the merits of Cody’s advice, at least it calmed her down. We headed back toward downtown Pemkowet and by the time we pulled into the driveway of the Simkus residence, Heather seemed resigned to her fate.
I half expected to find something dark and abusive in the Simkus household, or at least a level of neglect that would explain Heather’s profound sense of alienation, but her parents appeared to be perfectly normal, lovely people worried out of their minds by their daughter’s disappearance. They greeted her with hugs and profound relief and offered profuse thanks to Cody and me. Watching their faces turn pale as Cody explained where we’d found their daughter, I felt bad for them.
After we dropped the girl off, Cody drove me back to Pineview Gas & Convenience to pick up my car. We were both silent for most of the drive, thinking about the night’s events.
“Two years is a long time in a kid’s life,” Cody offered, turning into the parking lot. “A lot can happen.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure it helped to tell her to think about time differently,” I said.
He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it will get her to think differently about immortality.” He parked the cruiser beside my Honda. “Forever’s a long time, too. A long time to fill with chamber music concerts and tableau whatsits.”
“Vivants,” I said automatically. “Did you get the sense there was anything hinky going on with the family?”
Cody shook his head. “You?”
“No.” I unbuckled my seat belt but didn’t make a move for the door handle. “I think she’s just . . . a teenager, you know? A smart, lonely teenager.”
“Yeah.” He sighed, rubbing the scratches Lady Eris’s nails had left on his cheek. I’d been afraid they might fester, but they were already beginning to knit. “Beth Cassopolis was only eighteen when she moved out there, wasn’t she? I remember, because she didn’t graduate with the rest of my class.”
“Yeah, but—” I was going to say that Bethany wasn’t a smart, lonely teenager. She’d had a slutty reputation long before she’d become a blood-slut. But the truth was, I hadn’t known her then. I didn’t really know her now except as Jen’s troubled older sister. Maybe she had been smart and lonely. Maybe she’d been a wannabe theater geek who couldn’t get taken seriously because everyone in school knew she’d given her first blow job when she was fourteen. Of course, that didn’t excuse the fact that she’d tried to brain Cody with a light fixture tonight, not to mention abducting a minor. “Never mind. Are you okay?”
He tested his throat, clearing it. “More or less. You?”
“I’m fine.”
“You were pretty tough in there tonight, Pixy Stix.” Cody gave me an appraising look. “I hope you meant what you said to Lady Elvira, because if anything like this happens again, I’m not playing by her rules.”
“I know,” I said. “I meant it.”
“Good.” He nodded. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”
My pent tail twitched uncomfortably. “I’m not on anyone’s side, Cody. I’m just trying to keep the peace.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I echoed.
He gave me a little sidelong grin, one of his wolfish ones. Light from the convenience store windows glinted on his bronze stubble. “Anyway, it was a pretty good fight, don’t you think?”
I smiled back at him. “Yeah, it was.”
Leaning across me, Cody reached to open the door of the cruiser. “Look, I’m still on patrol. Take care, partner.”
I got out. “You, too.”
So that was that. I stood in the parking lot watching the taillights of Cody’s squad car vanish down the highway, feeling a little alone, a little melancholy. Also, a little hungry, since my dinner had been cheese and crackers at the Fabulous Casimir’s house. I went into the convenience store to buy a frozen pizza, then home to my apartment, where I baked and ate said pizza, sitting on the futon and watching reruns of
Iron Chef America
with Mogwai winding around my ankles and purring.
I thought about Sinclair, wondering if he felt he’d found a path he could follow in Casimir’s coven. And I thought about Cody, wondering if there would come a time in his life when his own nature put him on the wrong side of the law and what he would choose if that ever happened.
Letting my thoughts roam, I thought about Stefan Ludovic with his father’s fourteenth-century parade shield on display in his twenty-first-century condominium, wondering what untold stories lay behind his oblique facade. I thought about Cooper and the fierce passion of the unexpected diatribe he’d unleashed on me.
And I thought about Heather Simkus with her soft, pretty sixteen-year-old face and a lattice of self-inflicted scars on her arms, wondering what she felt was so wrong with her life that the House of Shadows looked like a haven of belonging.
I thought about Bethany, too.
When I was done thinking about them, I turned off the TV, put away the leftover pizza, poured myself a few inches of scotch, settled Mogwai on my lap, and put Patsy Cline on the stereo. Usually I go for more traditional blues, but there’s a certain kind of ache that Patsy’s voice always speaks to, her voice floating above the pain with deceptive ease, timeless and yearning and poignant.
The last time I’d listened to Patsy had been the day Sinclair and I met the Oak King. Not long ago at all, really, just a couple of months. It felt like longer. Cody was right—a lot could happen in a short time. Two months ago, I don’t think I would have had the bravado to pull a Dirty Harry gambit on a vampire. Hell, I’d barely learned to create a mental shield two
days
ago. And two months ago, Sinclair and I barely knew each other.
Now he was my ex-boyfriend, and even though we’d only dated for three weeks and ending it was entirely my decision—and I was pretty sure it was the right one—I was home alone on a Saturday night, thinking Patsy Cline didn’t sound at all crazy for feeling so lonely and blue.
I guess when it comes down to it, we all yearn for a sense of connection, humans and eldritch alike, hell-spawns and vampires and werewolves, fairies and hobgoblins, Outcast and moody teenaged high school students. Even Gus the ogre had a thing for my mom.
Lying on my chest where he’d inched his way up from my lap, Mogwai stretched out one deliberate paw, unsheathing his claws just enough to prick the hollow of my throat. Amping up his purr, he fixed me with one of those implacable cat stares that could mean almost anything. Behind those round green eyes, he could have been plotting my demise or preparing to impart the feline wisdom of the ages.
Or maybe he was just reminding me that I wasn’t alone after all and shouldn’t be throwing myself a pity party when I had such an awesome sort-of-familiar in my life, as well as a lot of people, human and otherwise, whom I cared about deeply.
“You know what, Mog?” I stroked his head. “You have a point. Thanks.”
Retracting his claws, Mogwai closed his eyes in satisfaction and purred just a bit louder.
Twenty-seven
F
or the next w
eek or so, things were fairly quiet in Pemkowet. No rutting satyrs, no threatening obeah women, no suspicious hell-spawn lawyers, no abducted teenagers, not even a hobgoblin prank.
It was a relief. Tourist season doesn’t actually end after Labor Day—the PVB does its damnedest to make Pemkowet a destination all year long, and with the exception of the frigid months of January, February, and March, it’s gotten some results—but every local I know, myself included, counts on things ratcheting down a notch. This year, between Emmeline Palmer’s ultimatum, an unexpected visit to Little Niflheim, and the melodrama out at the House of Shadows, I hadn’t had the chance to properly appreciate the fact that I could find a parking place downtown on a weekday without circling the block or get a cinnamon roll at Mrs. Browne’s bakery without waiting in line.