The Better to Eat You With: The Red Journals (26 page)

The next
hour went by so fast that by the time I eventually stopped and sat down, I
couldn’t get up again. I could barely even register that my legs weren’t moving
when they should be, and I could only blink up at Felix in confusion.

After the
repulsion of his hotel room, he’d whisked me back to mine and forced me to
pack. As I’d done so, he’d made a flurry of phone calls to Osiris about the
situation, to his contacts in warning, to Vince for clean-up, and then to Jade
from my phone. I didn’t know why, and I couldn’t form the words to ask. Downstairs
we’d paid and signed out with an unsettling amount of calm, as if the mess of a
human being lying in a hotel room upstairs was an everyday occurrence.

We’d met
up with Vince and his lieutenants outside. They were waiting for us in a dark
silver BMW seven-seat. For a moment I admired the shiny toy, but it felt like I
was admiring from a distance.  Like I was in a dream, aware but unable to
impact, Felix hustled me into the front seat, and then sat in the back with Des
and Mark, discussing the clean-up. The murmured details made me queasy. Their
voices were cold and direct, as if wasteful death was a regular thing—like
seasoned detectives over a dead body. I knew I shouldn’t be effected so, but
that woman was a true innocent. Just like Natasha. What kind of man were we
hunting?

I stared
out the front window as Vince drove, interjecting every so often with his own
comments to the three in the back and casting sidelong glances at me. I could
see him doing it out of the corner of my eye, and I knew why he looked so
concerned. I hadn’t said a word since seeing what I had seen in Felix’s room.

What the
hell was I supposed to say?

I’d been
a bounty hunter for nearly a century. I’d trained with the coldest, meanest, most
savagely feral Immortals this side of eternity, and I’d never seen anything
like what had lain on that bed. I’d killed my fair share, the innocent and the
guilty, but I had never made them suffer. Their deaths were always quick,
clean. What had been done to that woman… that was… it was…

There are
no words for the senseless violence that had been done to her.

If
Natasha was a message, and the maid a warning, the next logical step was…
unthinkable. I couldn’t comprehend the behavior, so I couldn’t predict it, and
I relied on the ability to study personality to foresee my target’s moves. The
most complicated of chess games. With Ambrose, and with everything I’d seen of
him so far, his next move could be anything. The ultimate opponent, and deadly
to boot.

All I
could do was pray we caught him the next night, before I had the misfortune to
discover what ‘next’ could be.

My mind
could not grasp it, and it left me numb.

“He’s
telling you to back off,” Des was saying, her voice harsh.

“He’s
been telling me that for months,” Felix calmly replied.

“Yeah,
but he’s never harmed or killed an innocent before.”

“I know
that!” Felix snapped. “My psychic scent was still fresh on her; otherwise he
would never have killed her. This is my fault; don’t you think I know that?”

“No.” The
car went utterly silent, and it took me a moment to realize that I’d spoken.
“He did this because he could. Just like Natasha.”

“She’s
right,” Vince growled next to me.

“So how
do we stop him doing it again?” Mark asked. He sounded so much younger than he
looked. Naïve. Like I used to be.

The
answer to his question was simple. “We kill him.”

The
lid was heavier than I remembered, and I threw as much of my ethereal weight
against it as I could manage, but the lid didn’t budge. I went to my knees to
give myself leverage, and braced to push again-

“You
aren’t ready to see what’s inside.” The voice was male, deep, familiar. It made
my heart warm in my chest and wish for home. But not the home I had now. It
made me long for a cabin in the woods, with its stone hearth and threadbare
curtains.

I
stilled before the chest, letting my hands fall into my lap, feeling the
presence of the voice at my back, acutely aware of the warmth of it lapping
against my spine.

“Who
are you?” I asked, but my voice was…distant. Pure. Not my voice.

“You
aren’t ready to know that either,” the voice replied, wrapping me up in a big
blanket that smelt like wood smoke.

I
looked at the chest, at the familiar iron and wood, and tried to remember what
I had put in it. But I couldn’t remember. All I knew what that something
important was inside, and in order to understand why I was here, I had to know
what that something was.

I
reached out my hands for the corners again, determined to open it.

“You
don’t want to do that, Willow,” said the voice, and I stilled once more, the
tone making me pause out of habit. “Not yet, anyhow.”

“Why
not?” I asked, and the presence rippled, pressing in on my, heating my cold,
cold flesh.

“You
are not ready.”

“Not
ready for what?”

“To
believe.”

I smoothed
my hand over the carved lid as I listened.

“You’re
not ready to accept what is in the chest.”

“Is
that why it won’t open?” I asked.

“It
will open when you’re ready…”

I awakened
to darkness, the words in my dream echoing through my subconscious as if
through water. I woke to sheets that smelled like Jade and nail polish, and the
distinct feeling that my dreams weren’t really dreams at all. Yet another
complication I had no time to deal with. Groggily, I lifted my head off the
pillow, then realized the sheet was pulled over my head. I tried to lift my arm
to shove it back, but it was firmly flattened to the bed. My confused mind
stalled, and a giggle sounded in the darkness.

“Jade?”
It came out more like ‘shjaa..?’ even without the sheet muffling.

Another
giggle. “Yeah.” The sheet was whipped back and light assailed me.

I
squeaked, “
Ohmigawd I’m blind
!” And threw myself away.

Another
giggle even as she clamped down on my hand. “Don’t move, chic.”

“Why?” I
squinted.

“I’m
painting your nails,” Jade replied.

I blinked
owlishly at her. “It’s not some awful color like…neon green, is it?”

Giggling.
“No! I would never attack you with a highlighter.” My fingertips felt cold and
I relaxed at her statement. “It’s eggplant.”

“Excuse
me!” My mind reeled at the idea of my nails being the color of the inside of an
eggplant. Jeepers, with my complexion I’d look ill!

“You’ll
like it, I swear.” She’d said that the time she dyed my hair ‘rich mahogany’
and I came out orange! Jade’s dark ponytail slid off her shoulder as she leaned
forward to blow on my nails, the lamplight beside her not so garish once I could
actually see. I would say that my supernatural fast-healing abilities had
rectified my burned retinas, but I’m pretty sure my eyes had just adjusted to
the light. Not that I’d ever admit that to Jade-the-retina-killer.

She
continued to paint my nails in silence, the cooling sensation allowing my mind
to fully wake up…and remember. I didn’t want to remember, but I made myself go
over the night before. The only way to move past something was to make yourself
confront it. I’d been confronting everything but the night of my turning for
three hundred years. I could handle one skinned hotel maid.

Just
about.

The drive
had been full of discussion. Felix, Vincent and his lieutenants kept going over
the details of the clean-up, and then the reasons behind the obvious threat. I
knew exactly what the threat meant. I couldn’t get the stink of her fear, horror
and blood out of my nose. Nor the aroma of pine needles and snow.

I’d stared
out the front window the entire drive, not entirely sure where we were going
until we stopped. I’d looked up at an old Mayfair red-brick with a big white
door and frames, a neatly cut lawn and hedge row under the front bay window,
and a driveway that held three cars. I’d blinked at the dark green, shimmery Porsche
with the personalized license plicense1FTR. Jade’s car. Jade herself was
standing in the open doorway the next instant, holding the door as everyone
filed in ahead of me. I was too numb to even offer her a smile, and everything
else between was a blur.

“Where
are the others?” I asked then, and Jade glanced up at me before turning to dip
her brush into the polish pot again.

“Fletch
has them sequestered in the lounge.” I frowned, and she shrugged. “He’s an
empath, Red. He won’t let anyone near you until you’ve recovered.”

‘Recovered’.
Like a trauma victim. Surely I’d seen worse… right?
I shoved that thought away and arched a
brow. “Then how come you are in here?”

“Because
I’m the oldest,” she replied, quick as a snap, her smile incredibly smug,
despite the fact that she was only eighty-seven seconds older.

“What
time is it?” I asked next, watching as she screwed on the lid of the polish
pot. I lifted my fingers and smiled in surprise. Not the inside of the
eggplant, but the outside, a deep, dark purple.

Grinning,
Jade replied, “Dinner time, Red. You should eat before a hunt like this.” She
pushed to a stand, her tall form stretching over me. She shifted to the end of
the bed and dropped her arms with a sigh, and gestured.

I pushed
myself up, careful of my fingers, to see what she was indicating.

“Put out
some clothes for you, shoes on the floor. Bathroom is there.” She pointed over
her left shoulder at a door that I thought was a closet. “Change and come
downstairs.”

My mouth
twitched as she spun on thigh-high leather boot heel and left the room, closing
the door softly behind her.
Bossy female.
Throwing back the covers, I
slipped from the bed and just then noticed I was dressed only in my underwear. Praying
to all that is holy, I hoped that Jade was the one who had undressed me. Padding
to the bathroom door, I pushed inside, flicked on the light switch and stood
before the mirror, careful to keep my gaze above the shoulders.

I looked
pale.

That was the
first thing I noticed. Given I was pale anyway, noticing when I’m even more
pasty is a shocking occurrence. My freckles stood out in stark relief and my
eyes looked huge. My lips looked tinted blue around the edges. I’d only seen
this look on myself three times in my entire lifetime. The first time was when
I had first noticed my fangs, claws and eyes. The second time had been when I’d
gotten my first taste of blood. The third time was when I’d used the first to
get the second, and ended up killing someone.

And now, there
that look was again.

Maybe
Fletch was right. Maybe I did need to recover.

I turned
away, pulling my hair out of what was left of my ponytail, turned on the
shower, waited for it to warm, and then stepped inside to scrub away every
visible reminder from the night before, though the image would forever be
burned into my memories.
Like Natasha...
Afterwards, I scrubbed myself
dry with a towel, still feeling dirty, yet knowing that, psychologically, I
probably would for a very long time. I used Jade’s hairbrush and commandeered
the visitors’ toothbrush to brush my teeth.

Sick of
my own reflection, even though I’d only been half-looking, I quit the bathroom
and went to dress. I instantly knew from the selection that the clothes were
mine, but the shoes weren’t, and that Jade had chosen my outfit. A long sleeved
black top with holes for my thumbs and a V so deep it basically met the black
lace bra-line that had matching panties, a distressed pair of boyfriend jeans
complete with rips, and a pair of brand new black biker boots with three sets
of buckles going up the sides. These were the type of boots suitable for
beating the ever-living shit out of someone and nothing more, which is exactly
what I needed.

Damn,
that girl knows me too well.

I dragged
my wet hair back up into a ponytail, braided it before tying off the end, and then
dressed. By the time I got to the door, my hands were sweating. Taking a deep
breath, I grabbed my phone, opened up the door and peeked out. The landing was
bright with sunlight from the windows and empty of people when I stepped out. The
clear sky I could see through the window at the top of the stairs was
practically a smack in the face after the night before.

Murmured
voices drifted up as I descended the stairs, and I paused at the bottom of the
steps to ascertain where they were coming from.
The right, which must be the
lounge.
I went left, and found myself in the kitchen. It was huge, styled
like a cottage, with a giant stove and a deep, artists’ sink, rich wooden paneling,
granite counter tops and sizeable copper colored stone tiles on the floor. There
was an island too, with a rack of pans hanging over it. It was a baker’s dream.
I’d have to renovate mine when I got home.