Culebra throws the towel down, snarls,
Vampire hunters are the least of your worries. Once word gets around, how many hosts do you think will come back here? Or vampires looking to safely feed? Sanctuary has been violated. I’m not sure I can fix this. I’m not sure I want to.
His words trigger a spasm of alarm.
Why not? This is your home. Your livelihood. What would you do?
Retire. Sit on a beach. Think of myself for a change. Drink tequila all day and fuck all night. Sounds like a pretty good plan right now.
This is so unlike Culebra, I don’t know how to react. Is he simply venting? He can’t be serious. He’s run this place for decades. It’s where I come to feed. It’s where I’ve come when I’ve needed help. It’s where he saved David’s life and where I saved Culebra’s.
He must be kidding.
Do I look like I’m kidding?
He blames me for what happened. There is so much malice in his tone, the realization hits me like a physical blow. I wish it were physical. I wish he would hit me. Yell. Scream. Get it out of his system. No physical injury could be more painful than Culebra’s hostility.
Don’t be too sure, vampire.
He leans toward me. His tone is dry, vibrates in the back of his throat like the warning sound of a rattler before it strikes.
The animal in me responds to the threat. I tense, take a wary step forward, two predators sniffing each other out.
No. This isn’t the way it should be between us. I step back, shaking my head.
Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends.
His laugh is merciless.
We are friends when you need something from me. I owe you for saving me from the witch Belinda Burke, but even that was not done without ulterior motives. You had your own score to settle. The drug lord Martinez wanted you dead. She sold you out to him. You lost Max because of what happened in Mexico. Admit it, Anna. You went after Burke as much for yourself as for me.
And what if I did?
He’s beginning to seriously piss me off. All the shit I’ve been through in the last few days comes to a boil in my own caldron of rage.
What if everything you’re saying is true? We had a pact, you and I, that we’d go after the witch together. Instead, you lie to me, take off on your own, serve me up to Williams and end up near death. Frey and I saved your miserable life, and I don’t personally give a crap why you think we did it.
His eyes narrow as he watches and listens. I don’t care. I had a reason for coming here today and I fucking well plan to get what I came for.
“Williams is dead.” My voice is shrill, my hands windmill around. The story erupts like a geyser. “I just get back from France where that maniac Lance and his crazy sire Julian Underwood attempted to use me in some stupid plan because they think I’m the reincarnation of a Basque goddess, and now I find out that Mrs. Williams has more than likely kidnapped David so she can use me to carry out a stupid plan of her own. I’m tired, scared, in need of counsel. It’s why I came here. To see the wisest man I’ve ever known. I know he’s here somewhere, Culebra. Under all that self-pitying, tortured, indulgent load of crap you’ve been spewing, I know he’s still here. You can beat me up later, when we’re all safe. Right now, I need my friend.”
I run out of words and invective at the same time. Part of me feels relieved to have gotten the story out, part of me wonders if I’ve driven Culebra out of my life forever. Either way, I’m too weary to care.
Culebra is still staring, his body rigid as he peers at me with cold eyes. I don’t try to get into his head. I can’t take any more abuse.
The seconds tick by. I break the stalemate first. This is useless. I may as well go straight to Frey for a strategy session. I can’t even remember now why I came here. I turn to go.
Culebra’s words reach me at the door.
“Someone really thought
you
were a reincarnated Basque goddess? Now that’s crazy.”
CHAPTER 34
S
ARCASM. A VERY GOOD SIGN. I SNEAK A LOOK over my shoulder and Culebra is reaching under the counter. He pulls out a couple of Coronas and holds one out. I traipse back to the bar, sink onto a stool and take the proferred beer. We clink bottles and drink.
After a moment I venture a tentative, “What was all that stuff about retiring? You wouldn’t really close this place down would you?”
He waves a hand. “There might not be anything left to close down. Look around. That Williams woman drove all my customers away, hosts and vampires. She was nuts. She killed a mortal without a shred of remorse and when I tried to stop her, she knocked me cold. I thought you said she was newly turned.”
“She is. Williams turned her when he was in need of blood. Not more than six or eight weeks ago. About the time of Ortiz’ funeral. Until now, she’s never had to feed on her own. Williams must have been letting her feed from him.”
I know how powerful that connection can be. It’s the way Avery controlled me. She was Williams’ wife. The bond of sex and blood is strong enough without adding love.
Love fucks up a lot of things. Maybe if I’d kept a clearer head about Lance—
Culebra is in my head before I realize those last thoughts were left unguarded.
“I’m sorry Lance betrayed you. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“Why not?” I put the bottle down, rest my elbows on the bar.
“I was an idiot. Lance and his sire were part of some nutty Basque traditionalist group that believed their goddess, Mari, would return to earth and signal a resurgence of the old ways—whatever the hell they are. Julian Underwood convinced Lance I was Mari. Partly, I suppose, because of Williams’ insistence that I was this
Chosen
One. Anyway, Underwood and Williams devised a plan. Long story short, they sent Lance to keep an eye on me. Williams told Lance to tell me that
you
sent him.”
I lean forward, waiting for Culebra to make a comment on my gullibility.
To his credit, he doesn’t. Not even in his head. I continue. “It worked. Lance and I became close. Williams made the mistake of trusting Underwood. He probably knew nothing about the Basque thing. Thought Underwood’s goals were the same as his. He was wrong and ended up a pile of ash in a torched car.”
“And what about Underwood and Lance?”
“Underwood is a corpse. Lance isn’t. At least not yet.”
Culebra is quiet for a moment when I finish. His dark gaze feels like a drill boring into my head.
When it gets too penetrating, I bark, “What?”
“You are awfully cavalier about Lance. You can’t tell me this hasn’t taken a toll on your emotions. You said yourself, you and he had gotten close.”
I snort and resume drinking. Recounting the story has brought the vampire to the surface. I still have Underwood’s blood inside, flowing like a river of acid. Deep down, I was hoping there would be a host here to dilute the poison. Right now, the only emotion I feel is disappointment.
“Maybe that’s what you want to tell yourself,” Culebra says, reading my thoughts. “But ridding yourself of Underwood’s blood is not the only reason you came today.”
No. But it’s not what he thinks. I’m not here for therapy.
“David is missing. I believe Mrs. Williams took him. I think she intends to follow in her husband’s footsteps and force me to accept the destiny he died protecting. You and I have never talked about it. So, I’m asking you now. Do you know what it means to be the Chosen One?”
Culebra’s expression grows distant. I can’t tell if he’s searching his memory for the answer or if he knows it, and is burying it deep in his subconscious so it’s hidden from me. He’s locked me out and I can only wait, nursing my Corona, until he decides to come back.
At last, he does.
I can tell before he begins to speak, I’m not going to like what he has to say. His eyes tell me first. They are cold again, forged steel.
“These are things I can take no part in.” His tone is formal and as cold as his eyes. “They are matters of the vampire. The supernatural community has long been divided as to its place in the world, but the one tenet always held dear is that when the Chosen One comes, it marks either the beginning or the end of what is to be for us all. I can’t offer you counsel, Anna, because if it is true, if you are the Chosen One, the world as we know is yours to shape. Yours. Alone.”
More existential bullshit. I clasp my hands together to keep from reaching across the bar to slap him. “This is Anna you’re talking to,” I whisper in a voice choked with anger. “I couldn’t protect myself from my delusional boyfriend and his psychotic sire. How good do you think I’ll be at changing the world?”
Culebra,
my
Culebra, smiles at that, a slow, sweet smile. He tilts his head and winks. “You will do what you always do when the time comes.” He touches his chest with his fist.
Like the old Roman salute. “And what does that mean exactly?”
“You’ll follow your instincts. Your heart. It’s all that can be expected of anyone. Even a Chosen One.”
I take the last pull and lay the empty bottle on the bar. “Not much in the way of practical advice.”
He motions toward the bottle. “Want another?”
I glance at my watch. Still hours to go until it gets dark. “Why not?”
He’s opened the cooler and is about to pull out a second Corona when the bar doors swing in. He looks up and I swivel on the barstool.
In walks Daniel Frey.
CHAPTER 35
I
JUMP OFF THE STOOL TO GREET MY FRIEND, AND Culebra comes out from behind the bar. He and Frey trade man hugs.
Unusual display for Culebra. Seeing Frey must have triggered guilt over his little tantrum earlier.
When they step apart, I give Frey a real hug, then look him over.
He’s dressed in pleated trousers, a cotton short-sleeved shirt with palm trees on a cream background and loafers. He’s carrying a leather briefcase and wearing reflector sunglasses with big frames that are distinctly feminine—tortoise shell with opaque amber lenses and a fancy golden Dolce & Gabbana logo near the hinge.
“Let me guess,” I say as he sweeps them off. “Layla’s glasses.”
He grins. “Damned if they don’t work, too. I can drive with these things. I’ll have to get a pair.”
“You might want to rethink the frames,” Culebra dead-pans. “Want a beer?”
Frey parks his butt on a stool and lays the briefcase on the bar before nodding at Culebra and saying to me, “I figured this is where you’d be.”
“I thought we weren’t going to meet until tonight.”
He accepts a Corona and we wait while he takes a first pull. “Got impatient,” he says then. “Decided not to wait.”
He looks around. “Place is pretty deserted for a Saturday. Fallout from what happened with Judith?”
“Judith? Is that her first name?”
Cuelbra and Frey both look surprised that I didn’t know. I shrug. “We never were formally introduced.”
Frey shakes his head. “Judith Williams. Pretty innocuous name for such a hellcat. I still can’t believe the damage she did.”
Culebra waves a hand. “And is still doing. I haven’t had a customer since Thursday night.” He motions us over to a table. “May as well get comfortable.”
Once we’re seated around the table I give voice to the question I know Culebra wants answered as much as I. “Why did you track me down?”
“I did a little more research,” he says. “The good news is I don’t believe David is in any real danger. At least not yet. I think you’re right that she took him to assure your cooperation. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t heard from her yet.”
“I checked my cell phone when I got home. Nothing. I haven’t been to the office yet, though. Did you call Tracey and Miranda?”
“Both think you and David are out of town on a job. Tracey is pissed at you because you didn’t tell her. Miranda is pissed at David because she thinks he lied. But it’s bought us time—until the middle of the week at least.”
Until the passing of
the
day. God, I hope it goes more smoothly than the fiasco in Biarritz.
I nod at Frey. “So tell us about your research.”
He reaches for the briefcase he’d carried from the bar, opens it and withdraws a file from inside. He spreads a dozen sheets of paper on the table. “This is some pretty interesting stuff,” he says, excitement shining from his eyes. “I can’t believe I hadn’t come across the mythology before.”
“Mythology?” The word sends a shock through me. Carries with it connotations of obsolete beliefs in long-defunct Basque goddesses. “Please tell me I’m not going to have to go through some archaic ritual.” Particularly one that might involve ritual rape.
But Frey isn’t fazed by my lack of enthusiasm. He doesn’t notice. He’s too caught up in his fervor to share what he’s learned.
“The Chosen One is mentioned in ancient texts going back to the time when angels and demons walked the earth. But the references have always been obscure and subject to interpretation. Which is why it’s been so hard to get specifics. Until now.”
He reaches once more into the briefcase. This time he pulls out a worn leather tome about the size of a paperback. The cover and spine are cracked, and the pages so brittle, when he lays the book down, flakes of parchment and dust puff up and dissipate like pollen in the wind.
“What is that?”
Frey looks at the book with an expression of awe. He holds it up carefully and with great reverence. “This is the Grimoire.”
Culebra and I exchange looks. His thoughts mirror my own. I speak them aloud. “What is a Grimoire?”
Frey places the book back on the table, resting one hand on it protectively as if afraid the book might sprout legs and run away.
For all we know, it might.
Culebra’s remark is in response to my own musings.
Frey catches the mocking tone of Culebra’s comment and frowns. “You don’t understand what this book represents. It is the accumulated wisdom of The First. It is an account of how a Chosen One came to be. And a written text not only for what followed historically, but for what is to come. You, Anna, are the descendant of The First. Only one vampire every two hundred years is marked for the change. It is quite an honor.”