“See if she can meet me at the office tomorrow morning early, say eight o’clock? I doubt Adriana gets out of bed that early.”
Dawna put me on hold; I’d moved up to the second spot in line by the time she got back to me. “She has another appointment at nine o’clock, so eight won’t work. But she can do six thirty or seven.”
Six thirty? Really? There must be a lot of information to cover. I did some quick calculations in my head, considering travel time from either my house or Bruno’s, and made a decision. “Tell her seven o’clock is as early as I can do.”
“I’ll let her know.”
We hung up without saying good-bye and I paid my tab, then headed out the door, still sucking on my smoothie. But I was especially careful crossing the parking lot and I used the little button a friend in the FBI had given me to make sure nobody had tampered with my car.
It’s not paranoia if they’re actually trying to kill you.
7
A
fter the
hit-and-run, it took a little effort, but I succeeded in pumping myself up once more. I kept telling myself that tonight was going to be a good night. I was going to Bruno’s for our long-awaited and (in my case) much-anticipated date. I’d be going back to the old neighborhood and seeing what Bruno had done with my grandmother’s old house while I’d been gone.
Gran’s working-class neighborhood had been on a downward slide for a while, but now the area seemed to be turning around. The most recent wave of newcomers had been yuppies with small children; they wanted to live close to the city without paying exorbitant prices.
Before Bruno moved in, the Murphys had briefly lived in the house. I really liked Molly and Mickey and their girls, Beverly and Julie. Beverly was going to be a true siren, the first Atlantic siren since the Magna Carta, and her family had spent about a year living in my grandmother’s small house so Beverly could benefit from being near Serenity and Queen Lopaka.
But the whole family missed their old home in Arkansas, and when they decided to go back, Bruno bought the house from them. It’s a pretty little place, gray with white trim and a big front porch. The old rocking chair where Gran had nursed my skinned knees is still there, joined now by a matching antique glider just big enough for Bruno and me to sit on comfortably enjoying the sunset and the distant sound of the ocean.
He’s been tending Gran’s flower beds religiously; the poppies and Shasta daisies gave the place plenty of color and brought bumblebees and butterflies calling.
By the time I got there, it was almost too late in the afternoon for butterflies. I’d taken my time getting ready. I wanted to look my best. At the risk of going too dressy, I’d pulled on a strapless little black dress that was cut to make the most of my natural assets, short enough to show off my long legs and the ivy tattoo that wrapped around one of them, and low cut enough to flaunt a bit of cleavage. I’d even put on high heels. I wouldn’t be able to run worth a damn, but I wasn’t planning on running. My only concession to safety was a little black bolero jacket that was spelled and tailored to hide a pair of knives, a stake, and a little One Shot brand squirt gun filled with holy water. I never go out without
some
weapons. Besides, the sun was setting. The monsters would soon be on the prowl.
Fortunately, the smoothie had taken the edge off of my hunger. I wasn’t having the usual problem with sunset bloodlust. Nope, instead I was feeling another kind of lust entirely. I hoped that once he got a look at me in this outfit, Bruno would share the sentiment.
Just thinking about it made me want to stomp on the gas pedal of my little blue sports car. But these days, when I drive, I make sure to obey all traffic laws. I glanced in the rearview just to make sure and, yep, as usual, there was a cop car following me, staying a couple of cars behind. The guy at the wheel was way too big to be my old friend Officer Clarke. Of course, I’d already seen Clarke, earlier that day, when he’d tried to run me over. I wondered idly where he’d gotten the car, but figured a cop would have easy access to a stolen or towed vehicle.
Don’t think about it, Graves. It’ll make you grumpy. And tonight is no night to feel grumpy.
A wicked little smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I pulled the car into Bruno’s driveway and parked. As the cop who had been tailing me drove past, I reached out the window and came
this close
to flipping him the bird. I settled for a cheery little wave that would probably irritate him almost as much. I got out of the car and went around to the passenger side to retrieve my purse and the bottle of wine I’d brought as my contribution to dinner.
I strolled happily onto the porch and rang the bell.
No response. I took a deep breath and smelled … food burning. Leaning closer, I peered through the window and saw Bruno lying limp and unmoving on the couch.
Oh,
shit.
I grabbed the doorknob as the smoke detectors inside the house blared to life—and the protective wards on the house blew me off my feet, throwing me over the porch railing. I landed hard on my ass on the front lawn and skidded across the grass.
Bruno appeared in the doorway, yawning and half-befuddled by sleep, but radiating power. He took one look at me and said, “Oh
fuck
, Celie, are you all right?”
I was breathless. Lethal wards are illegal, but his had packed quite a punch. I managed to wheeze out “Peachy” and “Fire?” That got him swearing again, and he rushed back into the house, presumably to deal with whatever was going on in the kitchen.
I rose creakily to my feet as some of his neighbors appeared at windows and doorways. The new people didn’t recognize me, but old Mrs. Evans gave me a wave. Her husband was sitting in a lawn chair on their porch and laughing so hard there were tears on his cheeks. I was pretty sure he was going to wet his pants.
“Ow.” I limped carefully toward the house. One of my shoes was simply gone. The seat of my dress had mostly vanished from my little trip across the lawn on my bottom, exposing the expanse of pale, bruised flesh my thong didn’t cover. My vampire vision and hearing had kicked in—looking through the front door, I could see Bruno in the smoky kitchen, flinging open the windows to air the place out. I could hear Mr. Evans gasp, “Ethel, that’s one boy who won’t be getting any tonight,” before falling back into helpless laughter.
I found the wine bottle, miraculously unbroken, a few steps from the porch. And while true aficionados would throw twelve kinds of fit at how it had been shaken, screw ’em. I needed a drink.
Bruno met me at the door. His expression was a strange mix of sorrow, frustration, and embarrassment. “I fell asleep.”
“I can see that.”
He didn’t touch me. Instead, he took the wine bottle from my hand and backed up enough to let me pass. The smoke alarm cut off abruptly. In the sudden silence I heard a car pulling to the curb in front. I could hear Bruno swallow before he headed down the steps. Glancing back, I saw that the new arrival was a police car.
Bruno began explaining even before he reached the cop, who was a woman. Evidently Clarke’s buddy hadn’t been the one to respond to the call—a small mercy, but I’d take it. Although Lord help me if the officer wasn’t wearing one of the police force’s anti-siren charms. I tended to bring out hostility in most women. That’s never good, and worse when I’m dealing with the police. “It was just an accident, officer. I was cooking lasagna for dinner and fell asleep on the couch. I’ve got the wards set to activate automatically when I fall asleep. When my friend arrived, she saw me lying on the couch and smelled smoke…” Bruno let the sentence drift off unfinished. “We’re both fine.”
“I think I’d like to check that out for myself, if you don’t mind.” The policewoman stepped onto the porch and into the doorway.
I turned to face her from the entrance to the kitchen, giving her a rueful smile. “Hello, Officer…?”
“Dade. Karla Dade. Are you all right?”
“I’m embarrassed more than anything. I’ll probably have some bruises. Did you happen to see my shoe?”
“It’s in the next yard.” She returned my smile. “Do you want me to call the paramedics so you can get checked out?”
“No. Thankth.” Crap. A lisp. I’d avoided it before, but sometimes those final ess sounds gave me trouble. And just like that, she saw the fangs she hadn’t noticed before. Her eyes narrowed and she gave me a long, long look.
“What is your name, ma’am?”
“Celia Graves.”
She gave a little nod of acknowledgment. The name was familiar. The face probably was, too. But she was smart enough to check. “Do you have any identification?”
“In my purse.”
Bruno handed her my bag—he must have retrieved it from the lawn; I hadn’t even thought to look for it—and she handed it to me. I opened it and shoved aside my travel toothbrush and comb to pull out my wallet, which I passed to Officer Dade. She checked out my driver’s license and my concealed carry permit before flipping the wallet closed and returning it to me. “Everything appears to be in order, Ms. Graves. If you’re sure you don’t want medical attention…”
“Not nethethary.” Damned fangs. It was harder to control my speech when I was rattled, which I was, a little, though I was trying not to be. I fought hard not to react when she flinched. “Thank you anyway.”
“Sorry for the trouble, officer,” Bruno mumbled.
She eyed the charred remains of the pan of lasagna in the sink. “No trouble,” she assured him. “You two try to enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He led her back through the house and closed the door behind her. I went back to looking for a corkscrew.
“I am so sorry.” I turned to find Bruno standing in the kitchen doorway, looking frustrated and hurt. “I wanted everything to be perfect. Fucking Creede, with his winery, and his…” I stepped forward and put my finger to his lips, cutting off the flow of words. He looked down and discovered my cleavage. There was a long, silent moment. When he was able to speak, his voice was a little rough. “That is a really nice dress.”
“You’re just now noticing that?” I teased.
He lifted his head and I saw that his eyes had darkened with desire. “You wore heels”—he took a breath—“and a thong.”
“Yup.” I was smiling now.
“You hate thongs.” He stepped into me, his body pushing mine against the kitchen cabinets.
“I didn’t want to ruin the line of the dress.”
He drew a ragged breath, his eyes locking with mine. “Is there any possible way for me to salvage this evening?”
“Tell you what. You fix me some broth and a stiff drink, and we’ll find out.”
It was his turn to smile. “I can do that.”
8
T
he earthquake
woke me at 3:00
A.M.
, even though it wasn’t a particularly bad quake and didn’t last long. It was just enough to rattle the windows and knock things off shelves. I’m pretty used to them; this
is
California, after all. But even little ones tended to wake me up since I changed, and I didn’t know if that was the vampire, the siren, or just me.
Not surprisingly, Bruno was still out cold. He was so exhausted I think he could probably have slept through Armageddon.
He’d been pushing himself too hard. Again. He was finishing his doctoral thesis, teaching classes, and I was betting he was moonlighting, quietly helping his brother Matty. Matteo’s job is to take down major demons, übervamps, and all kinds of big-bads. But he’s only a level-four mage—average—though with Matty’s training, it’s enough to make him a force to be reckoned with. But Bruno is a level nine, and I knew he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to his brother that he could’ve prevented.
Bruno needed sleep, and he wasn’t going to get it if I was fidgeting next to him. So I very carefully disentangled myself—from Bruno and the bedding—and climbed out of bed. Pulling on Bruno’s discarded long-tail T-shirt, I padded down to the kitchen, straightening pictures and picking up fallen knickknacks along the way.
I started coffee brewing and downed a nutrition shake while I waited for my caffeine fix. A stack of mail had fallen off of the counter. When I picked it up, a photo fell out. A sticky note in Bruno’s mom’s handwriting covered most of the image. “Angelina Bonetti is back in town. Her annulment is final. She asked me to give you this.”
I do not believe in snooping. I don’t. It’s wrong. People are entitled to their privacy.
But I had to know.
Had
to.
So I lifted the sticky note off the picture.
The image was a surprise. It was a group shot of teenagers standing on a boardwalk. The one in the middle was Bruno, younger and wearing a Metallica T-shirt, worn jeans, and a grin. He had a girl on each arm, but the one on the left was his girlfriend. I could just tell. The girl on the right had bigger hair, more makeup, and less clothing, but the girl on the left had
it.
Charisma, star quality—whatever you want to call it, she had it in spades. Clouds of dark curls had been pulled back from a face dominated by huge dark eyes and the kind of sultry lips that just beg to be kissed. She wore plain shorts and a T-shirt, but they didn’t look plain on her.
Angelina Bonetti, I assumed. I found myself fighting down a wave of pure jealousy.
“Morning, sunshine.” Bruno greeted me from the kitchen doorway.
“Good morning.” I held out the photo to him. Taking it from me, he glanced at it and gave a gusty sigh, then leaned forward to give me a quick kiss and set the picture on the kitchen counter behind me.
“Your high-school sweetheart?” I supplied, guessing.
“Yup.” He slid one arm around my waist and pulled me against him. Since he was only wearing a thin pair of pajama bottoms I could tell he was happy to have me there. But he didn’t make a move on me. Instead, he righted the little metal cup tree on the counter, pulled off a mug, and put it down in front of the coffeemaker.
When he spoke, his voice was calm and matter-of-fact. “Angelina, and pretty much everyone else, assumed that we’d get married and that I’d take over Uncle Sal’s business while she stayed home and raised babies.”