Scorched

Chapter 11

Alessandro was hoping for a perfect couple of hours, which meant old jeans, no sword, and no sister-in-law. Ashe hadn’t come back since last night. Even Holly wasn’t at home. She’d stayed late in the reading room in the university library. She’d left a note saying she would call when it was time to drive there and pick her up.

Seizing the moment, Alessandro retreated to the third floor of Holly’s house, where he’d turned a corner bedroom into a studio. There, he kept those things that were uniquely his.

The room was filled with instruments in stands, in cases, hanging on the wall—guitars, lutes, citterns, and other members of the long-necked, plucked family. Some had fat, pumpkin bellies; others were sleek. There was a solid-bodied Gibson and pieces of a French lute he meant to rebuild someday. Alessandro had owned hundreds of instruments over the centuries, but these were the voices he could not bear to part with.

When he had moved in with Holly, those had arrived first. The rest of his things—mostly books and an armory’s worth of weapons—had taken more time to put away. Piles of car magazines still tottered on the old desk, their pages stirred by the draft from the double-hung window. Truth be told, he liked things a little messy. He didn’t mind at all that Holly was a haphazard housekeeper, because he was the same way.

From where he sat, he could see outside, across the street and down the brush-covered cliff, the moon trailing a silver scarf across the calm water. It was a clear, cold night. Holly’s huge cat curled into a ball at one end of the lumpy Victorian sofa. Alessandro was sprawled with his favorite Martin acoustic at the other. He’d built a small fire, the pitchy scent of the wood blending with the must of damp wool carpet. The house felt content, the sort of drowsing quietude he associated with nesting chickens.

Alessandro switched on the radio, keeping the volume low enough that he could still hear himself running over and over the finger exercises he practiced every day, up and down the frets of the Martin’s glossy neck. Vampire speed was great, but that meant twice as much work to achieve perfect precision. Of course he would do better if he sat up straight, but he was too lazy to move.

The Kibble-ator—Kibs—uncurled and rolled onto his back in a full-body stretch, claws extended. Without breaking rhythm, Alessandro rubbed the cat’s stomach with one stockinged foot, listening to his passagework and the radio at the same time.

“This is Errata and you’re listening to CSUP at FM 101.5 in Fairview. That was the Happy Dead People with their latest release, Afterlife, After You. It’s ten o’clock and time for Unnatural Enquiry, the current issues portion of our show. I have with me a very special guest, George de Winter of the Clan Albion vampires. Welcome, George.”

“Good evening, Errata.”

Clan Albion? Who gave those villains airtime? Suddenly annoyed, Alessandro rolled off the couch, walking a few steps to put the guitar safely in its stand by the wall. Kibs flopped over, a boneless heap of stripes, and yawned.

On his way back to the couch, Alessandro turned up the volume of the old plug-in radio. The werecougar announcer was in fine form, her sultry voice making the patter sound like a come-on. “We’re here tonight to talk about nothing less than the state of the paranormal nation. Are we monsters or are we citizens of the world at large? Should we obey the same laws as our human neighbors? Scrap that, kiddies, and let’s ask why we should obey any laws at all besides the call of the wild?”

This can’t be good. Alessandro sat, absently petting Kibs as the cat waded onto his lap.

Errata went on. “Let’s begin with the basics. There’s no argument that humans and the human economy have the upper hand. Those in favor of integration say we should live, work, and pay taxes just like everybody else. They say we have to fit in and earn the trust of human law makers, and that means following a strict code of peaceful behavior.”

“That illustrates the whole problem with this new integration philosophy.” The vampire’s retort was so sharp, Kibs’s ears went back. “The laws of my people are not democratic. The strongest predators rule. We are not ‘everybody else.’ We are the nosferatu.”

“All right!” said Errata, nearly purring at the prospect of an on-air dust-up. “I think we know where our guest stands. Now how about our listeners? The phone lines are open. The question of the night: should we be monsters or model citizens?”

Alessandro sighed. Should I call in and state the obvious? Humans might be a food group, but they were by no means helpless. The invention of the computer and its many databases had made the whole swirl-the-cape-and-scuttle-off-to-the-next-village method of hiding a joke. Even if you could afford to change your identity every time the Van Helsing brigade got busy, reinventing yourself wasn’t as easy as the movies made it appear.

“I’d like to add something, Errata,” said George de Winter, sounding almost reasonable now. “Many people believe the nonhuman separatists are just dinosaurs unwilling to relinquish their glory days.”

Yeah, that’s about right. Alessandro leaned on the arm of the couch, propping up his head. And while you win your point, you’ll frighten the human majority into staking us all in our beds. Maybe it was time to remind Clan Albion to keep their heads down and their mouths shut. They seemed to need it about once a year.

De Winter continued. “I don’t think it’s a secret the humans don’t want us here. We don’t have equal rights. We pay taxes, but we can’t vote. We aren’t tried by a jury of our peers, but are subject to summary execution. I could go on, but simply put we’re second-class citizens. We want that to end.”

“By civil disobedience?” Errata asked.

“Rebels are simply oppressed individuals demanding their rights.”

De Winters had a valid point, but the chill in the vampire’s voice was Worse than a snarl. Kibs jumped to the floor with a heavy thud and waddled under the couch to hide. His own instincts roused, Alessandro inched to the edge of his seat.

A knock came at the study door. Alessandro jumped, so absorbed in the radio he hadn’t heard anyone come in. He looked up to see Holly open the door a few feet and peer in. “You busy?” she asked.

At the exhausted look on her face, he reached over and turned off the radio. “Not at all. I thought you were going to call for a ride. Are you done studying for tonight?”

“Yeah.”

She crossed the room, her fuzzy slippers silent on the carpet. Sinking onto the old sofa, she curled her feet up beside her and leaned against his shoulder. The warm weight of her body, the scent of her skin, was intoxicating. The scent of the night air clung in her hair, as if she’d just come in from outside. He circled her shoulder with his arm, the soft fuzz of her hoodie tickling his fingers. She closed her eyes.

“Why don’t you just go to bed?” he asked, amused. “You were up early.”

“I will in a minute. I just wanted to be here with you a while. I’m tired, but my brain won’t slow down. It’s all spazzed out like a werepuppy digging holes.” She tilted her face up to his. Her green eyes looked a little glazed.

“When’s your first exam again?”

She rested her head on his arm. “A week from tomorrow. Today. What time is it?”

“It’s only just after ten.”

She yawned. “Tomorrow, then. Crumb. I shouldn’t have taken a full course load. I should have eased into it.”

He hugged her closer. He was no scholar and there was nothing else he could do to help. “Just remember you’ve got eternity to finish the degree.”

He felt her silent chuckle. “You mean I can’t even die to get out of my exams?”

“Sorry, you’re stuck.”

Few witches were immortal; it took good genes and an ability to handle huge amounts of power. Holly had both. She had also been able to turn myth into reality by Choosing Alessandro. For the first time since he was Turned, he could love without addicting his partner to the venom of his bite. She had given him a gift beyond any price.

Holly curled under his arm like a rescued waif. It was only at times like these that she allowed him to be utterly in charge, as protective and possessive as he wanted to be. They both surrendered sometimes, and that made the balance between them not only possible, but perfect.

The fire had nearly died out, leaving only a smear of glowing embers and the light of a single floor lamp. Holly’s eyes had drifted closed again, her lips parting as she collapsed against his side. Alessandro felt a moment of pure peace.

At last, Holly blinked, licking her lips before she spoke. “I heard the radio when I walked in. What were you listening to?”

“CSUP. The debate over living in peace or terrorizing the humans.”

“Oh, brother.” Her voice held the same dismay that was lodged in his chest.

He kissed the top of her head, wishing he knew the right thing to say. Any politics could prove explosive; nonhuman debates could get uglier than most.

Holly was silent for a long moment, her fingers tight on his arm. “I wasn’t exactly studying tonight.”

He looked down on her in surprise. “No?”

She gave her head a tiny shake. “There’s too much going on. I can’t concentrate. I keep worrying about the door to the Castle.”

He shifted his head to look down at her. “I’ve already called the wolves to help with guard duty. They won’t wander off like the hellhounds.”

“Good, because I went and looked at the doorway tonight. Not a hound in sight. I don’t know what Lore’s doing, but he’s not keeping his guard under control.”

He felt his jaw drift open. “You went yourself? Into that neighborhood?”

“Hey, I can blast a hole to an interdimensional prison. I can handle a mugger.” She sounded annoyed.

With an act of will, he let the point go and moved on. “What made you go look?”

“I saw Mac today.”

“What?” He stiffened, and the sudden tension made her sit up.

She pushed her long, dark hair out of her eyes. “I ran into him at the university. Rather, he was looking for me. He said he walked right out the Castle door. No one stopped him.”

Alessandro swore. How dare he set foot in my town yet again! “What did he want?”

Holly was watching him, her gaze on his face. “Help. Something in the Castle gave him back at least part of his demon powers. He’s not happy about the implications.”

Neither am I. Alessandro gripped the arm of the sofa hard enough the wood squeaked. “I thought the Castle was supposed to tamp down magic powers.”

“Well, it’s not working for him. I spent the evening researching. I can’t find anything that sheds light on what’s happening.”

Alessandro tried for a reasonable tone. “I suppose it would do no good to tell you to stay away from Mac. After all, I was trying to execute him just last night.”

She looked away. “Yeah, well, I... uh. I know we talked about what would happen if you found him, but he seemed okay. I mean ... I have to help him, right? He didn’t ask for any of this.”

“You don’t have to do a damned thing.” He looked at her squarely. “He could Turn at any moment. He’s dangerous.”

“That’s not fair.” Her eyes were hot with anger. “So are you.”

He flinched. “I’m in control.”

Her mouth went flat. “So is he. If I can help him, he’ll stay that way.”

“You didn’t have a problem with his execution yesterday.”

“I hadn’t talked to him then.” Her face softened. “It stopped being theoretical.”

Alessandro felt his stomach chill. Doing his job was always harder when it meant killing someone he knew. That was probably why Mac was still alive. “So you saw Mac and went to the Castle door without me. Anything else I should know?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Holly had on her don’t-push-me face.

“Why didn’t you go to the reunion?”

She took a short, sharp breath, almost a hiccup of distress. “You talked to Ashe last night, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

Holly bit a fingernail. “I didn’t tell you about the reunion because I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t going because of you. I didn’t want to have a stupid conversation going in circles because it’s not an issue. Ignore Ashe. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

But now he was feeling stubborn. “Why didn’t you want to go?”

“The timing was just wrong. I’m overloaded as it is. I don’t even have time for exams. I can’t stay in school. Not with Mac, the Castle, the hellhounds, and a bunch of fanged and furry anarchists to cope with. What do midterms matter?” She laughed bitterly. “And then comes Ashe, blowing into town like the Terminator.”

Alessandro was listening to her words, but he also heard the tone in her voice. It was pure panic. Exam nerves. The problems were real but, with the exception of Mac and Ashe, none of them were new. Her emotions were skating on too much algebra and a slick of black coffee.

But there was something she wasn’t saying. Perhaps most would miss it, but he was a hunter. Changes in scent, in mood were signals, and he sensed something was wrong. Something extreme enough to make her dreams of going back to school waver. Something solemn enough she didn’t want to share.

Women have secrets. He was old enough to know that a hundred times over.

Therefore men have worries.

“Let’s not anticipate the worst quite yet. We’re dealing with a lot of what-ifs. You worry about the tests.” He gave a confident smile. “I’ll deal with the rest.”

“What about Mac?”

To hell with Mac. But he knew when to take a strategic step back.

He picked up her hand and kissed it. “Do your research for Mac. I’ll go with you if you need to talk to him in person. But don’t let yourself get distracted from your exams. You’ve worked too hard to get sidetracked now.”

She ducked her head. “Thank you.”

“I’ll look after everything.” I am vampire. I am invincible.

She gave him a long, searching look, her green eyes clear and warm. “I know you will.”

After she’d turned his existence from nightmare to joy, what wouldn’t he do? He took her face in his hands, tipping it up to give her a kiss. As their lips met, he felt the familiar electric sizzle that was part sex, part magic, and pure emotion. It filled him with sudden heat, the same delirious rush that used to come from feeding on a victim’s blood, but now it came from love.

She gave that special little sound low in her throat. He kissed her again, this time parting her soft lips, teasing her with a prelude to something more.

Holly drew back her head, looking into his eyes. “This sofa sucks. Let’s go to bed.”

This time his smile was genuine. “That’s more like it.”

Whatever it was that was causing her stress, he’d do his humble best to make her forget all about it. True warriors knew how to fight with more weapons than a sword.

October 3, 7:15 p.m. 101.5 FM

“... and to those animal control officers who put my main man in the pound, a big hello from the Fairview University and Community College, good old F-U-C-C U.

“It’s seven-thirty and this is Errata, your nighttime guide until the witching hour. Speaking of rules and regulations, I have an e-mail from a listener responding to our interview with Lore, the local leader of the hellhound pack. Tail2-Scale@islandweb.net writes: ‘Dear Errata, I love your show but I hate the way you’re always dropping hints about a place called the Castle. What is it and why won’t you talk openly about it?’

“Well, my furred and fanged ones, if I was to start talking about a world of trouble behind a mysterious door in a local alley, I would get my pretty paws fired right off this station. That’s why I really wish someone would come on down, grab this mic, and spill the beans. I may be a naughty kitty, but I might be just too weak to stop you from blowing the lid off the worst-kept secret in town. The truth is out there, my friends.

“Why the muzzle? Hey, if you think freedom of the press and independent investigative reporting is alive and well in any community, much less the supernatural community, go look up the phrase ‘advertising sponsors.’ And that’s your final answer.

“Okay, movin’ on with a number from our favorite zydeco zombie dudes with ‘Babe, You’ve Got My Arms (so give ‘em back)’...”

Ashe Carver twisted in her seat and pondered the coffee shop—Brownie’s Bistro—over her shoulder. Although she’d picked a seat at the counter to chat up the waitstaff, she hated sitting with her back to the room. Vigilance was the first thing a slayer learned. The second was to know the quarry.

Ashe was in Spookytown, where humans—even hereditary witches—were clearly in the minority. She’d come into the cafe hoping to round out the information she’d already gathered on Alessandro Caravelli, including his routine, history, and associates. As it turned out, she was the sole customer in the joint.

It was a nice, quiet place for a conversation. The only sounds were the radio and the whoosh of traffic outside. The building was old and comfortable, clearly from the turn of the last century. The walls were covered with abstract oil paintings. A dark wooden counter with barstools stood opposite the door to Johnson Street, leaving the remaining space to a scatter of cafe tables.

A clatter caught her attention. She swiveled around on her stool. The guy who’d served her—probably the owner, from his in-charge bustle—shouldered through the kitchen door. He was carrying a rubber bin of silverware, which he stowed under the counter with a clash.

“It’s getting busy out there,” Ashe commented with a nod toward the window. Night was falling. The streets were filling up.

The guy looked up. About forty, he was wearing jeans and a Harley Davidson T-shirt that strained across his chest like a barrel. He had shaggy, dark hair and small, shrewd eyes. Almost visibly, he switched from busboy to host, putting on a smile and wiping his hands on an already-rumpled apron.

Werebear, she thought. Low threat, as long as she was polite.

“We get the after-movie crowd, mostly,” he rumbled. “You new in town?”

“Just came back. Grew up here.” Ashe leaned her chin in her hand. “This area used to be derelict. It’s really improved.”

“Coming along. Hard work pays off.”

“Looks pretty peaceful around here.”

“We feed those that want feeding and discourage the rest.” The bear gave her a narrow look. “We don’t want trouble.”

Which is great, except vamps are vamps and werewolves will happily chew your leg off if the pretzel bowl’s empty.. “Good for you. I was on the prairies when they had that big problem with the pro-human vigilantes ...”

The bear waved her words away with one huge hand. “Don’t even go there. We all get along fine. Anyone hassles anyone else in this neighborhood, and the sheriff gives them a talking to.”

She’d heard the same thing twice already that day. “Sheriff? That this guy Caravelli I keep hearing about?”

The bear leaned on the counter. “Yeah. What’s your interest?”

“I need to talk to him. Where does he hang out?” She wanted to confront him alone, away from Holly. “Why?”

Ashe took her inspiration from the radio program she’d heard on the cafe’s sound system. “I’m writing a story. I’m an independent investigative journalist.”

The bear gave a slight smile. “I’d think again if I were you.”

Ashe returned his look, carefully neutral. “What do you mean?”

“You’re no reporter. You move like a fighter.” He pushed away from the counter, folding his arms. “I know your type. You want to be a bad-ass. If you’re looking to prove something, try another city.”

“This is my city.” She kept her voice flat and gray as a steel blade.

“No.” The bear leaned across the counter, moving quickly enough to make Ashe spring off her stool. “It’s our city. You have to share it now. And I’m damned if I’m going to end up as a scatter rug because you don’t think I’m good enough to hold a business license.”

“I’m not interested in you.”

He heaved a noisy breath. “Fine. But mess with Caravelli or his woman, you’ll answer to half this town.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ashe said quietly, but the bear had turned away, pointedly giving her his back. Brave bear.

Ashe threw a five on the counter, not bothering to ask for change. No point in wasting her time with Pooh here, however much she would have liked to pick a fight. She allowed herself an angry glare at the point between the bear’s slablike shoulders.

The Caravelli fan club she’d uncovered in Fairview was definitely getting on her nerves.

So was the fact that fang-boy and Holly seemed to be glued at the hip. Move over Brangelina, here comes Hollesandro. The one thing she hadn’t heard was that Holly was his venom-addicted thrall. According to gossip, she seemed to wrap the deadly warrior around her pinkie. Could it be that Alessandro really was a vamp with a heart of gold? Chosen by his lover to live off the power of their passion?

Yeah, right. And I’m the tooth fairy. She turned to leave.

The bell over the door chimed. A young, attractive couple came in, smelling of the early evening rain. They had a fluid way of moving, almost like they walked on springs— something wild beneath the velvet and denim. The man laughed, the full-throated joy of someone just falling into lust. Werewolves.

They were beautiful. Ashe walked past them, invisible because they only had eyes for one another. She’d been in love like that. With her husband, that passion had never dimmed. Has he really been gone four whole years?

Rain greased the pavement, leaving it slick and shining. Neon signs reflected back from the wetness, smears of random color. Ashe could smell the ocean mixed with exhaust. She stopped, zipping up her jacket, wondering what to do next. It was too early to go back to the motel where she was staying.

What if Holly’s really and truly as happy as I was?

That thought led to a treacherous, slippery slope. Sure, a slayer’s job showed her the worst side of the monsters. That didn’t mean the only good monster was a dead one, but Ashe couldn’t second-guess herself in the middle of a job. That could put her six feet under. Or get her turned into the walking dead. Thinking in black and white was safer.

Moreover, she wasn’t willing to bet her sister’s life on the slim chance that Caravelli was the one vegetarian vampire in history. Ashe had already killed her parents, lost her husband, and had to send her daughter to boarding school to keep her safe from the vengeful relations of past targets. She couldn’t afford to screw up.

Ashe started walking, taking the long way back to the place where she’d left her Ducati.

If she had to get busy with a stake to keep her sister fang-free, she’d do it. Still, there was due diligence. She’d at least talk to the bloodsucker before sending him straight to hell—for Holly’s sake.

I’m not a hard-assed bitch 24/7. More like 23.75/7.

As if in answer to her thoughts, she saw Caravelli’s T-Bird parked in a puddle of streetlight.

Bingo.