Legacy

CHAPTER 22

A CHIRP FROM INSIDE BRINGS ME BACK—BACK TO consciousness, back to the computer.

An instant message: HU R U?

I reply: FRIEND OF GLORIA.

Jason’s answer comes scrolling back: WOT FRND?

My fingers tap out: SOME1 TRYING 2 HLP HER.

Jason: PRUV IT.

Me: GLORIA HIRED ME.

Jason: 2 DO?

Me: FIND OUT WHO REALLY KILLED YOUR DAD.

There is a pause here, so long I break it by typing: JASON, R U STILL THERE?

Finally, I get a response: CAN WE MEET?

Me: THE SOONER THE BETTER.

Jason: NOT 2DAY. 2MORO MORN?

Me: WHR & WEN?

Jason: 9 A.M. LESTAT’S? KNO IT?

The character name I know, any Anne Rice fan would. A place with that name? I type: NO.

Jason replies: COFFEE SHOP. ADAM’S AVE.

A coffee shop named Lestat’s? And I’m being invited there? Oh, the irony. I type back: C U @ 9.

I’m ready to log off when one more message comes back: DON’T TELL ANY1.

I have to smile at Jason’s dramatic parting shot. I suppose he doesn’t want his stepmother to know he’s consorting with the enemy. Which begs the question: why is he?

I’ll get the answer tomorrow morning.

My thoughts shift back suddenly to Sandra. Now that I understand she’s the source of this—whatever it is—I have to know how she’s doing it. If it’s not a spell, what? Power of suggestion? Can she tap into my sexual psyche and feel the hunger? At this moment, the image of her in my head is powerful enough to make me tremble. Is there a way to block those message receptors?

Words from the book spring unbidden: How best to protect yourself from werewolves? Stay away from them.

The office phone rings and I glance at the caller ID. Then at my watch. Yikes. I snatch up the receiver, “Sorry, Mom. Time got away from me. I’m on my way.”

She laughs. “Good. We’re giddy with excitement over here. Our lives are about to change. Your life is about to change. Hurry, Anna. We’re waiting for you.”

Giddy with excitement? Change my life? My mother is not one for hyperbole but here she is, sounding for all the world like a spokesperson for Publishers Clearing House. Is there a goofy-looking guy with bad hair and a toothy grin holding balloons and a big cardboard check lurking on our front porch?

“You didn’t enter a sweepstakes, did you?”

Again, the silver lilt of her laughter. “Better. I’m not going to tell you anything else. You need to come home. Now.”

“Okay. On my—”

But she’s already rung off.

Weird. Very weird.