The Watcher

CHAPTER 21

DISAPPEAR? WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?

What do you think?

I don't like his expression or his tone. He's talking to me like a kid being sent to bed without supper. Where would I go? And for how long?

Williams shrugs. Can't say how long. Until we can be sure Sylvie and her father aren't going to cause trouble.

And how will my disappearing help ?

Williams waves a hand. Out of sight, out of mind. If we're lucky, Sylvie and her father will want to put this behind them as quickly as possible. Maybe they'll attribute the way you attacked Alan to adrenaline or fear. But if they start asking questions, especially to the press, you run the risk of being marked as vampire to those who watch for just this sort of story.

And my disappearing won't cause a problem? Won't that look a little suspicious?

Williams shakes his head. Maybe. But it's far less dangerous than if you attract the attention of the media.

I can't believe what I'm hearing. How much worse can my life get? Acid churns in my blood. And just where am I supposed to go?

I've given that some thought.

What he projects is unacceptable. "Not Avery's. I won't even consider it." Speaking it aloud sounds more forceful than projecting it mentally.

"Why not?" He responds in kind. "It's a beautiful house. Secluded. There's a caretaker living there so the neighbors won't be suspicious of lights on in the house at night—"

"Caretaker?" I screech in protest. "Who hired a caretaker?"

"I did. You can't leave a house like that unprotected." He doesn't sound the least bit apologetic. "He's one of our own. And he's discreet."

"And you didn't think to ask me before you hired this caretaker?"

"What would you have said?"

"No, of course. I want that place closed down. I'd burn it to the ground if I thought I could get away with it."

"Then you are even more foolish than I thought."

This time it's me rubbing my hands over my face. "I won't go there."

He accepts the finality of my answer. "Beso de la Muerte, then? Won't have quite the amenities of the house in La Jolla."

The mention of Beso de la Muerte snaps my attention like a rubber band. It also reminds me of what I'd intended to ask Williams this morning. "Who's Belinda Burke?"

Williams looks at me. "Where did you hear that name?" His tone is mildly curious, but his face reflects more than that. I feel his interest pique.

"Yesterday. I saw the poster when we were bringing Guzman in. Who is she?"

"If you saw the poster, you know who she is."

"Okay then, what is she?"

For the first time since I got into the car, Williams' expression is more anxious than put out. He doesn't answer right away. When he finally does, it's with cautious undertones. "She's a very dangerous woman," he says.

"And?"

"And what?"

"I know she's more than a dangerous woman."

He acts reluctant to answer so I add, "Culebra called her a Wiccan."

Williams abandons caution. "Culebra knows her? How?"

I tell him. When I finish the story, he says, "Burke is much more than a witch. She's the most powerful practitioner of the black arts I've ever known."

"You mean she deals in more than love potions and black cats?"

He looks positively grim. "Much more, I'm afraid. If you've seen her, I need to know. We have to find her before midnight tomorrow night."

"Why? What happens tomorrow night?"

"It's October thirty-first."

"October thirty-first? Halloween?" I'd completely forgotten. "So?"

There's an instant when I think Williams isn't going to answer. He seems to be weighing options, but not for long. "It's Samhain, the Celtic New Year," he says. "Do you know anything about Wiccans?"

I shake my head.

"At midnight on October thirty-first, the worlds of the living and dead—human dead—converge. It produces a crack in time that lasts only an instant. But during that instant, a door to the underworld can be opened. Belinda and her coven are preparing to use their magic to bring forth a demon from the underworld. A demon who will do their bidding."

He falls silent.

I stare at him, waiting for the punch line because this has to be a joke.

He stares back. He's serious.

After all that I've experienced, you'd think I would accept what he's telling me. We're two vampires having a conversation about a witch who is about to summon a demon. Another day at the office. Instead, I do the only rational thing a person can do in a situation like this. I laugh. It erupts from my gut like spew from a volcano.

Williams' expression darkens. "You think this is funny? Well, maybe that will change if she succeeds. Demons have an interesting predilection. They like to eat vampires."

I see the seriousness of his expression, hear the concern in his voice, feel the anxiety rippling off his skin. But it doesn't change the image I have in my head of a leathery skinned, horned toad trying to eat me. I can't help it. The more I try to suppress the laughter, the more it takes control until my shoulders are shaking so hard, I almost fall over on the seat.

ENOUGH.

When someone yells in a closed car, it's bad enough. When someone yells in your head, it hurts.

I sit up straighter in the seat, wiping tears off my face. When I can form a coherent thought without hiccoughing, I say, Come on. A crack in time? Demons who eat vampires? Why wouldn't I have heard of this before? And if it's happening tomorrow night, for Christ's sake, why aren't you marshaling the forces to track this Burke woman down?

What makes you think I'm not?

That's a question it gives me pleasure to answer. Because you didn't put me on the case. You didn't even tell me such a thing was happening. You'd want my help.

Williams says nothing. His mind is closed. He doesn't even glance my way.

That's the giveaway.

The muscles at the back of my neck bunch. "You purposely kept me in the dark about Belinda Burke?"

He shifts in the seat, his back straight, his eyes hooded.

"There are a lot of things I don't tell you, Anna. I can never be sure you won't go off half-cocked."

Like today.

He doesn't say it or think it, but it hangs in the air between us.

The implication is like a knife in the gut. "Are you saying you trust me to take care of scum like Fisher but you don't trust me to take part in something as important as finding a witch who may unleash a demon?"

His expression is unapologetic. He offers neither a denial nor an explanation.

His mind reaches out to mine and I feel something close around my thoughts like a noose drawing tight. Now, he says, tell me what you know about Belinda Burke.

I'm angry. Angry enough to close him out of my head. But if I do that, I won't get what I need from him. Information about this witch who threatened Culebra.

It doesn't take long to fill Williams in on what I saw in Beso de la Muerte. The discussion/fight that took place between Culebra and this Belinda Burke. The way she disappeared like a puff of smoke, to be followed minutes later by Culebra. The utter barrenness of the camp. The creepy sensation of being chased out of there by a malevolent spirit.

Nothing concrete.

Now it's his turn to tell me what he knows. I look to Williams for answers, but he's shaking his head.

"This is not good. Burke is a powerful witch, but teleportation is a new trick for her. She has tapped into a new source."

He's talking in riddles. "New source? What does that mean?"

"Witches derive their energy from the elements of nature. Earth, wind, fire. They are bound by them. Teleportation involves escaping the bonds of earth. It shouldn't be possible."

"You and I shouldn't be possible, but here we are. And I saw Culebra do the same thing, too."

Williams shakes his head. "If that's true, the situation is even more serious than I thought. If Culebra and Burke are working together—"

"No way. I saw the way he looked when he was talking to her. And after, he was distracted. He sent me away. Said not to come back until it was safe." I'm replaying the scene in my head. "Then he disappeared. We were face-to-face. One minute he was there, the next, he was gone."

Williams doesn't buy it. "Then he tricked you somehow. He's a shape-shifter. He can't teleport. It's impossible unless Burke …"

It's there, unspoken. Gave him the magic—or used magic on him to transport him somewhere he didn't want to go.

Williams resolve is hard and unbreakable as concrete. I know that from past experience. Still, I have to try.

"What do you want me to do?"

He has his face turned away from me, his mind unreadable.

"Williams?" I prod. "What do you want me to do?"

At last he stirs, half turning in the seat to look at me. "Nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?"

A flash of annoyance tightens his jaw. "I told you what you were going to do. Disappear. If not to Beso de la Muerte, then you pick another place. But it has to be away from here and it has to be tonight."

Now the annoyance is mine. "You're kidding, right? You're going after this all-powerful witch and you don't want me to help?"

"You can't help."

He says it without equivocation.

He says it like I have no say in the matter.

He says it like Max telling me to butt out of his investigation.

But Williams isn't Max and this isn't a human matter.

"Culebra is my friend," I whisper.

He remains unmoved.

I have to change that. All the aggravation and frustration of the past two days sweeps over me, driving away any hesitation, any vestige of good sense. I launch myself at Williams with the ferocity of a tiger.

He doesn't see it coming. One minute he's sitting up in the seat, his resolve like a smug halo. The next, I have his throat in my hands and his body pinned beneath me. I feel Ortiz' startled reaction from the front seat. The car begins to slow.

Drive on.

He hesitates, glancing backward.

I put more steel in my voice. Drive on, Ortiz.

The pure heat of my fury convinces him. His foot presses the accelerator and the car resumes speed.

Good.

I've had a bitch of a week, and I'm really tired of arguing with men.