I rubbed the vampire bite, safely hidden under bright red silk. Amber had a lot bigger problem than a ghost, but I had no idea how to help her with that one either.
“Good,” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Once I was in my room, I couldn’t force myself to go to sleep. I wondered if Corban knew what his client was and knew that the vampire was feeding from his wife, or if he was a dupe like Amber. I wondered at the oddity of Corban, who didn’t believe in ghosts, suggesting Amber ask me to come and help them with theirs. But if the vampire had decided to bring me here ... I had no idea why. Unless it was some secret conspiracy, a way for Marsilia to get rid of me, punish me for my sins without worrying about the wolves. But I didn’t see Marsilia being anxious to owe a favor to any vampire—and a vampire who was so territorial that he allowed no other vampires at all was a poor candidate for cooperative problem solving.
Speaking of Blackwood ... he’d called Amber to him in the day. I’d never heard of a vampire who was alive during the day, though admittedly my experience with vampires was limited. I wondered where Stefan was.
“Stefan?” I said, keeping my voice down. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Maybe he couldn’t get in because he hadn’t been invited. “Stefan? Come in.” But he still didn’t answer.
My phone rang, and I couldn’t help the silly butterflies in my stomach when I answered.
“Hey, Adam,” I said.
“I thought you’d want to know that Warren and Darryl made it out of the vampire den alive.”
I sucked in my breath. “You didn’t actually agree to their meeting on Marsilia’s grounds?”
He laughed. “No, it just sounded better than saying they made it out of Denny’s alive. It might not be romantic, but it’s open all night and set in the middle of a brightly lit parking lot with no dark places for skulking parties to ambush from.”
“Did they accomplish anything?”
“Not exactly.” He didn’t sound worried. “Negotiations take time. This round was all posturing and threats. But Warren says he thinks Marsilia might be after something more than just your pretty little hide—a couple of hints Wulfe let drop. Marsilia knows I won’t budge on you, but she might be willing to negotiate on something else. How are you doing?”
“The walking stick followed me here,” I told him, because I knew it would make him laugh again.
He did. And the rough caress of his mirth made my bones melt. “Just don’t buy any sheep while you’re out, and you’ll be safe.”
The stick that followed me home and, in this case, to Spokane had originally had the power of making every sheep belonging to its caretaker bear twins. Like most fairy gifts, sooner or later it back-fired on its human owner. I didn’t know if it still worked that way, and I didn’t know why it was following me around either, but I was getting sort of used to it.
“Any luck with your ghost?”
Now that we were safely out of the attic, I could tell him about it without him speeding all the way over to rescue me. If Blackwood had ignored me—mostly, anyway—he certainly wouldn’t ignore the Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack.
When I was finished, he asked, “Why’d it trap you in the attic?”
I shrugged and wriggled on the bed to get more comfortable. “I don’t know. Probably the opportunity just presented itself. There are fae who cause mischief like this—hobs and brownies and the like. But this was a ghost. I saw it myself. What I haven’t seen is any sign of Stefan. I’m a little worried about him.”
“He’s there to make sure Marsilia doesn’t send anyone after you,” said Adam.
“Right,” I said. “So far, so good.” I touched the sore spot on my neck. Could that be another explanation? Could it have been one of Marsilia’s vampires?
But the sick feeling in my stomach told me that it wasn’t. Not with Blackwood free to come and go in Amber’s home. Not with Amber called, seduced, and fed from—in daylight.
“You don’t get to be as old as Stefan is without being able to take care of yourself.”
“You’re right,” I said, “but he’s been cut adrift, and I’d be happier if he weren’t making himself so scarce.”
“He’d not be much help in a ghost hunt—don’t ghosts avoid vampires?”
“Ghosts and cats, Bran says,” I told him. “But my cat likes Stefan.”
“Your cat likes anyone she can convince to pet her.”
Something about the way he said it—a caress in his voice—made me suspicious. I listened carefully and heard it, a faint purr.
“She likes you, anyway,” I said. “How’d she talk you into letting her into your house again?”
“She yowled at the back door.” He sounded sheepish. I’d never seen or heard of a cat that would associate with werewolves or coyotes until Medea announced her presence at the door of my shop. Dogs will—and so will most livestock—but not cats. Medea loves anyone who will pet her ... or has the potential to pet her. Not unlike some people I know.
“She’s playing you and Samuel off each other,” I informed him. “And you, my dear sir, have just succumbed to her wiles.”
“My mother warned me about succumbing,” he said meekly. “You’ll have to save me from myself. When I have you to pet, I won’t need her.”
Faintly, through his phone, I heard the doorbell ring.
“It’s pretty late for visitors,” I said.
Adam started to laugh.
“What?”
“It’s Samuel. He just asked Jesse if we’ve seen your cat.”
I sighed. “Men are so easy. You’d better go confess your sins.”
When I disconnected, I stared into the dark wishing I were home. If I were sleeping with Adam next to me, no stupid vampire would be chewing on my neck. Finally, I got up, turned on the light, and brought out the fairy book to read. After a few pages, I quit worrying about vampires, pulled the comforter closer around my shoulders—Amber must like her AC down at werewolf levels—and lost myself in the story of the Roaring Bull of Bagbury and other fae who haunt bridges.
I woke up shivering sometime later, clutching the fairy staff, which I’d last seen leaning against the wall next to the door. The wood under my fingers was hot—a contrast to the rest of the room. The cold was so intense my nose was numb and my breath fogged.
A moment after I woke up, a high-pitched, atonal wail rang through the walls of the house, abruptly cutting off.
I dumped my covers on the floor. The rare old book met the same fate—but I was too worried about Chad to stop and rescue it. I ran out of my bedroom and took the requisite four steps to the boy’s room.
The door wouldn’t open.
The knob turned, so it wasn’t locked. I put my shoulder against the door, but it didn’t budge. I tried to use the walking stick, which was still warmer than it should have been, as a crowbar, to force the door open, but it didn’t work. There was nowhere to get a good place to pry.
“Let me,” whispered Stefan just behind me.
“Where have you been?” I said, relief making me sharp. With the vampire here, the ghost would go.
“Hunting,” he said, putting his shoulder to the door. “You looked like you had everything under control.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, appearances can be deceiving.”
“I see that.”
I heard the wood begin to break as it gave reluctantly for the first few inches. Then it jerked away from the vampire and flung itself against the wall with a spiteful bang, leaving Stefan to stumble into the bedroom.
If my room had been cold, Chad’s was frigid. Frost layered everything in the room like unearthly lace. Chad lay still as the dead in the center of his bed—he wasn’t breathing, but his eyes were open and scared.