Yes, she'd noticed, every supernatural group, pack, nest, or coven felt that it was head and shoulders above the others. Even though it was more than obvious that vampires stood five to six heads taller than goblins, talk to a goblin and that goblin would say it was tops, the highest creature on the old paranormal totem pole. Talk to a Lei-line warlock, and he would boast that his magic wand was bigger any day of the week—and especially at night.
Lucy had been surprised to find that the two magical covens were doing her show together, since animosity had always run rampant between the two groups, not to mention bitter spells and black clouds. Getting the two covens together was going to end in magic muttering, spellbinding mumbo jumbo—i.e., just the kind of stuff those television bigwig rating-cravers yearned for, like her boss Mr. Moody.
"You have purple bags under your eyes," Ricki remarked, dabbing white concealer beneath Lucy's eyes. "You need to get more sleep."
Right, Lucy thought. How could a person sleep when she was all tied up in knots like a really twisty pretzel? It had been three nights since she encountered Val at the gallery opening, and four years since she had slept with him. But her body felt as if it were only yesterday, and she was reliving with intensity the devastating passion the vampire had once brought to her life.
Yes, Val had once filled her life with such joy that every day was like Christmas, and their lovemaking had set off fireworks that eclipsed the Fourth of July. He had intrigued and enthralled her with his wit and wisdom. He had known more about history than any class she had ever taken, and knew more about detective work than Columbo and CSI put together.
Until Val, Lucy had always carefully guarded her heart; she had kept her feet on the ground. Letting herself go, she had ended up with her head in the clouds. And then, after loving Val, one dark rainy night, her world came crashing down. The bang had shattered Lucy's heart into so many pieces, she didn't think she could ever put it back together again.
That night, after finding Val, she had flown back to San Antonio, where it became crystal clear that she needed to go farther, home to the range. So, grabbing her keys and cash from the table in the hall, she'd driven straight through the black rainy night, even though she was haggard and hurting, trying hard not to fall asleep at the wheel. The old house where her mother lived was outside of Hawley, and a six-hour drive from River Walk City.
She had cried the whole way, raindrops on the windshield keeping pace with the tracks of her tears. Until that time, Lucy hadn't known a person had so much water in her body. Arriving home, she had been both waterlogged and dehydrated, and was longing for her mom's arms and the familiarity of home.
Half listening to Ricki's prattling now, as Ricki applied blush to her cheeks, Lucy knew that she had been in the forever-kind-of-love with Val. It hadn't mattered about their cultural differences, like she was alive and he was undead. She had ignored the fact that he drank blood and she drank Cokes, that he had nice straight fangs and she'd had braces. She had overlooked the fact that he was from Old World France and thrilled to the dark paths of the night with all its vibrating pulse, and she was the original sunshine girl from West Texas.
And she should have been prepared for the deceiving Damphyr's betrayal. She had been through the unfaithful bit before; her mother had been divorced twice, both times the result of her husband's unfaithfulness. Lucy's father was now married to a third wife, younger than Lucy by two years.
And yet, Val's infidelity and loss had left her disconsolate. She couldn't eat or sleep, feeling as if part of her was dying. Inside she had been so very cold and so very empty, except for the hurt that never quite dimmed.
Some redemption had come in the form of her mother's devastating car wreck, and in the frequent surgeries afterward. Lucy hadn't had time to cry over spilt milk—or blood as the case might be—and had no time to feel sorry for herself. Her mother came first, and Lucy had bravely and determinedly gotten over her debilitating depression and finally found work.
And if it wasn't the work she had once hoped for, at least her work paid fairly well and kept her dauntless curiosity and creativity well used. Her work on the talk show had helped her to cope with the loss of the one true love of her life, and her mother's recovery had helped her find her smile again.
To be honest, when Lucy had first received the offer to come to work here in New Orleans, she had secretly been hoping to run into Val again. A tiny part of her had hoped that just maybe he would beg her forgiveness, that he would tell her how much he had missed her in his life. In fact, when she'd first moved to New Orleans, Lucy had indulged in this little fantasy quite often. Sometimes she would imagine that she would laugh in Val's face for betraying her with that overstacked, overfanged, and under-dressed vampiress. She would then order Val out of her house, his face shocked and sad, hers filled with the joy of gleeful revenge.
A few times her daydreams had gotten her and Val back together again. Well, to be honest, Lucy had mused on such a fate more than a few times, but her secret hopes and daydreams had been dashed. Even though she knew Val was aware of her presence in town, she had only seen him once—on a date at a jazz bar. He hadn't even noticed her; nor had he called since she'd arrived. Apparently, she was forgettable. And that was unforgivable, because Valmont DuPonte was anything but.
"Earth to Lucy," Ricki called. "Bags, Lucy girl, bags under the eyes! Not a good look unless you're a ghoul or a ghost. Now, why aren't you sleeping?"
Valmont DuPonte, Lucy thought angrily—the Don Juan of the dead. Once a vampire was in your blood, he was in your blood for good, like some damn parasite.
"I don't know," she lied at last.
Never again would she tell others about Val's betrayal and her broken heart. In Texas, everyone who had known Lucy knew about Val's infidelity and Lucy's love for the coffin-hopping, vampire-bopping creep. They could have written books. But no one in New Orleans even knew she had a history with this, the sexiest detective on the city's Paranormal Task Force. Which was perfect.
"I guess I've been working too hard. I've been too wound up after work to sleep."
"What you need is some good, hot, old-fashioned sex," Ricki advised.
"That's your suggestion for everything," Lucy replied, a smile on her face. Sex with Val had always almost burned up the sheets. Once he had filled her room with dark golden roses, calling her his Yellow Rose of Texas. It had been lovely.
"If it works, why knock it? Besides, whatever gets you through the night," the hairstylist commented, beginning to fluff Lucy's hair. "Hey, last night on the phone I forgot to ask about your date Friday. How'd it go?"
"He was a first-class troll."
Ricki stepped back, her mouth gaping open. "You're kidding, right? I thought you went out with Desmond Tribideaux. Instead you dated a troll? That's so gross. I wouldn't let one of those touch me with a ten-foot pole." Then, thinking about her remark, she added thoughtfully, "Although, I bet trolls might have ten-inch poles. Or larger. Hmm?"
Lucy arched her brows, giving Ricki a look of amused disgust. "Not a real-live troll. Just Desmond, who was being a first-class jerk with sex on the brain—sex in chains. Everything with him was sex and bondage, and he couldn't have cared less what I thought or what I want in life. Just what he wanted, and that was—"
"Some S & M big time, huh?" Ricki broke in.
"You got it," Lucy agreed, shaking her head. "He was almost worse than my last dinner date."