Any reason to doubt it?
She’s a lot younger than I imagined. A spell?
Or another satisfied customer.
IT’S A QUIET RIDE BACK TO CENTENNIAL AIRPORT. I have many questions to ask Sophie, but I don’t want to ask them in front of Turnbull. I don’t trust him.
Turnbull keeps to himself, too. He doesn’t introduce himself to Sophie. Afraid, maybe, that if he does and they meet at some charity function in the future, she’ll remember. I’m sure he’s relieved that he’s not been asked to dispose of a body. The sooner he gets Sophie alive and on that plane, the better.
The silence gives me a chance to study Sophie. There’s something—an unidentifiable quality—about her that’s unusual. Every once in a while, she gets an expression on her face that makes me think she’s listening to—what? Her focus turns inward. If she were vampire, I’d say she was reading Turnbull or me. She’s not vampire. I’m certain of it. I’d have recognized it when I saw her for the first time. She was startled and had no chance to put up psychic defenses.
It’s creepy. Could Sophie Deveraux be psychotic? Does she hear those kind of voices?
She knew Tremaine was Burke. She knew about the deaths from the cream. She says she came up with the idea. With her sister.
My hands curl into fists. They itch to get her alone on that plane, to find out what else she knows.
The jet is primed and ready when we pull onto the airstrip. I say good-bye to Turnbull. It doesn’t take long. He’s as glad to be rid of me as he is Sophie. I thank him for helping me find Sophie. I mean it, too. Saved me from hassling with a GPS system on a rental car.
He’s gone before we take off.
He doesn’t ask me back for a visit.
Once aboard, Sophie slips into a seat and belts herself in. She’s neither curious nor impressed by the plane.
Probably has one just like it.
Lawson comes back to greet us. He gives us a weather update and tells us we’ll be on our way in ten minutes.
I wait until we’re airborne and he’s given us the okay to move about the cabin. I tell him we won’t be needing anything and don’t want to be disturbed. Then I unbuckle my seat belt and swivel my seat to face the girl.
“Let’s start at the beginning. Who are you?”
Sophie squares herself in the seat. Resolute blue eyes look into mine. “My name was Sophie Burke. Belinda is my sister.”
“You call yourself Sophie Deveraux. Jonathan Deveraux was vampire. You assumed a new identity, set yourself up as heir to his estate.
Why?”
If she really is the bitch Burke’s sister, I expect her answer will have to do with distancing herself from the black-magic witch.
Instead, Sophie smiles. “Black-magic witch. She is that, yes. But that’s not the reason I became Sophie Deveraux.”
I jerk upright in the seat. There’s no mistaking it this time. She does hear voices. She heard mine.
What are you?
What do you think I am?
The voice is masculine, touched with a hint of an accent, like Turnbull ’s, faintly southern. It’s coming from inside Sophie but it’s not Sophie speaking. Gooseflesh raises icy bumps on my arms.
The memory of another male voice addressing me from a female form plunges me into a nightmare.
Avery. That time it was Avery and the female was Sandra.
Dread roots me to the spot. I’m trapped at twenty thousand feet with something I can’t identify and rising panic. Has Avery done it again? Did he manage to escape from Sandra? Is he here on his own plane to exact revenge?
Who’s Avery? I thought you were the Big Bad.
The voice this time is diffused with curiosity and a hint of humor.
It’s laughing at me.
Not a good idea. Anger replaces panic, cracking the shell of fear paralyzing me and allowing the vampire to break free. The growl and hiss erupt from the dark place determined to protect itself.
I’ll ask you one more time. What are you?
It’s Sophie who answers after a moment’s hesitation. “Sorry, Ms. Strong,” she says with quiet resignation. “I should have told you.” She makes a sweeping gesture with her hand, down the length of her body. “I’m not exactly alone in here. You’ve been talking with my alter ego, Jonathan Deveraux.”
CHAPTER 43
A VISCERAL RUSH OF ALARM SWALLOWS THE ANGER. A hundred questions pop into my head. The most important, because of Sandra and Avery, raises the hair on the back of my neck. “Did he take you by force? Is he holding you against your will?”
A sad, slow smile touches her lips. “I wish I could answer yes.” She sighs. “But I can’t. I did this to myself.
“How?”
“Curiosity and vanity. A dangerous combination.”
I don’t understand. Is she lying to protect herself? Can this Jonathan Deveraux hurt her the way Avery did Sandra?
Only if I want to hurt myself, too.
I’ve experienced a lot of strange things since becoming vampire. Watching this young girl speak with two distinct voices ranks among the creepiest.
She’s not so young, Deveraux says with a chuckle. Go ahead, Sophie, tell Anna the story.
Sophie stands, begins to pace, stops, turns back to me. “It started as an experiment,” she says. “I’m a witch. To support myself I am—I was—a caterer. I worked the supernatural community. It was a good life. I should have been satisfied.”
She comes back and sinks into her seat. “A few months ago, at a birthday party, at Jonathan’s birthday party, there was an accident.”
Not an accident, Deveraux interjects with a snarl.
Sophie nods. “He’s right. It turned out not to be an accident. His wife killed him —set him on fire with his birthday cake. When I was called in to clean up the—what was left—I got the idea. I’ve always dabbled in cosmetics. Made my own, in fact. It was a dream to start my own business. Thinking about what happened to Jonathan, touching the ash, gave me an idea. Maybe if I used some of his ash, mixed it in a face cream, it might be the breakthrough I was looking for to start a new line.”
“Did you know the ash had any power?”
“No. It was desperation. I was tired of my life. I wanted to be young. Beautiful. I wanted adventure, romance. Things I never had.”
“So how old are you, really?”
She looks away. “Eighty,” she says softly. “Not so old for a witch, but definitely past the midpoint of life.”
“Eighty?” I flash on Burke. “What about your sister then? How old is she?”
“Belinda is ten years older. She’s ninety.”
I shake my head. “No way. You said this happened a few months ago. I saw Burke before that. She looked thirty. How is she doing it?”
Sophie shrugs. “Magic,” she says. “You saw how she worked the glamour that transformed her into Simone Tremaine. She can be any age or look like anyone she wants to. She’s very powerful.”
“So why didn’t you do the same thing?”
“It takes continuous and exhausting effort to maintain a change in physical appearance. I wish to direct my effort to more positive things.”
She catches herself. “Or at least I used to direct my efforts to positive things.”
“Christ. So you came up with another idea. All this because you couldn’t be content to age gracefully like the rest of the human race.”
A snicker. This from a vampire who will never age.
I wasn’t speaking to you.
Tough.