I blinked stupidly. Eloquent intimidation has that effect on me.
“I’m hungry,” Menessos muttered as he turned and walked away. “You!” he called to one of the motorcyclists. “What is your name? Vance, is it?”
One of the beholders stepped away from his bike and removed his helmet. “I’m Vinny.”
“Vincent, then. Lower the collar of your jacket.”
The beholder immediately exposed his neck. “How long’s this pain gonna last?”
Menessos didn’t answer, but took a position behind the man and prepared to do what vampires do.
Confused by the beholder’s words, I turned away. “Back to the kitchen,” I said, mostly to Beverley. “We don’t need to see this.”
Chapter 20
You’re going to wear a rut in the floor,” Nana said from the dinette table in the kitchen.
It was twelve-forty. Time was snailing by, and my nervous energy found an outlet in pacing the long hallway from the kitchen, past the steps, and to the front door and back. Moving not only kept me busy, but it kept my mind off my rumbling stomach. I had to fast until the ritual was over.
The vampires had retreated to the interior of the limo, but it remained idling in my drive. Dr. Lincoln—who had left, gotten some more sleep, checked some animal patients, and returned—was monitoring Theo, preparing to feed her through the tube in anticipation of her coming transformation. Johnny sat on my couch, calmly engrossed in something on the Food Channel. Beverley was dozing on the opposite end of the couch. Nana was just rousing from a nap.
Presently, Celia and Erik returned from giving Vivian a bathroom break. Celia, like the doc, had expressed concern for Vivian, so we switched out the soppy dishcloth gag for a fresh and dry bandanna. I even conceded to putting a pillow on the seat of her chair. I thought that was big of me, but Celia showed me the “burns” Vivian had on her wrists from the clothesline, so I added some padding and had the guys reposition her in the chair. As far as I was concerned, that was as comfortable as Vivian needed to get.
Wondering what it said about me that I was less appalled by Vivian’s torturous restraints than the wæres were, I paced to the door and peered out at the limo.
Johnny rose from the couch and came to the doorway. “What is it?”
“If all goes well and Theo’s transformed, then I am going to give Vivian over to the vampires.”
“So?”
“So if the others are worried about her being uncomfortable here, they definitely won’t like that.”
I paced back to the kitchen. He followed. I said, “The way I figure it, she messed with them first. They’d have caught her eventually anyway.”
“You’re probably right.”
My mouth opened, ready to say something else, but I suddenly felt…something…and stopped.
“Red?”
I didn’t answer, trying to figure out what it was. Similar to the alarm in my head, it was something, but not a break-in or trespassing.
“What is it?” he asked again.
I glanced about the room. Everyone was here except the doc, Theo and—
“Beverley.”
I ran down the hall. From the doorway, I saw that my living room window was open. “No!” If the vampires had lured her out—
With Johnny at my heels, I flung open the door. In the dim light from the open car door, Beverley stood before Goliath, who leaned against the rear quarter panel of the limo.
I bolted without considering that I was leaving the safety of my home and its perimeter wards behind.
“Red!” Johnny called after me. He’d stopped on the edge of the porch. “Red!”
“Beverley!”
She faced me. If she had been bespelled, she wouldn’t have been able to do that. “Seph, I have to know,” she said as I neared and slowed.
Menessos slid from the seat, but left his door open. I stopped a few paces away, glad to hear Johnny coming up behind me. “Know what?”
Beverley turned back to Goliath. “Did you? Did you kill my mother?”
The vampire lowered himself to one knee before her and took her hands in his. It was such a gentle and humble and caring human gesture; I could hardly believe my eyes.
“Why would you think that?” he asked. He faced me, and I saw anger rising hot and swift. He stood, releasing her hands. “You told her this?”
Johnny caught up to us, and Erik was swiftly running to join us also. I stood firm. “Vivian claims that you are the murderer.”
Goliath and Menessos exchanged a look. It wasn’t an “oh-no-they-know” look. It was the “she’s-such-a-bitch” look that had—in reference to Vivian—passed over the faces of everyone in my house at one time or another in the last twenty-four hours, so I recognized it well.
“Red?” Johnny prompted.
“That’s why you were checking my background,” Goliath snapped.
Before I could respond, Beverley blurted, “Vivian hired her to kill you.”
Goliath laughed. “Hired you to get yourself killed.”
Beverley grabbed his coat in both hands. “Did you kill my mother?” Her voice was taut, her eyes glistening with tears about to fall.
He turned back to her and again wrapped his hands over hers. “Of course not. I loved your mother. You know that.”
Seeing Goliath being downright parental gave me a chill. Menessos stepped closer to me; Johnny and Erik countered, growling, but the vampire was unaffected by them. “You’ve been conned into the middle of a fight that isn’t yours, Persephone,” Menessos said. Though I was keeping my eyes from his, I knew he was staring at me, his expression one of someone admiring a painting or ancient vase. It creeped me out.
“I don’t understand.”
“Lorrie was killed for nothing more than petty jealousy.” His tone was neutral. “Over Goliath. In order to shame Lorrie’s memory with media coverage and hysteria and to further slur the wæres of the world, the killer left those symbols on the wall.”
Of course they were going to point the finger elsewhere.
Then it hit me.
“Jealousy?” I repeated. All my blood dropped to the soles of my feet. “Then you know who killed Lorrie?” If the motive had been jealousy, it could only have been one person. It had been in front of me the whole time. The newspaper said symbols were drawn on Lorrie’s walls…but she said “occult symbols” at the coffee shop. She’d only know that if she drew them…
“I do,” he said. “She must have believed you would be able to surprise Goliath enough to distract him, and thereby injure him or get a fortunate shot,” Menessos muttered.
“Never,” Goliath affirmed with sinister quiet.
“But if she was jealous, why hire me to kill the one she was jealous over?”
“An offering,” Goliath said, then added with disquieting calm: “She would send you to me as a make-up gift, and once I had had you, bled you, and knew why you had come, I would have to thank her.”
I wasn’t buying that. She’d spent too much money and was too Council-hungry.
Beverley said, “Who did it? Who?” She left Goliath and grabbed Menessos’s arm. “Who?”
“Can you prove it?” I asked. I didn’t want to be duped twice, even if their claim and my recollection made it logical.
“I do not have to,” Menessos said.
I squared my shoulders and met his gaze. “Yes, you do.”
He smiled smugly. “Ask her. Confront her. She will not deny it. She’s too proud of her work to not claim the credit for it once the ruse is revealed.”
“Who?” Beverley pleaded and tugged at his arm.