How can I be breathless when I don’t breathe? Irritation and an unwanted desire chased each other in an annoying loop.
“What do you expect from me?” she said, her voice a mere whisper.
Lore gave a smile that was at once sad and amused. “I don’t expect anything. I want you to come back inside and help me find Belenos.”
He held out his hand.
She dropped her arm, no longer pushing him away. He didn’t try to close the gap, but stood there, waiting.
Talia felt the night closing in on her. A few flakes fell out of the darkness, catching on her sleeve. Running from Belenos had worked for a while. She’d built a life that wasn’t ideal, but she’d been able to teach and no one, especially no man, had interfered. Yet now her freedom was withering away again, bit by bit.
“The snow isn’t going to let me get away, is it? I bet all the roads out of town are blocked.”
Gently, Lore reached out and caught her hand. His was warm, engulfing hers in welcome heat. “Come inside. I’ll put on a fire.”
She followed him inside, wondering how much she dared trust the moment.
Chapter 18
Thursday, December 30, 4:30 p.m.
101.5 FM
“This is Errata Jones taking the early shift on CSUP for Oscar Ottwell, who will be returning to us next Monday. Happy holidays, Oscar. I hope Santa Claws filled your stocking to the brim.
“To resume our coverage of current affairs in Fairview: Rumors are everywhere about who’s in town for the election. We’ve heard about everyone from the Headless Horseman to Elvis checking in to our Spookytown hotels, but what’s fact and what’s fiction? Well, I’ll give you one clue, my nighttime faithful. Not everyone is friendly.
“We’ve not been able to confirm this report, but word has it Hunters are in town. Lock your doors, my furry friends. The bogeymen are out and about and just to freshen up your sense of dismay, I’ve put my pretty paws on a few of their how-to manuals. If I ever decide to skin myself, now I know the drill. Stay tuned for choice excerpts—and I warn you these may not be suitable for all listeners.”
Thursday, December 30, 5:00 p.m.
Lore’s condo
When Talia woke up, she was free.
She was still using Lore’s wide bed, but this time she was between the sheets, curled up in the bliss of soft pillows and a thick comforter.
Lore had taken her out of the cold and back to the meeting. The gesture had felt oddly symbolic, especially after that first wave of fright she’d felt when meeting the others. Yes, she’d been isolated too long. Rejoining the group in the living room had been an emotional victory.
She’d take her triumphs where she could. Talia rolled over, feeling a slowness in her limbs that said she hadn’t eaten enough yesterday. It was the same lassitude she’d felt after a bout of the flu. Not really sick anymore, but not really well, either. How long am I going to remember details like that? In ten years, was she going to remember the taste of apples? The glitter of sun on a swimming pool?
She stared at the window, tucking the comforter under her chin. There was still ice on the glass, and the snow was blowing in veils across the sky. Hard to tell if it was still falling, or just swirling around.
It had been a night like this when she’d tried to go home again. Christmastime, but her family didn’t celebrate much of anything. She’d slipped out of her sire’s house and walked for miles through the snow wearing nothing but bedroom slippers. Thinking clearly wasn’t easy during that first year as a fledgling.
She’d come toward her father’s house from the back, where there was a rising slope dotted with pine trees. Making her way down the dark, cold incline toward the familiar back gate, she’d slid from tree to tree, her hands scraping over the rough bark, her head reeling with the tingling scent of pine. The kitchen window had glowed softly, giving a certain grace to the tiny, hard-used house.
Through the window she could see the Arborite table with the silver legs, the padded chairs with tape over the rips in the vinyl. She’d eaten all her meals and done all her homework at that table. It was the one place her family came together twice a day, morning and night.
Until her mother went away, running back to her own people. Afterward, her father had taken away Mom’s chair and put it in the garage. With that one gesture, he’d obliterated her place, erased her from the family home. Her father wasn’t a learned man, but he understood symbolism.
The memory had penetrated Talia’s addled brain enough to be cautious as she’d approached the house. With the instinct of a wounded dog, she’d come home to beg for help. If anyone knew how to reverse a vampire’s curse, it would be her father and his cronies—but she remembered the chair. Her father worked in a world of absolutes.
When she’d gathered her courage and crept close enough to see in the kitchen window, her father and her uncle were eating dinner. Steam rose off the bowls of stew, reminding her that her feet were blocks of ice, and hunger—though not for stew—cramped her belly.
But now her seat was gone from the circle of chairs around the table. Gone the way of Mom’s, vanishing from the family circle. She was no more to them now than a monster with a familiar face.
Talia had turned away, creeping back to the sire who had sucked the life from her body. Just as well. If she’d gone into the kitchen, someone would have died. They had always eaten with guns on the table, ready in case of attack. It was the Hunter way.
She’d been captured and Turned by the vampires out of vengeance. What a knee-slapper, to change the Hunter girl into the thing her family hated. Perhaps they thought her father would feel a pang, slicing off his daughter’s head.
Now, there was a joke. He’d do his duty without a flicker of doubt. That was how they’d all been trained. Talia. Her brother. Ready to die or kill. The man who had been her fiance, Tom, had died when she had, but oh so differently.
She couldn’t think about Tom. They’d never really loved each other. Her father’s choice for son-in-law, Tom had wanted the traditional Hunter home, and children to raise in the tribe. Talia wanted to please her dad, but not that much. She’d split up with Tom, but that didn’t make what had happened any less horrific. And then there had been Max . . .
Talia rolled out of the bed, memories making her restless. If those nice monsters in the living room last night knew what she’d done over the years, the nonhuman lives she’d taken, they would have turned on her. Might still. She had to accept that truth.
But I can’t run away. Michelle was murdered. I have to settle that score, no matter where that leads.
And she’d made progress. Now she knew it was Belenos she was hunting, and now she had her freedom. As long as things suck less today than yesterday, I’m on a roll.
She realized Lore had rehung the bedroom door while she’d been sunk in the deep sleep of the Undead— but he’d left it ajar. The dresser was piled with some of her personal belongings: clothes, toiletries, and her courier bag. Surprise stopped her in her tracks. Wouldn’t a crime scene be locked up for a while? Had Lore used his talent with locks to get inside?
She grabbed the courier bag and laid it on the bed. When she unzipped it, the contents looked undisturbed: papers she was supposed to mark, library books, and the usual litter of pens and sticky notes. Beneath the papers, her netbook nestled in a side pocket. She grabbed it, caressing the smooth black surface. Police usually seized computers, didn’t they? They would have taken her laptop for sure. Someone had made a mistake by leaving the netbook behind.
