Holly could imagine it all now: She pictured the dreadful creatures, uncool social outcasts hanging out in somebody's basement, sucking back the vampire equivalent of cheese puffs and beer and dreaming of vengeance. Now they had a demon, a supernatural bully to kick sand in the face of the queen who sneered at them. No doubt they'd bitten off far more than—No, she thought. No biting analogies where vamps were concerned.
But who was the guy with the book?
Someone was working with them. The summoner, surely, but it definitely didn't feel as though he were in charge. The energy he gave off in the vision was much more subdued.
She had to tell Alessandro. She hitched up her sleeve to look at her watch. It was just past one. There were still hours to go before any vampire would be up. The only thing she could do right now was get home, where it was safe.
As her feet splashed through the puddles, her right boot started to leak.
'Holly!'
She turned, just in the process of opening the front door. Mac was hurrying up the walk, the collar of his raincoat turned up. 'Where have you been?' he asked. 'It's long past lunchtime.'
'I think we should.' His hair was damp, rain glistening in the dark waves, his eyes alight with warmth.
Her hackles rose as he climbed the porch steps.
Mac was carrying two paper grocery bags, one with each arm.
'What have you got there?' she asked, forcing a friendly tone into her voice.
By luring him in. Gaining his confidence.
'I brought food.' Following at Holly's heels, he set his two bags on the floor of the entryway and bent to take off his wet shoes. 'We had such a good time the other night that I thought we could do it again.'
He winked. 'You ain't seen nothin' yet. Lunch is my specialty. Have you eaten?'
'No. Bureaucratic crap.'
His irritation sounded real, but disbelief fingered its way down her spine. Holly summoned a smile. 'Do you mind getting started while I change? I'm soaked through.'
She was taking a huge risk, possibly a stupid one.
When she got upstairs Holly turned on the shower, stepping under the hot spray only long enough to get warm. Then she left it running, using the noise as an alibi to buy time.
If she was going to confront the man who had tried to hand her over to the changelings, there was no way she was doing it unprepared. Holly dressed, but layered charms in every pocket and fold, tucking them into her bra, beneath her T-shirt, even inside her socks. Kibs sat on her bed, watching her, his yellow eyes following every motion.
She got down on her hands and knees, groping under the bed for the long, flat box where she had stored many of her witch's tools out of Ben's sight. When she lifted the lid, it was as though she were being released from the confines of the box, too. She unpacked her silver knife, an incense burner of hammered brass, the square of Chinese silk she used as an altar cloth, and quickly arranged them on her dresser. She could set up a proper altar later.
As if commenting on her thoughts, Kibs yawned, showing every tooth in his head. Holly gave a small, silent laugh. Ben and his squeamishness were in the past, and she had a bigger worry making a late lunch in her kitchen.
She prepared four candles, rubbing spell-saturated oils along their length and carving protective symbols into the wax. She went up to the third floor and placed one candle in a window on each side of the house. Standing at the top of the staircase, she invoked the fiery energy of the candles, reinforcing the protective wards that guarded her home. Mac was already inside, but the magic would help give her the upper hand. He was on her turf.
Holly felt the heat of the spell course through her bones, sinking down to the house's foundations to draw energy from the earth beneath, then up to draw the power from the rainy skies above. She let it flow into the house, giving it strength. The house seemed to inhale, as if its natural vibration went up a notch. The evidence of success was heartening. The magic had come easily and with only a little pain, as if she had found a better groove. She had stretched herself these last few days. Maybe the exercise was paying off.
Kibs bumped her ankle. She knelt, stroking the cat's thick, warm fur.
Kibs gave her wrist a hot, rough lick, then began cleaning his paw.
The message was clear:
By the time Holly joined Mac in the kitchen, he was pulling a pan out of the oven. It held an omelet, puffed and browned. The kitchen was heavy with the aroma of onions and cheese.
Mac set the pan down on the stove. 'So, can I ask what's between you and Caravelli? I get the idea he's a little more than a partner.'
Holly felt her face grow hot, wondering again what Mac might have seen in the cemetery. 'Why? What does it look like to you?' She eyeballed a bottle of wine he had opened, but decided she needed a clear head.
'From the sharp little edges on your words, I'd say you aren't comfortable with the subject.'
'I'm not.'
Mac picked up a whisk, examining it as if it were the most interesting invention. 'I just want to know if I'm wasting my time here.'
'Are you asking if I'm available?'
'Yeah. If you're not, just say so and I'll back off.' He put the tool down and met her eyes. They were dark and serious. 'Caravelli does seem like a nice guy, for a dead man.'
Holly's face flamed. 'He is.'
'You're together?'
'Yeah.'
He lowered his eyes. 'Okay.'
Holly suddenly felt horrible.
Mac gave his fleeting microsmile. 'Nan, we still have lunch. No one can take that away from us.' He cut the omelet and slid sections onto plates. Steaming cheese oozed out the edges.
Holly set the table and they sat. Mac dug in right away, stopping only to pour the wine. Holly followed suit more slowly, her stomach clenched with tension.
She took a bite. The omelet was airy, melting on her tongue in a kiss of butter and fresh tarragon.
'Hold still,' he said, leaning across the table. He dabbed a bit of cheese from her mouth with a corner of his napkin.
'Thank you.' Holly self-consciously licked her lips.
They ate in silence, but she wished she could relax. The food was amazing. Everything seemed normal.