that something was wrong, and feel comfortable enough to ask.
“Yeah . . . had a fall.” As a lie, it was awful.
An awkward moment ensued. The old man’s eyes were questioning.
“I’m a little accident prone,” she lied, trying to make the words sound realistic when they made almost no sense. She added, “I fell off a table when I was little, into a window.” She tried to add a smile and a bit of a “no big deal” laugh as she said it, but the memory was too raw. Vividly she remembered catching her father’s arm as Daryl shoved him back through the window. Daryl had grabbed her and tossed her onto a table, where broken glass had sliced open her arms and the backs of her shoulders.
The old man looked unconvinced. He patted her hand sympathetically as she handed him the money for her purchases. He handed her change, with a “Have a good day” goodbye.
She left quickly. Where was her jacket? She swore as she realized she must have left it on the bus.
She swore again when she recognized Greg a block down the street, walking toward her. She considered ducking back into the convenience store, but didn’t want to face the old man’s silent questions.
Too late anyway. Greg saw her, and waved hello, then sped up his pace to meet her.
“Cathy, hi. I . . .” He broke off, his light jog turning to a sprint as he hurried to her side. “What happened to you? Are you okay?” Then he seemed to notice that most of the scars were years old, and his eyes widened more. “What the hell? I mean, I’m sorry, but . . . what the hell?”
Turquoise’s nerve ran out. She had known living here wasn’t going to work from the start. She didn’t have the patience to deal with him now.
“Greg, I’m a mercenary,” she said coolly. “Mostly, I hunt vampires for a living. I’ve been debating quitting my job and teaching middle school, but I hear it’s a little rough there.” The words dripped with bitter sarcasm.
She knew what his reaction would be—disbelief, fear—and didn’t want to see it. She pushed past him, walking quickly in the direction of her house.
Greg hurried after her, and caught her shoulder. She winced, pulling away as his touch hit the new injury.
Unsurprisingly, he was looking at her as if she had sprouted a second—no, third—head, but he
“You mean vampires like . . . um, some criminal person, right?” he said hesitantly, trying to figure out her speech. “You’re a cop or something?”
He was so damn innocent. How could she ever hope to convince him?
She didn’t need to. He deserved his innocence.
She backtracked, slowing her pace a bit so he could keep up. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day,” she said, stalling as she tried to add to what he already tentatively believed. If she tried, she could convince him of the reality of vampires. She could tell him what had really happened to Cathy and the rest of her family. But Greg didn’t need to know. He was happy. “You know I was interested in psych, right? I got into criminal psychology in college, and I do some work with some people.” She made the lies intentionally vague, as if she wasn’t supposed to tell. Actually, she had no idea who she would possibly be working for; she knew nothing about the government or law enforcement. But Greg probably knew less than she did.
Greg said something noncommittal along the lines of “Uh-huh.” He kept walking with her, not talking for a bit, as if digesting what he had heard.
Humans had an instinctive desire to remain at the top of the food chain. Unless forced to see reality, most of them would believe almost anything before believing that vampires and other such creatures existed.
“So. You’re with the government or something?”
Crimson was about the antithesis of the United States government, but Turquoise answered, “Yeah.” She added, “I’m not really supposed to talk about it.” That was vague enough. It would tickle his imagination, without straining against what he believed.
Greg walked her home. They didn’t talk much, though occasionally Greg made some attempt to start a new conversation. Turquoise wasn’t much in the mood to chat.
“Smells like someone’s having a bonfire,” he commented, blinking at the faint smell of smoke. “Speaking of, some friends of mine are having a picnic next weekend. Would you like to go maybe?”
He sounded so hopeful, she had to smile. She started to say no, but then changed her mind. “Sure. Why not?”
His expression lit up.
Before he could speak, the fire truck rumbled by. They both looked after it anxiously.
“I hope everything’s okay,” Greg said worriedly.
Turquoise picked up her pace. The smell of smoke was thicker now. A coil of fear was making its way from her stomach to her throat to choke her.
A few houses down, she began to see the flames. She sprinted, until a fireman caught her arm, pulling her back.
“Ma’am, this area isn’t safe for bystanders—”
“I live here,” she spat, shoving away from him. “What . . .” She broke off.
The man hesitated. “Please wait here, ma’am.”
If he was hurt . . . if one hair on his head had been singed . . .
Greg caught up to her, panting and coughing around the smoke. “What caused it?” he asked instantly. “Do they know?”
“I don’t even own a toaster,” Turquoise growled back. Faulty wiring was impossible. Nathaniel wouldn’t have had a house that had been poorly made. The stove and oven were new, and Eric was too experienced a cook to ever mistakenly leave one on unattended. If this wasn’t arson, she’d eat the cinders.
A police officer returned from the jumble of people, leading an ash-streaked Eric. The boy broke from his escort and hurried toward Turquoise.
She couldn’t help herself. She pulled the boy against herself, so grateful for his safety that she didn’t care about the house. Nathaniel could deal with losing a house. Turquoise could pay for a house. There was nothing in there she could not replace.
“Are you the owner?” the officer asked.
Turquoise nodded, not really paying much attention. Instead, she spoke quietly to Eric. “What caused it?”
Eric grimaced. “Your favorite vampire,” he answered, under his breath so no one other than Turquoise could hear him. Greg must have picked up a word or so. The boy took a few steps back, looking awkward.
“Ms. Emerette?” Turquoise looked at the officer dumbly before remembering that the name on her license was something Emerette. Margot, maybe? She couldn’t remember. She was glad Greg was still dealing with his new belief that she worked for the government, or else he might have tried to correct it.
“Yes?”
“Would you mind coming down to the station to answer a few questions?” he asked.
“Right now?” Right now, she would rather go kill something than talk politely with these friendly officers. Specifically, she wanted to deal Daryl a long, painful death for destroying Cathy’s life, for making it impossible for her to pick up where she had left off with Greg, and most of all for frightening her.
Greg came to her rescue. “She doesn’t need to talk now.” He spoke like he knew what he was doing. “We’ll come down after she and the kid are cleaned up, okay?”
The officer seemed to hesitate. Turquoise offered a watery smile. “Please,” she added to Greg’s words.
The man nodded finally. “I suppose there’s no hurry. I know this is going to be a difficult time. Do you have a place to stay?”
“Yes, she does,” Greg answered for her.
They walked back to Greg’s car, which he had left near where he had met up with Turquoise.
“My sister’s visiting, and she probably has some clothes that will fit you,” Greg offered to Turquoise. “You two can come over and clean up, then figure out whether you want to talk to the police or what.”
Turquoise shook her head. “I can’t.”
