Claimed by the Immortal

Caro couldn’t deny that. “It’s sad but I see it too often. Some kids gang up on some other kid. Just to gang up. We need to look more closely at that. Who knows what one of the victim’s children might have done if they were being picked on badly? Or if they were picking on someone else?”

“I’ll get on it,” Jude said.

Chloe, sitting at her desk, sighed. “You mean I’ll get on it.”

“No, you’re going to get some rest so you can keep an eye on Caro tomorrow.”

Chloe rolled her eyes at him.

“Me, I’m going to a bookstore,” Damien said. He eyed Caro almost warily. “Want to come?”

“Depends on what you’re looking for.” Although that wasn’t true. Amazingly, frighteningly, she just wanted to be with him. What the heck was wrong with her?

“Esoterica.”

“Count me in.”

* * *

Damien climbed into the car with Caro and proceeded to castigate himself for stupidity. Even well fed, as he was now, she was still as tempting to him as candy in a store window to a kid. Maybe more so. He just had to remember that a pane of glass lay between them.

If only it were so. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with the aromas as well as the sights. Renewed Hunger pounded throughout him.

Then Caro startled him with a statement.

“You guys seem too normal.”

He glanced at her. “Would you prefer it if I flashed my fangs?”

“You have fangs? Really? That’s not a myth?”

“Retractable. Of course we act normally. Would you have us skulking around like creatures out of a bad movie? We were human once. And now that we’re not, appearing as human as possible is our camouflage.”

“That makes sense.”

He almost thanked her sarcastically, then reminded himself he was on edge because she awakened such a powerful need in him. He lived to drink blood and have sex. Sex was his lure, blood his food. Seeming normal was merely survival strategy.

“Do you ever get tired of living so long?”

“Not usually.”

“Not bored?”

He rolled down his window a bit in self-defense. “Our experience is much more vivid, much stronger than when we were human. Knowing that you’ll die adds the piquancy to your life. For us it is the strength of our experience.”

He noticed her hesitation. Then she asked, “In sex, too?”

“Most especially in sex.”

“That must make you promiscuous.”

A laugh escaped him. “It can.” He supposed he was promiscuous by her lights. But her survival depended on different things, and that admission probably hadn’t helped his case any. Although why he should want to help his case remained a mystery. He was beginning to think Caro could be a danger to his conscience and self-respect. For all he knew, given that her grandmother was a mage, she might even be dangerous to him in ways he hadn’t imagined.

Damn, couldn’t the traffic move any faster? He was dangerously near the point of finding a dark alley in which he could teach her that sex with a vampire exceeded her wildest imaginings. That would not do.

Gritting his teeth, tightening his grip on the wheel, he sped up a bit—not enough to draw the attention of the police—and tried to get there faster.

He also tried to focus on other things. The night came alive for him in ways humans couldn’t imagine. Distracted though he was by Caro’s scents, he was still aware of other things: the hum of tires on the pavement, sounds issuing from apartments around them, the laughter in a movie theater and the amazing, brilliant colors that brightened his nights, colors that made up for the lack of sunlight. More than made up for it.

The moon didn’t wash out his world—it brought it to luminous life. Every sense was exquisitely tuned to his existence. All he remembered about being human was how dull the experience had been by comparison.

With relief he found the shop at last, on a dimly lit and quiet side street. It looked innocent enough, with neon signs announcing New Age books and supplies for adepts. He liked the innocuous “adepts.” So few really were, but so many tried.

But they no sooner approached the door of the shop than he froze.

“Do you feel it?” he asked Caro.

“What?”

“That energy has pulled back.”

She closed her eyes a moment, nodded, then looked at him. “But why?”

“There must be power within this store.”

“I wonder if it’s what we’re looking for? The source.”

“I don’t know. I’m just glad to know that something can make it withdraw. It’s still out there, but not as close. Not nearly as close.”

When they opened the shop door, a small bell jingled. The shop itself was crowded with old books, their musty scent mixing with incense. There was barely enough room to maneuver through the stacks, and the wood of old floors creaked beneath their feet.

A woman immediately emerged from a curtained door at the back. Small and wiry, with long curly hair, beautiful cafe au lait skin and dark eyes that seemed big in her fine-boned face, she regarded them with a smile.

“What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to browse your books,” Damien answered. “Your oldest books.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed as she studied Damien. “Perhaps something very old?”

“The oldest you have.”

“I have a special shelf I don’t show many.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“Not until I know more about you. Some things are meant only for initiates.”

He felt Caro’s eyes snap to him. She was probably wondering how he was going to handle this. He studied the woman before him a few seconds before he spoke, “I am mogh,” he said. “And you are an initiate, as well. I could feel the power before I entered. You have a strong spell for protection.”

“A thing one too often needs, sadly.” The shopkeeper extended her hand, and Damien gripped it palm down.

“I’m Alika. And you are?”

“Damien. Formerly Atash.”

Alika’s eyebrows lifted. “I rarely meet one who touches such a distant past.” She turned to Caro. “And you, too, have the power, although I can see it is not focused. My books won’t help you.”

Then she closed her eyes, lifted her arms a bit and stood very still. “You come seeking a way to cast off a spell.”

Alika opened her eyes and dropped her arms. “It wants her.” She frowned at Caro. “Vodoun. Did you anger a bokor?”

“What’s a bokor? You mean this is voodoo?”

“In its current incarnation, yes. And a bokor is one who practices the dark arts.” Alika returned her attention to Damien. “Come, I’ll show you the books. But I want to hear about this.”

“And I want your help. I wasn’t aware there were any bokors here.”

Alika shook her head. “Sometimes one becomes a bokor temporarily for a reason. Never wise. Never.”

“Playing with dark forces is usually disastrous. So you have no idea who it might be?”

“None. And if you don’t mind, I’d rather not get directly involved.” She looked again at Caro. “But why would it be after her?”