“Please don’t point that at me unless you plan to shoot it,” I said. “It’s a bad habit people fall into.”
Dakota held the gun up, the barrel steady and straight on my heart.
I slowly raised my right hand. “I have an itch on my nose. Can I scratch it?”
“Go ahead,” she said.
I did, along with my eyebrow, taking advantage of her permission. “You planning to shoot me?”
“No,” she said, setting her badge back into the counsel.
“You planning to arrest me? If you do, you might as well keep that gun on my heart. I’m saving my daughter, unless you kill me.”
She stuck her tongue over her upper lip and bit it, shaking her head. “Not if you swear to help me. I told you the truth. I want to find him.”
I stared at my lap, folded my hands into each other. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know how much of my phone conversation you heard earlier, but I have less than three hours to find my daughter. After that, a Nephil has marked me for death. I’m not sure I’ll live long enough to take you out to dinner.” My head darted up, and I wore a grin for a mask. “But look on the bright side. Your department won’t have to waste taxpayer money to fund finding, arresting, and holding me. Everyone wins.” I grabbed the car’s door handle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Dakota snaked out her free hand and gripped my wrist. “I’m new in the department, having transferred over after learning about your supposed location. I don’t have a lot of influence, and as a woman, I don’t have much of a voice. If they arrested you earlier, and you escaped, well… I can’t halt their search for you. But only I know about your connection to the Andersons, and I don’t think Gross has the drive to find it himself.”
“What is this we’re doing here? This a threat? A suggestion?”
“Find Mel,” she said. “Then you help me find the thing that murdered my family. If you refuse, I know people who can reach a Nephil. And I know how to find you.”
A threat. If I didn’t help her, she would get in contact with Hephaestus and reveal my whereabouts to him. Perfect. I sure know how to pick them.
I tossed her phone at her. She flinched, pulling the gun away from my head and giving me a window to attack. I pushed open the door instead. “His name is Hephaestus. You can contact him directly at 1-800-FUCK-OFF.” I slammed the door and approached the Priestess’ dark house amidst the street of colorful lights.
12
Though it was only late November, Lizzie’s neighbors had a museum of Christmas decorations in their yards and on their roofs. Lights were strewn around the gutters and window trims and columns and over the plants. Not only lights, but inflatable figurines of holiday characters—Baby Jesus in the manger, Santa Clause and his reindeer, the Grinch and his mangy dog. The scenes reminded me of something from a postcard—something that exists, but only far away and never anywhere near me.
I stepped off the asphalt and onto Lizzie’s driveway, avoiding a Lexus parked in the middle of it. The porch light beamed like a spotlight and the Priestess stood under it, wearing a red kimono that exposed her long, slender, tattooed legs. The neckline plunged to into one of the deepest V’s I had ever had the pleasure of witnessing. The single light from the porch highlighted her scant outfit and considerable features.
Two thoughts instantly ran through my mind. Where was Xander? And why did Lizzie greet me alone?
Had she known that Xander had sent me her address and I was on my way? After observing my suave demeanor with the attractive women at the bar, did she now wait for me in that skimpy outfit to throw me off my rhythm? Maybe… but I had strong suspicion that she meant to feed on me—which sounded lovely, as she stood with her arms akimbo and her feet crossed and the kimono hugging her curves.
Yup, you guessed it. ‘Feed on me’ translates to sex. For the sake of time, I will quickly go over enthrallment and vampire feeding schedules. Hecate, the mother of vampires—or Empousa, in her case—had most likely turned Lizzie into one of her devilish servants. Part of that curse is an insatiable hunger, as we went over with the Ravens. Blood isn’t the most satisfying way they feed—it’s more of a temporary solution. Think serial killers. Most of their atrocities are sexual in nature, right? For a reason. For a vampire to become filled, they must feed physically and emotionally. And what act drives stronger emotions than sex? There’s passion, lust, love, fear, confusion, frustration, anger, joy, hate, disgust, ecstasy, jealousy, all tied up in that one act. Sex also bonds two people together. If a vampire can achieve sex with their victim—be it forced or consensual—they can feed on that person for a long time after.
So, you see now? The Priestess stood on her front porch and waited for me to arrive so she could seduce and feast on me. For me, even sex has to be of the life-threatening variety.
Xander flitted through my mind again. Had she enthralled and snapped him off his chastity belt? If he—the cross-bearing disciple—had fallen victim to her tasty hips, then I had no chance in hell against her. I decided to the play the game slow, like a boxer feeling out his opponent.
Standing ten feet away from her and staring at her neighbor’s yard, I asked, “How long did it take him?”
“Him? What makes you think it wasn’t a her?” She bit her lip and took one barefoot step forward.
I shook my head, remembering our feminist conversation earlier in the lounge and debating whether or not I wanted to go there again. It might be worth it.
