“Charisma, we see each other every single day,” I remind her, pulling down some vials filled with crushed herbs that have multiple uses, including tea. Healing. Yes, I need to make sure I’ve got that stuff as well. “Besides, you’ve been busy training the young vamps. How’s that going?”
“Mindless zombies, Essie. Nothing but a bunch of mindless zombies,” she grumbles, setting each item I’ve pulled into my magic bag. One of the joys of my bag is that it has the ability to expand or contract depending on the number of items inside. Quite handy, that’s for sure, especially with this trip when the outcome is unknown.
“What do you mean?” I question. “They’ve been in servitude for years, only doing what Geralynn permitted, so of course they’re not going to know the ins and outs of being a vampire,” I remind her.
“I know, it’s just that they seem to be a bit slow to understand that here, they don’t have to ask permission for anything. The only thing we ask is that they avoid transforming around humans for obvious reasons,” she replies. “Every day, I have one or another ask me if it’s okay for them to go into town. We’re not prisoners here, we can come and go as we please.”
I stop what I’m doing and turn to face her. “Some of them have been held for so many years, they don’t know any different. It’s like those humans who have been kidnapped and held in captivity, they become dependent on their captors telling them every little thing, from when they can eat to when they’re permitted to sleep. Exercise some patience, Rissie. They’ll eventually get it; they’ve only had six months or so of freedom versus years of being in bondage.”
“I guess you’re right,” she says. “Wait, what’s with Rissie?” The sneer on her face has me laughing.
“Figured it was only fair since you persist in calling me Essie, you vicious vamp,” I tease.
“Whatever,” she grumps. “Okay, what else can I help you with? I think the men are gathering to discuss the plans so it’s just us right now.” I won’t be party to that meeting which is fine with me; Beast will ensure I have the pertinent information. I’m sure Landry and Connelly will be involved since they’re shifters but feel no animosity. We all have our place and role here.
“Do you know if Tabatha has arrived yet?” I inquire, putting the last few things into my bag. Once it’s closed, I roll it toward the living room, closing and binding my magic room after Charisma falls in step behind me.
“I think she’s meeting at the airfield,” she muses. “Let’s fix something to eat,” she exclaims, heading toward my kitchen. We work in companionable silence and soon have a huge pot of spaghetti going, thanks to the modern convenience of my freezer, where I had sauce with all the meats Beast loves frozen for just such a time as this. “I’m staying for dinner,” Charisma announces as the scent begins to permeate the air. “Smells too good not to.”
“You know you’re always welcome,” I reply, pulling out the ingredients for a salad. Cooking is soothing for me, almost like crafting a spell, so it takes little time before a salad is put together and in the refrigerator chilling. My tasks now complete, I pour each of us a glass of wine and head out to our back deck. Despite the sheer amount of people now living on the property, we all have privacy which is a good thing considering some of my favorite moments with Beast have occurred outside on our covered porch. While I’m not a prude by any stretch of the imagination, the last thing I want is anyone witnessing our most private moments.
I wave my fingers and music starts playing as we each settle into a chair, companionable silence enveloping the two of us. “Do you think they’re okay?” Charisma finally asks. “I know Maverick has been unbearable since you guys found out that Leigh and Ice were captured.”
“He loves his sister,” I reply. “Honestly? I think they are, but the sooner we get there, rescue them then return home, the better I’ll feel. It’s bad magic that’s being used, Rissie,” I murmur, shuddering as I recall the evil that wafted through the location spell I attempted.
“So that’s why you were asking about Tabatha,” she muses, glancing at me.
“Yes, I need her juice as well as mine to not only make sure everyone is safe, but also to help me with anyone else we might find there.” I don’t often waste thoughts on what happens to supernaturals when they finally die, but find myself hoping that there’s some kind of judgment like the humans claim because any supernatural who would willingly hurt their brethren, regardless of the actual breed, deserves to feel someone’s wrath, even if it comes from Mother Nature herself.
“You’re one of the strongest witches I know,” she says, “so if you’re concerned, that’s rather frightening to me.”
“I’m trying to err on the side of caution, Rissie. I mean, we have no clue what we’re facing, remember? But it stands to reason based on what we found out from the person we met with that others may be there besides the two who are important to us.” I don’t mention Burt’s actual name since I have no clue whether I should share it or not. I know the raccoon shifter was beyond paranoid while we were there; that, coupled with what I sensed for myself has me hesitant to share anything. If Maverick decides our community needs to know, I’m sure he’ll pass it around. I giggle when I think of the newsletter that Connelly started which deals with all the details that Maverick can’t be bothered to discuss on a day-to-day basis.
“What has you laughing?” she asks.
“The newsletter popped
