Other creatures in the audience included the linebacker Nash, who was big for a man, but small for an ispolin, and the three black-clad, perpetually moody Dryads: Basil, Coleson, and Delta.
Dan Perkin perched once again in the front row. Two empty seats were open beside him. Since the only person I could think of who spoke moderately kindly of Dan was his neighbor Pearl, and she spoke kindly of everyone, I wasn’t surprised that he was sitting there in his own little bubble.
He was fidgety and angry. So: normal.
Ryder was still nowhere to be seen.
Bertie took up the microphone again, introduced us as judges, and we all took our previous places.
After a smattering of applause, the handlers stepped up with small, clear plastic cups and placed one in front of each of us.
A stack of new white scoring cards were positioned in front of Ryder’s noticeably empty chair. If he didn’t show up soon, I’d have to do this solo.
I pulled one card and the pen closer just as a figure folded down into the empty chair next to me.
“Delaney Reed,” a soft baritone drawled. “What have you done to your assistant?”
I turned to my companion.
Old Rossi, patriarch, ruler, lord of the vampires in Ordinary, looked to be about fifty years of age, with a short shock of black hair that tended to curl above ears that stuck out just a bit. One curl over his right eye was a thick streak of silver and a salting of silver touched both temples. His face was long, lips very full beneath a thin black mustache and goatee that only drew attention to his hard cheekbones and the crook in his strong nose.
But it was his eyes, a shocking ice blue, that seemed to have the power to peel their observer right down to the bone and, once caught, refuse to release.
Luckily, those eyes were bright with humor. A lazy smile without any teeth pulled at his full lips.
I knew he had a good body—everyone in town knew he had a good body, since he also had a streaking habit.
“I didn’t do anything to my assistant. Why are you here?”
“Replacing him.” He picked up the pen and tapped it on the edge of the table while he slouched back and stared at the ceiling. I noticed he was wearing a string of beads centered with a peace symbol over his tie-dyed T-shirt and another string of what looked like crystals of various sizes and colors wrapped in hemp circling his wrist three times. This close, I could smell the slight sour-sweet of marijuana on his clothes.
Was he stoned?
“I am here to assist with the judging. That”—he tapped the table with the pen—“is tea. Rhubarb raspberry.”
I picked up the plastic cup and took a tentative sniff.
“What did you do to Ryder?” I lifted the cup. Held my breath.
He rolled his head sideways, still tapping the pen, blue eyes bright beneath his close, dark eyebrows. “I haven’t done a thing to our new reserve officer. Bertie asked for volunteers. When I realized he was gone, I volunteered. For karma. Balance. Peace.” His voice slipped into a sonorous drone. “You will drink the tea…”
“Oh, please. I’m immune.”
He smiled again—still no teeth, but plenty of glee. “Reeds have always been particularly resistant to such things. I find it…refreshing. Have I ever told you of the time your great-great-aunt begged me to have my way with her?”
“Graygray Gertie? Begged?” The image of my great-great-aunt, a tiny ninety-three-year-old white-haired dry-apple of a woman, flashed through my mind. And so did an image of naked Rossi and Graygray in bed.
I so didn’t need to be imagining that.
“Beautiful young thing at the time. Ripe with that Reed bravado. That incrediblefairnessand empathy that even the gods can’t deny. Reminds me of you.”
“I’d never want you to have your way with me.”
He chuckled and settled his shoulders against the back of the chair. “Not that I would. Our auras are not at all compatible. Drink the tea. People are watching.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Free will is my groove.”
