I was full, relaxed—well, as much as cop instincts would allow—and the laughter, crackle of fire, hushing waves and outbreak of singing, eased away the stress of the day.
Or maybe the stress of the year.
First, it had been Dad’s death, then everything we’d had to deal with from murder to an ancient evil using our town for target practice.
Delaney had been shot—twice. Jean got hit by a car. Bathin had taken Delaney’s soul.
And Death had been playing a long game. He’d come to Ordinary to vacation and take out an evil he’d been trying to get his hands on for years.
Things had calmed down for a bit while the deities were out of town, but today’s vortex was troubling.
“Always in the shadows,” a voice said from behind me. “Brooding. I can appreciate that.”
I hadn’t heard him come up behind me, though that wasn’t all that unusual. He was a vampire, after all.
“Hey, Rossi. Decided to leave the mausoleum to be seen among the living?”
He moved, and I could finally pick him out of the slabs of darkness impenetrable to my fire-blind eyes.
He was tall, with craggy features that were handsome even with the black patch over his left eye. His salt-and-pepper hair was long, brushed back and wavy, his prominent nose had a hook that only made him more interesting to look at.
“I heard there was a celebration.”
“I think everyone’s heard there’s a celebration.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“Sure you don’t want to buddy up with Delaney?”
He unerringly found her in the crowd at the fireside, his one eye steady as a hawk in a dive, then looked back to me. “I prefer the sister in the quiet and shadows tonight.”
I scooted over so he could sit. I watched him considering it, deciding if it was worth the effort to bend that far.
Old Rossi had very nearly been killed. He’d been shot in the head with a bullet made of the grave dirt from his making. Delaney had taken the same bullet in her chest, but she had healed much, much quicker than he had.
For the last decade or so as the owner of a yoga studio in town, he’d pulled off the easy-going-hippy vibe. He taught there, and was known for his grace and fluid movements, and Zen thoughts and comments.
Not so, now.
He closed the distance to the rock and eased himself down, holding one hand, long fingers spread out below him, to better gauge the distance to the rock. It was a slow, slightly shaky process before he finally made it down and sat.
He wore soft, dark-gray clothing, layers of shirts with a large, thick-collar sweater that covered his long throat and rested just beneath his chin.
From his clothing, which covered every inch of his skin except for his hands and his face, I knew he was not up to full power, not fully healed. I wondered how many years it would take until he was.
“I haven’t seen much of you, Myra,” he said after he’d sat there a while, doing the vampire equivalent to catching his breath.
“That’s because you haven’t left your house. How are you?”
“Progressing. Did you notice the vortex to Hell?”
“Yes. You too?”
He inclined his head, his gaze drifting to the faces in the crowd. I watched as the vampires, all a part of Rossi’s family, looked over to him as if they heard or felt him. Each acknowledged his presence in some way as he acknowledged theirs.
They weren’t actually related by bloodlines, or at least not most of them. Rossi had a way of picking up lost vampires and bringing them into his fold. Since he also policed them and made sure they followed the rules of Ordinary or faced his wrath—which included killing them, if necessary—it all worked out for us too.
Ordinary had become a bit of a sanctuary for vampires who worked regular jobs and otherwise lived their unlives as happily as any other person here.
