“Perhaps,” Karson responded like he wasn’t entirely convinced either. Monique came back with two cups; she handed one to Michael and one to Karson. I watched as Karson took a sip and looked straight at me, almost as if he was challenging me to object. I’d never seen him drink blood before. I guess he no longer cared what I thought.
Fine.
I couldn’t think of one good reason why Caron would take me; though the men were remarkably, and somewhat disturbingly, similar to the three she’d left to die. They didn’t know what I was—then, what we were had to be kept a secret, so she wouldn’t divulge that information. The text had also said not to harm me, and Caron wouldn’t want me harmed. She needed me to fight. But then, why take me? I was training, I was doing what was asked. Except for meeting them. No, it didn’t fit. Who else would want me dead? It was the million-dollar question, to which the answer seemed to lay beyond the usual four-choice response. We couldn’t ask them, nor could Karson read their minds, given they were all dead.
My head felt like a pinball machine, the thoughts slammed from side to side, and it began to throb uncomfortably. The side effects of concussion hovered over me like a gray cloud, more exhausting than a hangover. It was an effort just to stay on my feet. I fingered a rogue tear out of the corner of my sore eye.
“Dahlia will be here shortly,” Karson said, watching me like I was made of glass and about to shatter in front of him.
They were all watching me, I realized. Michael with sympathy and concern. Monique looked appalled. My humanness on blazing show for all of them to see.
Feeling uncomfortable, I went to the kitchen and made a mug of tea and two pieces of toast. I walked past them like the floor was made of floating cushions and headed outside to breathe in some fresh air. I sat on the steps, wincing as I lowered myself down, the burn in my ribs had upgraded to a throbbing fire. I stared blankly at the sky, drinking the tea and munching mindlessly on the toast.
The door opened and closed. Karson appeared, seating himself beside me with a look that had me wishing he’d wrap me in his arms.
“I think we should get you checked out. Page is away, but I could call Tom and ask him to come here if you don’t wish to go to the hospital.”
If Tom came, he’d think Karson had done this, he’d be furious. Unless Karson mind controlled him there was no chance there wouldn’t be some kind of physical fight. Neither scenario was something I could tolerate. I took a bite of toast.
“I’m fine.”
“You do not look fine. You look worse this morning than you did last night.”
The swelling and bruising was to be expected.
“Dahlia is coming, she’ll fix me.”
He sighed, like he half expected the battle would be lost before he’d opened his mouth and knew it was pointless to continue.
“What’s the plan today?” I asked, taking a sip of tea. I watched a solitary milky-pink cloud, urged by high winds, sail along the horizon. I sat the cup on the step.
He rubbed his thighs. “We still need to clean up. I need Darcy to check out the emails on the laptop and phones we collected. There may be more information on there. Monique and Michael are seeing what they can find out about the witches from last night. They’re going to visit a few places today to see if they can pick up the scent. Monique has an exceptional sense of smell. She’ll be able to track them if they’re still here.”
“Great, I’m bleeding and the vampire who hates me has a great sense of smell.” I feigned humor.
“She won’t hurt you. She knows if she does, I will kill her.” He rose and walked back inside. I stared after him, wondering if he meant it. She was his friend, I didn’t think so. Though I couldn’t be entirely sure.
Chapter 77
Compromise
“We have a new Mayor,” Michael announced, flapping the paper in his hands. “Mr Peter Kern.”
I peered over his shoulder at a thin, pinched-faced, large-nosed, reedy looking man. The same man who’d accosted Katrina at the ball about bears needing culling. There had been fighting since Katrina’s death, her deputy, Boyd Foster—who was instantly elevated to Mayor upon her death—had fought against the proposed development. He’d quit last week and left town, apparently fed up with the bitter fighting. Mr Kern was a local man who owned many buildings in the main street. Most sat empty.
“He’s for the development,” Michael added, “and is confident it will go ahead.”
Monique came over and screwed up her face. “Oh, he doesn’t look very tasty, that’s a shame.”
“Tasty or not, he is in for a rude shock,” Karson said, sprawled out in the armchair.
They all would be in for a shock when the Millers and Toronto’s reappeared. Not that any of us were naive enough to think that if Cole didn’t get the go ahead and knew about thewaters—and somehow got his hands on the grimoire—that it would stop him from going up there.
“Dahlia,” Karson said, in way of greeting.
She walked in looking every bit like a warrior goddess. Her hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Dressed all in black. I couldn’t see weapons, but she’d have them cloaked and strapped to her side.
She met my eyes, and what looked like discomfort, and then anger flashed across her face.
