Chapter 12
A Ghost
“You look like you could do with this.”
I startled at the sound of Michael’s voice. He moved like a ghost. All vampires did. He carried two glasses of red wine, and slipped one next to my half-eaten plate of food.
“Why is everyone trying to give me sustenance?”
Michael slipped down beside me, and the mild, sweet scent of flowers and forest filled my lungs. “I’m not sure wine counts as a suitable form of nutrition. It is, however, a well-known relaxant, and I thought you could do with something.”
“Are you saying I’m wound up?”
Michael swallowed a sip of wine before he spoke. “It wouldn’t be normal if you weren’t, Amy. It’s been quite the time.”
That was the understatement of the century. But then Michael was hundreds of years old, so he’d probably seen his fair share of bloodshed and battles. “Have you seen Karson?”
His brown eyes softened. “He’s doing much better, but he’s still resting.”
I frowned. Why didn’t he come back to his room to rest? Was he avoiding me?
“It’s bad enough the other one drinks herself into a stupor every day. Don’t encourage that one too,” Monique said, sauntering in.
Michael swiveled his head to look at her. “Any news?”
She removed a black hooded jacket, damp with rain, and hung it on a hook behind the door. “Aside from Byron, the vampires Karson killed were from Europe and arrived in Portland yesterday. Two are listed as missing persons. The others were homeless or loners who wouldn’t be missed.”
“How long have the two been listed as missing?” he asked.
“Between two and four months.”
Michael rubbed the back of his neck. “So, it would seem she has planned this whole debacle for a while?” His accent thickened as it did when something touched a nerve.
Monique shrugged and moved to open a fridge door that was concealed within a cupboard. “Or she thought it would be wise to use vampires who didn’t know who he was. No one from around here would attack him, not unless they were sick of living.”
Michael’s expression was contemplative. “Any news on the witch front?”
Ice cubes clattered into her glass. “No. The few I spoke to seemed to know nothing beyond rumors of the witch being killed by Karson. Besides that small hiccup, all seems quiet.”
“Quiet is good,” Michael replied.
Monique poured whiskey into her glass. “You know as well as I do, it’s always quiet before the storm, Michael.”
“I believe the storm started last night when they dared to attack Karson. He won’t let it slip by without someone paying the price.”
“What will he do?” I asked, unsure if I really wanted to know.
“Find the person responsible for providing the blade and kill them.” There was no emotion in Karson’s voice, just a presenting of facts.
My heart lurched at the sight of him gliding into the room. His skin was paler than usual, and dark circles rimmed his eyes. His body hadn’t completely healed from the effects of the blade.
Michael ran his eyes over him and frowned. “Sarah might be the one who had the blade. Her father is a collector of many old artifacts, as we are well aware.”
“He’s not going to keep a blade that could disable his own children,” Monique remarked.
“I think it would be prudent of us to consider him. He hid the grimoire for all these years, and he may very well have thought by hiding it himself he’d keep them safe,” Michael responded.
“If he had managed to get hold of one, wouldn’t he just destroy it?” I ventured.
