“He’s a woman-chasing, human-hunting bloodsucker, Mabs,” Bedelia said casually, cutting him to the bone. “Why do you care?”
“It’s been a while,” Mable said with asperity. “I’d like a night of fun and wine and wild sex under the full moon.”
“I’ll pass that along,” Bedelia said, her tone as dry as the Sahara.
“You do that. Tell him I’ll bring the wine.”
Staring straight ahead, Bedelia ended the call.
Linc said, “ ‘A woman-chasing, human-hunting bloodsucker’?” He touched his chest. “I’m decimated, Bee. I weep at the characterization.”
“Uh-huh. You want a date with Mabs?”
“No. As I recall, your friend Mable is a scrawny bottle-blond who smokes clove cigarettes, marijuana doobies as big as cigars, and drinks far too much wine while sitting on her front porch and flashing her charms to passersby when she’s drunk.”
“Nailed it. She thinks you’re cute.”
“I am a gentleman of the highest order, well-educated, a fine chef, and utterly charming. I am notcute.”
Bedelia laughed, the notes cascading through the vehicle like bells in a church.
Walls Linc hadn’t even known were built around his heart tumbled to the ground like the broken protections of Jericho.
Bee dialed another number.
Linc drove as the flashes of memories of them together struck through his brain like lightning, burning him.
Bee said, “Clara Anne, don’t set the vampires on fire. They’re there to keep the werewolves at bay.” Clara Anne squeaked a question that Linc missed. “Yes. Werewolves. And vampires. The Master of the City swears to our security. We’ll be safe. I promise.” That call too ended.
“Don’t set the vampires on fire?” Lincoln asked, his tone both gentle and amused.
“Mmmm. She has a new working she’s been wanting to try. She calls it amaking vamps crispyworking. But there’s a time and a place for everything. Tonight isn’t it.”
“As always, Bedelia, you terrify me,” he said. She laughed again but he meant every word. She had broken him—heart, mind, and spirit—when she walked away. Or, rather, when he drove her away because he was a fool and had wanted her on his terms, not on hers. He thought the decades had healed that brokenness. He’d been wrong.
Bedelia
Linc pulled up to the old Coraville coven home. He stopped, put the SUV in park, and waited, looking out over the grounds and into the rearview. Bedelia followed his gaze behind them, where his people had stoppedabout a hundred yards back, parked, and got out. They were heavily armed with shotguns and swords. They did that vampire thing where they disappeared into the darkness like wraiths. It was frightening and beautiful and comforting all at once.
“Can you tell if Shania is home?” she asked, turning her eyes back to the house.
“One of my people has been here since I was notified. She’s sensed no one in that time. She did, however, tell me that someone had been here just before she arrived.”
Vampire noses. When you hunt humans for your dinner, you know when prey is around. Or not. Bedelia frowned, knowing he could smell her dismay.
“Clara Anne and Mable are here,” Linc said, not reacting to her scent change.
“Can you get inside and find something the witch has used, only the witch? Something personal? Hairbrush? Toothbrush?”
“Of course.” Linc lowered his window and said softly, “Nubit. You heard.”
“On it,” a voice said out of the dark.
The window went back up. “What else?” he asked.
Bedelia pulled her shoulder bag close and reached inside. There was a lot of witch paraphernalia in it, but the lead-lined box from the closet wall took up the most room. She removed it. Placed it on the dash.
“Bee?” Lincoln asked softly. Clearly he knew what was inside.
