Page 14

Chapter 5

Toni and Tyler broke up.

The text, sent by his former enemy, who had never once called or texted him before, had run through his head all night, keeping him from sleep. He hadn’t asked for specifics or even responded to the message. Neither was he certain about what to do.

Lawrence looked down toward the center of town from his second-floor verandah. Surrounded by the Pocono Mountains, nestled between a river on one side and a climbing slope of brightly colored homes and businesses, Stone Haven reminded him of Lucerne. Of New Orleans.

He really did like it here.

And now he had one more reason to stay.

“Going for a run?”

Laria walked up beside him, joining him in his contemplation of the town below.

“Yeah.” He’d planned to do it earlier and would pay for his procrastination. The hot August sun hid behind no clouds today, but he needed the distraction. Running had always helped him think. He could put up with the sweat.

“What’s so funny?” Laria asked, catching his grin.

“Do you remember that young boy in Dublin?”

“The Cheld who became a professor of mythology?”

“Yes, that’s the one. He gave an hour-long talk about whether vampires sweat. I almost offered to prove the point for him.”

Laria laughed. “The poor lad. One of the students shouted out that he’d do better as a novelist.”

The Cheld were naturally drawn to them, much as they were to the Cheld. This particular young man, whom they’d met when he was just twelve, had gone on to publish all sorts of literature on vampirism, much of it ignored by a community not ready for the truth.

“Perhaps we wouldn’t sweat if Isobel hadn’t tried to reverse the curse—”

“A dangerous line of thought.”

They rarely talked about their sister-in-law. Lady Isobel hadn’t done any of this on purpose. The curse and counter-curse had been fueled by the power of the grief-stricken healer. And so they had been left with the strange rules that governed their lives, all things that reminded them of Isobel—and reminded Lawrence of how he’d failed her.

“Wonder all you like; it doesn’t matter,” Laria said, pulling hair away from her face. “’Tis done.”

She likely hadn’t caught her slip of the tongue. “Your medieval is showing,” he said.

“Yeah well, your procrastination is too. Go sweat your butt off.”

Pushing away from the balcony, he grabbed his phone and earbuds from the wrought iron table by the door and made his way down to the street. As he jogged toward the river, he concentrated on slowing himself down. Alessandra was finally learning to do the same, realizing the speed at which they ran could attract undue attention.

Just as he was about to turn left on a path that would lead him toward the river, Lawrence heard it. The distinct sound of a large group of women laughing hysterically. Caught short by curiosity, he made his way toward Main Street.

What in the bloody hell?

“They’re going to kill you,” said Charlotte, an English teacher who’d worked with Alessandra at the high school. She was speaking to Toni and the others as they glided away from the porte-cochère at the back of Stone Haven Inn . . . on a luggage cart.

Though he stood a block away, Lawrence could hear their conversation clearly.

“Stop worrying,” Alessandra said. “We have permission to use it.”

“Uh-huh. They told you it was okay to take a luggage cart and ride it down the street? I don’t think so—oh my God, we’re going to get arrested.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the spectacle as he moved closer. Poor Charlotte looked as if she were about to lose her lunch. Meanwhile, the other women seemed to enjoy teasing her.

“Off to The Witch’s Brew for coffee cordials,” Toni called from the cart, lifting her arm imperiously.