“Very well. If you’re done ‘just saying,’ you have my leave to depart,” her ladyship said pointedly.
“Come on, Daisy.” Cody took me by the elbow, steering me toward the grand staircase, his other hand resting on Heather Simkus’s shoulder. “Let’s go. We’ve got anxious parents waiting.”
On the second-floor landing, Heather pulled away from him to cast one last, longing glance toward the top of the staircase, where Bethany and Geoffrey were standing to watch her departure. He had his arm wrapped around her waist, and there were what appeared to be genuine looks of remorse and regret on their faces. I couldn’t tell if the vibe was sexual or parental or cultish, or a combination of the three.
One thing was for sure—it was creepy.
Outside, Heather slumped morosely in the backseat of the police cruiser while Cody radioed in to report that she’d been found.
“Look,” I said softly to her, “I know high school sucks. But it gets better.”
“Easy for you to say,” she murmured. “You were probably a cheerleader.”
Beside me, Cody overhead the comment and snorted into the radio handset. “Um, yeah, not so much,” I said to Heather. “I just mean . . . I know you thought that’s what you wanted, but it’s a very, very dangerous choice. Vampires in real life aren’t like the ones in the movies. They weren’t going to be playing baseball in a thunderstorm.”
She gave me an anguished look. “You don’t understand anything. I know what it was like! I was there! With people who care about art and music, real art and real music, and history and poetry, and . . . and languages, languages like Greek and Latin, and everything everyone I know thinks is stupid . . .”
There was more, but it dissolved in a fresh onslaught of tears.
Huh. I’d never thought of Twilight Manor as a cultural mecca for disenfranchised young intellectuals.
“Heather.” Cody’s voice was deep and soothing. “There’s a steep price for belonging to that community.”
She sniffled. “I know! Jesus, duh! It’s worth it!”
He shook his head. “You’re too young to make that decision. The law says so, and I agree. But if it’s really where you want to be, you’ve got to start thinking about time differently. How long until you turn eighteen? Two years?” He snapped his fingers. “That’s nothing to an immortal.”
Although I was dubious about the merits of Cody’s advice, at least it calmed her down. We headed back toward downtown Pemkowet and by the time we pulled into the driveway of the Simkus residence, Heather seemed resigned to her fate.
I half expected to find something dark and abusive in the Simkus household, or at least a level of neglect that would explain Heather’s profound sense of alienation, but her parents appeared to be perfectly normal, lovely people worried out of their minds by their daughter’s disappearance. They greeted her with hugs and profound relief and offered profuse thanks to Cody and me. Watching their faces turn pale as Cody explained where we’d found their daughter, I felt bad for them.
After we dropped the girl off, Cody drove me back to Pineview Gas & Convenience to pick up my car. We were both silent for most of the drive, thinking about the night’s events.
“Two years is a long time in a kid’s life,” Cody offered, turning into the parking lot. “A lot can happen.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure it helped to tell her to think about time differently,” I said.
He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it will get her to think differently about immortality.” He parked the cruiser beside my Honda. “Forever’s a long time, too. A long time to fill with chamber music concerts and tableau whatsits.”
“Vivants,” I said automatically. “Did you get the sense there was anything hinky going on with the family?”
Cody shook his head. “You?”
“No.” I unbuckled my seat belt but didn’t make a move for the door handle. “I think she’s just . . . a teenager, you know? A smart, lonely teenager.”
“Yeah.” He sighed, rubbing the scratches Lady Eris’s nails had left on his cheek. I’d been afraid they might fester, but they were already beginning to knit. “Beth Cassopolis was only eighteen when she moved out there, wasn’t she? I remember, because she didn’t graduate with the rest of my class.”
“Yeah, but—” I was going to say that Bethany wasn’t a smart, lonely teenager. She’d had a slutty reputation long before she’d become a blood-slut. But the truth was, I hadn’t known her then. I didn’t really know her now except as Jen’s troubled older sister. Maybe she had been smart and lonely. Maybe she’d been a wannabe theater geek who couldn’t get taken seriously because everyone in school knew she’d given her first blow job when she was fourteen. Of course, that didn’t excuse the fact that she’d tried to brain Cody with a light fixture tonight, not to mention abducting a minor. “Never mind. Are you okay?”
He tested his throat, clearing it. “More or less. You?”
“I’m fine.”
“You were pretty tough in there tonight, Pixy Stix.” Cody gave me an appraising look. “I hope you meant what you said to Lady Elvira, because if anything like this happens again, I’m not playing by her rules.”
“I know,” I said. “I meant it.”
“Good.” He nodded. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”
My pent tail twitched uncomfortably. “I’m not on anyone’s side, Cody. I’m just trying to keep the peace.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I echoed.
He gave me a little sidelong grin, one of his wolfish ones. Light from the convenience store windows glinted on his bronze stubble. “Anyway, it was a pretty good fight, don’t you think?”
I smiled back at him. “Yeah, it was.”
Leaning across me, Cody reached to open the door of the cruiser. “Look, I’m still on patrol. Take care, partner.”
I got out. “You, too.”
So that was that. I stood in the parking lot watching the taillights of Cody’s squad car vanish down the highway, feeling a little alone, a little melancholy. Also, a little hungry, since my dinner had been cheese and crackers at the Fabulous Casimir’s house. I went into the convenience store to buy a frozen pizza, then home to my apartment, where I baked and ate said pizza, sitting on the futon and watching reruns of Iron Chef America with Mogwai winding around my ankles and purring.
I thought about Sinclair, wondering if he felt he’d found a path he could follow in Casimir’s coven. And I thought about Cody, wondering if there would come a time in his life when his own nature put him on the wrong side of the law and what he would choose if that ever happened.
Letting my thoughts roam, I thought about Stefan Ludovic with his father’s fourteenth-century parade shield on display in his twenty-first-century condominium, wondering what untold stories lay behind his oblique facade. I thought about Cooper and the fierce passion of the unexpected diatribe he’d unleashed on me.
And I thought about Heather Simkus with her soft, pretty sixteen-year-old face and a lattice of self-inflicted scars on her arms, wondering what she felt was so wrong with her life that the House of Shadows looked like a haven of belonging.
I thought about Bethany, too.
When I was done thinking about them, I turned off the TV, put away the leftover pizza, poured myself a few inches of scotch, settled Mogwai on my lap, and put Patsy Cline on the stereo. Usually I go for more traditional blues, but there’s a certain kind of ache that Patsy’s voice always speaks to, her voice floating above the pain with deceptive ease, timeless and yearning and poignant.