Camille slipped into her new coat, a gothic blazer, and held up her keys. “Take my Lexus?”
I nodded. “Since my Jeep’s in the shop, I think we have to.”
About a week ago, my Jeep had started making knocking noises and I dropped it off at Jason’s garage. I’d called today but it wasn’t quite ready.
I slipped on my leather jacket and stuck my dagger in the boot sheath. I’d started carrying it there so that it wouldn’t draw unwanted attention and so I’d always be ready. With as much shit as we got into, none of us felt comfortable going out unarmed. Ever since the Fae had started coming over to visit, the United States had relaxed its knife laws so we could openly carry long blades, but it still made some people uncomfortable, so I tried to be unobtrusive when I carried.
The sheath clipped neatly into the outer side of the motorcycle boots I’d picked up at the leather store. Shade had convinced me to try them, and I loved their sturdiness and badass look. They weren’t high heels, but at my height, I didn’t need the boost, and they would last through a number of ass-kickings. Lysanthra was a long knife but I had long legs, and so she tucked neatly into the sheath. My dagger was sentient and we were still developing a relationship.
Ready to go, we clattered down the porch steps into the rain-soaked night. Fat drops pelted down from the sky, where the crescent moon peeked out faintly from a crack in the boiling clouds. I shaded my face from the stinging droplets. The wind was whipping so hard that the rain was hitting us sideways, biting into any exposed skin. Camille winced and raced for her car with me right behind her. As she beeped the key to unlock the Lexus, I yanked open the passenger door and slid inside. She followed, seconds behind me, slamming the driver’s door and fumbling to insert the key in the lock.
While our Fae heritage gave us more resistance to the elements than if we were purely human, it wasn’t enough to take the edge off the night, and Camille hurried to turn on the ignition and start up the heater. The resulting air was cold, but it would warm up soon, and I pulled my jacket closed in front and zipped it up over the T-shirt I was wearing.
Camille waited for a moment to let the car warm up, then eased into the long driveway. Our house—a three-story Victorian—loomed like a Halloween house behind us, and the drive was long and wound through heavy trees and foliage on the way to the road.
We’d had the driveway paved during the summer—something we’d been reluctant to do, but it had become increasingly necessary. During the rainy season, we now had enough traffic coming and going that the road had become deeply rutted and after a few too many times getting stuck, we bit the bullet. Jonas, one of the Blue Road Tribe’s werebears, had come out and done the work for us. He owned a private contracting company and we were glad to be able to throw some business his way.
As Camille guided the car along the paved drive, the rain pounded down, a driving force beating a tattoo against the roof. She glanced at me.
“You should call Carter and let him know we’re on the way. But first we have to meet Tad and Albert. What do you think is going on?”
I shrugged. “Knowing them, it’s probably a nonemergency. I know they’re vamps but they still remind me of overgrown frat boys.”
She shook her head. “Not frat boys—they aren’t hip enough for that. Overgrown vidiots?”
Stifling a snicker, I tried not to laugh but I couldn’t help it. “Roz and Vanzir would be just like them, if they’d been human to begin with.”
Camille groaned. “No . . . Roz and Vanzir would be the frat boys who beat them up.” And with that, she focused on navigating the slick roads, while I put in a call to Carter to let him know we were dropping by later.
Chapter 3
The Wayfarer was crowded, as usual. The early focus of the inn and bar had been on OW Fae, when Menolly had been set up as an undercover agent for the OIA. But two factors had shifted the demographics.
First, Menolly now owned the Wayfarer. And second, the minute she’d been chosen by Roman to be his consort, bloodsuckers galore began to hang out at the bar. Menolly wasn’t altogether thrilled with the change, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. She did, however, insist on reserving the rooms in the B&B part exclusively for Otherworld Fae coming in to visit the area.
We threaded our way through the throng, up to the bar. Camille whispered something to me, but even with our heightened hearing, the noise of the crowd overwhelmed anything she was saying. I shook my head.
Menolly was on the phone, and she looked worried. By her side, Derrick Means, chief bartender and werebadger, was going at it full throttle, serving drinks right and left. Digger, another bartender—a vampire sent by Roman to help—was also working up a sweat. Figuratively, of course.
The barstools were all taken, but I spied a booth that had just been vacated and made a beeline for it. Camille followed, motioning for Menolly to join us. As soon as she hung up, she hopped over the bar and joined us.
“Is something wrong?” By her expression, I had the feeling something was going on. “Did you get another letter?”
She shook her head. Two weeks ago, Menolly had received a letter from some law firm by the name of Vistar-Tashdey, offering a large sum of money from an unnamed client. Whoever it was wanted to buy the Wayfarer and the language had seemed semithreatening. Menolly had tossed the letter aside, but from the few times since then that she’d mentioned it, I’d gotten the impression that it had unnerved her.
“No, but . . .” She glanced around, then leaned in and lowered her voice. “I didn’t want to worry you but I’ve received two threatening phone calls—the second just a few minutes ago.”
Camille cocked her head, her gaze clouding over. “Who was it and what did they say?”
“I have no idea who it was . . . even whether it was male or female. The first time I thought it was some idiot teenager but now . . . I’m not so sure.”
“What did they want?” From my vantage point, I could see Tad and Albert threading their way through the crowd. “Tad and Albert are on the way.”
Menolly sucked on her lip. “Whoever it was threatened to burn down the bar and said that vamps deserved to charbroil in hell.”
Before we could say a word, Tad and Albert appeared by the side of the booth. They’d already stopped at the bar for bottled blood, which they were sipping discreetly.
With a warning nod to keep silent, Menolly switched over next to us, allowing the guys to slide into the opposite seat. I glanced at Camille, who looked as worried as I felt, but this was not the time to discuss it. Tabling the threats for after our meeting, I turned to the geek squad.
The pair were unlikely looking vamps, that was for sure. Nerds to the core, they wore Microsoft T-shirts, and ripped—but clean—jeans. Slender and lithe, Tad had a ponytail that trailed down his back, touching his ass. He was soft-spoken and funny, one of those sensitive guys who would never be an alpha, but that you couldn’t categorize as a beta male, either.
Albert, on the other hand, had been turned before he’d had a chance to shape up. He had a tidy beer belly on him. He sported a ponytail, too, though apparently he had just started balding when he’d been turned, so his hairline was receding. Last time we’d met him, he reminded me of the Comic Book Guy on The Simpsons. But this time, he seemed to have moderated his atttitude and had an almost pleasant look on his face.