He looked over. “Your address?”
I gave it.
To the driver, though, Marsten just said, “Head east.”
“Riverside is beside the river,” I said. “Which is north.”
Marsten just shut the panel between the front and rear seats and buckled up.
“To be safe, you should spend the evening someplace else. Is your mother in the city?”
“Yes, but if I’m in danger, I’m certainly not taking it to her.”
“Friend, sibling, cousin …”
“Same issue. We should find a hotel or motel and get some rest before we figure out how to resolve this, because I’m assuming Tristan won’t just give up and go away.”
“He won’t. All right, then. We’ll find a hotel, and I’ll make sure it’s safe. Then, when I come back—”
“Back?”
He patted the trouser pocket with the jewels. “I need to take care of these tonight. I shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.”
“Just long enough to hunt down and kill Tristan?”
When Marsten looked over, I said, “I may be foolish, but I’m not stupid and, after tonight, not nearly so naive. The only way to end this is to kill Tristan, so that’s what you’re going to do. That is why you said you’d retrieve my bracelet ‘later’—you meant once I was out of the building and you went back for Tristan.”
He studied my expression and then nodded. “I’ve tried walking away twice, and he refuses to leave it at that. I can’t walk away again.”
“That’s why you asked for my address, isn’t it? Because you think that’s where he’ll go. Right now, I’m the more urgent threat, the one who could let his Cabal know about his extracurricular activities.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know I’m not going to a hotel.” I held up a hand against his protest. “Have I interfered yet?”
“No, but—”
“And I won’t. I am so far out of my league—” I shook my head. “Let’s just say I won’t embarrass myself further or endanger you by interfering. But Tristan wants me, and if you show up alone at my townhouse, he’ll know it’s a trap.”
Marsten hesitated. Then he pulled back the panel and gave the driver my address.
TWELVE
I live in a brownstone backing onto the river and surrounding parkland. Not your typical twenty-something tabloid journalist digs.
My mother had bought the place while I was in J-school. She called it an investment, but when I graduated, she’d wanted to give it to me. College had been a struggle—not academically but personally, as I’d dealt with my demon powers, which my family presumed were mental health issues. I think the brownstone was Mom’s graduation gift … and hopefully a source of stability for a daughter sorely in need of it.
I love the townhouse, love the area, love my beautiful riverfront “backyard” with its winding forest trails, an escape whenever I need it, which seems to be often. So I’d agreed to keep living there, as a property manager of sorts, maintaining the building and protecting Mom’s investment. But I refused to take the deed, and insisted on paying all expenses and upkeep—though the property taxes alone were nearly enough to bankrupt me. Thank God I had two jobs—
Two jobs?
As the taxi disgorged us on the front lawn, I stared up at my beloved brownstone and realized I no longer had two jobs. Probably not even one.
Of course, my mother could—and would—step in and pay the bills, and do so happily, without ever mentioning it. I so desperately didn’t want that.
I’d given my mother enough sleepless nights to last a lifetime. I often wondered whether, at some level, she knew my problems were rooted in something she’d done, that brief post-separation encounter that no one could blame her for. Even though she didn’t understand the true nature of my trouble, I think she blamed herself, and I didn’t want that. I wanted to be strong and independent and stable, to be able to take her for lunches on my dime and say, “See, Mom, I’m doing fine.” And I had reached that point, stuffed with the newfound confidence my job had given me—
“We’d better get inside,” Marsten whispered as the cab pulled away.
He looked around, nostrils flaring, body tense, ready for trouble. Not the time to worry about my life’s recent crash and burn. When this was over, I should just be thankful I still had a life to repair.
“Good security,” Marsten whispered as I undid the dual deadbolt. “Are the other doors and windows—?”
“All armed. Motion detectors in every room, too. My mom worries.”
I hurried in to disarm the system. It was still active. If Tristan had beat us here, he’d backed off when he saw my security. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood that ignored screaming sirens.
“What now?” I said as Marsten relocked the front door.
“Turn on a couple of lights, and stay away from the windows. Is that open land out back?”
“A park,” I said. “Mostly forest.”
“Good. That’s where I’ll try to get him, then. Away from the houses. We’ll stay here for a bit, give him time to arrive and stake out the house. Then I’ll Change and lead him into the forest.”
“Change?” The words But I don’t have anything for you to wear were on my lips when I realized what he meant. “Into a wolf.”
He nodded. “By far the preferred way for dealing with these things. It’s easier to track, easier to fight, and”—a quick smile—“a built-in disguise if anyone sees me.”
I flipped on the living room and hall lights.
“What about the television?” I said. “Should I turn that on, too?”
A brow arch. “We escape death, flee to the safety of your townhouse … and watch television?”
“So what would Tristan expect—?” I followed his gaze to the stairs leading to the second level. “Ah, of course. You’d want a good night’s rest.”
“And that’s probably all I’d get,” he muttered. “Unless I set the place on fire first. From Tristan’s point of view, though, we just had a harrowing evening, I saved your life—”
“You did?”
“Play along. You take me upstairs—”
“Oh, reward sex.” I paused. “But for proper reward sex, we probably wouldn’t even make it past the front door. I just push you against the wall, get down on my knees—”
He cut me off with a growl. “I’d suggest you stop there unless you plan to follow through.”
“I might follow through … if you’d saved my life.” I swung around the banister onto the stairs. “Not that you’d let me follow through, though. No sex unless it’s you I want, remember? No chaos sex. No reward sex. That’s your rule.”
He muttered something and followed me up the stairs.
At Marsten’s suggestion, the first thing I did was remove my dress … which sounds a whole lot more interesting than it was. As he pointed out, heels and a slinky yellow dress didn’t make good late night commando gear. While he cleaned up, I put on jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers. Then we headed for my bedroom. Yes, I have a separate dressing room. It’s a three-bedroom townhouse—I’m just trying to make efficient use of space. Really.
I walked into my darkened bedroom, flicked on the light, then made a face.
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s a mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Poor Doug.” Marsten walked to the unmade bed, plunked down on it, and gave it a test bounce. “Doesn’t get a lot of use, I’ll bet.”
“I’m picky. Sorry.”