Daylight filtering through the curtains gave the place a soft-focus glow. Jenny's hair scattered like corn silk across his chest, the long strands stirring as her fingers traced the arch of his ribs. He only vaguely remembered the night. At some point they had returned from the hospital. At some point friends from the police station had come, checking in. Jenny had sent them away, bespelled and trading jokes about Mac finally getting some. Jenny had come and gone after that, sliding into his bed as dawn warmed into day.
And then he had slid into her, over and over. It had been a revelation of hungers.
So many irrelevancies had fallen away, including concepts like "him" and "his." The borders of his self were breaking down, and he was becoming one of Jenny's limbs. Everything was Jenny, and she was all. Mac was merely a half-forgotten state of mind.
At the moment the universe was all female and pushing a breast into his eager hand, the nipple hard and ready for communion. Mac obliged, rubbing its tip with his palm, tweaking its crest. Whatever pleasure he gave, he was rewarded a thousandfold with the taste of her.
Jenny had gone out hunting, drinking souls, feeding on wandering humans with her kiss. She brought the silver energy home, giving him that sustenance one sip at a time. She did so now, leaving him shivering with pleasure, hard and ravenous for more.
"I want you to do something for me," she said.
"Anything." He suckled at her breast, making her close her eyes with a little gasp.
"The vampire who is always with the witch, Omara's man—what is his name?"
"Caravelli."
"I want you to phone him." She took Mac's face in her hands, forcing him to look up.
"And say what?"
"I'll tell you what I need you to say. I have a plan. I have a dream." Her finger traced the curve of his lips. "And you're part of it. You, my love, gave me the power of your formidable strength and will. It called to me like a strong and savory scent. What a gift." She kissed him lightly. "And I have been growing stronger since."
Mac felt a welling happiness. He had pleased her. Then he felt sad. "I am not enough. You need others."
"You have been the best"—she kissed her fingers and pressed them to his mouth—"but I want the Carver witch. She has real power."
Mac smoothed the tumble of her hair. "Yes, she would be good." He had kissed Holly. Now that he had changed, he understood the strength of what he had tasted.
"She's been too strong for me up until now, but she trusts her friend the detective. You, my love, can take her by surprise."
Mac imagined Holly's power, imagined how it would caress his tongue. Holly has more power than she knows how to use. But in many ways she is weak, while I am growing stronger. "Can I be there at the end?"
Jenny reached up a hand, stroking his forehead, his cheek. "You want a taste of her. We can arrange that, yes. You are precocious, my love."
He grabbed her hand, kissing the palm, tasting the echo of her magic in the salt of her skin. She gave a low laugh, other hand searching under the covers until she found the prize she sought. "You will need to learn to hunt for yourself soon."
"Please," he whispered, begging. "Teach me." He had already tired of mere scraps. He could feel the need building inside like a slow, rolling thunder. A taste here and there was not nearly enough.
He'd never been one to pick at his food.
Once Holly was on the campus, back-to-school excitement finally kicked in. She endured the gauntlet of the bookstore, emerging one of an overburdened and penniless herd. Tonight was a late class, and the soft blue-gray of the early evening wrapped the walkways and buildings in a water-color shroud. A needling rain dampened the air, making the smells of coffee and cedar sharply extravagant. Her backpack was heavy with clean new textbooks and pristine highlighters. A rare fresh start was ahead. She treasured the mood, imprinting it into her memory.
Holly's route took her between some of the oldest brick-and-ivy buildings on the campus. Except for the denim and fleece wardrobes of the students, there were parts of this old area that looked as they had during the Edwardian age.
The path looped within view of the Flanders house. Holly reluctantly looked in that direction. The ornamented black gables still rose above the other roofs like the top tier of a macabre cake. Mac had mentioned that the police were still conducting their on-site investigation, delaying the execution of the burn order.
Even though the house was a block away, its presence chilled Holly. It was all memory—there was no whisper of power there—but she did a good job of spooking herself. Holly stopped, oblivious to the other students passing by her, bumping her with clumsy packs and bags. I beat that house. I should feel victorious when I look at it, but I'm uneasy. Why can't I just pat myself on the back and move on? Where's the unfinished business?
The clock tower chimed the hour. She'd have to navel-gaze later, or be late.
The Business Studies Building was one of a cluster of modern structures that sprawled on the far side of a vast parking lot. The entrance was hidden among a welter of flower beds and stairways that seemed to go no where, and Holly walked all the way around the building before she saw the welcoming glow from the glass double doors. By then she was hot and out of breath.
"Holly!"
She stopped. It was Alessandro. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I need to talk to you." He leaned against the concrete wall, nearly hidden by the shadows of the entryway, a cigarette in one hand. He smoked, she knew, to mask the scent of a crowd of humans. Apparently it was a bit like walking into a restaurant—the smell of so much food whetted the appetite. Given that excuse, she'd never asked him to butt out.
The end of his cigarette flared red as he stepped into the light. Wow, she thought, forgetting everything else for a moment. Not subtle, but wow.
Tonight his legs were encased in black leather with rows of fringed decoration that spiraled around his thighs. His hip-length coat was festooned with matching fringe. The long streamers of leather swished and slinked with feline grace, making her want to stroke them, braid them, run them through her fingers.
"What can I do for you?" Holly asked, imagination supplying some graphic suggestions. "How did you find me, anyway?"
"It's the first day of classes. I knew you'd be here. With slight encouragement, the administration office was most willing to assist with your schedule and room assignments." Alessandro took another drag on his cigarette, exhaling dragonlike through his nose. She watched the white smoke, transfixed. "I wouldn't bother you, but I need your help."
"With what?"
"Let's go someplace to talk."
Holly nodded, her mind still tangled in the fringe. "I have a class starting, and I'm nearly late. Is this something that can wait an hour?"
"An hour," he said, clearly tamping down impatience. "Yes, I suppose."
"I don't want to miss my very first class. It's important."
Alessandro seemed to come to a decision and shrugged. "Then I'll come with you. We can talk afterward. The instructor is a friend."
"A friend?" Alessandro never mentioned friends.
"Yes, he set up my laptop."
Holly smiled. "You, Alessandro, have a computer?"
He tilted his head to one side, half-coquettish, half-reproachful. "You think that is so ridiculous? That I am perhaps too old or too blond to keep up?" He rolled the cigarette between his fingers, studying its glowing tip.
Holly shrugged, her mind slowly refocusing from his outfit to the class ahead. "I just didn't think you'd be interested in techie stuff."