Omara considered, her color slowly returning to normal. "What if she did Choose you? Why you? Why you? And a witch? With you at her side, her powers could draw on your immortality. She would live forever. With access to her magic you could rule us all." Omara shook her head. "And you've never even wanted to be king."
Alessandro gave a short laugh. "I'm a just musician from Florence."
"Yeah, you're such a regular guy." She said the words with venom. "The irony is, that's probably why she loves you. After all this time you act as if you're still half-human."
Alessandro winced, any glimmer of joy dying beneath her rage. "Let's see if Holly still likes me after finding you at my number. I might be un-Chosen."
"Don't joke about it."
He swore, suddenly furious. "It never happened. It's just a legend. Honestly, I got lucky."
Omara raised her hands in surrender. "She got lucky. You left her free from your control, more than I would have done. If that's all it was, then so be it. I will say no more."
"That's all it was. Holly did not choose me. No miracle could persevere in this toxic world."
Omara threw off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Alessandro's bed was high, and her bare feet did not quite touch the carpet. Reaching up, she took his hand.
"So, if we are not talking about your salvation, what are we talking about?" She gave an expressive head tilt. "Oh, yes, you betrayed me in the bed of another, and you didn't justify the act by feeding. Should I resent that?"
Alessandro relaxed as the tension in the room shifted. This version of the queen's jealousy was predictable. "You wanted to secure her aid. In fact, I seem to remember you recommending seduction."
She bent her head and kissed his palm. Her lips were soft, the dart of her tongue warm and wet as blood. "I'll hate you later, once I know that Geneva is gone, and that we'll all live long enough to make hating worthwhile. Maybe you'll convince me to love you again."
"You know that I will always serve you." In all ways except one.
"Good boy." She gave a slow smile. "In the meantime, find out what the little witch wanted. We need her."
The little witch wanted to kill—perhaps herself, perhaps Alessandro. Definitely whoever had answered the phone.
It might mean nothing. Be mature.
Oh, like hell. He left me without a word and wound up in bed with someone else. Someone he could bite. Someone who would willingly give him what he needed.
What did you expect? She had practically begged Alessandro to let them be together just that once. He'd kept his part of the bargain, and he'd done so without harming her. What more could she ask? In the meantime she had a life to save: hers. That had to take top priority, even if she was breaking to pieces with loss.
Furious, Holly rummaged through the living room, pulling reference books off the shelves. One by one, she read the chapter titles and tossed them aside. Grandma had loaned her a couple of books on demonology, but she knew there were others in the house. However, she couldn't find any of the volumes she remembered. She'd gone through her collection before, right after her visit from Sweetie, with equally disappointing results.
Before that, the last time she'd looked for them was… well, she never had. They were there when she was a kid, old and musty and full of woodcuts of ugly demon faces. All her life they had been part of her landscape. Now they were gone. She stormed into the den to repeat the shelf-tossing process. Kibs scampered out of her way, wriggling to safety under the couch.
She gave up. She'd already phoned Grandma, but Grandma was out, probably taking a break from demon lore.
She left a message. Crap. She couldn't sit still. What else could she try? Then a random memory bobbed to the surface.
Alessandro had said Perry Baker was a competent sorcerer. It was a long shot, but he might know something about antidemon first aid, or know someone local who did. She dug out his office number and dialed. It wasn't during his office hours, but it was worth a try.
"Perry Baker." His voice had the distant quality of someone on a speakerphone. She could hear the tapping of a keyboard. Multitasking.
"It's Holly Carver. Do you know much about demons?"
There was a static-filled pause as he picked up the handset. "Come again?"
"I'm in your Monday-night class."
"I know, I know." She heard the rush of his breath against the mouthpiece. "About the demons?"
"Soul suckers. I need info. Fast. I had one over for lunch. He tried to make me an after-dinner mint."
"No shit?" Papers rattled, the sound of hasty shuffling. "Okay, urn, are you able to come down to my office?"
"Sure. When?"
"Now. Right away. I'll wait. Just get here."
Perry Baker's office was upstairs in the same building where he taught. It was easy to find. It was the only door that campus security had stenciled with a warning sign emblazoned with a wolf. The door was ajar.
Perry sat at a desk heaped with papers, his face lit by a monitor screen. Food cartons from Wily Wolf Specialty Deli filled the garbage can, while a dozen high-caffeine pop cans lined the windowsill in a carefully constructed tower. A bright yellow pennant was thumbtacked to the wall behind him, cheerfully proclaiming Fairview University and Community College's alternative slogan, "FUCC U!"
"Hey," Perry said, standing. "I'm glad you were able to come so fast."
"Thanks for seeing me."
With a wave of his hand he directed her to a ratty visitor's chair. "Sorry," he said. "First-time profs get all the hand-me-downs."
Holly sat, feeling the chair sag under her. The tiny office was hot from the numerous CPUs in operation, and she began to unzip her coat. Relief at finally having someone to talk to warred with a general sense of confusion. "I'm not sure where to begin. There's so much going on, and what happened this afternoon is just part of it."
Perry sat and leaned forward on the desk, playing with a pen. His bare forearms were corded with muscle—lean, not skinny. He studied her, his dark blue eyes serious behind his glasses. "My dad's, um, pack leader. I've probably heard part of this already."
Holly fumbled for a thought, any coherent idea to launch with. "I have this cop friend. I think he infected me with demon cooties."
Perry set the pen down. "Yeah? How did that happen?"
"I think the changelings called up a demon."
Perry sat forward again. "They did it?"
"In the graveyard. I went there today and found the remains of a ritual." Holly fished in her coat pocket. "I found this."
She put the metal object she'd found on the desk. Perry picked it up. "Wow. I've never seen a real one of these. It's an Orpheus token."
"What's it for?"
"The tokens are a vampire thing, but the myth is universal. My people revere Orpheus for his power to calm the wild beasts. There's an obvious appeal there for werebeasts." He met her eyes for a moment, as if monitoring her reaction. "Vampires focus on the other part of his story. Orpheus brought the shade of his wife, Eurydice, out of the halls of death. They believe true love can free a vampire from the need to live on blood. They call it the myth of the Chosen. Some believe they can even have children."
Holly's skin tingled. She knew stranger things were possible. I love him, but he left my bed for someone else. That's not true love.
Perry went on. "As for these tokens, vampires sometimes leave them with their kills. It's a good-luck charm to guide the soul of their victim into death. Belonged to one of the changelings, maybe?"