Pressure gathered behind her eyes. Shit.
Without another word about Kiko’s difficulties—because what could they say?—Breisi started the engine and the briefing. They talked about how at least they knew that the Tomlinsons weren’t low-level vampires since they hadn’t reacted to Kiko’s cross on the hat or the blessed Bibles. The team touched on their impressions of the family, too. Breisi’s instincts matched each one of Dawn’s, and Dawn wondered what the hell was going on that she all of a sudden wasn’t arguing with the lab rat every second of the day.
“Back at the house, I’ll contact these old roommates of Lee’s,” Breisi said. “I would especially like to get in touch with the one who knew about the lover.”
Dawn was watching out the window as they drove back up to the Hills. Palm trees swished by, mocking the clouds. In the side mirror, she saw a hint of movement, and her gaze fixed there.
Kiko. His hand had arched up to his mouth to pop something into it.
Dawn’s gaze went red. “You really need one of those?”
He hesitated, like he was mortified to have been caught.
She waited, not letting him off the hook.
Finally, he chuffed. “My painkillers are safer than yours any day. So back off, okay?”
She should’ve been pissed about his reference to her habit of using sex for a cure-all. It was a weapon in her personal war against Eva, a way to make Dawn feel like she was just as attractive, even if it was only temporary.
With all her effort, she did back off, knowing he wasn’t in a receptive mood. She kept her eye on him though, and he damned well knew it.
After they parked, then walked up the path leading to the Black Dahlia dollhouse, UV lights flooded the Gothic entrance, emphasizing the iron cross hanging over the doorway. Once inside, none of them talked, just went their separate ways. Kiko headed for a bed, where he could get the rest he was required to take each day, whether he wanted it or not. Tomorrow, he had a therapy appointment, but before then, Dawn was going to talk to his counselor about those pills.
In the meantime, Breisi veered toward the huge wooden door off the parlor. She unlocked it, making Dawn wonder, once again, just what was behind the barrier. Previously, she’d seen blue lights, heard a metallic buzzing. Breisi guarded the sanctuary like her life depended on it, and every time she got all secretive, Dawn got even more curious.
With a squirrelly look, Breisi disappeared into the dungeon, leaving Dawn alone.
Hell. What to do?
She decided to head up to the computer room to see if she could research any info about Lee’s roomies and then dial up Kiko’s keepers to ask about his meds.
With a sigh, she climbed the stairs, gradually consumed by the dimness of the upper story. The eerie silence was like perpetual twilight, an unexplained place between all the worlds crashing in on her daily.
As always, she came to the first portrait hanging on the wall. A desert spanned the canvas: sandy, desolate, warm in its emptiness.
Barely glancing at it, she began to pass by on her way to the computers.
But when the picture suddenly filled with the image of a beautiful woman, Dawn froze.
THE FRIENDS
G AZE locked on the portrait, Dawn held her breath while the woman formed into a vision. It was like an invisible paintbrush was swiping over the canvas, breathing jasmine-scented life into the vivid texture: a golden turban against sand, darkly slanted eyes against brown skin, bare shoulders against the falling collar of a silken robe.
One of the Friends had just returned home.
Pressing her fingertips against the rough oils of the woman’s neck, Dawn found a pulse, as if she could actually absorb energy from the paint itself. Then…something else.
The sibilant vibration of a laugh, a sigh.
She yanked her fingers back. What the hell?
All the while, the woman in the painting stared at her, watching in silent assessment, unmoving in her dreamy-eyed rest.
From the end of the hall, the door to The Voice’s office gasped open. It wasn’t really the sound of it that attracted Dawn—it was the gape of its movement, the shift in balance and temperature. She glanced sidelong at the door, thinking in the back of her mind that it resembled the vertical slit of a reptile’s gaze, one that fixed on her with night-prowling intention.
A soft giggle floated from that room, or maybe from over Dawn’s head, or…
She glanced at the portrait again.
From there?
She ran her palms down the intricate wooden frame, not knowing what she was searching for. Sound devices planted just to screw with her? Doubtful. But she couldn’t stand here, listening as another laugh danced around her.
Dawn, giggled a female’s melodious, foreign-accented voice.
Wracked by a chill, Dawn eased away from the painting. The light voice was more inside her head than anywhere else. Still, that didn’t mean it hadn’t come from the picture.