Hearts At Stake

chapter 7

Solange

I went out back to my little shed. The sun was soft on the clapboard siding and the kiln tucked into the back. I did need my sunglasses but at least I didn’t feel as tired as I had last night. I knew that when it came to me, my entire family went all overprotective and dramatic, so it was hard to know how many symptoms on their long list I could really expect.

I let myself into the studio and closed the door very deliberately. I wouldn’t think about it right now. It never helped anyway. What did help was burying my hands in clay and the rhythmic spinning of my pottery wheel. It was dusty and quiet in here, just how I liked it. The long window offered the distraction of the wild fields and forest when I needed them. My tools and chemicals were stored in plastic tubs; the walls were fitted with wooden shelves all but groaning under the weight of bowls and cups and oddly shaped vases. Lucy kept telling me I should take my stuff into the gallery shops by the lake to sell it. It wasn’t a bad idea. Though most of them did their business during the daylight hours, Lucy would make deliveries for me if I asked her to. It was something to think about.

If I survived my birthday, of course.

I scowled and attacked the clay. It was cool and obedient under my determined hands. I hated being frightened, almost as much as I hated being coddled. I worked until the sun was dipping slowly behind the trees. Geese flew overhead, honking. I wasn’t any closer to figuring out Kieran Black or the bounty or how to give in gracefully to the bloodchange, but at least I was calmer. And possibly hungry again. I wiped my hands clean and went outside, inhaling deeply the fragrance of roses and wild mint. I was thinking so hard I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings.

First mistake.

I might not have super hearing yet, but the arrow whistled so close to my head I could hear the air through the fletchings. It thunked into one of the oak trees, showering splinters. At the same time, someone crashed into me, curling around me like a particularly heavy parka.

“Oof! What—”

“Get down, you ijit!” It was Bruno. He only slipped back into his native Scottish accent when he was really pissed off. “Get in the damn house.” He ran me up the porch steps. I felt like the president of a small country under attack. All he needed was the ear transmitter and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. And a black suit— but I didn’t think he’d ever wear a tie, even for us. He looked just like what he was: an ex- biker with a shaved head to disguise the balding, and tattoos from shoulder to knuckle. He’d been working for us since before I was born. Bruno shoved me inside and slammed the door behind us.

“Stay here,” he barked, running back out, shouting orders into a walkie-talkie. The gardens were quiet; even the birds were cheerfully oblivious. My heart was thumping wildly, making me feel dizzy. That arrow had been really close, too close. And only one organization used wooden arrows of that style.

Helios-Ra.

I wondered if it had been Kieran, skulking in the shadows, waiting for me to turn my back. The sun glittered on the gravel drive, the black iron fence. No vampire ancient enough to withstand this kind of a summer day would be able to sneak onto the property. Someone would have scented his pheromones.

Bruno came back, eyeing me grimly. “The tunnels for you from now on, lassie.”

“Did you get him?”

“Not even a damned footprint.” He rubbed his head. “Get away from the window, Solange. It’s not safe.”

“This is getting ridiculous,” I muttered.

“Agreed,” he replied.

“I’m going to the loft,” I told him peevishly.

“Use the tunnel,” he repeated.

I went down into the basement and used the short passageway that linked the house to the garage. The second floor had been converted into training space complete with floor mats, punching bags, a weight machine, and two treadmills. The back wall was covered with fencing gear and swords. I didn’t bother with the uniform or the mask since I was practicing on my own. I just needed the distraction. If pottery wasn’t enough to really calm me down, lunging and stabbing an imaginary foe would have to do. I took up my favorite sword, or foil as it was called in fencing.

Out of habit I saluted my pretend opponent and bowed. Then I cross-stepped back and forward a few times to warm up. I lunged, I stabbed, I parried and circular parried and disarmed. I lunged again and again until my thigh muscles ached and sweat spiked my hair. I ducked right, I parried low, I jabbed high. Retreat, riposte, retreat, riposte.

I felt better until I happened to glance out the window and saw Bruno going back into the house, dragging a huge bag full of packages and flowers. I tossed my foil aside and sprinted down the steps, through the tunnel and up to the front hall. I scowled at the open bag, panting and scowling.

“What the hell is that?”

“More gifts, lass,” Bruno said. “We’re finding them all along the property line.”

For some reason, all those presents were really pissing me off. I jabbed my hand inside and pulled out postcards, a clump of daisies, something that looked like a Ziploc bag full of blood.

“That’s disgusting.” I dropped it immediately. The light glinted off something silver and I pulled it out gingerly. It was an apple, perfectly crafted out of silver, with a leaf dangling from the stem. The delicate leaf was engraved with a name: Montmartre.

I put the apple aside so I could wipe my hands completely clean of Montmartre cooties, and it teetered on the edge of the table. It hit the floor, and the top opened on tiny hinges I hadn’t seen. Blood poured out of the opening, thick and red. The coppery smell made me gag but I didn’t have time to otherwise react. I was too busy staring out the front window.

“Where’s Lucy’s car?”