Wolf at the Door

chapter Thirty-eight



She nodded. “It’s true.”

“Jesus!” Worry. Worry. Fear. Fear. Worry. “They killed her?”

“No. She took a bullet for the queen.”

“She did what?”

“I know. She died. We’re a hardy bunch, Edward, and we can take a lot of punishment compared to your kind, but even we can’t grow our own frontal lobes back.”

For a moment she thought he was going to fall off the bench. His look of shock and horror did more than touch her heart; it gave it a cramp. Oh, Edward. You’re too good.

“And he asked you anyway?”

“Yes.”

“And you went?”

“Of course.”

“Because you’re his cousin and he knew you’d go.”

“Yes!” she said, pleased he was catching on.

“Then he’s a prick and I’m going to beat the shit out of him!” the accountant roared. “I am not believing this shit even as I’m hearing it! He’s a dead man, Rache! That shit! That f*cker!”

“But that’s so sweet! Truly, Edward. I love that you said that. But you mustn’t be mad at him.”

“Yeah? Mustn’t I? Just watch.”

“My duty became my pleasure about five seconds after I met you. If I’d known you were waiting, I would have come here much sooner.

“Ah, Edward. Stop me if you’ve heard this . . .”

“ ‘I’m not the vampire queen’?” he guessed.

“Well, yes. But also, you’re too good. Anyone else would have greeted me with a stake through my upper ribs.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not even the weekend yet. So then what? We’ll get back to your a*shole cousin. What happened after you met them?”

“When we finished ‘visiting,’ I let myself out. I wasn’t so much gathering info as I was indulging in a quick gossip with the gals (and zombie). Which is when you spotted me.”

“No, because I didn’t see you then. I saw you the next day. Right?”

“Ah! Yes. Because after bluff sex, my contact in downtown St. Paul texted me about another murder. I realized that my wanting to see you had actually cost some poor creature her life. When I realized the depth of my carelessness, I went back to the mansion straightaway.”

“Me, too, me, too!” he interrupted excitedly. “I’d blown off calling Boo because I didn’t have the smoking gun. Any gun. So I wanted to see what else I could find out. That’s when I spotted you.” This time he was the one to sigh. It sounded like a soft breeze through a cemetery.

“That’s when I knew it was all over but the cleanup. You . . . and me . . .” She opened her mouth to interrupt, but he shook his head. “I might have given her the wrong information on purpose. I mean, to delay her. Which I’ll pay and pay and pay and pay for. But we’ve got a little time now. I figured I’d let Boo come and just get out of the way and let her do what she does. You know, like Hoover brand vacuum. But I couldn’t . . .” He was looking into her eyes as his own shone with tears that hadn’t dropped. “I couldn’t just . . .”

“Throw me to the wolves?” she guessed. “So to speak?”

“And here we are.”

Her heart didn’t break, nothing that dramatic, but it did get a tiny cramp when she took in Edward’s crestfallen expression.

He really wanted to believe in a world right out of a Xanth novel and, of course, wanted the truth here and there, but could never hide how bummed he was to discover yet another thing he relied upon was about as interesting and romantic and magical as track lighting.

The latest reality check? The mystery gal is just another spy spotted in the wrong place. It’s nothing. No, it’s even worse than nothing . . . it’s explainable.

Edward’s problem isn’t that magic isn’t magical, she thought with deep sympathy. His problem is, he’s the biggest romantic I’ve ever met. He wants knights to slay dragons and then marry the Maiden Fair and live happily ever after. He wants all that, he would live for all that. He doesn’t want to back up servers and coordinate audits.

But no matter what it is, what paranormal stereotype he encounters, it’s always both more than it seems, and less.

“This time I was able to warn them—the vampires—and they warned me. They knew you were out there.”

“Aw, man.” He shook his head with a rueful half smile. “And here I thought I’d been so sly.”

“Nope. Don’t feel bad; you weren’t bred for that sort of thing. That’s when I—” She paused. Took another look at his expression. “Well, they told me that one of them was taking care of you. I was—I didn’t know what that meant. I was afraid I did know. So I . . .”

“Rode to my rescue?” Edward clasped his hands to his chest and sighed as he fluttered his eyelashes. Typical of men who don’t give a shit about such things, he had long, lush eyelashes, the lucky bastard. “Did you, Rache? Ride to my rescue on your . . . uh . . . steed?”

“Turned my back on one of them long enough for her to clip me with a sturdy knife handle,” she said dryly.

“Her being the vampire queen?”

“Oh, no. No, it was her friend, the beautiful little blond girl who dresses like she’s late for Catholic school.”

“Um . . . okay. We’re gonna circle back to that, because I didn’t get to meet that one, wouldn’t you know it.”

“I can’t see the queen throwing a knife at anyone,” she admitted. “A bottle of nail polish, maybe.”

“But one of them did.”

“Yes. My own stupid fault for turning my back on people I knew to be predators. I deserved worse for forgetting such a fundamental rule of survival.” She shook her head, disgusted. “Must be old age setting in.”

“Ha! What are you, twenty-four, twenty-five?”

“You’re adorable. Thirty.” Of course, the jailbait vampire could have a hundred years on her for all Rachael knew. “It was humbling beyond belief.”

“One of them . . . just so I’m following the sequence of events, here . . . one of them threw a knife. At your head.”

“Well, yes. But it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“Rachael!”

“It’s not,” she insisted. “For one thing, she could have flipped the blade. Having the pointy end zip through the back of my skull would have put a sizeable damper on my day.”

Edward was pressing his hands to his face. “I’m pretty sure you’re giving me a migraine. I’m . . . I’ve got to tell you . . . aw, man, I’m having a freak-out aneurysm here! I can’t decide which thing to yell at you about first.”

“There is kind of a long list,” she admitted. “I’m sorry for adding to it.”

“So what happened next?”

“I woke up in an orange parlor.”

“What?”

“No. Stop. Let me think.” She closed her eyes, saw the room in her mind, smelled the mouse poop in her mind. “Peach. It was a peach parlor. The sofa and the walls and even the carpet. It was like waking up inside a womb.”

“Okay, that’s so weird I’m actually trying not to picture it.”

“And the vampire queen had measured my feet while I was unconscious and gave me a pair of blue flats to wear home.”

“She did not!”

“You’re right, now that I recall . . . she loaned me the shoes. She didn’t give them.”

“Rachael! Of all the weird, idiotic, and/or scary things you’ve told me, that’s the least believable. And think about the list of things you’ve told me!”

“You’re right, you’re right . . . it’s a terrible long list. No wonder you’re getting a migraine.” She stole another glance at the moon. She was closer, now. Well, of course she wasn’t, not really; it was an optical illusion. But it was a beautiful, sweet illusion and one she cherished. The moon looked closer because her Change was closer. It would come closer still, and then Rachael would be the moon, be in her. And then for three nights she would be herself, her true self.

“Oh, ya think? Listen . . . no, wait. Are you okay? You’ve got a really strange look on your face.”

I’ll bet I do. She almost laughed. “I’m fine, relatively speaking.”

“Okay, good. But like I was saying, I haven’t actually met the woman, which you’re gonna rectify for me just as soon as—”

“I certainly will not,” she said sharply. “You’re to stay away from them, Edward. We’ve both been careless enough.”

“Yeah, hold your breath and see if that’ll happen. But listen, I don’t know her, but I do know this: the queen of the vampires doesn’t just hang out in her big spooky mansion to drink smoothies with zombies who are taking care of the pregnant woman who also hangs out there (I assume for prenatal smoothies). And she sure as shit doesn’t give visiting werewolves pairs of shoes!”

“Lend,” she corrected. “She lent me a pair of shoes.”

“Whatever! Vampire queens don’t do that stuff. No selfrespecting monarch of the undead would do any of that stuff.”

“Up until seventy hours ago, I would have agreed. Now I can’t. I think that’s the trick.”

“What?”

“I think that’s why her reign is working. She doesn’t do anything the way you’d expect. It’s a pretty good trick.” More: she suspected that was Michael’s underlying motive in sending her here. Not just to keep an eye on things. To figure out why things were working the way they now were. Infinitely more valuable information to have. “It’s a trick I’ll bet my cousin would like to learn. But that’s a talk for another day. We’ve been out here as long as I dare.” She stood, peeked at the moon, held out her hand. “We have to go inside now. I have to, I mean.”

“So you can change into a werewolf.”

“Yes.” Change into always made her smile. Like it was something the Pack could take on and off, like a dress shirt. It would never occur to her to ask Edward to change into someone with white skin and blue eyes.

“Yeah, well, I believe you when you say you’re not the vampire queen—I’m pretty sure—but I gotta call bullshit on this werewolf thing. Not that I think you’re lying,” he added when she opened her mouth. “I think you could take a polygraph and never bounce a needle. But that proves my point about you needing help. You can’t ask me to believe that every full moon . . . Let’s just say I’ll believe that when I see it.”