Author’s note: This short story takes place (in the JY timeline) after Broken Soul and before Dark Heir.
I didn’t like moonless nights. Even with the protective ward up over the house and grounds, I felt isolated and vulnerable, not that I’d ever tell Big Evan. After years of struggling, his business had recently taken off, the result of an offer from the rich son of a sultan to create astounding and extravagant lighting for his string of casinos and clubs around the world. It required travel, this time back to Brazil for a week, which we all hated, but the gig was profitable enough for us to finally put money aside for the children’s educations. And Evan was making a name for himself and his fantastic lighting creations. He was fulfilled and excited. I could live with a little disquiet.
I finished washing dishes, listening to the kids play in their rooms, Angie talking to an imaginary friend or a doll or toy soldier and Little Evan making growling noises as he played with his newest toy bear. He’d picked it out himself, a pink bear with purple nose, paw pads, and eyes. Probably a girl’s toy, but no one cared in this household. Our children were being raised to express themselves and their imaginations as every proper, nascent witch should—
The ding on the wards interrupted my woolgathering. I dried my hands, spotting two figures standing on the street, side by side, slender males by their body shapes, possibly human, but they could be anything. There was no car by the road, so they had walked, or flown, or run. Or teleported. I studied them, and they didn’t move, though they could surely see me outlined in the lighted window. There was no movement, no small shifts of posture or weight distribution, no change in body position at all. I smiled grimly. It was one hour after dusk, the perfect time for vamps to come calling. Not that I ever had vamps come calling. But these two didn’t move, exactly the way vampires didn’t move, in that whole undead thing. With the Mithran/Witch Accords being planned, there was no way to ignore them or send them on their way.
I picked up the landline phone and held it up for them to see, then pointed at it to indicate I was checking them out. One bowed, an old-fashioned and proper bow. The other waved, a modern gesture.
Son of a witch on a switch! I have vamp callers.
I dialed Jane Yellowrock at Yellowrock Securities and went through the electronic procedures to be put through to my best friend. While I waited, I put on a kettle for tea. Even though things had been strained between us, I knew she would take my call. Jane killed rogue vamps for a living and there was no one better to give me advice. When she answered I said, “Big-cat, I’ve got vamps in front of the wards and my hubs is out of town.”
“Descriptions.” That was my pal: economy of, well, of everything.
I gave her the descriptions and heard her make a call on another line, her voice growing clipped, pointed, and slightly snarly. When she came back on she said, “Lincoln Shaddock sent them on an errand. I wasn’t able to find out what kinda errand. I don’t like it, though I have no reason to tell you to turn them into fried toads. Your call whether to let them in.” Jane sounded ticked off, letting me know that she was not happy that visitors had come calling without her prior approval. I had a feeling it wouldn’t happen again. Ever.
Turn them into fried toads was my BFF’s way of describing my new death magics, if used to defend myself. At the simple thought, I felt my powers rise, eager to be let loose, free and destructive. The only problem was that I might not be able to get them back under control. I could kill the ones I loved while trying to defend them. No. Not an option.
I breathed slowly, forcing the magics back down as I stared into the dark, watching the patient-looking vamps. With the accords so close, little moments like this might make a huge difference in vamp–witch relations for years to come. “I’m letting them in.”
“Your call,” she repeated. “I’ve sent a message to them that if they hurt you or yours, heads will roll.” Jane was a rogue-vampire hunter and the on-again/off-again Enforcer to the biggest, baddest fanghead in the Southeast, so when she said heads would roll, she meant it literally.