Stubborn as the day is long—just like your mother—that was Maud’s favorite lament.
“Plus, Maud was not the conformist type. Dame Lawson despaired of me, the orphan her sister had adopted. She was determined the Woolworth heir act like a lady. She doesn’t have any daughters, only her son, Linus. She played with me like a doll until she grew bored with her attempts at taming me. She stuck bows in my hair I ripped out when her back turned, and I wore shorts under my skirts so I could strip them off after dinner and run outside to play. Maud just laughed and told her sister girls will be girls.”
“You are not close to Dame Lawson then?”
“No.”
There was nothing more I could say about her that wouldn’t plunge me into the abyss. All my memories of that woman were strung on a thread that tied to the same fixed point in time, the worst night of my life, her recent antics included. What started as rage over what she’d ordered done to Woolly morphed to grief over Keet’s abduction which spun my thoughts back to the last time I’d faced her in the Lyceum along with the other society dames and matrons.
I hadn’t come out on top then, and I doubted I’d climb to new heights tomorrow. All signs pointed toward new lows being in the forecast. At least I would get my bird back.
Perhaps sensing the taut wire of my temper vibrating, he set about defusing my anger. “What can you tell me about that building?”
Though it took a moment to relocate my tour-guide persona, I reapplied her within seconds, a trick learned from Amelie.
“The Black Hart was built in the early 1800s. It went by another name then, White Sparrow’s Tavern.” The spiel tumbled out with practiced ease, and I took comfort in the cadence of the story. “Patrons swear the building is haunted by the original owner, Brutus Sparrow, who bricked his mistress up in the basement when she tried to leave him. Folks claim he loved her so much that when she made amends with her husband, he slit her throat and walled up her corpse so he could keep her forever. Even now his wails of grief at having killed the love of his life can be heard on clear nights. And a few have even seen her wandering the halls, dressed in a filmy white nightgown slicked with blood from the gash in her throat.”
“What about that one?” Volkov indicated the mom and pop grocery store where I liked to buy fresh fruit. “Surely there can’t be horror attached to such a wholesome place.”
“You would be wrong.” I took his dare merrily. “The same family has owned the property since the 1920s. A Cat 1 hurricane hit Beaufort, South Carolina, in September of 1928, and it produced more than a foot of rain that caused significant flooding in Savannah. Only this end of town escaped unscathed. Everything from River Street down was underwater, including the hospital. Newspaper clippings tell us that since the market was the largest structure standing, it was cleared out and cots were brought in to aid the victims.” I wiggled my fingers at him. “According to the current owners, some mornings they go in to open the store and find lights on and objects moved by the restless spirits who perished there and the brave souls who fought to save them.”
“Remarkable.”
“This town is mired in creepy. All old cities are if you dig deep enough.”
“I don’t mean the town.” His fingers brushed my arm. “I mean you.”
“Friends don’t let friends flatter unnecessarily.” I popped his hand. “Bad vampire.”
“I braced for the worst.” He made a vague gesture. “I expected you to be…”
“Bitter? Reclusive? Insane?”
“Yes,” he agreed with a wince.
“Finish your thought.” I waved him on. “I can take it.”
“I came to you prepared to sacrifice myself for my clan, but I see now I was a fool to doubt my master’s wisdom. What he asked of me is no sacrifice at all.”
“I’m broken, Danill.” As a maybe friend or possible ally, I owed him that truth. “I’m held together with bubble gum, and the next time life chews me up and spits me out, this sanity thing might not stick.”
He clasped my hands between his much larger ones. “I can’t protect you from the teeth—life grinds us all down—but you will discover in time I am exceptional when it comes to sticking around.”
“We’re friends until you do something jackassy that makes me break up with you. Or I do.” I extricated myself from his grasp before I gave him the wrong idea. “There’s a solid fifty-fifty chance one of us will blow this.”
“I’ll take a fifty-fifty shot over none at all.” He settled back against the seat, content. “Who will you bring with you to the inauguration? The friend I met?”
“Boaz?” I imagined him on my arm, his warmth thawing the chill in my heart, but the image flickered into him vaulting from the amphitheater’s lush marble floor into the stadium-like seats, where he’d strangle the new Grande Dame with her own pantyhose. “No. Definitely not.” I had already lost him to the draft. I wasn’t about to let him commit treason. “I plan on going stag.”
“Would you consider a formal escort rather than a date?”
“Call me paranoid, but I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure tomorrow night will spell my doom in all caps.” A date, escort, whatever, would also get in the way of her negotiating with me for Keet’s safe return. “You don’t want to get mixed up in this, not when she has pull with your clan and can make your life miserable until she kicks the bucket.”
“What is one century in the span of my lifetime?” The tips of his fangs, lengthening with his desire to protect—probably another side effect of wearing his blood as a fashion statement—pressed into his bottom lip. “Let me prove my worth. Let me show you the value in my offer. Let me give you, at least for one night, the comfort of having a clan at your back.” His voice lowered. “You don’t have to face her alone, and unlike your friend, I can behave.” He rolled a wide shoulder. “Within reason.”
Arriving with Volkov on my arm would make a statement, and it would be nice not to face the firing squad alone.
“Okay.” I stuck out my hand, and his engulfed mine when we shook. “It’s not a date.”
Seven
My stalkerpire failed to put in his threatened appearance, but that likely had more to do with the two slabs of beef Volkov ordered to stand guard at my front door the rest of the night and into the next day than any change of heart. Neither male would meet my eyes, but when I checked on them before bed, they addressed me with a quiet reverence that unsettled me.
Apparently my value was a well-known commodity to everyone.
Except me.
Or, I had to allow, it was possible they merely protected that which their heritor deemed valuable. They might have done the same for any woman who found herself in Volkov’s crosshairs. How awkward that must make dating for him. I could stand the cage he’d lowered around me for now, until I got my answers at the inauguration, but I would suffocate beneath such precautions over time. Having known the inside of a cell intimately, I had promised myself never to return to one. No matter how well-intended the protection might be.
Plus, it was downright humiliating when the bodyguards stampeded up the stairs and bulldozed into my room at dusk after they heard me screaming in my sleep. Waking up to two vamps—fangs out—hissing at shadows in my room was almost worse than traversing the dark and twisting dreamscape of my mind.
Well, I had warned Volkov I was broken, right? Maybe evidence of exactly how shattered would send him running.
An all’s well chime rang out, and I fought a losing battle with a grin as my company arrived.
“Damn, girl. This is your house?” Neely gawked on the front porch. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” The porchlight near him flickered the tiniest bit as Woolly preened, and I cleared my throat loudly to remind her not to show off in front of our very human guest. “Come on in.”