Autumn Bones

Thirty-nine

It was an uncomfortable meeting.

In a lot of ways, I was far more at ease in the Wheelhouse than I had been only a few short months ago. It was still a biker bar, still a hangout for ghouls and the skanks they fed on, but I’d learned to think of the ghouls as Outcast, the Outcast had learned to regard me with a measure of respect, and even the skanks were looking healthier. According to Cooper, Stefan’s prohibition against chemically induced emotions had sent a few of them to rehab. Now their only addiction was the ghouls themselves.

Unfortunately, I still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that Stefan had a direct pipeline to my emotions, distance no object. The second I saw his polite, guarded expression, I realized that he’d gotten a major hit of raw, unbridled lust this morning. And I promptly blushed like a teenaged girl, my blood scalding beneath my skin as I dropped the mental shield I’d automatically raised upon entering the place. My mortification sent a ripple through the Outcast. All around the bar, pupils dilated in a sudden rush.

So much for equanimity.

Stefan hustled us into his office in the back. “I take it you haven’t contained the spirit that was unleashed.”

“Why?” I asked him. “Because the Tall Man’s corpse was stolen?” He gave a brief nod in response. “What do you know about obeah and death magic?”

“Nothing of use, I fear,” Stefan said with regret. “Only that I have heard rumors throughout my life of sorcerers in the West Indies capable of raising the dead.”

Great. That sounded a lot like zombies to me.

“We’re trying to locate the remains,” Cody said. “Sinclair Palmer says that if we do, we might find his grandfather’s, um, duppy. We could use your help questioning suspects. As long as they’re not sociopaths, you can tell if they’re lying, right?”

“Of course,” Stefan said. “Do you require my presence, Officer, or will one of my lieutenants suffice?”

“You trust your lieutenants?” Cody asked. It was a fair question— it was a betrayal by one of Stefan’s lieutenants that had led to the turf war that had nearly gotten all of us killed or worse—but that edge was back in his voice.

Stefan didn’t rise to the bait, but his pupils did a quick, irritated wax-and-wane. “I trust Cooper.”

“I trust Cooper, too,” I added quickly.

Stefan inclined his head. “I will place him at your disposal. Is there any other means by which I may assist?”

“Not at the moment, but stay tuned,” I said. “You’re sure the Palmer ladies are safely out of town?”

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask him to. I did tell him about my meeting with Hel and her warning. “Call upon me at need,” he said when I finished. “If there is widespread panic, we can assist in alleviating it.”

“Without ravening?” Cody asked bluntly.

Stefan turned his ice-blue gaze on him. “Did the Outcast not serve you well in the matter of the rutting satyr?”

My tail twitched at the memory of that night. “They were great,” I assured him. “I can totally tell that they’re more disciplined. So, um . . . can we borrow Cooper now?”

Stefan looked back at me, pupils dilating a bit and then steadying. Whether I liked it or not—and the jury was still out on that one—we had a bond, and the silence that stretched between us was filled with unsaid things. “Yes.”

For the remainder of the day, Cody and I drove around Pemkowet with Cooper on his vintage motorcycle as our wingman, interviewing Cavannaughs and the descendants of Cavannaughs.

Although it would have delighted me to no end if Stacey Brooks had turned out to be a grave robber, alas, it wasn’t so. Cooper confirmed that her mother wasn’t, either. And in fact, neither were any of the other seven members of the community who were direct descendants of Andrew Cavannaugh.

“Sorry to waste your time,” I said to Cooper, while Cody was on the phone reporting to the chief.

Cooper shrugged, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. “It was a lead worth following. And I’ll tell you what, none of them may have been lying when they said they didn’t do it, but they were nervous.”

I remembered how jittery Amanda had been in her office, fidgeting with stuff on her desk. “About what?”

“Can’t say. I can’t read thoughts, just emotions. But at a guess, I’d suspect none of them were sure that one of the others hadn’t done it.”

“But none of them did,” I said.

“Right.”

“Do you think they know more than they’re saying?” I asked.

Pulling one hand from his pockets, Cooper cocked a thumb at himself. “Again, not a mind reader, me. But . . . no. More like fear and uncertainty.”

“Huh.” I wondered if we should cast a wider net, maybe interview husbands and wives instead of just blood relatives. I glanced over at Cody, who was listening and nodding into the phone. It was getting late and the fading sunlight glinted on his stubble; he needed to shave again. I shivered a little at the memory of his chin rasping against my shoulder.

Cooper followed my gaze. “There’s no future for the likes of you with a wolf, missy.”

I eyed him. “You could tell me what he’s feeling, couldn’t you?”

“I could, but I won’t,” he said with another eloquent shrug. “Myself, I’m Team Stefan all the way.”

“Ha ha,” I said. “That might actually be funny if your boss had indicated he was interested in me that way.”

Cooper’s pupils contracted. “You think he hasn’t?”

“I don’t know. Has he?” Now I was uncertain. Sure, there was the hunger I sensed in Stefan, but that had more to do with what I was than who I was, didn’t it? And yes, he’d made a comment or two that could have been construed as flirting, but I hadn’t taken them seriously for reasons that seemed pretty damn obvious to me. “Cooper, we come from different worlds. Different centuries. He’s a freakin’ medieval knight, for God’s sake!”

“Aye,” he agreed. “And some days, he feels the weight of six hundred years’ worth of immortality, six hundred years of being Outcast, six hundred years of hunger. He feels the cut of every betrayal, everyone who turned against him, called him a ghoul, called him a monster, called him unnatural. He feels the loss of every loved one who succumbed to age and death, while he went on and on; sometimes dying, only to be thrown back into the feckin’ mortal coil in no more time than it takes your heart to beat once.”

I had a feeling Cooper wasn’t just talking about Stefan.

“But you know what?” he continued, gazing steadily at me. “Some days he feels just like the regular old boyo he used to be before heaven and hell slammed the door in his face. Some days, all he wants to do is have a laugh with his mates, drink poteen, and steal kisses from a pretty lass without creeping into her soul along the way. And those days? Those are the loneliest days of all.”

I doubted that was the sort of regular old boyo Stefan Ludovic had been, but I got the point. “I’m sorry,” I said softly.

Cooper looked away. “You’re suited, is all I’m saying. You being a bit of a tempest and all. You’d have a good run. And he’d take care of you when it was over.”

“Excuse me?”

“When it was over,” Cooper said patiently. “You’re . . . what? Mid-twenties? You’d have at least ten years.” Looking back at me, he grinned. “Maybe longer these days, eh? You’ll be what they’re callin’ a cougar in your forties.”

My mouth had fallen open. I closed it. Well, duh. Of course it would end that way. How else could it end? Even Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore couldn’t make it work, and an immortality gap was a hell of a lot bigger than an age difference. And I didn’t doubt that Stefan would take good care of me in my dotage. More and more, I was realizing he had a highly developed sense of honor.

“Thanks,” I said to Cooper. “But I think I’d rather spend my life with someone I can grow old with.”

“Or of course,” he said in a casual tone, “you could always invoke your birthright and bargain for immortality.”

“And risk unleashing Armageddon?” I stared at him. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Don’t think so, no.” Cooper rocked back and forth on his heels. “But some days? Some days, I’d welcome Armageddon.”

Cody finished his call and rejoined us. “Okay, Daise. I told the chief that the Cavannaugh curse was a dead end so far. Levitt’s pulled files on a handful of kids with priors for vandalism in the cemetery, and that’s what the chief wants us to follow up on tomorrow. Sound good to you?”

“Sure.”

He glanced at Cooper. “You willing to lend a hand again?”

Cooper sketched a bow. “The big man’s placed me at your disposal. Just tell me when and where.”

“The big . . .” Cody frowned. “Oh.”

“I’ll call you,” I said to Cooper. With a nod, he straddled his bike, brought it to life, and chugged away.

Cody watched him go. “He looks so young.”

“I know. But he’s over two hundred years old.” It occurred to me that Cooper might be the perfect candidate to tell Heather Simkus, the underage vampire acolyte wannabe, a few things about the burden of immortality. That was either a great idea or a recipe for catastrophe. I’d have to think about it more. I didn’t have a lot of faith in my judgment right now.

Cody had to drive me back to his place to pick up my car, which of course resulted in an awkward parting with the two of us standing in his driveway, both of us feeling that something needed to be said, neither of us knowing what it was.

“This has been a very, very disconcerting day,” I said finally.

He looked relieved that I’d broken the silence. “No kidding.”

“I should go.” Something howled in the distance, long and mournful. Cody’s head turned. “Kinfolk?”

“No. Bob Conklin’s dog. He keeps her tied up around the full moon.” He glanced up at the darkening sky, then at the shadows falling around the woods, then at me, and there was regret in his gaze. I didn’t need to read minds to read his at that moment. If I were a suitable mate, we’d hunt beneath the just-past-full moon tonight, running with the pack and calling to one another, the autumn air ruffling our pelts. We’d hunt and kill and feast, and then we’d go home and fuck like werewolves, and one day we’d teach our own little wolf cubs to do the same thing. Well, just the hunting part with each other, obviously.

I sighed. “Just make sure you get some sleep. God only knows what tomorrow will bring.”

“I will.” Cody hesitated, then grabbed my shoulders and kissed me. It was quick, but firm and decisive.

“You confuse me,” I informed him when he released me, feeling slightly breathless.

“Sorry.” He took a deep breath, possibly feeling the same way. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I got in my car, settled the spirit lantern I’d been toting around all day in the passenger seat, and did what any sensible hell-spawn in my situation would do: I called my mom.

Less than ten minutes later, I was sitting at the old Formica dinette table she’d found at a thrift store when I was still a kid, shuffling the deck of lotería cards she used to tell fortunes, which was the ostensible reason for my visit. It wasn’t a total lie—Mom had done a reading on the Vanderhei kid’s death last July, and it had been uncannily accurate. And as close as we were, I wasn’t ready to tell her that I’d hooked up with Cody this morning. Not yet. I’d found the bandanna that Stefan had lent me in the cemetery in my car and tied it around my throat in what I hoped was a jaunty manner to conceal the evidence.

I plucked out El Diablito, my significator, and laid it faceup on the table, then shuffled the cards a few more times, doing my best to hold the image of Talman Brannigan’s mausoleum in my mind before cutting the deck three times and handing it to Mom.

She turned over the first card. La Luna, the moon. Cody’s significator.

“Wait.” I held out my hand. “Something doesn’t feel right. Let me try again.”

Mom waited while I shuffled and reshuffled, cut and recut the deck. Once again, she turned over the first card, indicating the crux of the matter.

La Luna.

I sighed. “This isn’t going to work tonight.”

Mom returned La Luna and El Diablito to the deck and set it aside. “Did something happen with Cody, honey?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I laid my forehead against the Formica table with a thunk. “Mom, I screwed up big-time.”

She paused. “With Cody?”

“No,” I said without lifting my head. “Yesterday. Everything went wrong. And it’s my fault.”

“Oh, sweetheart!” The chair legs scraped as she got up and came around the table to stroke my hair. “It didn’t sound like it from what I heard.”

“Well, if Jojo hadn’t—” I lifted my head. “Wait a minute. What did you hear?”

“Sandra said that the coven made a mistake focusing on protecting Sinclair Palmer,” she said.

I stared at her. “You knew Mrs. Sweddon was in the coven?”

“It wasn’t my place to tell you, sweetheart.” Mom sounded apologetic. “But it’s all right to talk about it now that you know.”

“Well, there’s not a lot to say.” I shrugged. “Whatever mistakes were made, the responsibility is mine.”

Mom went to the sink to fill the teakettle. “I understand the coven is thinking of trying a summoning spell to capture this . . . duppy, is it?”

“Uh-huh. Sounds like you know more about it than I do,” I said. “I hope they were planning to inform me.”

“Of course.” Mom set the kettle on the stove and turned on the burner. “We were just talking. Sandra’s been after me to join the coven for years.” She gave me a faint smile. “She thinks I have a gift.”

“Why didn’t you?” I asked her.

Her smile faded. “I’ve had enough of summoning for one lifetime, honey,” she said quietly. “I’m happy with my cards.”

I didn’t say anything. I knew the details of my conception. The whole town knew. Mom had been vacationing in Pemkowet with college roommates when it happened. They’d awakened in the middle of the night and witnessed the, um, results of my mother’s inadvertent summoning. Mom had never hidden anything about my heritage from me. From my earliest memory, everything was on the table for discussion, including the difficulty of raising a half-demon baby as a single mother and her decision to move permanently to Pemkowet, where at least there was a community that understood eldritch issues.

But the one thing she never talked about was the . . . act . . . itself. And God knows, I never asked. I mean, duh. It’s not something parents discuss with their children under the best of circumstances.

Now I felt a sharp stab of anger at my absent father, sharp enough that cans of fruit on a shelf in the tiny kitchen jumped and rattled.

“Daisy!” Mom said in alarm.

“Sorry.” I wrestled my anger under control. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just . . .” I asked the question I never thought I would. “Was it awful?”

My mom drew a quick, short breath as though I’d struck her, then met my gaze with her clear blue eyes. “No,” she said simply. “Not at first, not while I still thought I was dreaming. Not until I awoke to my friends’ screams and understood that what was happening to me was real. Then . . . yes.”

Getting up from the table, I put my arms around her and leaned my brow against hers. She hugged me back hard. We stood that way until the teakettle shrilled, making both of us jump.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Turning away, Mom shut off the burner and poured water for two mugs of tea, letting it steep until it was good and strong before adding sugar and lots of milk. “Sweetheart, you know I love you, and I’m proud of you no matter what.” She handed me one of the mugs. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. That coven’s got years of experience on you, and they didn’t know any better.”

“I did.” I blew on my tea. “I didn’t trust myself.”

“Next time will be different,” she said in a firm tone. “You’ll find a way to fix this, Daisy baby. I have faith in you.”

Apparently, that was exactly what I needed to hear. I smiled at her. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” My mom sipped her tea and cast a speculative glance at the bandanna knotted around my throat. “Do you want to talk about Cody Fairfax now?”

So much for jaunty. Jaunty was no match for mom-radar and the lotería cards. “No.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes stinging a little. “I’m just not a suitable mate for a werewolf, that’s all.”

“Oh, honey.” There was sympathy and concern in her voice. Mom knew all about my breaking up with Sinclair and my long-standing crush on Cody. But she also knew when to push me for my own good and when to leave me be. I imagine anyone who’s ever parented a hell-spawn child learns that pretty quickly, what with the random damage we wreak on our surroundings when our emotions are out of control. “How about I make popcorn and we watch a few episodes of Gilmore Girls?”

I wiped away a surreptitious tear. “That sounds great.”