Crowbones

CHAPTER 13

Vicki

Thaisday, Novembros 1

I must have fallen asleep, because my alarm woke me up.

I grumbled my way out of bed, opened the drapes, and stared blearily out the window. Apparently the sun was also not a morning person today, which made me feel a little better. I was aligned with nature. Go, me.

The hot shower didn’t help my body much, but it got my brain churning over everything that happened last night.

What did happen last night? Either, by sheer coincidence, someone came up with a costume that happened to match the Crowgard’s idea of the bogeyman, or someone had heard this Crowbones story and thought it would be fun to scare the feathers off some of the Crows. Which was more than mean; it was all kinds of dangerous.

Deciding I couldn’t think about dangerous stuff before coffee, I got dressed in jeans, a long-sleeve pullover, and a loose-weave brown sweater with cap sleeves. The sweater, combined with my curly brown hair, made me look like an electrified sausage, but it was practical and warm enough for a morning of chores and cleanup.

The guests weren’t up by the time I went downstairs, but Julian must have been awake and working for a while, because a pot of coffee was already made, the kitchen table had been wiped down, and the little bowls I used for condiments were set out in rows, waiting for curls of butter or scoops of berry jam from the jars I purchased from the Milfords, who sold fresh fruit as well as homemade jams and jellies.

Like Ineke Xavier, I tried to buy from local suppliers, including the Milfords, whose orchards adjoined The Jumble. Unlike Ineke, who was a good cook, I didn’t inflict my limited cooking skills on my guests, but I did supply the means for the guests to make toast to go with a bowl of seasonal fruit, along with cheese, yogurt, and pastries. There were usually eggs that could be scrambled or made into an omelet. And on the mornings after a special occasion, or cop and crime night, there was my personal breakfast favorite—leftover pizza.

I weaved to the coffeepot and poured myself a mug of brain-starter.

“Good morning,” Julian said. He pointed to the bread on the counter. “Toast?”

I raised the mug and said, “Cheers.”

Looking amused, he put slices of bread in the toaster. “How late were you up with your girl talk?”

Girl talk. Natasha not quite explaining vampire mating rituals, although I do remember her saying Ilya was a very skilled kisser. And me not quite explaining trust issues and how fear of bad breath even after brushing your teeth got in the way of finding out if you liked how a friend kissed—and being anxious about what might happen if, after a kiss, you discovered you didn’t have that kind of chemistry but still wanted to be friends.

I think we decided that Sanguinati courting rituals went on longer than human courting rituals and were more complex before a pair made the final commitment, but things were easier once the individuals reached the actual mating. I think. Since I don’t remember Natasha leaving my apartment, I can’t say if we reached any other conclusions. Or any conclusions.

“Natasha?” I said.

Julian put a piece of toast on a plate and handed it to me. “She’s around somewhere. She’s catching a ride to the village with me.” He dropped a piece of toast on his own plate and spread butter and berry jam over it. “Aggie, Jozi, and Eddie left with Conan. They’re still in Crow form, so I’m not sure they’ll be working today. Safety in numbers—and the ability to fly away from danger—seems to be the Crowgard thinking this morning. Conan said there is some concern about a friend of theirs—Clara Crowgard. There’s been some argy-bargy between your employees and Clara—Conan wasn’t sure about what—and she’s been going off on her own. But after last night . . . Well, friends are still friends.”

The Crows didn’t have an argument. They had some argy-bargy.

Julian came up with such interesting words.

“I hope the idiot who made that costume is pleased with himself,” I grumbled as I slathered butter and jam on my piece of toast, then took a big bite. Somewhere between bites I realized Julian’s silence wasn’t a way to ignore or disapprove of what I’d said. “Julian?”

“Be careful out there,” he said quietly. “Know where your guests are going today.”

When I sucked in air, I realized I had stopped breathing. “Should I warn Ineke?”

“I already called her.”

Oh, gosh golly. Julian was seriously spooked. “It was a person in a costume.” I wanted to believe it, wanted him to agree.

He hesitated. “Maybe.”

“But it’s daylight.” I glanced at the kitchen windows that looked out over the screened porch. “Sort of. The spookies should be tucked under their blankies for a good day’s sleep.”

That got a tiny laugh out of him. Then he sobered. “Let someone know where you are whenever you leave the main house. Okay?”

That’s when Natasha walked into the kitchen and said, “Conan and Bobcat wanted you to know that they found a partially eaten donkey close to the main house.”