To Dance with the Devil

20

I swung by PharMart to pick up supplies, including more sunscreen and a big, floppy picture hat. When I first became an Abomination—the official term for my half-vampire condition—a doctor had given me a huge list of things I could drink to keep me healthy and keep things under control until I learned to manage my inner bat. I didn’t have the list anymore, but PharMart’s records are computerized. If I was lucky, they’d be able to tell me everything I needed to buy to get back on track. It would be expensive. I still had painful memories of the credit card bills from before. But anything that kept me human was worth the price, and then some.

I lucked out. The pharmacy did have the records. They printed out the list for me and I set about loading up my cart with dehydrated beef and chicken broth, the liquid form of a multivitamin and mineral supplement, flavored shakes from a popular liquid fast program, and more. I also stocked up on lots of sunscreen and picked up another hat and a couple of umbrellas to use as sunshades. My favorite employee had been promoted to night manager, so he wasn’t on duty, but I asked the pharmacist to let him know I’d been by and that I said hi.

Though I’d grown tired of drinking nutrition shakes over the course of the past couple years, they were the quickest and easiest way to take the edge off of my hunger. I popped one open and drained it as I loaded my groceries into the back of the SUV. I hadn’t had any bloodlust yet that day, even though I’d been in a hospital, and I wanted to keep it that way. Besides, I think better on a full stomach.

Michelle would be discharged tomorrow. She’d need a place to stay. Someplace safe, where no one would think to look for her, preferably far away from innocent bystanders in case the defecational matter hit the rotary oscillator. In short, a safe house.

I didn’t have a safe house. Hell, I didn’t even have an office. She certainly couldn’t come to my place—Connor Finn’s goons would undoubtedly look there first. Besides, I barely had room for the cat. Just bringing home these groceries would put me at risk of starring in the next episode of Hoarders.

Climbing into the car, I strapped in, turned on the engine, and let the air-conditioning bring the temperature down to something close to bearable. Digging in my purse, I pulled out my cell phone and typed in Dottie’s number.

She picked up on the third ring, right before it would have gone to voice mail. “Hello.”

“Hi, Dottie. How are you feeling?” I was kicking myself a bit for not having checked on her earlier. Yeah, I’d been busy, but straining your magic is a big deal. The doctors had said she’d be okay, and I knew Fred would take good care of her, but still.

“I’m fine. Really. And I have the solution to your problem.”

She knew. “Dottie, the doctors said—” I started to scold her, but she interrupted.

“Hmpf.” She sounded completely disgusted. “Like I was telling Fred, it’s not as if I can just turn it off like a tap. But I am trying very hard not to use my gift.”

Judging from her tone of voice, she’d been telling him repeatedly. I was betting he wasn’t buying it. Still, it might be true. Psychic ability is notoriously difficult to control, particularly for someone with as powerful a gift as Dottie’s.

“Which problem are you solving for me this time?” I put a smile in my voice.

“Fred and I have discussed it, and we think we have the perfect safe house for you. And while I know the answer to your office problem, I’m not telling.”

“Dottie—”

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

She was using the same tone of voice my gran always used when she’d locked the Christmas presents in the front closet when I was a kid. So while I was frustrated—I hate not knowing things—I was also amused. “Fine, have it your way.”

“I fully intend to,” she said smugly. “Now, if you’ll come to our apartment, I’ll get everything ready for you.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

It was a quick drive. Dottie and Fred live in government subsidized housing on the east edge of Santa Maria. The complex is composed of six one-story brick duplexes connected to each other by a web of sidewalks with a central courtyard. There’s a two-story office and “clubhouse” on the north end of the property, with parking for guests. Residents have numbered parking spots on the surrounding streets. It is a pretty place and very well kept. Dottie told me her only complaint was that they didn’t allow pets. It was so nice, in fact, that when she and Fred married, they decided to share her apartment rather than the house he had lived in with his previous wife, out by Edwards Lake.

I pulled into a guest spot under a shady tree next to the office building, slathered on sunscreen, plopped a hat on my head, and stepped out of the SUV—just in time to see Mickey drive past in a black Dodge Charger so new it still had temporary tags. Okay, a Charger isn’t the most expensive car around, but it’s not the cheapest, either. I wondered how a man with no job and supposed money troubles could afford a brand-new car of any kind. Something definitely wasn’t adding up.

I could tell he didn’t see me. That was good.

Fred met me at the front door with a hug. Leaning close he whispered in my ear, “She’s been blaming herself for not being able to interpret the stones.”

I gave a tiny nod to let him know I understood. According to the sirens, Dottie is my personal prophet. Her job is to be sort of an advance-warning system, to help keep me safe. I don’t know what my great-aunt Lopaka said to her when they met, but it made Dottie, who was already protective, absolutely ferocious in performing her duties.

I smiled as Dottie came in. The ice in the pitcher of lemonade she was carrying on the tray of her walker clinked against the glass with every step she took. I stepped forward, intending to help, and she gave me a look.

Uh-oh, she was in one of her I-can-do-it-myself moods. Definitely time to change the subject. “I saw Mickey as I was driving in. Where was he headed off to?”

Fred looked pained and I knew I’d stepped into it again. Apparently this was just going to be one of those days when tact abandoned me.

Dottie smiled up at her husband. “Fred, could you go get us some glasses from the kitchen? I couldn’t manage them and the pitcher both.”

“Of course, dear.” Fred made his escape. Dottie gestured me into a seat. As I passed, she whispered to me, “Please don’t bring up Mickey today, dear. He and Fred got into another argument about those people he’s been hanging around with, down at that pool hall—and how he’s been getting the money he’s been spending since he lost his job.” She sighed.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if Fred wasn’t a telepath. He knows that Mickey’s lying, even if he’s too ethical to dig for more.” She might have continued, but Fred appeared with the glasses just then so Dottie busied herself playing hostess, pouring drinks and making small talk. Only when everybody was settled did she bring up the subject that had brought me here.

“I didn’t use my gift to see this.” She said it like it was a warning. Almost like the “Don’t try this at home” warning you see on television. Then again, perhaps that’s how she felt. If she couldn’t peek at the future, she couldn’t know whether or not a particular idea would work out. She’d just be taking her chances like the rest of us.

She continued. “You need a safe house for the client—and an out-of-the-way place to get away from things. Fred needs to rent out the house at the lake.”

Fred had a life estate in the house, but it was technically Mickey’s, left to him by Fred’s first wife.

“If it’s producing income, Mickey won’t have any excuse to keep nagging me to sell.” Fred’s voice held a combination of sadness and bitterness I recognized all too well—from dealing with my mother. “I thought if you had some time this afternoon, maybe I could drive you out there and we could look at the place. I’ll cut you a good deal on it.”

I thought about it. I didn’t really have any firm plans for the day, and they were right that this might just be the answer to the problem of where to stow Michelle.

Edwards Lake is a man-made lake in a valley forty miles northeast of Santa Maria de Luna. It was created in the nineties to provide a secluded little getaway spot for Silicon Valley types and successful dot-com investors.

The fact that the lake house was secluded meant it wouldn’t easy to get to—which would be perfect for my purposes. Even better, there wouldn’t be a lot of nosy neighbors around. “Sure, why not.” I smiled at them and was rewarded with twin looks of such relief I wanted to throttle Mickey just on principle. How badly had he been hounding these people?

“I’ve got some groceries out in the car I need to take by the house, and I’ll need to grab something to eat.”

“Why don’t I follow you to your place, then we can drive out to the lake in my truck?” Fred suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed.

Secluded was an understatement. Isolated would be more accurate. The only way to reach the lake house was via the dam road, a little two-lane highway with no shoulder. All that stood between a vehicle and a sheer drop was a simple guardrail. Oh, it was probably spelled, but who knew how often they renewed the mage work out here? Fred’s truck was a big old GM that took up most of the road. I felt my stomach flutter more than once as we snaked along that narrow stretch of highway.

By the time he turned into the house’s gravel driveway, I was more than ready to be out of a vehicle. It had been a long, mostly silent drive. Fred was lost in his own thoughts, and I could tell they were not happy ones. I was tired. Vampire healing was great—injuries disappeared quickly and usually without scarring, but I’d had a couple of truly hellish days. I was emotionally drained. I was glad to climb out of the truck and into the fresh air to use the key Fred gave me to unlock the old-fashioned padlock on the chain that held the gate closed.

What the place lacked in security it more than made up for with visibility. The house sat on a peninsula that jutted out into the big, open lake. We’d come in on the only road and it was clearly visible. No one would be able to sneak up on this place.

Michelle might be hiding, but at least she’d be doing it in style. The home was long and low, just one story, with lots of windows facing all that water. When Fred entered the security code and opened the door, I found out that the interior was even better.

I roamed around at will while Fred called Dottie to let her know we’d arrived in one piece. The place was freaking gorgeous. Every room was bright and airy and designed so well that it was comfortably cool despite all the sunlight. The rooms were mostly painted off-white, with bright rugs scattered on the hardwood floors and matching pillows on the Arts and Crafts–style furniture. The bathroom was actually a minispa, with towels big enough to use as bedsheets and a walk-in tub fitted with whirlpool jets. One wall of the bathroom was made of glass blocks that let in light while preserving privacy. Every other room had lots and lots of large picture windows.

Sighing, I returned to the living room and pulled the vertical blinds partially closed, shutting off a clear view of a private dock with an aluminum canoe stowed beneath it. I wanted warning of approaching cars, but this much sunlight was not good for me.

As Fred hung up the phone, I turned to him, preparing to dicker. “How much are you going to want for this?

“I’m willing to be reasonable.” He smiled, but there was a twinkle in his eye that let me know that he would relish negotiating for the best possible price. He’d been a high-powered businessman for a lot of years before his heart problems forced him into retirement. I wondered if he missed it or was glad to be out from under the stress.

Before I could ask him, or even make an initial offer, my cell phone rang.

“Graves here.”

“It’s Bubba,” said a wonderfully familiar voice. “I’m calling from the hospital. We’ve got a problem.”