Demon Mistress (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #6)

Demon Mistress (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #6) Page 7

I’d never asked Sassy about her daughter, not wanting to pry, but the older woman seemed to want to talk. “What was her name?”

Sassy looked up at me, surprise washing across her face. “I’ve never told you much about her, have I?”

I shook my head. “No, and I never felt right about asking.”

Janet entered the room then, with two goblets filled with blood. I didn’t ask Sassy where she got her bottled blood—it just didn’t seem appropriate. I accepted one of the flutes and nodded gravely to the older woman. Janet refused to be treated like a friend by Sassy’s buddies. She had a strong sense of propriety and showed no interest in joining the conversation.

“Thank you, Janet. If you’ll adjust the curtains, then you can attend to whatever you like for an hour or two. Just be back around four.” Sassy spoke affectionately to her. If it bothered Janet that Sassy was a vampire, she didn’t show it. After the housekeeper left, Sassy turned back to me.

“She’s seen you through most of your life, hasn’t she?” I swirled the drink. It wasn’t animal blood, that was for sure.

Sassy ducked her head, smiling. “Yes, she has. I never, ever tried to put the bite on her, even when I was hungry. I hate to think about the day she passes. I’m so very much going to want to bring her over to our side, but I refuse to do so. I’ve already told her that I won’t do it, but I’ll be by her side till the end. Janet has cancer, you see. A slow, progressive brain tumor. She’s dying, Menolly, and in about a year, I’ll lose her.” Bloody tears welled up in her eyes. “She’s been closer to me than anybody—my family, my friends, even my late husband. Janet’s . . . a part of me.”

“But you won’t bring her over,” I said.

I wondered how she’d feel when Janet was slipping away. I’d sworn never to sire another vampire until I was faced with Erin’s imminent death and her pleas to live. I’d broken down, turned her, and now, here we were. But I kept my mouth shut. Sassy would have to face her conscience at the end and then live with whatever choice she made.

“No.” Sassy took a sip of the blood and daintily wiped her mouth with a crimson napkin. “Menolly, I miss hunting. For the past six months I’ve bought my blood from the blood bank. There’s a new one, you know, downtown. They’re paying street kids for blood and selling it to vamps. Gives the kids a little money, and they keep a record so nobody gets depleted. Wade’s responsible for that little enterprise.”

I stared at the goblet of crimson fire. “Why haven’t you gone hunting?”

Sassy cleared her throat. I looked up at her. She held my gaze.

“I’ve started to enjoy it too much. I’m slipping. Just a little, Menolly, but it scares me silly. That’s why Erin’s good for me. She reminds me of how important training is. Helping her, helps me.” She hesitated, then continued. “I want you to promise me something. I don’t have any family, so consider it payment for helping Erin. Down the line.”

I knew what she was going to ask, because I’d made Camille promise me the same thing. “If the time comes, I promise you. I’ll be quick. You won’t suffer, and you won’t make anybody else suffer.”

With a nod, Sassy relaxed and leaned back in her chair. “Thank you. That sets my mind at ease. Now, about my daughter. She was beautiful. Her hair was the same golden blonde as Delilah’s. And she was so tiny and yet so strong. Abby had the kind of self-confidence that comes naturally, and there wasn’t a mean bone in her body. Abigail was my saving grace. She gave me a reason to bury myself under customs and mores. I loved her more than anything, Menolly. I would have died for her.” She hung her head and once again, a catch entered her voice.

“When she was five, we went to Ocean Shores on vacation. We were walking on the beach—Janet and Abby and I. Johan was off in a meeting somewhere. He had a conference call or something. Anyway, I decided to catch some sun, and I fell asleep on the blanket. The next thing I knew, Janet was screaming. I woke up to see her racing into the water. Abby had gone to play at the edge of the waves when the tide started to come in. The waves caught her.”

I squeezed my eyes shut to give her privacy in her pain.

“Abby was pulled into a riptide, and before Janet could reach her, she was gone. Just like that. The lifeguards were on the scene within minutes, but we didn’t find her body till the next day when she washed back up onshore.”

Sassy let out a long, measured sigh, and I knew she was practicing the exercises I’d taught her. Sometimes, when the emotion grew too intense, it helped to force the lungs to move, to take a breath even though the oxygen was unneeded. To hold it, count away the panic or fear or anger, then let it go slowly.

“What happened?”

“The light of my life died that day. Johan and I managed to get through it. Janet was terribly broken up and blamed herself, but it wasn’t her fault. I should have been awake. I should have been watching my daughter.” Crimson tears began to streak down her cheeks. “I spent the rest of my life avoiding the memories. And I’ve spent the years since my death trying to make up for it by helping others.”

There wasn’t anything I could say to help. Sassy dashed at her cheeks with a brilliant red handkerchief. After a moment, she composed herself. “On to other things. Why did you come tonight? There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Startled, I remembered my original reason for dropping by. “Yeah, I need information about the Clockwork Club, if you have it. And I need to know if you are acquainted with a woman named Claudette Kerston.”

She snorted. “The Clockwork Club? They invited me to join, but they’re not my style. Take out your notebook. They’re a peculiar group, and you’ll want to remember what I tell you.” And with that, the mood lightened, and she began telling me about the most elite vampire country club in the nation.

CHAPTER 6

The faint stirring of sunset brought me out of my slumber. I blinked, sitting up abruptly and throwing the covers back before I quite realized where I was. I never needed blankets. I didn’t get cold, but I felt too vulnerable sleeping naked without at least a sheet covering me.

I stretched and yawned. Even after twelve years of death, I still yawned out of instinct. The oxygen wasn’t necessary, but it had been so ingrained in my persona for almost sixty years of life that I still hadn’t shaken the habit.

Sometimes, when I yawned, a particularly odd, hollow feeling rushed through me as the air passed into my body and lungs without flooding me with the relief each breath brought to a living person. The air molecules rushed through my veins, trying to find a hold, trying to stimulate blood cells, but there was no catch, no recognition. I let out the breath, slowly, in a long stream, and my lungs fell silent again.

So many reflexes that were imprinted on behavior and thought became invisible, until they took on a new meaning after death.

As I pushed my way out of the bed, the secret passage to my lair opened from up the stairs, and Delilah and Camille came traipsing down. Camille was carrying Sabele’s journal.

“Good, you’re awake. Iris wants you to help her with Maggie.”

Sometimes one of them would come down to wait for me to wake up, but they knew enough to stay away from the bed, out of the danger range. When I woke, instinct took over, and it was easy to hurt someone who’d gotten too close.

“So anything earthshaking happen while I slept?” Unlike someone just taking a nap, if the demons broke in and set fire to the world while I was sleeping, I wouldn’t know about it until the sun set.

“I translated Sabele’s diary,” Camille said, sprawling across my bed on her stomach, bending her knees into the air and crossing her ankles. The stilettos on her shoes looked dangerously sharp. “And I have to tell you, she was one fascinating elf. She was also being stalked by some creep.”

Delilah handed me my jeans, and I shimmied into them. When it came to jeans, my theory was the tighter the better. Nothing screwed with my circulation anymore. Of course, if I couldn’t fight in them, they weren’t worth the denim from which they were made, but other than that, I liked them snug.

“Unrequited love?” I asked, sliding a silk turtleneck over my head.

“You should wear a tank top. It’s so warm out,” Delilah said.

I shook my head. “Not ready for it. Not yet. Besides, the hot and cold don’t affect me.” Free of my sire or not, I still felt self-conscious about the kaleidoscope of patterns Dredge had etched on my body with his long nails and a dagger. I hadn’t reached the point where I felt comfortable wearing revealing clothing. I leaned over to fasten my granny boots.

“Unrequited love?” Camille repeated. “No, oddly enough. You’d think so, but this guy—where’s the page?” She flipped through the diary. “Right, here it is. The guy’s name was Harold Young. He went to the University of Washington, apparently. Harold was following Sabele around, but he never made a move to ask her for a date or anything like that. Sabele was getting spooked. Then, for five nights in a row he trailed her home. The sixth day . . . well, the diary’s blank. It ended there.”

I glanced up at her from lacing my boots, and as I lifted my head, one of my braids managed to get itself hooked on the fringe of my bedspread, the thin threads tangling with the ivory beads that decorated my cornrows. Delilah hurried over as I tried to tug myself free.

“Here, you’re going to rip the spread if you aren’t careful.”

As she unwound the threads from my coppery hair, a playful glint began to grow in her eyes. She stared at the strings, fixated. Oh shit, I knew what that meant.

“Let go of my hair and back away slowly,” I said, quickly grabbing for my braid in her hand. “I’ve got it.”

She quivered for a moment, breathing quickly, and then reached out again, her eyes glazed over. Within the blink of an eye and a whirlwind of color, I had a golden tabby hanging from my braids, wrestling them with all the glee of a kid in a candy store.

“Hey! You little sh—” I tried to shake her off, but my braid was still tangled in the threads. Delilah tightened her grip on the hair.

Camille raced over and scooped her up, getting a nice little swipe on her arm for doing so. I decided that I could buy a new bedspread and ripped the fringe off the edge, tearing the material in the process. But it freed me. I turned to find Camille holding Delilah up above her head, her hands wrapped around our sister’s furry tummy. Delilah plaintively yowled and squirmed, her eyes wide, toes splayed, tufts of fur sticking out from between them.

“You free?” Camille asked.

I nodded, and she tossed Kitten on my bed. Delilah promptly zoomed off across the room and up the stairs on a manic quest for—well, for whatever cats were aiming for when they did that. I’d asked her about it once but only got a burst of laughter in reply.

“Well, hell. That was not exactly the way I planned to start my night,” I said, examining the ruined spread. “It’s not too bad. Maybe Iris can mend it for me when she has some extra time.”

Camille finished untangling the fringe from my hair and gave me the once-over. “You ever think about a different hairstyle? Your hair used to be so pretty when you wore it long and curly.”

“Just why do you think I wear it this way?” I asked. “Think about it. When I’m fighting, it’s out of my way. When I’m hunting, I don’t get blood on it. And . . . well, generally, I think it’s kind of cool.”

“Yeah, well at least take it out once in awhile to wash it. I can braid it again for you.” She tossed the fringe in the trash basket. “Just sticking your head under the shower and hoping the shampoo makes it through those tight braids isn’t exactly sanitary.”

I stared at her, bemused by the bizarre turn in conversation. “I’m dead, Camille. You really think I’m all that sanitary to be around?”

“I dunno. Aren’t you?” She frowned. “Actually, I never think about it anymore. Dead to me means rotting and in the dirt, or covered with blood from a fight you’re not walking away from. Since you don’t fit either category, I’ve taken you out of the Dead Zone and stuck you somewhere in the Creatures of the Night category.”

I let out a laugh. “That is the most whacked-out thing you’ve said today.” I glanced at the stairs. “You think Delilah’s going to be back down here soon?”

“I don’t know. Depends on whether she got distracted.”

“Eh, well.” I motioned for her to follow me. “Let’s head upstairs. So you said the man who was following Sabele was named Harold?” I’d been wondering if maybe Sabele’s boyfriend had been up to no good, but his name was Harish.

Camille followed me up the stairs, turning off the light at the top. We slipped out from behind the bookcase that covered the secret entrance to my lair, into the kitchen, only to find Iris, sitting on a short stool, leaning over Maggie with a frustrated look on her face.

“Please, little one, eat your dinner—” She glanced up as we entered the kitchen. “I’m so glad you’re here. Maybe you can get her to eat.”

“What’s wrong?” I leaned over Maggie just in time for the baby gargoyle to screw up her face and let out a series of angst-ridden moophs. I held out my arms, but Maggie, who usually came lurching my way the minute she saw me, just sat there, sniffling.

“She doesn’t want to eat her dinner. She wants her cream drink. But she has to eat some solid food. We’re supposed to wean her soon.” Iris sighed, pushing the dish of ground lamb and vegetables toward Maggie again, who promptly shoved it away, pouting.