Chapter 10

I frowned, stared at the sheet of paper wadded in my hand, and then at the brick stone house. This was interesting.

What had Grace been doing since last we’d met?

A welcome mat with pretty painted birds, flower boxes lining the windows, a flag hanging from a flagpole; it all looked so very domestic and cozy, out of place for the type of people we were. Or maybe I didn’t know Grace as well as I thought I did. I’d never have pegged her for the patriotic sort.

“This is 666 Elm Street?” I walked up the steps, gazed up and down the street, and shrugged. I shoved the paper in my pocket, ready to knock, when a gold and wooden placard resting next to the doorbell caught my eye.

It read: Proverbs 25:17. I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting back the laughter. Any doubts I’d had that this was the wrong address fled. Only Grace would do something so obviously intended to insult. That crazy wench had probably put that out just for me. Picturing her tiptoeing out the door, wearing nothing but a muumuu and an evil smile, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

I laughed, and I forgot the rain, forgot the dead bodies or my godforsaken existence, and gave myself up over to the moment. 

The door swung open.

It took me a second to regain my composure. A girl in her early twenties, mousy, unexceptional except for the dove-colored, almond-shaped eyes—which were at the moment staring at me like I’d sprouted a second head—stood by the door. I looked over the kid’s shoulder.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice dulcet but wary.

I turned my gaze to her ashen face, noting the small worry lines pinching her brow. I smiled, trying to put her at ease. “I’m here for Grace.”

She yelped, the vein in her neck hammering gunfire quick. 

My smile faltered, confused by her reaction. What had I done? I thought that had been a perfectly polite way to ask for someone.

“Sweet mother of Mary,” she whispered, pointing to my mouth. “Ye’ve got fangs.” The Irish brogue grew thick with agitation. 

 Ahh. I forgot. I don’t often deal with mortals; those I do are either bespelled or close to death so that a little thing like fangs doesn’t get much in the way. I rounded my hands so they looked like hooks and said in my best Big Bad Wolf impression, “The better to eat you with, my dear.”

To this day, I’m not sure why I did that. I think the wee little lass actually made me nervous.

Her face grew stark, pale, and bloodless. After a second she found her tongue and screamed, then slammed the door shut.

I blinked. Umm… 

The door opened again. This time it was Grace. She was hunched over, hanging on to the frame for support with one hand and swiping her cane at the poor girl’s behind with the other. “Get ye gone, lass. If ye canna keep yer wits about ye, then ye’re of nae use ta me.”

Poor girl. First me, now Grace. I’m not sure which one of the two of us she saw as the bigger monster. Dracula’s bride, or the crazy old biddy swinging her cane like a machete.

Grace turned rheumy blue eyes on me, leaned all of her ninety pounds on the cane, and gestured for me to come inside. “Useless,” she muttered. “Order sent her ta take care of me. Can ye imagine? Spineless guppy.” This she said loud enough so that wherever the girl was she’d have no choice but to hear.

I smirked. 

“Come, come, before you let in all the rain and ruin me decor, fool girl.” Grace grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me in. It amazed me that a ninety-pound woman should be so strong. But then again this was Grace, and she wasn’t like anyone else. “Sit on the divan; I don’t care if ye get that wet.”

“Oh gee, thanks. You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Don’t ye be sassin’ me, girl, or I’ll be givin’ ye a good thwackin’ too.” She shook her cane, threatening to pop me if I didn’t behave.

Her accent was thick; clearly she’d been having a spat with the house girl long before I’d gotten here. Grace was usually the epitome of culture and decorum, and when calm there was barely a trace of the Gaelic. I’d have given anything to be a fly on the wall; Grace’s tempers were legendary for their ferocity.

“I think she’s scared of me.” I jerked my chin.

Grace chuckled, the sound pleasant. “Aye, I’m sure she is. Anyone with any sense would be.”

I glanced at her. “You’re not.”

“Ehh.” She shook her head. “All sense left me with age. Sit. Sit.” She pointed.

I sat on the overstuffed burgundy divan that had seen better days, and stuffing popped through the seams of the cushion. But in comparison to the rest of the house, it was tame. The living room looked as if angels, flowers, and Christmas had come and thrown up all over everything.

The couch and recliner were an off-putting shade of eggplant, red, green, blue, and gold. A lit fireplace, logs crackling, sat off to my left. Atop the mantel were several angel figurines in varying shapes and sizes. Vases full of roses and lilies sat atop ivory doilies on cherrywood end tables at either side of the furniture. A large, fake green plant—looked like a palm, maybe—was parked next to the door leading into the kitchen. Wound through the stems was a twinkling strand of Christmas lights. A burnished gold chandelier with crystal danglers caught the light of the flame, and a rainbow of color spun around the room.

This was a chaotic, frightful clash of color. 

“What do ye think of me house?” Grace asked, voice low. 

She sat on the recliner, her four-foot-five-inch frame dwarfed by the size of the massive chair. Her feet dangled a good two inches off the ground. My lips quirked, but I said nothing.

“Mary decorated. Isn’t it lovely?” Delicate lines of her face twisted into an indignant sneer. 

I snorted, and she smirked. “Aye, I thought you’d say that.”

“I have to say, I’m surprised to find you in a house. Is this a permanent arrangement?”

She shrugged. “I’m too old to sleep in hotels anymore. Anything other than me bed wreaks havoc on me bones. Besides.” She took a deep breath. “The carnival’s going tae be stayin’ put for a while.” 

I frowned. That had sounded ominous, like a clear segue to more important matters. I shrugged my coat off, set it aside, then crossed my legs. “So, old bat, I’m here. Let’s talk.”

Grace’s eyes twinkled. “I’ve missed you, lass. Good to see you again.”

I smiled. The love I felt from Grace was more than any my true mother had ever shown me. Seeing her was a little like coming home. We never spoke of love, but I felt it all the same. 

“Well now.” She took a deep breath. “Down to business. You tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Vamps are crawling everywhere. We’ve killed seven in the past four days.”

“Mmm.” She shook her head but didn’t seem at all surprised.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my thighs. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

She expelled a deep breath, shoulders sagging. “Yes, I knew. I’d hoped you’d tell me something different, but I’d heard activity was rising.” She reached over, grabbed an envelope I hadn’t noticed sitting on the end table earlier, and handed it to me. 

I stood, grabbed, and opened it. A photo fell into my hand. The picture was of a club, the word Sanguinary buzzing red from a neon light. If it hadn’t been for the line of people trailing out the door, I probably wouldn’t have pegged it as a club at all. It looked more like a meat-packing or textile building. Metal frame, large body; standard packing mill type of place. 

“Call me dense, Grace, but what’s this?” I looked at her.

Face void of emotion she said, “That, dearie, is a vampire club.”

“Actors or the real deal?” There’s always been a subculture of humans who acted the part of vamp. I personally don’t understand the fascination humans have for the mosquitoes. Probably had something to do with the romanticized stories of beyond-gorgeous baddies who could make all your dreams come true with a little nibble. 

Hey, I’ve read Anne Rice too. Lestat…  Two words: So. Hot. 

But that’s why it’s called fiction. Lestat doesn’t exist. 

“Aye, the real deal.” 

I tried to decide if she was yanking my leg. Grace was one for jokes, but on the other hand she never teased about anything so serious. “Are you screwing with me?”

“Would I do that?”

I lifted a brow.

She smiled. “Aye, I would. But not this time.”

I fidgeted, anger beginning to foam in my belly. “What the hell, Grace? If you’d asked me two weeks ago, I’d say the vamps were nearly extinct. But now I see them coming on our turf, and this picture—” I shook it. “This…  this is bad.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“Are they growing in number again?” 

“We can’t be sure.” She shrugged. “This could be a few or many. We need to find out so we can decide on a course of action.”

“Okay. So,” I dragged out the ‘o’. “Do you want us to go in there and kill them? What’s the deal?”

“No.” One word, but it spoke volumes. 

I couldn’t believe it. I studied her. She patted a gray strand of hair back into her bun, looking at me with equal frankness. 

“That’s right. I said no,” she said, as if reading my mind.

“None of them? What…” My thoughts trailed off. This really didn’t make sense. Since when did we—parasite killers—not kill? 

I shivered, then frowned. In a millisecond, the room felt as if the temperature had dropped to thirty degrees below freezing. It was cold. I mean, bone-deep cold. The type of cold you’d expect to feel if you walked naked through the frozen tundra in the middle of December. I never get cold, except for my feet, which felt like blocks of ice at the moment. Another bout of chill wracked me, and when I exhaled, a small wisp of frost curled like a sinuous snake through the air.

I was unprepared for the ferocity of that life-sucking numbness. My heart thumped a frenetic pace, wild and crazy, out of control. My body flooded with adrenaline, sending it into a fight-or-flight state of hyperarousal.

I squeezed the cushion, feeling as if my heart were going to explode from my chest. Black spots danced inside my head. I was going to pass out. I tried to control my breathing; I couldn’t hear anything except the rapid beat of my pulse rushing through my ears.

Then as quickly as it came, it was gone. I was fine.

I jerked and looked at Grace, who was still speaking as if nothing had happened. One look at my face, and she stopped. “Pandora?”

“Did you feel that?” I asked, jumping to my feet. I started pacing back and forth with the need to burn off the adrenaline coursing like hot acid down my legs. 

She looked around, confusion written all over her face. “What?”

Simply thinking about the cold made me shiver all over again. I hugged my arms to my chest. “You can’t tell me you didn’t feel that. It was freezing.”

Her eyes narrowed then widened. “Probably that bloody Mary screwin’ with me thermostat again.” She turned, mouth open as if she meant to scream at the girl.

I laid my hand on her shoulder. “No, don’t bother. It wasn’t her.”

“Are you sure?” She was still studying me, eyes full of worry.

“That was no thermostat problem.” I shook my head, wondering what had happened to me and if I’d imagined it, but quickly dismissed that notion. There was no way I could imagine cold. I’ve never experienced anything like that before in my life, and I hoped never to experience it again.

I bounced my foot rhythmically on the beige carpet as I worried my bottom lip. I thought several minutes had passed, but Grace hadn’t seemed to skip a beat, almost like the world around me had stopped while I’d kept moving. Weird, I know, but it was the only way I could hope to explain it.

Grace looked at my leg, my face. I gestured for her to continue. I needed to focus on the here and now. Grace had no clue what I was talking about, so she wasn’t much help. Maybe later when I had more time to myself I could chew on this, but not now. Now was about the mission, nothing else.