Chapter 15

“Pandora.” Luc nearly tore the door off my trailer as he rushed inside. His hair was wild, poking up around his head as if he’d been running his hands through it half the night. He looked an awful mess, face haggard, clothes wrinkled. “Where were you? I called Grace to see if you were still there, she said you’d left already.”

“So?” I shrugged, slid my jacket off, and walked over to the floor-length mirror hanging behind the door of my bedroom, pulled my hair to the side and studied the area where Billy had stabbed me. The skin was flawless, smooth save for a small brown birthmark. The bone however, was another story. It was sticking up at an odd angle. Dammit. It had set wrong. I was going to have to rebreak it. I was tired and so didn’t want to deal with this right now.

I studied my neck, half expecting to see a visible purple bruise where the Gray Man had choked me, but there was nothing. 

“So!” He marched behind me. “That was four hours ago.”

I twirled on him and smacked his outstretched hand away. “I’m in no mood for one of your crazy fits of temper. I don’t know what’s going on with you, Luc, and honestly I don’t care. I just had the night from hell…”

He narrowed his ice-blue eyes. 

“I’m tired, I stink, and all I want is a hot shower and to go to bed.” 

That wasn’t the truth, not really. I wanted to talk, have diarrhea of the mouth, and tell everything, share everything. But looking at Luc now, I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

He was still the same Luc, still a pest and a nuisance, but… he had changed. I’d been noticing a difference these past few days. Was Grace right? Could I even trust him? Should I?

I took a deep breath; this was all too fresh, too new. I needed time to think, to decide what I could and couldn’t share. 

A muscle tensed in his jaw. “You’re not… hurt?” he asked, voice stilted and full of suppressed fury.

I held my arms out at my sides, wincing only a little when I moved the left one. I really needed to reset it before too much more time passed. “Do I look hurt?”

He looked at me, eyes settling on my breasts. The room quickened with the rush of his response. He stepped closer to me and trailed his finger along the curve of my breast. I hissed as Lust stirred. 

Luc’s gaze turned soft, molten. 

“No,” I said forcefully, stepping out of reach. Lust may not have liked it, but I’d already fed her tonight. I didn’t want sex, not with Luc, not with anybody.

He closed his eyes, as if trying to compose his thoughts. I glanced down at his pants. His body was only at half-mast. He’d obviously sampled the night’s wares. He’d be fine. 

“Did Grace say anything?” I finally asked, shifting topics.

He cleared his throat, rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Just that she was worried about you and she’d like you to call her when you got some time.”

“Did it sound important?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“Fine. Thanks. I’ll call her tomorrow.” I nodded, then jerked my chin in the direction of the door. “Listen, if you don’t mind, Luc, I’m tired.”

I turned back around and unzipped my leather pants. Luc was already forgotten in the clutter of my mind. 

There were so many things that’d happened today. Who was this Gray Man? Why did he tell me to trust no one? Echoing almost the exact same sentiments that Grace had shared earlier. What was going on? I wanted answers. Where to start looking was the question. 

“Pandora…” I looked over my shoulder. Luc had his arms crossed over his chest, studying me as if he knew I was keeping secrets. Finally after several tense seconds, he shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

 I smiled weakly. “Tomorrow, promise. I’ll bring doughnuts and coffee, and we can catch up on the latest gossip,” I said, hoping to lighten his mood.

“Sometimes you really disgust me,” he said, lip curling. Then he turned on his heels and was gone.

“Join the club,” I muttered. I reached into my closet and pulled out a leather paddle—yes, I do like to play the Dom sometimes—and sat on the edge of my bed, wondering what I’d done to piss off the men in my life. 

So they hated me, big deal. 

I sighed, wishing for a moment I was gay. It had to be easier with women. Fingers clammy, I shoved the paddle in my mouth, bit down hard, grabbed my left wrist, and yanked until I heard the bone snap.

Sweat rolled down my face, my back. I screamed, the sound muted by the leather, and squeezed my eyes shut until the terrible pain dulled down. I spit out the paddle, reached under the side of my bed, and pulled out a brace I kept tucked away for such moments. I secured my arm to my side for the ten minutes it would take to heal.

Needing to think about something other than the vomit-inducing throb in my shoulder, I started to piece together the events of the past few days.

A. I met a death priest who, oddly enough, still seemed reluctant to kill me. Many times I’d had opportunities to do him in, but every time I got around Billy all I ever seemed to focus on was getting that man’s clothes off and having my dirty, dirty way with him. Almost like I was under some sort of thrall, now that I thought about it. Was he spelling me? Was that why I couldn’t bring myself to give up his name to Grace? And yet there I still stood. Sure, he’d given me a concussion the size of Texas the first night we’d met, and tonight he’d stabbed me. But they weren’t killing blows. As a priest he knew that.

Therefore, the only logical explanation was that he had a plan of his own. No doubt in my mind he meant to kill me, eventually. He was a death dealer. That’s what they do. But there was more to this game than simply chasing me down, and even though I’d accused him of getting off on the fear, thinking about it now, that didn’t feel like his style. 

I sighed, remembering I’d meant to ask Grace for access to the library. In all the Grace/Mary drama, I’d forgotten. When I called her tomorrow I’d have to ask. I needed clues. Something had to be there.

I shook my head, flexing my shoulder a little to see where it stood. A few more minutes, and then I could take a bath.

I sighed, wanting sleep but unable to calm the constant thoughts and worries nagging me. The night I’d killed all those vamps in the clearing, someone or something had killed the fourth. I’d have sworn it was Billy, but now… I wasn’t sure about anything. I’d gone back many times, trying to get a fix on the place, maybe find a clue inadvertently left behind, but whoever it was left nothing. Which made me wonder—had the knife been meant for me and not the vamp at all? It was a possibility I didn’t like. 

I still felt like he might be the one stalking me, and yet… that question led me straight to another. B, who the hell was the Gray Man? 

I’ve lived a long life. You’d think somewhere between the Stone Age and the Bronze Age, Iron Age, modern age… whatever age, I’d have heard something, somewhere, at some point. 

He said trust no one. So why should I trust him? I’d point blank asked him, and he’d neither confirmed nor denied that I could or couldn’t.

I licked my lips, a headache burgeoning on the horizon. I glanced at the clock next to my bed. already past one in the morning. 

I flexed my arm. It twinged, but it would heal nicely without the use of the brace now. I undid the Velcro, tossed the brace to the ground, and stalked toward my bathroom. I turned on the faucet for a long, hot soak in my ivory claw-foot tub and undressed the rest of the way.

I know what you’re wondering. How in the heck do I have a claw-foot bathtub in my trailer? To some extent, we all have a little magick. Not much. Not the way witches do. But we can ward things, hide things with our glamour. And with a little extra practice, we can even distort the dimensions of reality. 

In all the nights’ confusion, I’d forgotten about the ring. The bag fell on the tile with a woomph sound when I pulled my boot off. I picked it up, held it tight in my hand, and considered opening it, then dismissed the idea almost immediately. I didn’t want it anywhere near my bathwater; I had no way of knowing how it worked and didn’t particularly relish the thought of getting electrocuted by ignorance. 

But thinking of that inevitably led my thoughts back to where I’d begun. I poured lavender-scented bath beads into the tub, slipped in, and let loose a giant ahh of relief as the oils sank into tired, achy muscle. 

C. Grace. The Vamp club. The cold. 

Grace had set up shop. Why? I know what she told me, because she was old. And though I didn’t trust the Gray Man as far as I could throw him, I hated to admit his words were eating me up like a slow-leeching cancer of doubt. 

Was she telling the truth? Or was she still keeping secrets? And why had I grown so cold that, for a second, I’d sworn it was killing me? 

D. Sanguinary, that was the real kicker. That ate at my craw. Since when had vamps grown so bold as to actually set up shop in the middle of town and not even try to hide the fact they were doing it? 

I flicked at the water, staring out the skylight at the star-studded sky, aggravation building. 

Part of me wanted to say screw it. Mow through the vamps and learn by threat of pain what they were up to. But another part—the sane side of me—knew torture could only take you so far. Something was changing. Much as I hated to believe it, I was beginning to think there was a purpose to the vamps’ madness. 

And if that was true, then there had to be a leader to guide them. 

I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and tried to cook up any excuse that would absolve my people. But all roads led to the same inevitable conclusion. Only something more powerful, stronger than a vamp, could ever truly hope to guide them on to whatever type of end game they had plotted.

Just the thought of it made me want to scream and rip my hair out. 

I didn’t want to believe anyone I knew could be capable of this. Grace did say that the order wasn’t sure. Maybe it was a Neph. Fine. I could deal with that as long as the Neph wasn’t one of mine. 

But what if it was? 

I growled and sat there thinking so long the water finally started turning cold.

Temper hot, I jumped out, grabbed a towel and the tiny black sack, and stalked back into my bedroom. Water soaked the carpet beneath my feet. 

Dropping the towel, I snatched up a pair of socks and underwear, dressed, then took the sack over to my bed and sat down cross-legged.

My heart pounded as I slowly pulled open the drawstring and peeked inside. I’m not sure what I expected, but by the way Grace had carried on, I thought it would be more than a simple band with a tiny stone.

I frowned, tipped the sack, and pulled out the ring. The band was a dull gold, a little nicked and grooved around the edges, as if it’d been scrapped continuously over a rough surface for a couple of years. I studied the stone. It was a vitreous reddish-purple. I’d seen this color before. It was precious and uberrare, sometimes called bixbite but more commonly known as red beryl. 

“Hmm…” I cocked my head, a thread of memory trying to worm its way to the surface. There was something about beryl that nagged at me. I gripped the ring, scooted off the bed, and ran to my bookshelf.

I scanned my shelf, looking for the title I wanted. I’d read something about this stone before. Some magical quality it was said to possess. 

I yanked my copy of Occultism & Parapsychology Encyclopedia off the shelf and sat down on my couch. It was dark. Which normally isn’t a big deal for me—I can see fine in the dark—but I was hunting for clues. Any advantage I could give myself, I’d take.

I turned on the floor lamp, scooted back, and flipped the book open to the glossary section, searching for an entry on beryl. Once I found it, I turned to the page and began reading:

Beryl, a gemstone, also known as a precious or semiprecious stone, is a highly attractive and valuable piece of mineral… 

Blah, blah, blah. I already knew that. I turned the page, scanning for one thing in particular: 

It is said to preserve weeded love and to be a good medium for magical visions.

I stabbed the page with my finger many times, feeling like I’d finally stumbled across something, but what? It clearly was not being used for love in this case. Magical visions? Maybe. But how could a vision help me kill a priest?

I frowned and looked at the ring still in the palm of my hand. I held it up, the glassy surface turning a lighter shade of red, almost pink, under the lamp. I squinted, seeing something I’d missed earlier. Blowing on it, thinking maybe the squiggle was dust, I realized the squiggly lines were inside the stone, not outside.

It was a circle. 

No, that wasn’t right. 

I turned the ring up and on its side so the light caught it at just the right angle. It nearly glowed when the light touched it, and I could finally make out what was inside. It was a snake eating its tail. I’ve always thought the symbol somewhat ominous, even though its meaning implies security. The circular snake is an ancient symbol of rebirth and protection against evil.

As I rolled it between my fingers, I noticed a faint line of black script along the inside of the band. 

“Cinis cinerem, pulvis in terram.” Latin for ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

The second the words were out of my mouth the ring, which had been cool to the touch, began to grow warm in my hand. Startled, I threw it to the floor, eyes wide and pulse racing, hoping I hadn’t triggered the power by accident.

After a few tense seconds that felt more like hours, the ring quieted and was once again a ring.

I licked my lips and cautiously approached the talisman. I tapped it like one would to test the heat of a stove, and when it failed to bite back, I figured it was probably safe enough to pick it up again.

This thing was powerful and deadly. And I was pretty sure I now knew how to use it. I gripped it tight in my palm.

Could I really bring myself to use it on him? That was another matter entirely.