feathered tails. Eyes blink open in the triune creature's braided torso and back. Rotating mouths open in a chorus of song: Threeintoone ...
"You sure he ain't a sociopath?" Annie asked.
"If Bad Seed had succeeded, Dante never would've saved my life, never would've offered himself up for you."
"How can you be sure? After all you've seen him do?"
"Because his heart's true."
"So you trust him?" Annie asked.
"With my life."
Annie sighed. She pulled the towel from her head and wadded it up in her lap. She combed her fingers through her blue/purple/black hair. "I'm not like you. I don't think I can do that. I liked him before"--she waved a hand toward the window again--"all that. And I know the only reason he was used and tortured was because of me, and I know he saved your life after you'd been shot in D.C., but he scares the shit outta me."
Rising to her feet, Heather walked around to the easy chair, perched on the arm, and wrapped her baby sister up in a hug. "It's okay. I don't blame you. Most people would've run away screaming a long time ago. You came back for us. Thanks."
"Jesus, you're welcome," Annie muttered, leaning into their hug, her breath warm against Heather's neck. She shivered. "Yuck! You're wet." She pulled free of Heather's embrace. "Aren't you freezing? There's extra pj's and stuff in my bag."
The door cracked open, slanting gray light into the room and across the floor. Cool air smelling of pine and wet concrete spilled into the room. Heather whirled, dived onto the far bed, across Von's body, and yanked up the blankets to shield Dante.
Cortini slipped inside and eased the door shut behind her. Locked it and rehooked the chain. Releasing her pent-up breath, Heather kissed Dante's heated lips. She gently covered his face with the blankets, tucking one errant and silky strand of hair back underneath. She scooted off the bed and stood.
"Car's out of sight," Cortini said. She tossed Heather the keys.
"Thanks," Heather said. She slid the keys into her pocket--her cold, wet pocket--then went into the bathroom to put on something dry.
Finding another pair of plaid pajama bottoms in Annie's duffel bag--red, this time--and a pink Emily the Strange tee, Heather stripped off her wet jeans, turtleneck sweater, and undies. Her skin goosebumped from the cold. The flannel jammies felt warm and comfortable.
When Heather stepped out of the bathroom, Cortini sat in the vinyl easy chair and her sister was a gloom-shadowed hump beneath the blankets in the mortals-only bed next to the curtained window.
"Does Dante know what he is?" Cortini asked.
"He found out a little over three weeks ago that he's True Blood." Heather sat down on the bed, the mattress creaking beneath her. "As for the other, I don't know if De Noir told him or not."
"A shame."
Heather nodded, then trailed a hand through her damp hair. With De Noir dead--a fact she had trouble grasping--and Von warned against trusting the Fallen, who could teach Dante what it meant to be a Maker when he was struggling just to survive?
Exhaustion blurred Heather's thoughts. She pulled back the sheet and blankets and climbed into bed. "Wake me up for the second watch in four hours. Okay?"
"Four hours. Got it."
Heather snuggled down into the pillow and mattress, grateful she'd rescued Annie's gym bag from the disintegrating house. The idea of leaping out of bed in her underwear, Browning in hand, to defend herself didn't appeal in the slightest no matter how chic and sexy it looked in movies.
Heather closed her eyes. Everything whirled around her for a moment, like she was a knife spun on a table by a sure hand.
One thought chased another in a looping, closed circle: The Bureau, the Shadow Branch, the Fallen. Oh, my. All we know for certain is that there's never been another Maker. Until now. The Bureau, the Shadow Branch, the Fallen. Oh, my.
Wondering if she was too tired to sleep, Heather spun into darkness.
4
ANOTHER VERSION OF THE TRUTH
SEATTLE,
"You sure he ain't a sociopath?" Annie asked.
"If Bad Seed had succeeded, Dante never would've saved my life, never would've offered himself up for you."
"How can you be sure? After all you've seen him do?"
"Because his heart's true."
"So you trust him?" Annie asked.
"With my life."
Annie sighed. She pulled the towel from her head and wadded it up in her lap. She combed her fingers through her blue/purple/black hair. "I'm not like you. I don't think I can do that. I liked him before"--she waved a hand toward the window again--"all that. And I know the only reason he was used and tortured was because of me, and I know he saved your life after you'd been shot in D.C., but he scares the shit outta me."
Rising to her feet, Heather walked around to the easy chair, perched on the arm, and wrapped her baby sister up in a hug. "It's okay. I don't blame you. Most people would've run away screaming a long time ago. You came back for us. Thanks."
"Jesus, you're welcome," Annie muttered, leaning into their hug, her breath warm against Heather's neck. She shivered. "Yuck! You're wet." She pulled free of Heather's embrace. "Aren't you freezing? There's extra pj's and stuff in my bag."
The door cracked open, slanting gray light into the room and across the floor. Cool air smelling of pine and wet concrete spilled into the room. Heather whirled, dived onto the far bed, across Von's body, and yanked up the blankets to shield Dante.
Cortini slipped inside and eased the door shut behind her. Locked it and rehooked the chain. Releasing her pent-up breath, Heather kissed Dante's heated lips. She gently covered his face with the blankets, tucking one errant and silky strand of hair back underneath. She scooted off the bed and stood.
"Car's out of sight," Cortini said. She tossed Heather the keys.
"Thanks," Heather said. She slid the keys into her pocket--her cold, wet pocket--then went into the bathroom to put on something dry.
Finding another pair of plaid pajama bottoms in Annie's duffel bag--red, this time--and a pink Emily the Strange tee, Heather stripped off her wet jeans, turtleneck sweater, and undies. Her skin goosebumped from the cold. The flannel jammies felt warm and comfortable.
When Heather stepped out of the bathroom, Cortini sat in the vinyl easy chair and her sister was a gloom-shadowed hump beneath the blankets in the mortals-only bed next to the curtained window.
"Does Dante know what he is?" Cortini asked.
"He found out a little over three weeks ago that he's True Blood." Heather sat down on the bed, the mattress creaking beneath her. "As for the other, I don't know if De Noir told him or not."
"A shame."
Heather nodded, then trailed a hand through her damp hair. With De Noir dead--a fact she had trouble grasping--and Von warned against trusting the Fallen, who could teach Dante what it meant to be a Maker when he was struggling just to survive?
Exhaustion blurred Heather's thoughts. She pulled back the sheet and blankets and climbed into bed. "Wake me up for the second watch in four hours. Okay?"
"Four hours. Got it."
Heather snuggled down into the pillow and mattress, grateful she'd rescued Annie's gym bag from the disintegrating house. The idea of leaping out of bed in her underwear, Browning in hand, to defend herself didn't appeal in the slightest no matter how chic and sexy it looked in movies.
Heather closed her eyes. Everything whirled around her for a moment, like she was a knife spun on a table by a sure hand.
One thought chased another in a looping, closed circle: The Bureau, the Shadow Branch, the Fallen. Oh, my. All we know for certain is that there's never been another Maker. Until now. The Bureau, the Shadow Branch, the Fallen. Oh, my.
Wondering if she was too tired to sleep, Heather spun into darkness.
4
ANOTHER VERSION OF THE TRUTH
SEATTLE,
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