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Authors: Linda Robertson
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keep the stain; he’d never understand how it was bound to the parts of me I knew I would lose if I were free of the stain. “I don’t fully understand it myself, Johnny.” That was true. “Maybe he pulled the pain back to himself to trick me into getting close enough to stake him, maybe he was hoping to thrust it back at me at the last second. …” I let it trail off.
He let out a long, slow breath. “Yeah. I can see that. But you destroyed it and he didn’t have to followthrough.” He ran hands through his dark waves again as he turned and paced away. “Can’t trust vamps. Ever!” he grumbled. His motion turned into another stretch, then his arms fell to his sides, limp. His shoulders were straight, and I admired the lines and curves of his masculine strength—even if it radiated anger at me.
Turning back to me, he asked, “Tell me the truth: do you have even a little bit of your own will to fight him?”
He wanted me to say yes, it was evident in his question. I wanted to say yes. But, Lord and Lady, I wouldn’t lie. “I want to think so, Johnny, I hope so, but I don’t know. If what happened when I held the stake that night didn’t ruin the stain, maybe it weakened it, or changed it so I have more resistance. Maybe not. I won’t know until I’m around him again, and I’m in no hurry to find out.”
The dim illumination of the room added to his mysterious handsomeness, but didn’t reveal anything of how he felt and neither did he. Johnny said nothing more, just turned and headed quietly up the stairs to the attic.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The following morning, Beverley sat at the dinette finishing her cereal. Her hair was in one dark pigtail high on the crown of her head. Nana, playing solitaire beside her, had tried to talk the girl into adding a ribbon and a bow, but Beverley refused. As she rose to bring the bowl to the sink, she asked, “Can we carve our pumpkins tonight?”
I flipped to the back of the check register I was balancing and looked at its small calendar. It was the twenty-fifth; would a cut pumpkin last a week? “It’s a little early.”
Beverley giggled. “Demeter said you’d say that.”
Nana, who remained at the dinette, said, “And then what did I say?”
“To tell Seph that if the pumpkins start to wilt we can soak them in water.”
I had forgotten that trick. “If you can correctly spell all of your vocabulary words after school, and recite your timestables, we’ll carve pumpkins tonight.”
Beverley did a victory dance and said, “Yes!”
“Go brush your teeth and get your book bag.” Resuming the math chore, I was happy to see the checkbook a little fuller than usual for midmonth. That was one thing I had Vivian to thank for. She’d supposedly hired me to find and destroy Lorrie’s killer and I’d done just that, although not in the way Vivian had expected: it was Vivian herself who had killed Beverley’s mom. A big chunk of Vivian’s half-payment of $100,000 had gone to settle Theodora’s emergency room bill. I’d used some of the cash to buy new clothes and school stuff for Beverley, for Ares’s puppy shots and accoutrements, for groceries and fuel. The rest remained in the duffel bag wedged under my bed. I hadn’t decided what to do with it. It wasn’t as if I were going to be getting a 1099-Misc to account for it as income. The thought of cutting into the side of my mattress and stuffing the bills in there had crossed my mind.
I put the checkbook back into my purse.
“She should take her coat,” Nana said, shuffling the cards. “The mornings are getting chilly.” Fixing me with her you’re-about-to-be-lectured expression, she placed the cards aside. “And speaking of that, how long is that young man going to ride a motorcycle to work?”
Johnny gave lessons at a music store and also did sales, but that was part-time. His other job was for Strictly 7, a local seven-string-guitar maker. “I guess he used to walk. His apartment is close
He let out a long, slow breath. “Yeah. I can see that. But you destroyed it and he didn’t have to followthrough.” He ran hands through his dark waves again as he turned and paced away. “Can’t trust vamps. Ever!” he grumbled. His motion turned into another stretch, then his arms fell to his sides, limp. His shoulders were straight, and I admired the lines and curves of his masculine strength—even if it radiated anger at me.
Turning back to me, he asked, “Tell me the truth: do you have even a little bit of your own will to fight him?”
He wanted me to say yes, it was evident in his question. I wanted to say yes. But, Lord and Lady, I wouldn’t lie. “I want to think so, Johnny, I hope so, but I don’t know. If what happened when I held the stake that night didn’t ruin the stain, maybe it weakened it, or changed it so I have more resistance. Maybe not. I won’t know until I’m around him again, and I’m in no hurry to find out.”
The dim illumination of the room added to his mysterious handsomeness, but didn’t reveal anything of how he felt and neither did he. Johnny said nothing more, just turned and headed quietly up the stairs to the attic.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The following morning, Beverley sat at the dinette finishing her cereal. Her hair was in one dark pigtail high on the crown of her head. Nana, playing solitaire beside her, had tried to talk the girl into adding a ribbon and a bow, but Beverley refused. As she rose to bring the bowl to the sink, she asked, “Can we carve our pumpkins tonight?”
I flipped to the back of the check register I was balancing and looked at its small calendar. It was the twenty-fifth; would a cut pumpkin last a week? “It’s a little early.”
Beverley giggled. “Demeter said you’d say that.”
Nana, who remained at the dinette, said, “And then what did I say?”
“To tell Seph that if the pumpkins start to wilt we can soak them in water.”
I had forgotten that trick. “If you can correctly spell all of your vocabulary words after school, and recite your timestables, we’ll carve pumpkins tonight.”
Beverley did a victory dance and said, “Yes!”
“Go brush your teeth and get your book bag.” Resuming the math chore, I was happy to see the checkbook a little fuller than usual for midmonth. That was one thing I had Vivian to thank for. She’d supposedly hired me to find and destroy Lorrie’s killer and I’d done just that, although not in the way Vivian had expected: it was Vivian herself who had killed Beverley’s mom. A big chunk of Vivian’s half-payment of $100,000 had gone to settle Theodora’s emergency room bill. I’d used some of the cash to buy new clothes and school stuff for Beverley, for Ares’s puppy shots and accoutrements, for groceries and fuel. The rest remained in the duffel bag wedged under my bed. I hadn’t decided what to do with it. It wasn’t as if I were going to be getting a 1099-Misc to account for it as income. The thought of cutting into the side of my mattress and stuffing the bills in there had crossed my mind.
I put the checkbook back into my purse.
“She should take her coat,” Nana said, shuffling the cards. “The mornings are getting chilly.” Fixing me with her you’re-about-to-be-lectured expression, she placed the cards aside. “And speaking of that, how long is that young man going to ride a motorcycle to work?”
Johnny gave lessons at a music store and also did sales, but that was part-time. His other job was for Strictly 7, a local seven-string-guitar maker. “I guess he used to walk. His apartment is close
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