CRAVE - BAD BOY ROMANCE (9 page)

“Is what?”

“What he said. Are you and he an
item?”

I shook my head. “Don't be
ridiculous. I've known the guy for a grand total of less than twenty-four hours.”

She shrugged. “Well, just be careful.
There's a reason he and Thrace are on the sort of terms they are. The Gravediggers
hate the guy who lives in your backyard. He used to be their boss, and they
don't take kindly to deserters.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

After they left, it was
clear that the wake was over. All but a few drunks or stalwarts drifted off,
and Cade offered to give me a ride back, but I refused. Against his wishes, I
decided on a cab. He made it clear he didn't agree, but once it was obvious that
if he wanted to argue with me he was going to have to do it in front of a room
full of people, he backed off. I guess even he didn't want the sort of
reputation one gets if they're the guy who bullies the granddaughter of the
woman whose funeral one is currently attending.

Even so, I didn't stay long. Cade
shadowed me to the exit, not speaking and not friendly. His eyes were all
business, darting this way and that, hunting for threats in the shadows as I
made my way to the curb and climbed into the taxi I'd asked Jessica to call for
me.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked, once
I'd shut the door. He adjusted the rear view mirror so he could better see his
new passenger, and let out a low whistle. “Never mind. I've heard about you.
Not an easy thing, saying goodbye.”

I didn't answer.

“Or maybe it was easy,” he said. “Maybe
it was the easiest damn thing in the world, huh?”

“Please,” I told him, “no lectures.
No snippets of wisdom or hints at a truer use for life, okay? I'm tired. I'm
hungry. I'm worried, and I've got some decisions to make that have to be made
soon. Can we just drive in silence for a while?”

“Sure, sure,” he said, giving me a
friendly little smile despite how rude I'd been. I felt bad for speaking to him
like that, but I'd just about had enough of everyone thinking they knew better
than I did about everything under the sun.

The church wasn't more than ten or
twelve blocks from the house, but we hadn't even got a third of that distance
before I heard the rumble of a Harley. My heart picked up the pace, and I
whirled in the backseat, trying to see where the rider was and if he was after
us.

He was, though I guessed by the bulk
of the guy on the bike and the fact that there was only one of him and not
three, like there would be if Thrace had decided to jump me, that it was only Cade
following me home. I suppose it made sense. I mean, where else did I expect him
to go? The guy did essentially live with me, after all.

Once the taxi arrived at my
Grandmother’s house I paid the driver, frowning at how little cash I had left
but careful not to use any of the meticulously folded dollar bills to cover the
fee. I didn't understand them yet, but they weren't money. Not anymore. No,
they were something more now. They were works of art, and the care and effort
that had gone into making them different from a normal bill gave them a power
that even I could feel.

Though that was impossible, of
course. I was sure that the fact that they made my fingers tingled ever so
slightly was all in my head, regardless of what the moon and the darkness of
the night and the smell of the swamp wanted me to think.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for the fare,” he said. “Good
luck with it all, whatever you decide.”

I got out of the car and watched Cade
roll around the corner before cutting the throttle, no doubt parking in front
of his house as I went into mine.

I even reached for the light switch
again before cursing my own stupidity. Of course the power was still off. I
hadn't arranged any sort of payment, so the power company would be more than
happy to let me sit in the dark and the muggy heat until I did.

I turned my key in the lock and went
inside. My first thought was to go to the bedroom and throw myself into a
fitful sleep, but I knew that nothing would come of it. I'd still be awake in
an hour or two, and all I'd have gained was a level of frustration I didn't
need right now. Instead, I picked my way into the kitchen and grabbed the
lighter I'd found yesterday. Once it was in my hand, I used it to light the
candles that still sat where I’d put around the living room yesterday.

Each time a wick caught the flame, it
threw enough light to show me to two more candles, many of which I hadn’t
noticed last night. I went where I was led, making a complete circuit of the
room. When I'd finished, more than fifty flames flickered in the breath of my
passing and the room had a bright, almost cozy ring of little fires around it.

It was also more than enough light to
examine the room where she met her clients. There was a skull on the table, the
bottom jaw missing and the teeth of the top resting on a cigar that looked like
it had been lit in the last week or so. Coins balanced on it wherever there was
space, some stacked six or seven high. Quarters gleamed in the eye sockets, and
bright strips of paper and twists of swamp weeds spilled out behind it like
luxurious locks of hair. Having just come from a funeral, it was the last thing
I expected to see.

Still, it wasn't frightening. Not
exactly. Death was a part of life, and maybe one of the reasons there hadn't
been wailing and hysterical crying from my Grandmother’s friends and clients
this evening was because people down here knew the truth. We aren't ever really
that far from the grave. One slip, one fall, and any of us is six feet under,
just like Grandma was now.

I sat on the couch and let the room
seep into me.

That was when I remembered that
Jessica would be here tomorrow, looking to me for answers that there was no way
I'd have.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Cade. He
was right here, all of a sudden.

Even though I knew it was a dream,
the sight of him standing shirtless before me made me lick my dry lips in
anticipation. It was strange. On one hand, I
knew
I was still asleep on the couch. I'd taken off my shoes when
I'd come back into the house from outside, and I could feel the wonderful
coolness of the polished wooden boards underneath my feet.

At the same time, as Cade reached out
and took me by the hand, I could sense that his touch wasn't made of flesh and
blood. The two of us, if we were together at all, were locked in the same place
I'd dragged the sight of him from when I'd painted him in Detroit, almost a day
before I'd first laid eyes on him. It wasn't as if the second world held less
power than the first, but I got the feeling that actions within it would have far
fewer consequences.

At least, that's what I told myself
as I leaned my head back and Cade brought his full lips down to cover my mouth.
His strength was contagious, and I pulled him to me, dragging my hands up the
thick muscles of his back as I slid them down to his hips, tugging at the
waistband of his jeans.

It had been so long. His mouth
drifted to my neck, and I shivered with anticipation as my body responded to
the pleasures of his touch. His hands were calloused, and I smiled at the
little details my mind was adding as his stubble brushed my earlobe. I felt the
lines of scars on his flanks as I slipped his jeans down his body, and as he
pulled my dress up over my hips I moaned out loud, desperate for everything
this powerful man could give me.

I was hungry for him. Thirsty for
him. His touch lit me up and the heat of his body bathed mine.

And then someone coughed nervously… I
opened my eyes, everything I’d
been feeling vanished.

Now that I was awake I tried to take
stock. For a start, there was a strange man sitting across from me. That was
around about the time I realized that my black dress, so elegant and
appropriate the funeral last night, was in the same position it had been in my
dream. My thighs were exposed, and if I wasn't careful as I crossed my legs the
weirdo or criminal or apparition, whoever my new intruder was would get an
eyeful for sure.

“Who the hell are you!” I asked, yanking
my dress back down to cover my legs.

I guess I startled him. He looked
around the room as if I were the one intruding, his nervous gaze jumping this
way and that. The candles I’d lit last night had burnt down to nothing more
than nubs. A little pool of wax surrounded each of them, and he kept his eyes
on them instead of me.

When he opened his mouth to speak,
nothing came out. His knuckles were white with the force he was putting on the
armrests and he looked for all the world as if he had boarded a roller coaster
ride in the not too distant past and suddenly wanted nothing more than to get
off before the big drop.

“I've got a gun,” I lied. “And I’m
more than happy to shoot you dead, if it comes to that.” Maybe he would believe
me. Maybe he would get up and walk out of here, and not mention the fact that
he'd seen me sprawled on the couch in the midst of the most embarrassing sex
dream I’d ever had.

Maybe, but somehow I doubted it.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I was just
waiting for Marie, but you were here ahead of me, so don't worry. I'll let you
go first. It's only fair. I’m no cutter.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your appointment…” His voice trailed
off, and that nervous look went a little wider in his glassy eyes. “You do have
an appointment don't you?”

I swallowed hard, uncertain of how to
handle this. “I…”

“Oh no,” he said. “This will never
do. Miss Marie will be most upset at you for arriving unannounced. Take it from
me. For the first few years I saw her, she wanted nothing to do with me,
primarily for the fact that I always forgot to make an appointment. Do you have
the same problem as I did? If so, I can recommend a good doctor who can start
to work on your impulse control. He really is very helpful. He's done wonders
for me.”

“Clearly,” I said. “And no, I don't
have an appointment. I live here now.”

That did it. If the little man was
nervous before, he was absolutely petrified now. I don't know who he was or
what game he thought he was playing but it was clear that he'd been left out of
the loop in regards to recent events.

I supposed that it fell to me to tell
him. “I don't mean to be cruel, sir,” I whispered, pushing whatever calm and
reassurance I could into my voice. The man obviously had enough troubles
already, and he didn't need me adding to them. “My… Miss Marie died a few days
ago. Her funeral was last night, actually. I'm her Granddaughter, Rachel.”

“Her Granddaughter?”

“Yes, but don't feel too bad about
not knowing. I hadn't seen her in practically forever, and it's not like there
was a huge amount of contact between us.”

“So you're her now?”

“What do you mean?”

He swallowed hard and glanced around
the room again, and I was struck by how closely the little man resembled a
frog, gulping down air and blinking with enough force to actually make his head
bob. It was fascinating to watch, but the more I did the worse I felt for him.

He shrugged. “I guess what I mean is,
well,” he looked at his watch. “It's seven minutes past ten. Have you already
booked a different client for this time?”

“No,” I said. “I'm not taking any new
clients.” As soon as I heard the words come out of my mouth. I rushed to
clarify. “I mean, I'm not taking any clients. At all. Ever.”

“Oh good,” he said with an audible
sigh of relief. “It will probably come as no surprise to you that I don't do
well with new people. I don't mean you though. I mean, well, it would be hard
to sit and wait with people I don't know to speak to you, you know?”

“Right.” This was going to be much
more difficult than I thought. I sucked in a long slow lungful of air and
composed myself. How best to explain it? What would a man like this understand?
I knew it would be best for his emotions if I let him down easy, but I’d already
tried to tell him several times and the message simply wasn't getting through.

Then it hit me. I don't know how or
why, I don't know if the angle of the sun or the pools of wax that littered the
living room or the staring eyes of the skull stacked with pennies on the coffee
table in front of me did it, but something inside me let go.

Something got out of the way, and
once it had. I found myself able to smile at him and ask, “Did you like my
grandmother?”

“Yes!” he answered eagerly.

“What exactly did she do to help you?”

He looked at me with a hint of
suspicion, and I realized just how close I was to giving the game away. A
voodoo witch or queen or whatever they call themselves would hardly come
straight out and admit they didn't know what they were doing, so I improvised. “What
I mean is, what type of magic did she do on your behalf? There are so many, and
I wouldn't want to change too much for your sake to what you are already used
to.”

That got him. He nodded enthusiastically,
so hard and so fast that I thought for a moment, I would have to reach out and
physically stop his bobbing head before he hurt himself. “Oh yes,” he said
happily. “Oh yes. Mostly I spoke to her about the things I was afraid of. As
you can imagine there are many conversations to be had along those lines. Marie
would listen and nod. Sometimes she would hum a little, when I got to the scary
parts.”

That's it?
I could hardly say that out loud,
but it’s what I was thinking. “Did it help?” I asked instead, thinking that
that may well be the only thing that mattered.

“Oh yes,” he said again, even more
willing to agree that he had been a moment before. “Immensely!”

There was. Straight from the horse’s
mouth. If a man like this could find safety or comfort in the kind words of an
old one, then what harm had been done? Did it matter that he sought healing and
found it in the guise of magic? Was it wrong? My grandmother had charged him
money and performed a service that sounded like it had very much in common with
the therapy session, and I was torn as I wondered if that made the session a
lie.

I didn't think so. Some people need
help anyway they can get it, and if there are those that seek spells instead of
shrinks, who was I to judge? I was only in town for a few more days. It wasn't
my place to burst this man's bubble.

I stood up and smoothed my dress down
my legs once more, just making sure that everything was in place. “I'm Rachel,”
I said, extending my hand to him. “I'm sorry that I was asleep when you came
in.”

“That's okay,” he said, looking at my
hand for a few long seconds before finally taking it. His grip was as weak as I
had expected to be, but at least his hand was dry as opposed to the damp and
sweaty thing I’d imagined it would be.

“I’m Jonathan,” he told me, “and I
hope it was okay that I watched you sleep. You seemed so tired, I didn't have
the heart to wake you.”

“That's okay. I'm not normally so
heavy sleeper. Usually any little sound keeps me up all night, so if I slept
through your knocks I really must have been exhausted.”

“Oh,” he said, letting go of the
handshake and wringing his hands together as we both sat back down in our
respective places. “I didn't knock.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh? In
that case, it's neither your fault nor mine. Cade should have woken me up when
he let you in, instead of letting me snore away on the couch like that in front
of my first appointment for the day.”

“Oh,” he said again, a little less shyly
this time. “I didn't... I didn't knock and Cade didn't let me in.”

“Are you trying to tell me that Marie
gave you a key?”

“Our friend Jonathan,” Cade boomed
from the kitchen, his making me jump, “is infamous for his inability to
understand social norms. That, combined with how skilled he is with the lock
picks he’s always carrying around, make him a little more than the first
nuisance that pops into everyone's mind around here when something goes missing.
He's like a magician with those things. Like clockwork too. I heard him
scratching away at the doorknob when I was coming in to wake you up, so I let
things play out.”

“Thanks,” I called back. “That's just
perfect.” I wasn't about to let Cade put one over on me so easily. He expected
me to fail if I tried to fill my grandmother's shoes. If I was honest with
myself, they there was every chance he was right. Oh sure, her former clients
might hope I could help them, but no one would be surprised if I fell flat on
my face along the way.

His assurance that I’d fail lit a
fire under me. I'd always been competitive, and this gave me a real chance to
show my worth. Maybe was because I'd spent so long questioning my own value in
the world, but I couldn't let an opportunity like this slip through my fingers.

“So Jonathan,” I said, scooping up my
notebook and pen from the table and writing
Day
One: Session 1
in large letters across the top of the first blank page, “what
seems to be the problem?”