It Never Rhines but It Pours (14 page)

“Oops! On my way!” it read.

I gritted my teeth. Was it any wonder that I never cooked? Here I was, slaving over a hot stove, and he wasn’t even home on time! Okay, so I hadn’t slaved very long, but there were other things I could have been doing! Why should I bother to cook when he wasn’t going to be there to eat it when it was hot? I was working myself up into a temper.

“I’m hungry, Mommy,” Megan complained.

“Let’s just go ahead and eat,” I sighed. “Daddy will be home soon.”

We started eating and girls quickly forgot that they hated chicken and rice. I guess they really were hungry. Fifteen minutes later I heard the garage door open. I was fuming. How hard was it to come home on time? I stabbed a piece of chicken with my fork and it flew off the table and onto the floor. Harvey was on it in a flash and then looked up expectantly for more.

“No feed dog,” Cassie shook her head. “Bad Mommy.”

I snorted. “That was an accident.”

“Can I accidently feed Harvey from the table?” Megan asked.

“No.”

Harvey sat up on his hind legs and wagged his tail. When that got no response he added a yip.

“Quiet, Harvey,” I scolded. “No begging.”

Mark entered the kitchen and set his laptop case on the counter. I saw him trying to watch me out of the corner of his eye to judge my level of anger. “Hi, Piper,” he said tentatively.

“Hi,” I said shortly.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he apologized.

“Humph.”

He walked over and tried to rub the back of my neck. I brushed him off, not ready to forgive yet. “I’m really sorry,” he apologized again.

I rolled my eyes and pointed at his bowl. “Your dinner is getting cold.”

“Daddy late,” Cassie said.

“Yes, sweetie,” Mark gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “Daddy is very sorry that he is late. How is dinner? It looks yummy!”

I glared at him. Flattery was not going to get him anywhere.

“It’s good,” Megan said, chewing a big bite of rice. “Not as good as pizza though.”

Mark laughed. “I’m sure it’s
much
better than pizza. Your mommy is a wonderful cook.”

I stifled a smile. He was really trying hard. Mark saw the smile and squeezed my knee under the table. I reluctantly met his eyes.

“Am I forgiven?” he asked, pleading.

“Why were you so late?” I burst out. “I told you I was cooking dinner!”

“I know,” he kept rubbing my knee. “I lost track of time and I’m really sorry. Can you forgive me?”

I stuck out my tongue at him. “Oh, fine. I’ll forgive you. But only because you’re so cute.”

He made a theatrical gesture of despair. “What will I do when I’m old and haggard?”

“Be home on time?” I suggested.

“No,” he shook his head sadly. “That won’t work.”

I kicked him under the table. “It’d better.”

“If I’m crippled it will take me longer to get out to the car and drive home,” he pointed out.

“Or it will keep you home where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Daddy stay home?” Cassie asked. I jumped up and caught her glass before she knocked the whole thing over.

“Daddy will stay home on the weekend. Finish your dinner.” I looked over at Mark and gave him a wink. “I love you, babe,” I whispered and he blew me a kiss.

After dishes and baths and other bedtime routines the girls were finally in bed and the sun was beginning to set. I hate daylight savings. During the summer the sun doesn’t set ‘till 8:30 and it’s hard to convince little people that they should be asleep when it’s bright outside. I glanced at the clock, 8:00. Cecily should be getting up soon.

“Hey, babe,” I said. “Do you mind if I run over to talk to Cecily for a bit?” I left off any explanation. Mark wouldn’t care why I was going to talk to her and if I tried to explain it would only sound suspicious. I was getting to be a pro at lying to my husband. Joy.

“Sure,” Mark was leafing through the mail. “Take your time.”

“Okay,” I slipped out the front door and across the grass to knock on Cecily’s door. It was still a little early for her but I really wanted to talk to her.

No one came to the door so I knocked harder and rang the doorbell. Finally I heard movement and the door was yanked open. “What?” Cecily snarled.

She looked like someone with a hangover. I knew it was because the sun had not completely set. In another fifteen to twenty minutes she would be back to her usual gorgeous, energetic self.

“Hi,” I said. “It’s me.”

“I see that,” she sighed. “Come on in. What is so important that it couldn’t wait another half hour?”

“Wow, you’re really grouchy when you wake up,” I commented.

“Not when I wake up, when I’m
woken
up,” she shaded her eyes against the dusk and pulled me into the house. “I’m a vampire, remember. We don’t like the sunlight.”

“It’s barely light out!” I complained. “What’s the big deal?”

She let her eyes go completely black and flashed some fang at me. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

I stumbled back and bumped into the wall. “No,” I croaked. Sometimes I forgot that she was not just my quirky friend. She drank human blood to survive and had been alive longer than I could imagine. I really had to be more careful when I was dealing with her. It was too easy to be comfortable around her. Rather like the tiger keepers at the zoo who forget that their cute little pets are actually deadly animals.

Cecily ran a hand over her face. “Let me get something to eat and then you can talk to me.”

I trailed after her into the kitchen. She pulled a bag out of the fridge and slammed it into the microwave. The contents were dark red and the bag was printed with the name of a blood bank. I made a face. I would never want to drink blood, even it meant superhuman beauty, strength, and speed. Of course, she could also eat whatever human food she wanted without it affecting her weight. I daydreamed for a moment about what it would be like to eat donuts to my heart’s content.

“What are you thinking about?” Cecily asked.

“Donuts,” I sighed.

She laughed. “You are the weirdest human I know,” she said.

“Do you know a lot of humans?” I was curious.

She thought about it. “Not closely. Not like I know you. But with most people it’s easy to guess what they are thinking. You usually surprise me.” She cocked her head and looked at me, “You’re very random.”

I grimaced. “Thanks, I guess. There really was a logical train of thought.”

“I’m sure there was.” She poured the blood into a large wine glass and took a sip. “Ahh,” she closed her eyes in pleasure. I felt a little queasy. Not even for donuts.

“Let’s go sit down,” she suggested and I followed her into the living room. She sank gracefully onto a leather couch and I curled up on the matching loveseat.

I waited until she had drunk enough to regain some color to her skin. The circles under her eyes faded and she started to look fresh and energetic. I didn’t want to beat around the bush.

“We have a huge problem,” I said. “Pravus is at my mom’s house.”

“What?” Cecily set down her glass and stared at me.

“Pravus is staying at my mom’s house,” I repeated.

“How?” she blinked.

“He somehow convinced my grandmother that he is related and she brought him with her.” I shrugged. It didn’t make sense to me, but I was willing to admit that it was possible to play with people’s minds and cause them to believe things that weren’t true.

“Why?” Cecily asked.

I glowered at her. She wasn’t purposefully being annoying with her one word questions. I was just ready to snap at someone and she was convenient. “Isn’t it obvious?” I asked.

“No. What?”

“He’s here to make sure we clear his name with the Synod. For some odd reason he thinks we’re incompetent and need encouragement to finish our job.”

Cecily leaned back in her chair again and picked up her glass. “Hmmm,” she murmured.

“Hmm?” I was angry. “That’s all you have to say? ‘Hmm?’”

“What would you have me say?” she asked calmly.

“Anything!” I jumped to my feet and started pacing around the room. “Some plan, some idea, some … something!”

“You can never trust a witch,” she replied coolly.

“You’ve said that before,” I said dryly.

“I know. I just don’t think you get it yet. You can really never trust a witch.”

“Great. So I’ve got an untrustworthy witch staying with my parents, my baby sister, and my grandmother.” I threw my hands up in the air and fell back onto the loveseat.

Cecily took another sip of blood. “Why didn’t you command him to leave?”

I gave her a look that would freeze lava.

“You tried,” she guessed.

I continued the look.

“It didn’t end well?”

“If it had ended well do you think I would be here telling you that he’s staying at my parents’ house?”

She shrugged. “What happened?”

“Other than setting my mom’s dining room table on fire and having to use Sarah’s ability and mine to fix the problem? Other than that? Nothing much.”

I thought I saw a smirk cross her face but she hid it behind her glass. She’d better not be laughing at me. This wasn’t funny.

She set her glass down again and folded her hands in her lap. She managed to look elegant and graceful which just didn’t fit with the glass of blood at her side. I rubbed my eyes. I would give anything to never know about magic and supernatural beings. To be normal. If Sarah’s ability worked on me I would be very tempted to erase any memory of the past few months and just live my life like a human.

But there was the problem. Humans needed me. They didn’t know they needed me and if they knew about my ability I would probably be locked up in a government facility. But that didn’t change the fact that they needed me. Sarah and I were the only things protecting humans from being openly hunted. If I had to start over, I would not change any of my choices. Sure, they were rotten choices, but they were the only ones I was given.

“We have another problem,” Cecily said.

I half lifted the arm I had thrown over my eyes and peeked at her. “Do I want to hear it? Why does it have to be another problem? Why can’t you have a solution?”

Cecily stared at me in complete vampire stillness. She gave the impression that she could sit there unmoving for hours. Or for at least as long as it took me to get a grip. I sighed and sat back up. “What’s the problem?”

“I have heard from the Synod,” she started and my heart sank. Anything that involved the Synod would be unpleasant.

“And?” I prodded when she failed to continue.

“We have three days to complete our assignment.” She stopped again and watched me carefully for a reaction.

“Our assignment? You mean, whacking Pravus?”

“Yes.”

“Three days?” I kept my voice calm and conversational. Cecily looked worried.

“Yes. Three days.”

“Hmm,” I leaned back against the cushions. Inside I was screaming.
Three days! What, were they crazy? Why not three hours? Why drag out the agony?
I could tell that Cecily was waiting for me to explode. My calmness was disturbing her. Good. Join the club.

“What happens after three days?” I asked, still without raising my voice or throwing things around the room.

Cecily gave me a look but answered. “After three days they will give our assignment to another Guardian who will be tasked with completing it and eliminating us.”

“Eliminating.”

“Yes.”

Oh good. We had three days to find the real killer or we were all dead. Nothing new there, but I guess I had kind of been hoping that the Synod would be a little more understanding.

“You realize what the easiest solution is?” Cecily asked tentatively.

“Convince the Synod to give us more time?” I said hopefully.

“No. Kill Pravus,” there was ice in her voice. “He may not be guilty of this crime but he is surely guilty of other killings. You would be doing humans a favor.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” I quipped.

“I don’t,” she said uncertainly. “I understand your reluctance to kill someone whom you believe to be innocent, but surely your own life and the life of your sister is more important?”

I drew a deep breath. How to explain? “I know Pravus is not a nice person. He may even be evil. I just can’t kill him in order to save myself. That would be wrong! I’d be killing whatever ethics I hold to. Almost like killing myself. What good is living if you give up everything that makes you who you are?”

“Where there is life there is hope,” Cecily answered. “Isn’t that what you humans believe? Even if you do something that bothers you, at least you will still be alive in order to eventually get over it. There is no getting over death.”

“You did,” I pointed out, perhaps untactfully.