Romancing The Dead (11 page)

This was all too surreal. I tried to get back on topic. “Yeah, but, have you seen Sebastian?”

Walter shook his head. “I only see him quarterly.”

Quarterly? What did
that
mean?

Larry must have read something in my eye because he laughed. “Oh, darling, she thinks you’re his lover, not his tax accountant.”

“His lover? In my dreams,” Walter said with a roll of his eyes.

I laughed too, if only in relief. “Tax accountant,” I repeated. “Of course.”

“Look,” Walter said, “we’re letting all the cold air out, so I’ll tell you this for nothing: Sebastian does a disappearing act from time to time.” I remembered to nod, and he continued after giving me a once-over. “I’m sure there’s someone else who can fulfill your needs in the meantime, eh?”

My
needs
? Did he think I was a ghoul?

My first impulse was to demand to know why he’d jumped to that conclusion, then my hands strayed to the thick, slick bandages on my neck. “Oh, this isn’t what it looks like,” I said.

“Sure,” Walter said skeptically. To his companion, he muttered, “How’d she get our address? Sebastian is usually so discreet, not like some of the others.”

Others? What, was Walter the accountant to the paranormal underground? “I’m his fiancée,” I said. “I know you’re not concerned, but . . .”

Walter gasped, and he and Larry exchanged horrified looks. “Married? Sebastian’s getting married? Well, that’s a mistake,”

Walter muttered. “Think of his assets.”

“He’ll outlive her, remember,” Larry said quietly, giving me the you-poor-dear look.

“Still, I think I should insist on a prenup just in case,” Walter said. Then, as if he suddenly remembered I was still standing there, he added, “He’ll be back, try not to worry. I’ll let you know if he calls the office. Go home. Go to bed.”

“Uh,” I said, not sure if “thank you” was appropriate given how caustic Walter was, but I said it anyway. I got a surprised “you’re welcome” as I turned away and headed down the street as fast as possible. I didn’t know what to make of Walter and company. Despite being a bit of a curmudgeon, Walter seemed in the know, supernaturally speaking. Larry mentioned that Sebastian was immortal, after all. Still, I supposed vampires had special banking needs. Maybe Walter was some kind of modern-day “Igor,” taking care of all of his master’s business that he couldn’t otherwise attend to during the daylight hours —except Sebastian
could
walk around in the sunshine. Maybe Sebastian used Walter because he did work with other paranormals and he could tell him about those Spanish doubloons or whatever he had sewn into the mattress in 1771.

I shook my head. The more I learned about Sebastian’s other life, the stranger it became. William’s apartment was one block off fraternity row. All the houses this close to the university tended to look completely trashed. William’s was no exception. The paint on the trim was cracked and peeling. Beer bottles sprouted among the petunias and wild mustard. The porch sagged nearly to the ground. Creeping Charlie competed with crabgrass for the majority of the lawn. Virginia creeper covered so much of the house that it was almost impossible to tell what style it had been built in. It was a triplex, and to get to William’s place you had to go around the house on a cracked concrete sidewalk to the back. One bare bulb and a string of chili pepper lights illuminated a steep climb up rickety stairs, obviously built by the landlord to comply with some housing code or other.

I always said a little prayer that involved winged feet when I heard the boards creak under my weight. Normally, heights didn ’t scare me, but I hated that I could see through the slats of the steps. Even though I knew it was impossible, I easily imagined falling through to the fern-covered concrete patio below.

Knocking on the door brought a quick answer. Xylia let me in with a smile. She wore a “Meat Is Murder” T-shirt, denim cutoffs, and combat boots. “No Sebastian?” she asked, looking around my shoulder as though she expected he’d materialize out of the shadows.

“He’s . . .” What? Lost? In trouble? On walkabout like Larry and Walter suggested? “Unavoidably detained.”

“Sounds important,” she said and stepped out of my way so I could enter.

Despite the dilapidated exterior, William had a sultan-chic thing going on. Indian gauze with mirrored coins draped the windows. The couches, of which there were several of various colors and sizes, were velour and festooned with brightly printed pillows. Candles glowed softly in the corners and from on top of bookshelves. Statues of various Indian Gods and Goddesses smiled down beatifically from between books on every imaginable religious/spiritual path, including UFOs and alien abduction. The room even smelled sweet, though not overpoweringly so, like cardamom and baking bread. Given all the candles and the amount of people shoved into a limited space, the place should have been stuffy and close, but thanks to a window AC unit, it wasn’t.

Once I stepped into the light, Xylia’s eyes honed in on the bandages. “What happened to your neck?” Before I could answer, her mouth twisted into a grimace. “Oh. Right. Listen, I understand this is your business, but I just don ’t think sex that ends up with people getting hurt is a good thing. You shouldn’t let him do things like that to you.”

“It wasn’t Sebastian,” I said, consciously resisting the urge to cover the bandages. After my conversation with Larry and Walter, I knew exactly how weak my response sounded. What else could I say? “A wind chime tried to choke me to death” sounded about as convincing as the classic “I walked into a door.”

Xylia’s expression was both pitying and disapproving. “Vampires, of whatever kind, are parasites. You could do a lot better.”

Hey, that was my fiancée she was dissing and, given Sebastian ’s disappearance, her ire made me instantly suspicious. “Do you have something personal against vampires?”

“Yes,” Xylia said, putting a hand on her narrow hip. “Women don’t need men like that, men who get off on hurting us.”

Us? Was there a story there? “What Sebastian and I do is totally consensual and, as you pointed out,
none
of your business.”

Xylia’s eyes narrowed. “It’s the coven’s business if you’re expecting to be our High Priest and Priestess.”

Xylia was right. It was the role I always imagined Sebastian and myself in. The High Priest and Priestess were the functional leaders of any coven. They directed the rituals and drew the God and Goddess into themselves during the ceremony. Traditionally, the position was held by those in the coven who had the most experience or highest degree. Sebastian seemed an obvious choice given how long he’d been alive, and, well, I was the one with a resident Goddess.

“The group hasn’t made that decision yet,” I said.

Xylia raised her eyebrows. “Oh, that’s up to us?”

“Of course,” I said. As much as I’d like to appoint myself and Sebastian, that would hardly be right. For the group to properly function and trust one another, the coven had to be in complete agreement about who its leaders were. Even if Sebastian and I were to be chosen, it’s not a lifetime job. Some covens routinely rotated through the members so that everyone had a chance to be High Priest or Priestess.

Xylia nodded, as though satisfied for the moment. I spotted a tray of cold drinks on a nearby table and excused myself to get one. I helped myself to a glass of mint tea, with fresh sprigs of spearmint, no less, and a cracker artfully placed on a silver tray on a foot cushion. I picked up an agenda, and looked around for a place to sit. Then, I noticed a hand waving me over. I did a double take. With wolven features and eyes sharp as obsidian, an American Indian man smiled at me with a sly grin. I knew him. It was the wolf. Or the man.

The wolf-man!

He watched me warily, waiting. He had long, straight, jet -black hair. In deference to the heat, he wore a white tank top that exposed bronze skin, tight muscles, and an amazing tattoo on his left bicep. It depicted a crow in flight. Half of the bird ’s feathers were an unexpected pearly white, and the others were oily black. The artist had staggered the pattern across the bird’s back, as if we were witnessing a transformation.

Tearing my eyes away from him for a moment, I glanced around at the others in the coven. Max and Marge nodded at me around mouthfuls of wheat crackers. Did no one else notice this new guy? Turning back to the wolf-man dude, I smiled politely. “Cool tat.”

“Thanks.” He patted the seat and said in a growly voice, “I saved you a spot.”

I probably should have declined the offer since it was much easier to break into a run when standing, but there was such command in the twinkle of his mischievous smile that I obeyed. Acutely aware of the nearness of his body, I perched myself rigidly at the edge of the cushion and sipped sweet, cool tea. Desperately, I tried to catch William’s eye, but he was engaged in a heated discussion with Griffin. Nobody seemed concerned that an interloper lounged against the lime-green velour right beside me—a literal wolf in the fold.

“It’s Garnet, right?” I nearly leaped upright when his bass voice purred in my ear.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, using my sleeve to mop up the tea I’d spilled onto my lap when I’d jumped.

“You’re easily spooked, aren’t you?” The smile he flashed me was warmly teasing, impossible to take offense at. “I’m Micah Cloud.”

I took the hand he offered and held on to it.

The instant our skin touched, I sensed . . . chemistry? My entire body flushed, like some kind of premenopausal hot flash. Lilith felt it too, rousing from her slumber to sit up, at attention. Her sudden awareness caused the hairs on my arm to prickle, so I got this odd sensation of cold and hot all at once.

He held on to my hand a little too long, his eyes searching mine, as though looking for some kind of answer. The wolf-dog glittered just behind his eyes and I had the uncomfortable feeling of being stalked by a predator. Given that I dated one, I should be used to that hungry look, but this was somehow different. When Sebastian wanted to devour me, I knew it was sexual. Micah ’s desire seemed more hostile, needier.

Lilith didn’t like it one bit. She pushed my hand away from his. Our palms flew apart from each other like a reverse slap with the force of oppositely polarized magnets.

We both studied our hands and then each other with a well -that-was-strange glance. I didn’t quite know how to apologize for Lilith’s apparent rudeness, or if I really wanted to, given that he
had
freaked me out a bit. Besides, he was giving me another odd looking over. He frowned deeply at me as though he was somehow disappointed, then he wiped his hand on his jeans. Micah surveyed the room, as if looking for someone specific. I tried to see who he might be searching for when I noticed Blythe staring at me. She stood alone near the door. When she noticed me watching her, she quickly averted her eyes and moved to join a nearby conversation.

“Okay,” I said to Micah. “What the hell is going on here?”

“What are you talking about?”

Before I could explain, William cleared his throat. “Now that everyone is here”—he shot me a pointed look—“I’d like to get started. As you see, we have a lot to cover.”

I picked up the agenda from where I’d set it on the arm of the couch. Beside me, Micah did the same. I remember telling Sebastian that it would be a good idea if other people hosted meetings right from the start. It would break up the hierarchy, I said. We don’t want to establish one way of doing things. We don ’t want to come off as the boss of everyone. That’s not the Wiccan way, I explained.

As I glanced down the items on the sheet, which ranged from setting a meeting schedule to issues of whether or not we’d practice

“sky clad” (read: naked), I regretted my insistence.

I let my shoulders slump back against the couch with a sigh. This was going to be a long night. As I settled back, my arm brushed against Micah’s. I felt the heat of his skin. My cheeks burned in response, and Lilith got all agitated and tingling again.

Rephrase: long,
awkward
night.

If it hadn’t been for the constant reminders of how close Micah sat to me, I would have drifted to sleep during the seemingly endless debates about whether or not the coven should engage in civic projects, like helping plant trees on Arbor Day. It wasn ’t that I wasn’t interested, but the tea, good food, and the pleasant sound of everyone’s voices reminded me how little decent sleep I’d had in the last couple of days. But every time I started to drift, my body would bump up against Micah’s and I’d get an almost electric jolt.

Finally, William called for a break.

I got up and stretched my legs, which had begun to cramp from sitting still for so long. Marge came up to Micah and tugged his arm, and the two of them went off to the corner.

I couldn’t help but stare at them a little. They clearly seemed to know each other and they were such an odd pairing. Marge had worn a poet shirt, black straight-leg jeans, and the gaudiest vest I’d ever seen in my life. Fluorescent embroidery floss, geometric designs, mirrors, beads and bangles covered deep purple fabric. It wasn’t something I’d wear, but Marge kind of pulled it off. Her gray curls seemed especially puffy today and only served to accent the differences between them. He was tall and lean; she was short and squat. In his barely-on muscle shirt, tattoos, and ripped, faded blue jeans he looked like a Native biker guy. She totally had the hippy matron thing going on.

She also had that dog pendant. Could it be a wolf or whatever Micah was? Maybe Marge was the werewolf ’s equivalent of a ghoul, except what did werewolves need ghouls for? Had she invited Micah?

Speaking of all that, I still wondered why no one seemed surprised Micah was here. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw William head into the kitchen. I followed him, hoping to get a chance to talk to him alone. William’s kitchen was narrow and hardly larger than a closet. To contain the heat, he’d tacked a sheet over the doorway. When I came in, William was pulling a long, glistening loaf of cardamom bread out of the oven. Despite the temperature, my mouth watered.

The floor was cracked and buckling gray linoleum. Darkly varnished, paneled cabinets stuck to every wall, making the small space even more cramped. Wallpaper flowers looked tired and worn.