Bone Crossed

“Right,” I said. “So far, so good.” I touched the sore spot on my neck. Could that be another explanation? Could it have been one of Marsilia’s vampires?

But the sick feeling in my stomach told me that it wasn’t. Not with Blackwood free to come and go in Amber’s home. Not with Amber called, seduced, and fed from—in daylight.

“You don’t get to be as old as Stefan is without being able to take care of yourself.”

“You’re right,” I said, “but he’s been cut adrift, and I’d be happier if he weren’t making himself so scarce.”

“He’d not be much help in a ghost hunt—don’t ghosts avoid vampires?”

“Ghosts and cats, Bran says,” I told him. “But my cat likes Stefan.”

“Your cat likes anyone she can convince to pet her.”

Something about the way he said it—a caress in his voice—made me suspicious. I listened carefully and heard it, a faint purr.

“She likes you, anyway,” I said. “How’d she talk you into letting her into your house again?”

“She yowled at the back door.” He sounded sheepish. I’d never seen or heard of a cat that would associate with werewolves or coyotes until Medea announced her presence at the door of my shop. Dogs will—and so will most livestock—but not cats. Medea loves anyone who will pet her ... or has the potential to pet her. Not unlike some people I know.

“She’s playing you and Samuel off each other,” I informed him. “And you, my dear sir, have just succumbed to her wiles.”

“My mother warned me about succumbing,” he said meekly. “You’ll have to save me from myself. When I have you to pet, I won’t need her.”

Faintly, through his phone, I heard the doorbell ring.

“It’s pretty late for visitors,” I said.

Adam started to laugh.

“What?”

“It’s Samuel. He just asked Jesse if we’ve seen your cat.”

I sighed. “Men are so easy. You’d better go confess your sins.”

When I disconnected, I stared into the dark wishing I were home. If I were sleeping with Adam next to me, no stupid vampire would be chewing on my neck. Finally, I got up, turned on the light, and brought out the fairy book to read. After a few pages, I quit worrying about vampires, pulled the comforter closer around my shoulders—Amber must like her AC down at werewolf levels—and lost myself in the story of the Roaring Bull of Bagbury and other fae who haunt bridges.

I woke up shivering sometime later, clutching the fairy staff, which I’d last seen leaning against the wall next to the door. The wood under my fingers was hot—a contrast to the rest of the room. The cold was so intense my nose was numb and my breath fogged.

A moment after I woke up, a high-pitched, atonal wail rang through the walls of the house, abruptly cutting off.

I dumped my covers on the floor. The rare old book met the same fate—but I was too worried about Chad to stop and rescue it. I ran out of my bedroom and took the requisite four steps to the boy’s room.

The door wouldn’t open.

The knob turned, so it wasn’t locked. I put my shoulder against the door, but it didn’t budge. I tried to use the walking stick, which was still warmer than it should have been, as a crowbar, to force the door open, but it didn’t work. There was nowhere to get a good place to pry.

“Let me,” whispered Stefan just behind me.

“Where have you been?” I said, relief making me sharp. With the vampire here, the ghost would go.

“Hunting,” he said, putting his shoulder to the door. “You looked like you had everything under control.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, appearances can be deceiving.”

“I see that.”

I heard the wood begin to break as it gave reluctantly for the first few inches. Then it jerked away from the vampire and flung itself against the wall with a spiteful bang, leaving Stefan to stumble into the bedroom.

If my room had been cold, Chad’s was frigid. Frost layered everything in the room like unearthly lace. Chad lay still as the dead in the center of his bed—he wasn’t breathing, but his eyes were open and scared.

Both Stefan and I ran for the bed.

The ghost wasn’t gone though, and Stefan didn’t scare it away. We couldn’t get Chad out of the bed. The comforter was frozen to him and to the bed, and it wouldn’t release him. I dropped the walking stick on the floor and grabbed the comforter with both hands and pulled. It quivered under my hold like a living thing, damp from the frost that melted from contact with my skin.

Stefan reached both hands just under Chad’s chin and ripped the comforter in half. Quick as a striking snake he had Chad up and off the bed.

I collected the staff and followed them out of the room and into the hall, wishing I’d updated my CPR skills since high school.

But, safely out of the room, Chad started sucking in air like a vacuum.

“You need a priest,” Stefan told me.

I ignored him in favor of Chad. “You okay?”

The boy gathered himself together. His body might be thin, but his spirit was pure tungsten. He nodded, and Stefan set him down on his feet, steadying him a little when Chad swayed.