Bled & Breakfast (8 page)

She nodded. “I’m sorry we can’t be more specific.”

Me too. But sometimes you had to take what you could get. Tonight I’d have to be satisfied with the promise of rumors and the hope that tomorrow would bring solid answers. “Okay, fine. Tomorrow at twelve o’clock we’re going to go crash a coven meeting.”

Heather looked ill at this prospect. I looked determined.

Or at least I thought I would if I could see my reflection down here.

•   •   •

The small room seemed even smaller without company that night, and it took me forever to go to sleep. But finally I did. I dreamed that the Ring had imprisoned Thierry, holding him in a medieval dungeon until he answered their questions.

I woke when a swarm of armor-wearing bees swept through the air.

Then I realized it was my cell phone buzzing next to me on my pillow.

YOU HAVE TODAY ONLY TO LEARN MORE OF THIERRY’S MISSING YEARS. THE ELDERS WANT ANSWERS.—MR

Heart racing, I began to type “The elders can go to hell,” but then deleted it. I was crazy, but not
that
crazy.

Thanks for nothing, Markus.

After having another moment of crazy when I nearly texted Markus back to ask him for help with regard to the possession, I shoved my phone into my purse. I wasn’t that desperate yet.

Soon, I was sure. But not yet.

I sat vigil next to Thierry’s unconscious body in the living room all morning. I’d managed to get him onto the couch last night and thrown a knitted afghan over him.

I touched his face, stroking the dark hair off his forehead. “I got this, Thierry. Don’t worry about a thing, okay?”

Sleeping Beauty did not respond.

His body stayed there, safely unconscious. His spirit did not make another appearance. I tried not to dwell on that and wonder what horrible things it could mean.

I focused on two things, witch and grimoire, while I paced back and forth, an eye on the grandfather clock.

Rose gardened with Hoppy out back in the bright sunshine. Heather skimmed every book in their library she could find on the subject of ghosts.

Finally, it was time to go.

“Will Thierry’s
spirit
come back all on his own or will it take another séance?” I asked Heather as we left the inn, cringing as I spoke the words out loud.

She fumbled for her car keys. “I don’t know.”

I hissed out a breath. “Considering the magic you can do, I’m surprised you don’t know these things.”

Doubt etched into her expression. “I can’t do anything.”

“But you
can
. You did it all last night.”

She twisted a finger into her gold chain. “I know, but it’s not like . . .” She blanched. “I can do some minor grimoire magic and séances. But, well, that’s different from really powerful magic.”

I eyed her pendant. “Your mom was a strong witch, right?”

“Yeah, she was amazing, actually. She and Grandma never got along so well, and they were usually arguing about me—Grandma knew I had more magic in me, but Mom never wanted to push me too hard to learn. And now, real magic . . . I don’t have any control over that, not like she did.”

I guess we had different ideas about “real magic.” All I knew for sure was that Heather could do more magic than I could. If you didn’t count that really cool card trick I knew. And that wasn’t going to help us out at all right now.

We took Heather’s rusty Volkswagen Beetle to a three-story house, twice the size of the Booberry Inn, with a huge wraparound veranda and a gable roof. I didn’t know much about architecture, but it looked like it had been around for a long time.

“Impressive,” I said. “Is this Raina woman rich?”

“I think she has some family money.” Heather didn’t say it pleasantly. “This is a waste of time.”

I gave her a patient look when I was feeling anything but. “Don’t get cold feet. We can do this. And let me do the talking.”

“Okay.”

Yes, I would keep holding on to this shaky rope of optimism until my hands were blistered. Without another moment’s delay, I marched right to the front door, which was painted a pale shade of lavender, and rang the doorbell.

A minute later, the door opened. Miranda Collins stood there.

“Sarah! What a surprise.”

“Hey there,” I said with a chipper smile on my face, stopping just short of any off-putting fang reveal. “How are you today?”

She grimaced. “I have a bit of a headache.” Then her gaze moved over my shoulder, landed on Heather, and soured. “Oh, you’re with
her
.”

A rivalry between the two didn’t help my cause at all. Plus, it seemed to be due to some pretty unimportant history and hurt feelings from long ago. “I have an idea. Let’s make today the start of a new chapter in your lives and forgive and forget.”

“No,” both Heather and Miranda said in unison.

Heather looked at me with an edge of disappointment. “You and Miranda know each other now?”

Well, I knew that Miranda had high self-esteem about her dewy good looks and a rapidly developing drinking problem. “We chatted at Mulligan’s last night.”

“Sarah
knows
, Heather,” Miranda snarled. “I told her what a tramp you were for stealing my boyfriend in high school.”

Heather looked embarrassed before her gaze hardened. “I didn’t steal him. I was helping him escape.”

Ouch.

The next moment, electricity crackled in the air. I looked at Miranda to see her eyes had turned red.

Eyeballs—they really could reveal hidden truths.

Vampire eyes turned pitch black when we were famished and needed to feed (it was just as fearsome as it sounded). From previous experience with a troublesome witch, I knew their eyes turned red when getting their witch on. Although, come to think of it, Heather’s hadn’t changed color during the séance or the spell she did on Owen—her nose just bled.

“So . . .” My voice was strained, but I tried to keep the smile steady on my face. “Is Raina here?”

“Maybe.” Miranda, still upset about the walk down memory lane, shot me an unfriendly look. Maybe we wouldn’t become buddies after all.

“I’d like to speak to her. Pretty please.”

I expected her to yell and scream and tell us to go to hell, but instead, her eyes shifted back to their normal shade of green.

“She’s here. Come in.”

She opened the door wider and I tentatively stepped inside. Vampires didn’t actually need an invitation to enter a private home, but polite people did. I had about ten more minutes of polite left.

Heather silently trailed behind me as we were ushered into the large house. A chandelier that looked like it had been there for hundreds of years hung from the high ceiling. To the left was a staircase to the second floor with an iron banister. Oil portraits of stern men and women watched our journey down the long hallway.

“We’re meeting in the salon,” Miranda said. “Follow me.”

“Let me guess. Book club, right?” I refrained from making sarcastic air quotes.

“You got it.”

Yeah, right.

Heather stayed silent, but I sensed her uneasiness. It was hard to be shunned from a group—I knew that from personal experience. Women tended to be cliquey, be it in high school or beyond. Those who were in were in. Those who were out were out. Now I realized that most of the groups that hadn’t wanted me weren’t worth being in anyway.

We were led into an adjoining room that held two women. One was blond, like Miranda, the other dark, both attractive women who appeared to be in their late twenties to early thirties.

In front of them on the coffee table were mugs, a plate of cookies, and minimuffins. Copies of
To Kill a Mockingbird
were opened on the shiny mahogany.

I did a double take at that.

What do you know? This actually
was
a book club.

“Raina,” Miranda began, “this is Sarah. She wants to speak with you. You already know Heather.” She didn’t even try to hide her contempt for the redhead next to me.

I held out my hand to the raven-haired woman and gave her a fang-hiding smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Raina.”

She shook my hand, holding my gaze. Her eyes were blue—a vivid sapphire shade—and held no suspicion, only curiosity. I could work with that. “Are you new to town, Sarah?”

“Just visiting, actually.”

“Welcome.” Raina had jet-black hair she wore in long layers past her shoulders. Her skin was pale and her makeup applied perfectly. Her outfit at a glance was expensive but not overly showy. Other than a small solitaire diamond necklace and a charm bracelet, she wore no jewelry. The woman had money, but she didn’t flaunt it. “You already know Miranda. This is Casey.”

“Hi there.” I shook the other pretty blonde’s hand and forced another smile. My cheeks had started to ache. I was glad the coven was only a trio.

“Gorgeous ring,” Casey said, gazing down with appreciation at my engagement ring.

“Thank you. I couldn’t agree more.” And thank you so much for the reminder of my marriage, currently in dire jeopardy of not lasting more than a week before I lost my husband forever to the spirit world. Yeah, thanks, Casey.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Raina asked, her gaze moving between me and Heather. “About what?”

“I need help,” I said bluntly, heart pounding. Why mince words? Plus, I wasn’t that great at small talk, and I had to admit, I’d read only the cheat notes on
To Kill a Mockingbird
back in high school. “I’m currently dealing with a problem involving a ghost and a stolen body. There’s a rumor that you might be in possession—no pun intended—of a powerful witch’s grimoire that might be helpful in righting what’s wrong. So I’m here to ask you if we might borrow this grimoire.”

Raina studied me, blinking a few times as if trying to follow along but having difficulty. “I’m not sure I understand. A grimoire? What’s a grimoire?”

Doubt nudged me with its pointy elbow. “It’s a witch’s spell book.”

She cocked her head to the side. “My goodness, I don’t have anything like that. You must be one of those people who thinks that everyone in Salem is a witch. I’m sorry to tell you that’s not true.”

Sure. And the red-eye reception I’d received at the front door had only been due to Miranda’s need for Visine.

She was lying. Still, I knew I had to tread softly right now. I hadn’t forgotten for a minute that Owen’s murderer was somewhere in town, and she or he was a powerful witch. Cross one of them by accident, or reveal that I was a vampire, and I didn’t think this story would have a happy ending. I liked happy endings. In fact, I insisted on them.

“Trust me, Raina,” I said, “I’m not trying to get in your business. I think everyone is more than entitled to keep their individual skeletons tightly locked in their private closets. However, I’m quickly running out of both options and time.”

“And I would love to help you, but I don’t have this spell book you’re looking for.” She gave me a sympathetic look that didn’t push away an ounce of my uncertainty. “If you’ve happened to tread upon some supernatural unpleasantness here in Salem, I’m sorry. If I could help you, I would. But I can’t.”

I looked into her blue eyes, attempting to see deception there. All I saw was vague confusion and patience. The expression reminded me of a teacher I’d had in third grade. After I’d fallen off the jungle gym three times and literally broken my arm in two places, I kept trying to get back on it. The teacher didn’t understand why. But I knew mistakes would inevitably lead to success. And bones healed eventually.

Although, I had to admit, I’d prefer not to have any broken today.

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said under my breath, then swept a glance around the room. “So isn’t this a coven?”

Raina’s jaw tensed. “It’s a book club.”

The proof of this was on the coffee table. I couldn’t exactly argue with her even though I wanted to. I couldn’t see any bubbling cauldrons or broomsticks.

“What happens in book club stays in book club,” I said, flicking a glance at the woman again.

I couldn’t read her face. Her gaze was steady as she took my hand in hers and squeezed it. “Don’t worry, Sarah. Most problems work themselves out. Like a ball of wool with some knots. What looks like a tangle can be sorted through in time, and it’s no reason to overreact. Go now, with Heather. You will find your answer somewhere else. Everything will be okay very soon.”

With that, we were ushered back to the front door. A soothing sense of calm now emanated from the center of my being. She was right. Everything was going to be okay very soon.

“Everything’s going to be okay.” Heather echoed my thoughts on the drive back to her house.

“Yes, of course it is,” I agreed. “These sorts of things work themselves out. Like wool. Or whatever she said.”

“Tangles. Tangles work themselves out.”

“Exactly.” I frowned. “Wait. What am I saying? This isn’t going to work itself out. What was that?”

Heather nodded. “Patience solves many problems.”

Why did I feel so calm? I wasn’t calm. Thierry was currently in mortal jeopardy. And he was supposed to be immortal!

“Stop the car,” I commanded. “Heather, stop the car! Right now!”

Heather slammed on the brakes and then pulled off to the side of the road. My mind raced. My former sense of serenity had suddenly been torn away like a wax strip on a hairy leg.

I stared at Heather, stunned. “That witch put a spell on us!”

W
itches freaked m
e out.

I mean, vampires I understood. Mostly. We were what we were, and there wasn’t too much hidden from plain sight. We had pointy canines that some filed down to appear more human, but the moment that we felt that bloodlust come upon us—which, let’s face it, happened more often than I’d like to admit—they re-formed like tiny switchblades. So having them filed down, in my opinion, was a big waste of money.

We drank blood to survive. On paper, it seemed pretty gross, but it was a fact of life. We were allegedly immortal, since the transition to vampire meant that our ages froze at the point we were sired. I couldn’t get sick like a human—so no more head colds or flus. We were still killable, though, which was what vampire hunters preyed upon.

But we couldn’t do magic. We couldn’t snap our fingers and summon an object out of thin air. And we couldn’t make somebody explode with the power of our minds.

Yeah, witches freaked me out. And I kept forgetting, despite any arguments to the contrary, that I was currently in the middle of a town overflowing with them.

As soon as I convinced Heather that we’d somehow been bespelled to leave Raina’s house, she drove back and parked two blocks away. We got out of the car and approached the house on foot. The area was all white picket fences, green yards, and colorful flower gardens.

I’d started off angry that Raina had used magic on me to make me turn tail and get out of her hair, but now I’d settled into a simmering certainty that there was only one answer available to me today.

“I don’t know why we’re even back here,” Heather said, eyeing the house with uncertainty. “She’s not going to talk to us again.”

“No, you’re right. She isn’t.”

“So what do we do?”

I pressed up against the side of the house, the brickwork rough against my hands. Before I could say anything to the redhead, the lavender front door creaked open. I pressed my index finger to my lips to tell Heather to be quiet, and I peered around the corner of the house to see the trio emerge onto the veranda. A pot of red geraniums partially blocked my view.

After saying their good-byes, both Casey and Miranda got into separate cars and drove away.

Book club my butt. This was definitely a coven of witches. The only question was, how witchy were they?

Two minutes later, Raina also left the house, locking the front door behind her, and after getting into her Lexus sports car, pulled out of the driveway. I pressed so firmly against the wall as she drove down the street, I was certain I’d have the permanent impression of a brick facade etched onto my skin.

“Is Raina married?” I asked. “Kids?”

“No. She’s single. No kids. Not even a cat.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

I looked at her. “Because we’re going to break into her house and steal her grimoire.”

Heather gasped. “That’s illegal.”

“Desperate times, Heather. Raina had her chance to help me. I’m going to have to help myself.”

“If she catches us . . .”

I grimaced. “Yeah, well, let’s try to think positively. I’m thinking after our next talk I might start clucking like a chicken. And I don’t want that. Nobody wants to cluck like a chicken.”

I swept my gaze over the light purple door once we got there. “Do you know how to pick a lock?”

“Afraid not.”

“Can you do a spell to open this up?”

“I can’t do spells without a grimoire. I already told you that.”

I hissed out a breath. “I am starting to think that you seriously underestimate yourself, Heather. I mean, just the séances alone . . . can you imagine how much easier it would be if the police had a séance division? They could just summon everybody who ever got murdered and ask them who did it.”

“Doesn’t work that way. Murder victims never remember the exact moment of their death. It’s blocked out.”

“Like a memory wipe?” I kept wanting to find clues to unlock Thierry’s missing memories to get the Ring off our backs, but that wasn’t the same as this. He hadn’t been murdered.

She shrugged, shifting her feet. “All I know is it doesn’t work. Besides, if witches started coming forth and volunteering their time to the local police force, witch hunters would have a field day.”

Just like vampire hunters. I shuddered at the thought. Let’s just say that I was extremely lucky to still be breathing, given my history with the wooden stake carriers. Hunters killed without interest in determining who deserved to die. Evil, good, tall, short, blond, brunette, whoever—stake to the heart, one and all. Sounded like witch hunters were exactly the same.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the street to watch for Raina’s return. I had no idea where she’d gone or when she’d be back. We had to make this quick.

“So how are we going to get in?” Heather asked.

At least she wasn’t trying to talk me out of this. I surveyed the door.

“I hope this works.” I grasped the door handle tightly, turned it as far as it could go. Then turned it a little more, putting some of my extra vampire strength into it.

The sound of the lock splintering the wood wasn’t pleasant, but it was rather satisfying.

I made a mental note to leave an envelope of money later to pay for the repairs. It was the least I could do. I’d drop it off with the returned grimoire once we were done with it.

But first we had to find it.

Raina’s house was big—six or seven thousand square feet at least. After scouring the living room where the book club meeting had been, including the bookshelves, which were filled with hardcover novels both new and old, I started to worry about how long this was taking.

What would Thierry do? He wouldn’t have let himself be bespelled in the first place. Plus, when he was determined to get something done, it got done. He’d probably have the grimoire in one hand and Raina eating out of the other.

Or he’d be dead from pushing the witch too far.

I shuddered.

“We need to split up,” I announced.

Heather gave me a strained look. “You sure?”

“I need that grimoire. If it’s here, then we have to find it. You keep looking down here, and I’ll check upstairs. Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

I couldn’t believe I’d ever doubted her sincerity for a moment, especially considering what success would ultimately mean for the man she once loved. “Thank you for helping me, Heather. I know that if we get the grimoire, if we get the right spell, it means that Owen will not be able to stick around.”

“I know.” Her expression turned solemn. “But I already made my peace with that when I did the Baxter spell.”

“Which you did really amazingly well.”

She gave me a shaky smile. “Thanks. Okay, I’ll look down here. Holler if you need me to come up.”

“Ditto.”

I headed up the staircase to the second floor as she continued to check the bookcase in the main living room. The stairs creaked with each step I took. I was a little surprised that Raina lived in this big house all by herself. I expected to find a pit bull or a sleepy rugrat lying in wait. But there was nothing but silence.

On the second floor there were six rooms, a bathroom and five bedrooms. I opened the door to each one and quickly checked inside. The second bedroom held another wall-sized bookcase, which I quickly scanned. These were more pulp fiction: many dime-store paperbacks, and mysteries from the fifties. The room had a musty smell.

But no grimoires.

What I expected to find was a large, leather-bound, dusty tome with parchment scrawled with writing and illustrations, but I kept my eyes peeled for something smaller, like Rose’s. All I knew was that it wouldn’t be a dime-store paperback with a heaving-bosomed woman on the cover.

In the last room, I peered out from the window to the driveway, praying I wouldn’t see Raina’s car pulling back into it. We’d searched for more than a half hour, but we hadn’t been as thorough as I would have liked. This would have been so much easier if Raina had been willing to help. If somebody had come to me asking for help, I’d like to think I would have done what I could, even if I didn’t know them. Unless something was stopping me. The question was—what was stopping Raina?

Something legit? Or maybe she was just a coldhearted, selfish witch. And I didn’t mean the magical kind.

At the end of the hall were the stairs to the third floor, which was almost a clone of the second floor, except that up here there were only four bedrooms. I checked the bathroom, the clawed tub, the pedestal sink. This house was like a museum, its fixtures right out of an episode of
Antiques Roadshow
. Other than a scattering of creepy oil paintings, I found no photos or anything overly personal.

The history here seeped into my bones. The house felt alive; it squeaked and made other noises that would freak me out at night if I lived here.

I picked up my pace, checking the first bedroom, quickly peeking under the bed. I tested the squeaky floorboards to see if there were any hidden compartments.

A chill suddenly brushed down my bare arms. It was a sensation I remembered from the previous night.

“Thierry?” I whispered.

“Looking for something?” The voice was as cold as the room had become. And it was
not
Thierry’s.

I swiveled slowly to face him. I already had a good idea who it was since I’d heard him say one word to me before. One ominous, scary-ass word: “Soon.”

Soon
had become
now
.

Jonathan Malik, the witch hunter, watched me from the corner of the dark room. I willed myself to stay calm and tried to remember what little I knew about ghosts.

They couldn’t hurt a human. Or a vampire. Or anything living. All they really were was a projection, not quite of this world, stuck somewhere between the living and the dead.

Bottom line, he couldn’t hurt me. All he could do was creep me out.

“Yes, I am looking for something.” I forced my voice to remain steady. “Maybe you can help me find it.”

His black eyes glittered. “This isn’t your house.”

Fear shivered through me. “No, it isn’t. Do you haunt this place often?”

The rest of him was slightly luminescent, just as Thierry’s and Owen’s ghostly forms were. His hair was long, to his shoulders, and he had a short, neat beard. He wore clothes circa three centuries ago, all black. I was used to that color scheme, since it was Thierry’s daily choice as well. I
had
bought him a blue shirt recently that would look fantastic on him, but he refused to wear it.

But I digress.

This man was certainly attractive, in a Dark Pilgrim kind of way, but there was something in his eyes I couldn’t ignore. Something cold and hard and unpleasant.

“This is one of my haunts,” he replied. “Among others.”

“You’re Jonathan Malik, right?”

“Malik is fine.” His gaze lit with interest. “You know my name.”

“Were you trying to give me a message in the café the other day?”

“Not really. I simply like to make my presence known to those capable of seeing the spirit world.”

“My husband couldn’t see you.”

“I don’t make my presence known to everyone.”

“Why haven’t you moved on to the afterlife?”

“Why do you care?”

I considered my reply as a cool line of perspiration slid down my spine, betraying my nerves. Thierry was now a ghost, threatened with eviction from the mortal world in two days. This guy had stuck around for three hundred years.

“I’m just curious,” I said, my throat tight.

He drew a little closer and I tried not to take a step back. The cold in the room intensified the nearer he got to me.

He’s harmless,
I reminded myself over and over.
He can’t hurt you. He can’t hurt anyone.

The ghost drew closer to me so he was only a couple of feet away. He was well over six feet tall.

“You’re a vampire, aren’t you?” he said again, his lip curving downward with disdain. “I don’t like vampires. But they do serve their purpose from time to time.”

My stomach soured. I would hate to learn what he considered a vampire’s purpose. “Not sure what difference it would make to you, Casper. You were a witch hunter, not a vamp hunter.”

“True.”

“Now that you’ve been trapped in Salem for over three hundred years, have you seen that witches are not always bad? Not always deserving of death?”

His lips stretched. I almost expected him to have razor-sharp teeth to go along with his nightmarish reputation, but no, they were regular teeth. And a regular, if cold, smile. “Do you think vampires go to Heaven or Hell?”

“Depends on the vampire.” I suddenly wondered how I’d gotten stuck in this conversation. I cast a fearful look toward the window and the driveway beyond. Still no sign of Raina.

He searched my face, as if fascinated by whatever expression I now wore. “You’re different from the other vampires that have come to Salem recently. None of them could see me.”

My breath caught. A ghost would be the best watchdog—invisible, silent, able to spy on unsuspecting witch activity. “Do you know what happened to them? Any of them? A vampire was killed the other day remotely by a witch’s death spell.”

“You want me to help you?” He laughed. The sound slithered unpleasantly. “Are you sure this is what you want my help with?”

He was playing with me now. I wasn’t a fan of being an amusing toy. “What witch did you piss off to get stuck in this town forever, Malik? She must have been really badass if you’re still here.”

His amusement vanished and the room grew colder. “You know my name, vampire. It’s only fair that I know yours.”

“Sure,” I said. “My name is Bite Me. Now, why don’t you make like a good ghost and disappear?”

“Very well.” His cold smile returned. “By the way, what you’re looking for isn’t on this floor. Follow me if you want to find it.”

He turned and walked straight through the bookcase behind him.

I surveyed the shelves of books I’d already looked at, but I looked at them again, trying to see if the grimoire was hidden among them. But no, there was nothing here that hadn’t been printed by a publisher at some time in the last hundred years.