Blood Bath & Beyond (33 page)

“No…
ghost
. Singular. While there are admittedly many rumored ghosts in Salem, this is the only one that’s ever been of any real importance.” She smiled. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I agreed half-heartedly. “Hooray.”

We really should have gone to Hawaii.

“You believe there’s a ghost haunting this café?” Thierry asked.

She brightened even more. “With all my heart.”

“Most spirits lose their ties to the world of the living after three days. How long has this one been here?”

“There have been sightings of Malik for over three hundred years. Not just at the Maison, either. All over Salem.”

“Malik.” I repeated the name. It didn’t sound nearly as friendly as Casper. “Who was he?”

“A witch-hunter.” Madame LaPorte’s expression turned serious, but I could tell that she loved sharing this subject matter. “Murdered by a witch during the trials. She trapped his spirit here forevermore.”

“Forevermore?” I repeated. Not exactly a word you heard every day. But it did add some drama.

“And then some.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, I’ve never been lucky enough to see him. Then again, we don’t know for sure that’s who you saw, do we? It could simply have been a customer who slipped into the next room.”

Then, after wishing us a pleasant visit to town, Madame LaPorte excused herself so she could go give another table a free and pleasant—but quick and generic—fortune while they waited for their order.

Adventure and romance
. I did like the sound of that.

The waitress brought over our mugs of coffee a moment later.

I glanced at Thierry as I stirred two teaspoons of sugar into my Hazelnut blend. “The ghost of a witch-hunter named Malik was just giving me the furry eyeballs from across the room. Should I freak out now or save it for later?”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Better than a vampire hunter.”

“I appreciate you taking this seriously.”

A smile played at his lips as he gave me a slight shrug. “If that is indeed who you saw, you must remember that a ghost’s affect on the living is negligible at best. Even if the rumor’s true and you did see this particular witch-hunter, it’s nothing to concern yourself with. He can’t do you—or anyone else—any harm.”

I took a sip of my coffee, successfully calmed by his calmness. “I’m surprised you didn’t see him, too. If he’s really a ghost, that is.”

“Me too.”

Thierry and I might be opposites in many ways, but we did share a special skill that only a small percentage of vampires possessed. We could see ghosts and
also sense the departing spirit of someone after death. But ghosts weren’t exactly commonplace. Something would either have to trap them here on earth or they would have to be summoned by a psychic with very strong skills—and psychics like that were as rare as finding a nun in a string bikini.

Bottom line, ghosts weren’t lurking on every street corner. Thankfully.

“Here he is,” Thierry said, rising from the table. Any amusement on his face from earlier faded. “Let me do the talking, Sarah. Owen is not someone I want you to have much contact with.”

That was rather ominous. “Noted. I’ll play the part of the mute brunette.”

We’d been asked to meet a vampire at this café upon our arrival named Owen Brumley, whom Thierry already knew from years ago. Owen was to give us an overview of the problem Thierry (and I) had been sent to check out.

That was the job of a consultant. Quite simple, really. If there was a vampire-related issue that drew the Ring’s attention, they sent someone like Thierry to assess the situation. From what I’d deduced, it seemed as if the Ring was mostly interested in keeping the existence of vampires a big secret from humans—worldwide. Anything that risked that secret needed attention and a swift resolution.

The Ring also had their own police force, called enforcers. Or perhaps
assassins
would be a better descriptor. They were vampires who were also vampire
hunters
. They took care of problems if and when they escalated.

Just because vampires didn’t automatically become evil fiends after sprouting fangs and developing a
thirst for blood, it didn’t mean we were all good, either. I’d met a bad one recently—a serial killer who’d nearly added Thierry and me to his list of victims. But he’d been stopped. Permanently.

Sarah Dearly lives to bite another day.

That was just a joke, of course. I rarely do more than nibble.

I’d met a few people from Thierry’s very long and—at times—notorious past. So far, they were mostly horrible people who disliked him due to some lingering grudge. My hopes that Owen would be different were modest at best.

“Thierry de Bennicoeur…,” Owen began as I tensely watched him approach the table from the corner of my eye. “It’s been a hell of a long time, dude.”

I blinked.
Dude?

I turned fully to get a look at this vampire as he clasped Thierry’s hand and shook it vigorously.

“Good to see you again, Owen,” Thierry said.

Owen Brumley looked a whole lot like a male model crossed with an A-list actor. With blond hair and flashing green eyes, he was at least six-three, and had the muscled physique of a personal trainer. Standing next to my already extremely GQ-esque husband…it was quite a sight.

Holy hotness, Batman. Times two.

I didn’t know why this surprised me. I’d met my share of good-looking vampires since I was sired into a life of fangs, blood, and nonreflection by the ultimate blind date from hell seven months ago.

“And this”—Owen flashed me a killer smile that revealed the small but pointy tips to his fangs— “must be Sarah Dearly.”

“However did you guess?” said the previously mute brunette.

“Thierry told me over the phone that you were drop-dead gorgeous. Call it a hunch.”

I glanced at Thierry with surprise. “You actually used the words
drop-
dead gorgeous
to describe me?”

He was the only one of us who wasn’t smiling. “I certainly could have. However, Owen sometimes tends to make things up to be amusing. This is one of those times.”

It wasn’t said with fondness.

Call me crazy, but I had a pretty good hunch why Thierry didn’t want me to have much to do with Owen. The guy was a serious lady-killer. However, with that leering edge to his gaze, it didn’t make me want to start swooning over his good looks, even though every other woman in the café was currently checking him out with blatant interest.

“Hey, Owen,” a blonde said with a sultry smile as she moved past us on her way to the counter.

“Lydia,” he said smoothly. “Looking good today.”

She giggled. “You too.”

When she was out of earshot, Owen turned to me and whispered conspiratorially, “But not nearly as good as
you
look, Sarah.”

I think I was the only woman within a thirty-foot radius who wasn’t drooling right now. Still, I would reserve my judgment for when I’d known this guy for more than two minutes. First impressions could sometimes be deceiving. “Gee, thanks.”

Thierry’s expression had darkened and he gestured for Owen to take a seat. “Why don’t we get to the point?”

Owen slid into a chair. “No small talk for an old pal? Thierry, you haven’t changed at all over the years, have you?”

“I’ve changed,” he said tightly. “More than I ever would have thought possible, actually.”

Owen’s gaze flicked to me again. “Maybe you’re right. And what a wonderful change it is. Tell me, Sarah, how on earth do you put up with Monsieur de Bennicoeur’s dour ways? You must feel as if you’ve married a high school principal.”

I shrugged. “Guess that’s my type. The dourer the better, I say.”

“I’m not dour,” Thierry said dourly.

Owen grinned. “Congratulations on your nuptials, by the way. I think it’s fantastic.”

“Do you?” Thierry gave him a skeptical look before his expression finally eased. “Well, thank you. I appreciate that.”

“Can’t believe you also committed yourself to the Ring, though. They must have had some serious duress involved to get you back into the fold. When I finished my term with them I was happy to finally be free. But good luck to you.”

Thierry didn’t reply to this and I wasn’t going to touch this subject with a ten-foot wooden stake. In a nutshell, the Ring—while a necessary entity—was a shadowy and mysterious organization that did shadowy and mysterious things. Thierry had been an original founder but left a century ago to pursue other interests. Very recently—like less than a week ago—he’d taken a job as a consultant—a job that required him to sign on the dotted line. In blood. It was part of
a blood-magic spell that bound him to the Ring for the next fifty years.

He’d done it because they’d threatened to kill me if he didn’t. So yeah,
duress
was a good word. He had yet to admit this to me in so many words, but I knew it was the truth. He’d sacrificed his own future to save my life and he’d never wanted me to know.

It made my heart swell every time I thought about it. I would love him forevermore for that. For-ever-more.

And I didn’t trust the Ring as far as I could throw them. I had a very good memory, and this matter, as far as I was concerned, was nowhere near resolved.

“So…,” I said after silence fell at the table. “What’s happening in Salem? You’re the guy with all the answers, apparently.”

Owen gestured for an eager waitress to bring him a cup of coffee. “Not all the answers, I’m afraid.”

“All I was told was that there have been some disappearances,” Thierry said. “Here in Salem. Tell us more.”

He nodded. “A few vampires have gone missing while visiting town. Nobody would have thought anything strange about it, but they’ve been clustered, all in less than a month. One of these vampires is the mistress of a Ring elder, thus the quick response.”

“Do you suspect vampire hunters?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. Hunters steer clear of Salem. That’s why I like it here so much.”

I frowned. “Why do they stay away from here? They seem to congregate everywhere else to make our lives difficult.”

“Likely the threat of witches,” Thierry said, glancing at my surprised reaction. “Hunters are a superstitious
lot. Witches are bad luck for them. Also, crossing paths with a witch-hunter would be dangerous for everyone involved.”

I thought it through, still disturbed by the idea of witches and witch-hunters, let alone regular hunters. “Okay. So it would be like turf wars—
West Side Story
without the singing.”

“Something like that. Or at least that’s what they try to avoid. Other towns that are rumored to be homes to covens are treated much the same way. The world of witches and the world of vampires rarely cross paths.”

“So there
are
witches in Salem,” I said. For this I looked at Owen for the answer. After all, he lived here.

“Some,” he agreed. “But no megas.”

At my confused look, Thierry took over. “A mega is the unofficial term vampires use for a very powerful witch who can do magic without a grimoire, a book of spells. These witches are rare.”

“And luckily, none are currently living in Salem,” Owen added. “Just the harmless ones who like to do simple spells and cook up magical recipes. There are many peaceful Wiccans here, too. And, of course, there are the ones who only
think
they’re witches. They usually wear the pointy hats.”

When I thought of Salem, of course I thought of witches. I’d loved watching reruns of
Bewitched
when I was a kid—had the nose twitch down pat. This town was ready, willing, and able to appeal to that particular tourist expectation. There was even a statue of Elizabeth Montgomery herself I’d seen as we’d driven to the café.

But
mega
-witch? Kind of like an alpha werewolf, I figured—the leader, the most powerful one. Only…minus the hairballs.

“You said one of the missing vampires is the mistress of a Ring elder,” Thierry said, helping to get us back on topic.

Owen nodded. “That’s right.”

“If there aren’t any hunters in town, maybe nothing bad happened to her,” I reasoned. “Maybe she was tired of being his mistress and took off with someone else.”

“Maybe,” Owen allowed, then cleared his throat. He wasn’t looking directly at us anymore; instead, he was staring over at the coffee bar with its glass displays of baked goods.

Thierry watched him carefully, his arms crossed over his chest. “Let me guess. You were involved with her.”

“I’m not really sure I’d say that one night constitutes
involved
.” He shrugged. “There’s a popular karaoke bar that I go to all the time, and let’s just say that Monique knew how to sing Beyoncé like nobody’s business. I had to have her.”

“You slept with the mistress of a Ring elder.” I put it into words. Although it didn’t surprise me at all to learn that this guy favored one-night stands.

He didn’t look the least bit guilty about it. “What can I say? For a three-hundred-year-old woman she was unbelievable beautiful. Like a Victoria’s Secret model. But she’s gone—just disappeared.”

“And the other two?” Thierry asked.

“A regular vamp couple passing through town with no Ring affiliation. I met them. Nice.” He cleared his throat again. “Really nice.”

Something about the way he said it…“How well did you know them?”

“Uh…let’s just say that some couples like to experiment when they’re on vacation. And if they happen to suggest that I join them, what am I supposed to say? No?”

I could safely say I’d now known him long enough to make a non-first-impression impression. Owen Brumley—a vampire of amazing looks and indeterminable age—was the town slut.

“So what you’re saying is that three vampires have gone missing while traveling through Salem,” Thierry said evenly, “and all three of them had spent a night with you.”

Owen took the mug of coffee from the passing waitress’s tray and gave her a flirtatious grin before she moved away. “Basically. And just for the record, I had nothing to do with their disappearances.”

I exchanged a look with Thierry. There was no accusation in his gaze toward Owen at these revelations. Nor was there any surprise. None at all.