Текст книги "Chosen"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

CHAPTER 34

Sarcasm. A very good sign. I sneak a look over my shoulder and Culebra is reaching under the counter. He pulls out a couple of Coronas and holds one out. I traipse back to the bar, sink onto a stool and take the proffered beer. We clink bottles and drink.

After a moment I venture a tentative, “What was all that stuff about retiring? You wouldn’t really close this place down would you?”

He waves a hand. “There might not be anything left to close down. Look around. That Williams woman drove all my customers away, hosts and vampires. She was nuts. She killed a mortal without a shred of remorse and when I tried to stop her, she knocked me cold. I thought you said she was newly turned.”

“She is. Williams turned her when he was in need of blood. Not more than six or eight weeks ago. About the time of Ortiz’ funeral. Until now, she’s never had to feed on her own. Williams must have been letting her feed from him.”

I know how powerful that connection can be. It’s the way Avery controlled me. She was Williams’ wife. The bond of sex and blood is strong enough without adding love.

Love fucks up a lot of things. Maybe if I’d kept a clearer head about Lance—

Culebra is in my head before I realize those last thoughts were left unguarded.

“I’m sorry Lance betrayed you. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Why not?” I put the bottle down, rest my elbows on the bar.

“I was an idiot. Lance and his sire were part of some nutty Basque traditionalist group that believed their goddess, Mari, would return to earth and signal a resurgence of the old ways—whatever the hell they are. Julian Underwood convinced Lance I was Mari. Partly, I suppose, because of Williams’ insistence that I was this ChosenOne. Anyway, Underwood and Williams devised a plan. Long story short, they sent Lance to keep an eye on me. Williams told Lance to tell me that yousent him.”

I lean forward, waiting for Culebra to make a comment on my gullibility.

To his credit, he doesn’t. Not even in his head. I continue. “It worked. Lance and I became close. Williams made the mistake of trusting Underwood. He probably knew nothing about the Basque thing. Thought Underwood’s goals were the same as his. He was wrong and ended up a pile of ash in a torched car.”

“And what about Underwood and Lance?”

“Underwood is a corpse. Lance isn’t. At least not yet.”

Culebra is quiet for a moment when I finish. His dark gaze feels like a drill boring into my head.

When it gets too penetrating, I bark, “What?”

“You are awfully cavalier about Lance. You can’t tell me this hasn’t taken a toll on your emotions. You said yourself, you and he had gotten close.”

I snort and resume drinking. Recounting the story has brought the vampire to the surface. I still have Underwood’s blood inside, flowing like a river of acid. Deep down, I was hoping there would be a host here to dilute the poison. Right now, the only emotion I feel is disappointment.

“Maybe that’s what you want to tell yourself,” Culebra says, reading my thoughts. “But ridding yourself of Underwood’s blood is not the only reason you came today.”

No. But it’s not what he thinks. I’m not here for therapy.

“David is missing. I believe Mrs. Williams took him. I think she intends to follow in her husband’s footsteps and force me to accept the destiny he died protecting. You and I have never talked about it. So, I’m asking you now. Do you know what it means to be the Chosen One?”

Culebra’s expression grows distant. I can’t tell if he’s searching his memory for the answer or if he knows it, and is burying it deep in his subconscious so it’s hidden from me. He’s locked me out and I can only wait, nursing my Corona, until he decides to come back.

At last, he does.

I can tell before he begins to speak, I’m not going to like what he has to say. His eyes tell me first. They are cold again, forged steel.

“These are things I can take no part in.” His tone is formal and as cold as his eyes. “They are matters of the vampire. The supernatural community has long been divided as to its place in the world, but the one tenet always held dear is that when the Chosen One comes, it marks either the beginning or the end of what is to be for us all. I can’t offer you counsel, Anna, because if it is true, if you are the Chosen One, the world as we know is yours to shape. Yours. Alone.”

More existential bullshit. I clasp my hands together to keep from reaching across the bar to slap him. “This is Anna you’re talking to,” I whisper in a voice choked with anger. “I couldn’t protect myself from my delusional boyfriend and his psychotic sire. How good do you think I’ll be at changing the world?”

Culebra, myCulebra, smiles at that, a slow, sweet smile. He tilts his head and winks. “You will do what you always do when the time comes.” He touches his chest with his fist.

Like the old Roman salute. “And what does that mean exactly?”

“You’ll follow your instincts. Your heart. It’s all that can be expected of anyone. Even a Chosen One.”

I take the last pull and lay the empty bottle on the bar. “Not much in the way of practical advice.”

He motions toward the bottle. “Want another?”

I glance at my watch. Still hours to go until it gets dark. “Why not?”

He’s opened the cooler and is about to pull out a second Corona when the bar doors swing in. He looks up and I swivel on the barstool.

In walks Daniel Frey.

CHAPTER 35

I jump off the stool to greet my friend, and Culebra comes out from behind the bar. He and Frey trade man hugs.

Unusual display for Culebra. Seeing Frey must have triggered guilt over his little tantrum earlier.

When they step apart, I give Frey a real hug, then look him over.

He’s dressed in pleated trousers, a cotton short-sleeved shirt with palm trees on a cream background and loafers. He’s carrying a leather briefcase and wearing reflector sunglasses with big frames that are distinctly feminine—tortoise shell with opaque amber lenses and a fancy golden Dolce & Gabbana logo near the hinge.

“Let me guess,” I say as he sweeps them off. “Layla’s glasses.”

He grins. “Damned if they don’t work, too. I can drive with these things. I’ll have to get a pair.”

“You might want to rethink the frames,” Culebra dead-pans. “Want a beer?”

Frey parks his butt on a stool and lays the briefcase on the bar before nodding at Culebra and saying to me, “I figured this is where you’d be.”

“I thought we weren’t going to meet until tonight.”

He accepts a Corona and we wait while he takes a first pull. “Got impatient,” he says then. “Decided not to wait.”

He looks around. “Place is pretty deserted for a Saturday. Fallout from what happened with Judith?”

“Judith? Is that her first name?”

Culebra and Frey both look surprised that I didn’t know. I shrug. “We never were formally introduced.”

Frey shakes his head. “Judith Williams. Pretty innocuous name for such a hellcat. I still can’t believe the damage she did.”

Culebra waves a hand. “And is still doing. I haven’t had a customer since Thursday night.” He motions us over to a table. “May as well get comfortable.”

Once we’re seated around the table I give voice to the question I know Culebra wants answered as much as I. “Why did you track me down?”

“I did a little more research,” he says. “The good news is I don’t believe David is in any real danger. At least not yet. I think you’re right that she took him to assure your cooperation. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t heard from her yet.”

“I checked my cell phone when I got home. Nothing. I haven’t been to the office yet, though. Did you call Tracey and Miranda?”

“Both think you and David are out of town on a job. Tracey is pissed at you because you didn’t tell her. Miranda is pissed at David because she thinks he lied. But it’s bought us time—until the middle of the week at least.”

Until the passing of theday. God, I hope it goes more smoothly than the fiasco in Biarritz.

I nod at Frey. “So tell us about your research.”

He reaches for the briefcase he’d carried from the bar, opens it and withdraws a file from inside. He spreads a dozen sheets of paper on the table. “This is some pretty interesting stuff,” he says, excitement shining from his eyes. “I can’t believe I hadn’t come across the mythology before.”

“Mythology?” The word sends a shock through me. Carries with it connotations of obsolete beliefs in long-defunct Basque goddesses. “Please tell me I’m not going to have to go through some archaic ritual.” Particularly one that might involve ritual rape.

But Frey isn’t fazed by my lack of enthusiasm. He doesn’t notice. He’s too caught up in his fervor to share what he’s learned.

“The Chosen One is mentioned in ancient texts going back to the time when angels and demons walked the earth. But the references have always been obscure and subject to interpretation. Which is why it’s been so hard to get specifics. Until now.”

He reaches once more into the briefcase. This time he pulls out a worn leather tome about the size of a paperback. The cover and spine are cracked, and the pages so brittle, when he lays the book down, flakes of parchment and dust puff up and dissipate like pollen in the wind.

“What is that?”

Frey looks at the book with an expression of awe. He holds it up carefully and with great reverence. “This is the Grimoire.”

Culebra and I exchange looks. His thoughts mirror my own. I speak them aloud. “What is a Grimoire?”

Frey places the book back on the table, resting one hand on it protectively as if afraid the book might sprout legs and run away.

For all we know, it might.Culebra’s remark is in response to my own musings.

Frey catches the mocking tone of Culebra’s comment and frowns. “You don’t understand what this book represents. It is the accumulated wisdom of The First. It is an account of how a Chosen One came to be. And a written text not only for what followed historically, but for what is to come. You, Anna, are the descendant of The First. Only one vampire every two hundred years is marked for the change. It is quite an honor.”

From his worshipful tone, I almost expect Frey to drop to one knee and kiss my hand. For the moment, I’m glad he can no longer read my thoughts.

Culebra, however, can and does. I expect him to be of one mind with me on this and even send him a private message to take it easy on Frey. He obviously believes the crap he’s spouting.

The surprise is on me.

Culebra’s eyes are shining when he turns his gaze on me. “Here is the counsel you were seeking.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. It takes me a moment to search Culebra’s mind, to convince myself he isn’t joking. Even then, I can’t help blurting, “You’re buying into this?”

“You were looking for the truth. I think Frey has found it.”

For a dizzying moment, I feel like Alice down the rabbit hole. Culebra and Frey both stare at me. Their eyes reflect awe, as if recognizing something in me that was never there before. It’s both disconcerting and ridiculous.

I slam my beer bottle down on the tabletop and they jump. Beer foams over the top and soaks the papers. Frey manages to grab the book before it gets soaked, too.

Now what I see in their eyes is something I’m used to—irritation—and that’s a lot easier to deal with.

I lean toward Frey. “Earth to Frey. This is the twenty-first century. Angels and demons no longer walk the earth and I don’t have a mark on me. I think you’ve either misread the prophecy or there is another vampire out there awaiting coronation. It’s notme.”

He’s whisking beer off the table with the edge of one hand, holding the book aloft with the other. “I don’t care whether you believe it or not,” he says. “You are the Chosen One. Everything that’s happened proves it. No newly made vampire has the strength and abilities you have. You’re here for a reason. You are going to have to accept it.”

“No. I don’t.”

He looks up and straight into my eyes. “Not even to save David?”

“That is so not fair.”

Even to my own ears I sound like a nasal Valley girl and I want to cringe. But the sentiment is real. I start ticking off reasons why this idea that I’m some kind of vampiric prophet is beyond insane.

“Let’s look at this logically. You said I’m the descendant of The First. How much sense does that make? Vampires don’t choose to become. They are not born, they are made. Donaldson attacked me because I was trying to take him into custody. He didn’t intend to turn me. He intended to kill me. I became vampire as the result of a random act. Nothing else. It was hardly destiny.”

Frey lets me finish before he launches into a litany of his own. “Random? Let’s see. Donaldson was in a parking lot that particular night because he’d gone out for a drink. Alone. To a bar he’d never gone to before on the night before he was to take off to Mexico. Did I get that right?”

He barely waits for my grudging nod. “You were there because you left a safe, secure job as a teacher to become a bounty hunter. In the grand scheme of things, makes as much sense as Donaldson risking his freedom to go out for a lousy drink. But let’s get back to what happened. Donaldson turns out not to be the human skip you expect him to be but a vampire who does notkill you, but turns you because he is interrupted and has to flee before he can finish you off.”

I don’t like the direction this is heading. I open my mouth, but Frey barges ahead.

“You wake up in a hospital with no memory of what happened. You are being taken care of by a doctor who, coincidentally, just happens to be on duty the night you’re brought in and even more coincidentally, happens to be a vampire himself.”

“It is coincidence,” I insist. “All of it.”

“Really?” Frey asks. “Then why did Avery take such an interest in you? You’ve been vampire long enough to know vampires are not social creatures. They may feel responsible for ones they themselves have turned. Williams with Ortiz, for instance. But why did Avery go out of his way to mentor you if he hadn’t seen that there was something different about you? Something special.”

“It’s called being horny, Frey. Avery wanted me for sex.”

“I’m sure that played a part in it,” he says dryly. “You do inspire that in men. But even when you met Williams for the first time, he called you ‘the one.’ He saw it, too. From the beginning.”

Damn it. I know I hadn’t told Frey all this. I wish now I’d bitten him sooner. He obviously had enough time to memorize every detail of my history before I broke our psychic connection.

I glance over at Culebra. He’s so wrapped up in Frey’s telling of the story, you’d think he was hearing it for the first time. I can’t expect any help from that quarter.

“All right. Let’s tackle this from another angle.” I sit up straighter in the chair. “If I’m so all powerful, how come Lance was able to fool me? He hasn’t been vampire that long and I didn’t have an inkling who he was. I swallowed his story like a shark swallows chum. I wasn’t even perceptive enough to sensethat he was lying to me. He drugged me and dragged me off to France, for Christ’s sake. I can’t take care of myself. What idiot would want me to be responsible for the fate of the world?”

Finally, finally, I’ve rendered Frey speechless. He stares at me openmouthed. He didn’t know what had happened with Lance. He thought we’d just had a fight.

Culebra is the one who speaks first. “Anna, what happened with Lance is no reflection on you. It’s a reflection on him. He betrayed your love and your trust.”

Frey finds his voice. “He druggedyou? Did he hurt you?”

“Not nearly as much as I plan to hurt him.”

“Why would he do it? What was he thinking?” He looks like he has a million other questions, none of which would make any more sense then the ones he just asked.

“Pretty much my reaction when I woke up. But I don’t want to talk about Lance. My point is I think you’re wrong about me. I’m not special and I’m not all-powerful and I don’t want to be responsible for anyone other than myself.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself.” This from Culebra. “And if Frey is right—” He sees me open my mouth to interrupt and forges ahead before I can. “If Frey is right, what you wantisn’t important, is it? You won’t be the first leader to assume the burden of responsibility with reluctance and humility.”

“Well, I can sure as hell refuseto assume that mantle of responsibility. Who’s going to stop me?”

“If we’ve guessed right, Mrs. Williams.”

Frey succeeds with that simple declaration in bringing the conversation back full circle. “She must have heard from her husband a million times how you were fighting the prophecies. How you clung to your family, to David and your human life. Your family was out of reach. David was not.”

He’s slipped the book back into the briefcase with a glance to me that says he’s doing it to keep it out of harm’s way . . . out of myway. Then he shuffles the beer-soaked papers into a soggy pile. “I made notes about what I believe will happen on the evening of your ascension.”

“Ascension?” Another word that provokes a squeak of protest. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack,” he says with an earnestness that borders on mania. “Now, do you want to hear what I’ve learned, or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Culebra lays his hands over mine on the table. “I want to hear it,” he says. “Anna is through interrupting, aren’t you?”

I shake my head. For someone who may be addressing the Chosen One, you show remarkably little respect.

He grins. Come Tuesday, you might be able to smite me dead. Until then, this is my bar.He lifts a chin in Frey’s direction. “Go on. You have our attention.”

CHAPTER 36

The teacher in Frey takes over. He stands up and assumes an at-a-podium kind of wide-legged stance, papers in one hand.

“You can’t do this sitting down?” I grumble.

Culebra makes a shushing sound.

“Okay. Here’s the deal. I’ve divided my research into two categories: the ceremony itself, what to expect after.” He pauses, waiting, I suppose, for me to interrupt again.

What’s the use? I’m going to hear this whether I want to or not. “Enlighten us.”

“Okay.” Another shuffling of paper. “From what I’ve been able to decipher, the ceremony will take place at midnight on Monday. It will be attended by a representative from each of the thirteen tribes.”

Okay, my self-control doesn’t last very long. Now I have to interrupt. “Tribes? What tribes?”

Frey doesn’t look aggravated by the question. Instead he looks pleased. As if, for once, I asked the right one.

“The vampire community is divided into tribes—each representing a geographic area. They are North America; South America; Central America including Mexico and the West Indies; Australia and Oceania; Northern Africa; Central and South Africa; the Near East; the Middle East; Central Asia; Indonesia and the Philippines; China; Japan and Korea; Russia.”

“So, I’m about to become the head honcho of the North American tribe?”

“No. You are about to become head honcho of the whole shebang.”

No. Not going to happen. The impulse to run screaming from this ridiculous scenario is tempered only by the realization that Frey would track me down. He knows where I live. May as well let him finish spinning his fairy tale. I carefully modulate my expression and voice to reflect only curiosity when in reality what I’m feeling is panic. I think Frey is close to jumping off the sanity cliff, and Culebra is right there teetering on the brink with him.

“Why haven’t I heard of these thirteen tribes before?” I congratulate myself for asking an intelligent question on an absurd subject.

Frey fixes me with the same kind of look that I used to get from Williams. I didn’t like it then, I don’t like it now. Still, I hold my tongue and wait for the answer.

“Williams would have gladly told you anything you wanted to know about your vampire heritage. You wouldn’t give him a chance. Now you have no choice but to learn. Vampire society is somewhat decentralized. Each tribe governs itself. The thirteen only gather for a watershed event—like the coming of a Chosen One. It will mark your—” He hesitates, obviously suspecting how I’m going to react when he finishes the sentence. “Well, for lack of a better word, your coronation.”

He suspects right. I’m on my feet before the last syllable of the word “coronation” has left his lips.

“This is beyond ridiculous. Frey, you and I have become good friends in a very short time. You’ve never let me down when I’ve come to you with a problem. I admire and respect you. But you have to know how crazy this sounds. I don’t know how many ways I can say it. I don’t want any part of this. There must be an escape clause. For argument’s sake, tell me, what would happen if I don’t show up?”

He counters with a quiet, “What about David?”

“We don’t even know for sure if Judith Williams has him. You and I will check that out tonight. If what I suspect is true, and he’s at Avery’s, we’ll get him out. In any case, there has to be a way I can refuse to go through with this. I’m not the one they want. I spend most of my time trying to forget what I’ve become. Surely, the leader of the world’s vampires would be someone who doesn’t spend the greater part of her life trying to be human. There has got to be a better candidate.”

Frey lets me finish. He releases a breath, places both hands on the table, leans over it. “I wish I could tell you what you want to hear. Everything I read, though, is very specific. There is one chosen, he or she is marked, at the anniversary of that vampire’s becoming, a change occurs. The Chosen One becomes the leader and the path for the next two hundred years is determined.”

“Well, there you have it.” I slam my fist on the table again for emphasis. “I have no mark.”

Culebra has been silent during this exchange between Frey and me. “Are you sure?” he asks now. “When was the last time you looked at yourself in a mirror?”

The look I throw him is scathing. “Hello. Vampire. You know the answer to that. But I don’t need a mirror to know whether or not I have some kind of magical mark.”

Frey’s expression turns introspective, as if searching his memory. “Maybe we’re being too literal,” he says then. “Or maybe I misinterpreted the meaning of the word ‘mark.’”

He drops into his chair and shuffles through the beer-soaked pages. Then he dips into the briefcase and retrieves the book. He reads first from the book, then consults his papers, until he finds what he’s looking for.

“I’ll be damned,” he says. “I think I waswrong. The word I translated as ‘mark’ may not be a physical characteristic at all. It could just as easily be interpreted as powers not ordinarily attributed to a vampire.”

He grins at me, which is not at all comforting considering what follows. “Remember what happened in Palm Springs, Anna? You went into a burning garage to save Lance. And what about your evolving instinct to sense evil? Williams didn’t know about that one, did he? How you reacted the first time you met Underwood?”

“I wish I’d told him. Maybe he’d still be alive.”

Culebra turns a startled face my way. “What does Frey mean? What happened in Palm Springs?”

I give him a quick rundown, realizing by watching his reaction that he’s now fully committed to the crazy idea that I am indeed who Frey believes me to be.

When I stop talking, he turns to Frey. “Why didn’t I know any of this? Why didn’t you tell me when you brought Judith Williams here?”

His harsh tone borders on accusatory, as if Frey betrayed his trust by not telling him what was happening with me.

Frey bristles, and I cut in.

“I didn’t tell you, either, Culebra, because it had nothing to do with Mrs. Williams. As for the Underwood thing, I thought I’d taken care of it. Stupid assumption.”

I switch my focus to Frey. He’s staring at Culebra in tense silence, a growl rumbling in the back of his throat. I divert his attention with a hand on his arm. “Which proves my point. I wouldn’t put much store in that so-called ability to sniff out evil. Lance fooled me completely. He turned out to be as much a bastard as Underwood.”

Culebra says softly, “Lance’s betrayal was a sign of weakness, not of evil.”

I stare at him. Did he pick the details of Lance’s letter out of my head?

No matter.

The thought of what went on in the cave at Biarritz produces a backlash of weariness that swamps my senses. “I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m going back to the cottage.”

That pushes Frey’s resentment toward Culebra out of his head. He rounds on me. “I haven’t finished. I have much more to tell you. You have preparations to make. There is protocol to learn. You can’t pretend it isn’t going to happen, Anna. And you must be prepared.”

He is so earnest in his pleading, so accepting that what he found in that little book is the truth, that I haven’t the will or strength to fight it anymore. I put a hand on his arm, sincerity in my voice. “You can tell me more tonight. When we go to Avery’s.”

He relaxes at that, gathers his papers and that stupid book and rustles them back into the briefcase. “I’ll come over early,” he says. “Well before dark so we have time.”

Culebra is not so easily fooled. He is eyeing me the way a spider eyes a fly buzzing around a web. He sees the subtlety in my gesture, reads the intention behind the words. He guesses once we leave, the probability that Frey is going to get the chance to finish his tutorial is about as good as a fly’s chance to escape if it touches that web.

I let him. I let him know he’s right.

He cloaks his thoughts so Frey doesn’t intercept. Be careful, Anna. You are venturing into deep water. Don’t make the mistake of thinking because you want something to be so, it will be. There are some things in this world over which you have no control.

I meet his gaze, say nothing. So far as I can tell, since becoming vampire, I haven’t had control over anything that’s been done to me.

That stops.

Now.

* * *

I push every single word of this afternoon’s conversation out of my head on the drive home. I concentrate only on the mechanics of driving, on my weariness, on the bed I’m going to fall into the moment I get to the cottage. I’ve been up eighteen hours. A few hours’ sleep and I’ll be ready to face the only obstacle I intend to tonight. Judith Williams.

The cottage is cool and quiet, a haven from the bright, sand-reflected beach sun. I make sure the doors are locked, the drapes pulled, and let my head sink gratefully onto the pillow.

His smell hits me like a physical blow. It’s in the bedclothes. Floats on the air. Floods my thoughts like a rising tide.

Damn you, Lance.

I toss the pillow across the room, snatch sheets and blankets and tear them off the bed.

I won’t let him do this to me.

But the bare mattress still retains the scent of us. Of sex and blood and passion.

My hands curl into fists. I’ll haul it down to the Dumpster tomorrow. After I have David back.

Right before I track the bastard down.

* * *

It’s only six when I awaken from a nap that did little to remedy a bad case of sleep deprivation. Vivid dreams of the cave in Biarritz were interspersed with equally vivid dreams of Lance—sexual images that my body responded to even as I slept.

When I open my eyes, my face is wet with tears and my body aching with loneliness.

I stumble into the bathroom, strip and force myself to step into a cold shower. The shock of the water is reviving. Sluggishness gives way to a sense of purpose, gloominess to renewed energy. I can’t let despair make me forget what tonight is all about. Finding David.

I dress for a night operation. Black jeans, black long-sleeved T-shirt, black tennis shoes. As I prepare, my mind circles around one thought like a buzzard around a carcass. I’m assuming an awful lot. I’m assuming Mrs. Williams took David. I’m assuming she’s taken him to Avery’s. I’m assuming that she’ll be expecting me. Valid assumptions from my perspective. She and her husband were friends with Avery. She knows our history as well as anyone.

If I’m wrong, then what?

I start over.

Once dressed, I’m antsy to get going. I wish now I hadn’t asked Frey along. My thought that he’d have a better chance to prowl the ground unnoticed as a panther made sense at the time I suggested it. Now all I can think of is the baggage that goes along with his participation.

I’ll have to listen to more of his bullshit about what he read in that stupid book.

It’s just before seven when the doorbell rings. I grab keys and my handbag, and run down the stairs to the front door.

I’m expecting Frey.

I’m not expecting the frowning, angry woman who pushes her way into my home the minute I open the door.

Tracey Banker projects her fury like a bullet seeking a target. And right now, I’m the bull’s-eye. She doesn’t give me a chance to say anything before firing the shot.

“I know you weren’t happy when David brought me on board. I don’t expect us to become best buddies. But you have no right to lie to me. David is in trouble, and you better damn well let me help or I swear I’ll go to the cops and tell them you knew about it all along.”

She’s yelling and waving a piece of paper in my face. I pry it out of her hands. The first thing I notice is that it’s a copy of an email. An email addressed to me.

To me.

The second thing I notice is who it’s from: Judith Williams.

What the hell?

I turn it around and shove it toward her. “You always read other people’s mail?”

“Fucking good thing that I did.” She’s still yelling. “You had some guy call and tell me that you and David had gone out of town on a job. Wouldn’t be back until Tuesday. That’s not what this says. If I hadn’t opened it, by Tuesday it would be all over. David would be dead.”

There’s no way I can explain that I wanted her out of harm’s way. Or, more important, that this is none of her business. She’s in no mood to listen. Instead, I turn my back on her and concentrate on the paper in my hand.

Anna. You and I have a date with destiny. David is along for the ride. Whether or not he survives is entirely up to you. I know if he hasn’t already, your friend Daniel Frey will tell you what is expected of you. I also know your first impulse will be to find a way out. It’s why I took David. I suggest you spend less energy trying to avoid what will happen on Tuesday and more on learning from the Grimoire. Who knows? You may yet find an escape clause in the teachings. It’s the reason I arranged for Mr. Frey to find the book. I have no desire to hurt your partner. He seems like a good man. A little confused right now. I had no idea he was unaware of your true nature. Trust me when I say he is being well cared for. That can change, though. It’s up to you. Until Tuesday morning then—