Bled & Breakfast (4 page)

But there it was—that edge of something dangerous, something barely restrained. It wasn’t directed toward me, though. It was toward Markus.

“Has he threatened you?” He said the words simply, but there was a thick layer of underlying darkness there. If I said yes, I had no doubt that Thierry would immediately go to find Markus, and it wouldn’t be to make small talk about the weather.

“No, no threats. Well, not toward me, anyway.” I hissed out a breath. “He wants me to find out some things. About you.”

His brow lifted. “About
me
?”

“Yeah. Namely, about another time you were here in Salem.”

“Is that so?”

“So why don’t we just get it all out into the open.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Apparently you went missing for fifty years and the Ring is dying to know where you went. Care to share with the class?”

He studied me for several drawn-out moments as if trying to figure out the riddle in my eyes. Then something very unpleasant flashed across his face. “How dare they use you to try to get this information. If Markus wanted to know so badly, why didn’t he simply confront me about it face-to-face?”

“Would you have told him anything?”

“Of course not.”

I nodded. “Then that’s very likely why.”

Thierry pulled his BlackBerry out of his inner jacket pocket. “I’m calling him right now.”

I snatched the device away from him before he’d even attempted to scroll through his address book. “No, you are most certainly
not
going to call him right now.”

“Sarah,” he growled, “let me handle this. You don’t have to be any part of it.”

“I guess you misunderstood the part in Vegas when we said the ‘for better or for worse’ thing?”

“You’re paraphrasing. Our vows were not that traditional due to the Elvis impersonator you thought would be—how did you put it?
Super fun?
”

“Yeah, well, the better or worse thing was implied.” When he reached for the phone, I hid it behind my back. “Nuh-uh. No way, vampire. You’re not getting your hands on this. Markus didn’t want me to tell you anything about this.”

“And I wonder why that is. Because he wouldn’t want me to know that he threatened you. I will not let anyone bully you. Not today, not ever.”

“Markus isn’t bullying me. He’s just doing his job.”

His lips thinned. “So now you’re defending him, are you?”

“What happened back then, Thierry? Where did you go? We can make something up to tell him if it’s really bad—if it’s dangerous information. But I want to know. I
need
to know.”

He searched my face. “Why?”

“Because . . . I should know your deepest, darkest secrets. Especially if they’re weighing heavily on you. I might be able to help.”

He shook his head, bemused. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

He turned from me and went to the window to look down at the street outside, his shoulders tense. “As heroic as you might wish to believe I was, I’ve done some unsavory things in my life, Sarah. Existence, especially one as long as mine, is an evolutionary process.”

“And this means what exactly? You’re actually a dinosaur in hiding?”

He turned to face me again, his expression shadowed. “All I’m saying is that you wouldn’t have liked me back then.”

I watched him steadily, refusing to be swayed by his cryptic Tales from the Darkside. “You’re wrong. I’m sure I would have. I love you—I always would have loved you.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. If you saw me, who I was, especially leading up to my missing years . . .” He trailed off. “It wasn’t the most heroic time of my life.”

I crossed the room and reached down to take his hand. “It’s more than three hundred years ago. And I totally believe the whole evolutionary process. So, okay, you think you were a caveman back then, but you’re more evolved now. So don’t sweat it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sweating.”

I smiled. “I promise there’s no judgment here. None at all. Now, tell me what the Ring is so curious about.”

Finally, just when I thought he wouldn’t tell me anything, he spoke. “The truth is, Sarah, that I don’t remember the years that I was allegedly missing. One moment I was here in Salem at its bleakest hour during the witch trials. I’d arrived by ship from overseas that very day. The next moment it was fifty years later.” His jaw tightened. “What happened in the interim is not something I retained.”

I stared at him with shock. “You don’t remember. Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’ve tried to put it behind me, but this blank spot is more worrying to me than any memory I do possess.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know what I might have done during those years. Or who I might have harmed.”

That was a chilling thought. “Maybe you didn’t do anything at all. Maybe you were in a coma. Or hibernating, like a fanged groundhog.”

His lips twitched. “Perhaps. However, I don’t believe the answer is quite so cut-and-dried. It was a long time ago. I returned to my regular life, found those whom I had known before. No one questioned me too deeply about what happened, where I’d been—not even Veronique. It became a nonissue. But now I see that the Ring has been attempting to compile my full biography. They must have a great deal of time on their hands.”

“Apparently they have a file on you. Three inches thick.”

His expression darkened. “Must make for interesting reading for someone.”

“Epic, I’m sure.”

“Do you want access to this file?”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “No.”

He gave me a wary but surprised look. “Really?”

“Really. Anything that you don’t tell me yourself, I don’t need to know. And, quite honestly, there are some things I know you’d rather me not know. I’ve made my peace with that.”

He searched my face. “I think you honestly mean that.”

“You said yourself I’m a terrible liar.”

“True. But I actually consider that a strength, not a weakness.”

He would. I nearly laughed at the thought before I sobered. “What about you? Are you a good liar?”

“An excellent one. But not with you. I don’t lie to you, Sarah. You’re the only one I feel I can be completely truthful with. That means more to me than you will ever know.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine.

I kissed him back. “Although . . . you did just admit to being a pro at lying, so, really, you could be lying right now.”

He gave me the barest edge of a smile. “Touché.”

I had my answer, but I wasn’t sure it would do us much good. “So what happens with the Ring? Will they be okay finding out that you don’t remember anything?”

His expression darkened again. “We should get ready for the séance.”

My throat thickened. “I’ll take that as a no. What will they do?”

“Let me worry about that.”

“You should have a T-shirt made with that slogan. You use it a lot.” I nervously twisted a finger into my hair. “Seriously, though, is this something to be worried about?”

He regarded me, raising an eyebrow. He was used to my tenacious nature—which was a nice way of saying that if I was a dog, it would take a great deal of effort to pull away a bone I’d been chewing on. “The Ring sees most difficulties in black or white terms.”

“And . . . I’ll take that as a yes to the worrying. You were with the Ring before—I mean,
you
created it in the first place. Is that how you see things, too? Black or white? Right or wrong? No shades of gray? And I’m not talking about the naughty book.”

“Once I was like that. Lately, though, many things have changed. My outlook on life is one of those things.” A new smile tugged at his lips. “All thanks to you.”

My heart warmed. “Such a good answer, Monsieur de Bennicoeur. Gold star.”

“It’s the truth.” He slid his hand around to the small of my back to draw me closer. “For some reason, the Ring’s curiosity has been piqued about my history. I won’t lie. It could become an issue, but it’s not something we need to worry about today. Let’s deal with Heather’s séance and get to the bottom of Owen’s murder without further delay. All right?”

Owen. Poor Owen.

“Heather loved that guy, you know,” I said, my throat tightening again. “Even though he was an unredemptive womanizer who seemed shadier than a black umbrella, even though the writing was on the wall that he would have broken her heart into a million pieces on the heels of her last boyfriend leaving town, she still loved him.”

“She’s young. She’ll recover and be better off without him in her life.”

“Promise?” I asked.

He nodded. “Promise.”

I really hoped he was right. It was both challenging and wonderful being in love with a living vampire.

A dead one wouldn’t be any fun at all.

M
idnight was the best time to summon the recently departed spirit of a vampire sex machine—or, apparently, any other spirit. Solemnly, we gathered
in a small room downstairs around a circular table—Thierry to my left, Heather to my right, and Rose across from me. Heather had lit many candles, which lent the only light other than that from the moon streaming through the bay window in the adjoining living room. Hoppy the toad sat on the table next to Heather, as still and silent as a toad-like rock.

“Have you ever done this before?” Thierry asked.

She grimaced as if embarrassed by the question. “Once or twice. But I’m not very good at it.”

Rose took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Heather’s mother was an incredibly talented witch. I still believe Heather’s greater powers are to come. It’s why I gave her the locket.”

Heather touched the gold locket at her throat. “It’s a family heirloom. Grandma says it was worn by all the strongest witches in our family line, including my mother. She gave it to me on my fourteenth birthday, just after my parents died.”

Rose patted her hand. “It’s good that we’ve had each other over the years.”

Heather looked at her fondly. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You would have been just fine, sweetheart. I, on the other hand, likely would have ended up at Salem Acres.” She glanced at me. “The old-age home on the west side of town. Old, warty witches live there. Stuck in their silly memories of long-lost loves. I prefer to live in the present and look toward the future.”

Heather drew in a shaky breath. “I can’t believe Owen’s gone.”

“Not that I’d ever wish that end on anyone,” Rose said, “but he was a man who got around. Every girl in town knew what he looked like with his clothes off.”

“
I
didn’t,” Heather said with a sigh.

Hoppy let out a low croak.

I felt Heather’s pain at losing Owen, but I had to agree with Rose.
Anyone
could have killed him—and my guess was a jilted lover had.

“Shall we get started?” Thierry asked gently.

“Yes, of course.” Heather wiped away her tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t apologize,” he said. “Owen and I never got along that well, but I am sorry for your loss. I know you felt close to him.”

“Yes, but this is your honeymoon,” Heather said. “I don’t want to take time away from that.”

“It’s a rather small bed in the Batberry Suite,” Rose noted. “If you need an extra cot, we can have one brought up for you.”

I almost laughed. “I think we’ll be okay.”

A small bed on one’s honeymoon certainly wasn’t a bad thing, in my opinion. I’d bought some sexy lingerie before leaving Las Vegas that I hoped would see the light of day—or the dark of night—before we left Salem.

“Yes,” Thierry agreed. “But thank you for the kind offer, Rose.”

I gave him a sidelong look to see that he was now repressing a smile. The old woman seemed to amuse him. It was a talent both she and I shared.

“Here. Take my hand.” Heather reached out toward me and I took her hand. Then I took Thierry’s and he took Rose’s, until we formed a ring around the table.

“You can do this,” Rose soothed. “I know you can.”

Heather’s expression tensed. “I hope you’re right.”

Then I had a scary thought. “Just try not to summon the spirit of that Malik guy.”

“Malik?” Rose said with surprise. “You’ve heard of him?”

“Saw him,” I confirmed. “At a café before we came here. Seemed like a very unpleasant ghost.”

“Why? What did he do?”

I shifted in my seat. “Well, he was just generally creepy. That was more than enough for me to get a bad vibe.”

“I’m sure,” Heather murmured. “Jonathan Malik allegedly killed a dozen witches with his bare hands—those who aren’t even in the history books or who weren’t given a trial first. He played judge, jury, and executioner. Or so the story goes. I hope I don’t summon him by mistake, either. Yuck.”

A chill went through me at hearing about Malik’s crimes. It was even worse than I’d imagined. “Then my vibe was right on the money. Evil spirits are not invited to this séance. But how do you home in on the exact spirit you’re searching for?”

“I have a lock of Owen’s hair.” From her pocket, Heather pulled out the dark blond hair, which was tied with a thin red ribbon, and placed it in front of her next to Hoppy.

Was that weird or was it just me?

Thierry eyed the hair skeptically. “May I ask
why
you have a lock of Owen’s hair?”

Maybe it wasn’t just me.

“I gave him a haircut last week and still had the sweepings. But, I mean, it’s not like I kept some of his hair in an envelope.” Heather cleared her throat. “That would be strange.”

I exchanged a glance with Thierry. “Not strange at all,” I said. “Nope.”

Rose gave us a squeamish look. “My granddaughter was working on a love spell. Luckily for her, she doesn’t have access to that level of magic.”

“Grandma!” Heather’s face reddened. “Anyway . . . let’s get started, shall we? Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes as instructed, disturbed that this girl had considered doing a love spell.

Love couldn’t be forced. It either happened or it didn’t, whether with the wrong guy or not. And you could only hope the other felt the same in return—no envelope of vampire hair required.

“I’m speaking to the spirit world,” Heather said. “I am searching through those who abide there. I come in peace, and I mean no harm. I seek Owen Harper. Owen? Are you there?”

There was silence at the table, so much that I could hear the tick of the grandfather clock to my right.

I cranked open one eye and glanced around. Heather was concentrating so hard that her forehead wrinkled beneath her long red side-swept bangs. Thierry’s eyes were closed, his expression controlled. Rose’s face was peaceful, as if she enjoyed her granddaughter’s attempts to tap into her dormant witchy talents.

“Do you sense anything, dear?” Rose asked after a minute of silence.

“Not yet.”

“Keep trying. You know it doesn’t always work on the first attempt.”

I didn’t have much experience with séances. I remembered doing a few back when I was a teenager—gathered with my friends at a sleepover and pulling out the Ouija board. I will reluctantly admit to being the one who’d pushed the pointer and freaked everyone out whenever I got the chance.

Good clean fun.

I closed my eye again.

“Owen . . .” Heather’s tone had turned wistful. “Please come back. We want to help you. We want to know who did this to you.”

Again, she was greeted by nothing but silence.

Thierry’s thumb slid across my knuckles and I opened my eyes a crack to glance at him. He shook his head once.

It was enough for me to understand what he meant.

Heather might desperately want to summon Owen’s recently departed spirit back to the Booberry Inn, but it didn’t look like she’d be successful.

Closure for her, and for us as well—since the Ring would want to know what happened and how it related to the other missing vampires—wouldn’t happen tonight.

“It’s okay, dear,” Rose soothed. “It might not be the right time. We can try again tomorrow night if you’re having problems.”

Heather’s face was tense. “I always have problems when I’m trying to do any magic—even something relatively simple like this. I’ve summoned spirits before.”

“Not for a long time.”

“True,” she allowed, glumly.

Rose brightened. “Remember when ghosts used to visit you when you were a little girl? Almost every night?”

“Vividly.” She blinked. “It was . . . kind of fun.”

“Ghostly visits were fun?” I found that rather difficult to believe. Some considered vampires to be scary monsters, but I’d put my money on dead people any day. I mean,
really
dead people, not just sort of
undead
. Totally different. “I guess you didn’t have a lot in common with that kid in
The Sixth Sense
. He did not have fun.”

“The ghosts I met haven’t been scary. Although I know they were all afraid of Malik, even back when I was a kid. He’s been the only ghost who’s stuck around town; the others all disappeared within a few days.”

Thierry took this in. “So these abilities have little to do with witchcraft. You’re a medium.”

“I don’t know. I thought so at one time. Maybe I’ve got that bit of psychic edge to me, but it’s nowhere near as good as being a real witch who can work with magic all the time.”

“Says who?” I said. “That Miranda chick?”

It was a guess. But by the blanched look on her face at the name, probably a good one.

“Miranda won’t let me join her coven,” Heather said, her jaw tight. “Maybe I just need their help to access my powers.”

“No,” Rose insisted. “You want nothing to do with those girls. They’ve been cruel to you, excluding you. Why would you want to give them a chance to be mean to you again?”

Heather deflated. “You’re right. Miranda wouldn’t lift a finger to help me.”

“Well,” I said, “she did lift a finger when she left earlier. Unfortunately, it was the middle one.”

The direction of this conversation had only worked to harden Heather’s expression. “Okay, let’s try again. I mean, it’s
Owen
. We had a connection. I swear we did. If his spirit is still around, I know he’d want to talk to me.”

Despite the worries about Owen and the other missing vampires, I couldn’t get my mind off my conversation with Markus about Thierry’s mysterious past—or really, that missing fifty-year chunk of it. I hadn’t always been the most proactive person in my life, but when somebody I loved was threatened, my claws came out. My claws could currently use a manicure, but they were still very sharp.

I’d find the answer to keep those greedy elder vamps off Thierry’s back. Either that or I’d start keeping a sharp wooden stake around for protection.

Heather closed her eyes and the rest of us did the same.

“Owen Harper . . .” Heather’s voice was strong and clear, more so than before. “I’m summoning your spirit to appear in my presence. Owen, hear my voice. Come to me. I want to help you.”

A whisper of cool air zipped across the bare skin on my arms. I opened my eyes.

And shrieked.

There was a luminescent ghostly face staring at me, only a few inches away from my own.

Just
a face. No body attached.

“Well, hello there,” the face said. “And who might you be?”

I pushed back in my chair, my heart doubling its speed. “Hi. I, um, I’m Sarah.”

“
Buonasera
, Sarah. Lovely to meet you.”

Thierry’s grip on my hand tightened. “You’re not Owen.”

“No, no, not Owen.” The face belonged to a man, a fat man with salt-and-pepper hair. It glowed in the dim, candlelit room. “I’m Lorenzo.”

“Lorenzo,” I repeated.

“I owned the Italian restaurant on the corner.”

I glanced at Heather from the corner of my eye. “You summoned the wrong spirit.”

She looked stricken. “Oops.”

“My meatballs are the best in all of New England,” Lorenzo said, smiling widely. “Two-for-one spaghetti dinners on Thursdays.
Delizioso
.”

Heather frowned. “Well, damn.”

“Still,” Rose said, “it shows that you have great talent in this, dear. Don’t be too discouraged.”

“But it’s not Owen. Lorenzo, can you help us?”

“I don’t know this Owen.” Lorenzo now frowned. “Wait. Unless you mean Owen Harper.”

“That’s who I meant to summon,” Heather said, excitement rising in her voice. “Have you seen him?”

“Seen him? After insulting my world-famous meatballs without even tasting them first, that bastard slept with both of my daughters! I’m going to kill him!” The face bounced up and down erratically.

“That might be difficult,” I said, cringing. “Someone already beat you to it.”

“Oh.” Lorenzo came to a stop. “Well, then, good. Deserved it, too.”

“No one deserves such a fate.” At Thierry’s intimidatingly icy glare, one of his most dangerous weapons, the ghost reared back, looking ill.

“Well, then . . .” Lorenzo cleared his nonexistent throat. “Who killed him?”

Thierry’s fierce gaze didn’t waver from the spirit. “That’s what we’re trying to determine.”

“I can think of twenty men in this town who would have liked to see him dead.”

“Twenty?” I repeated. “Wow. Owen really got around.”

“You’re a cute little thing.” Lorenzo’s face zoomed toward me again. “What’s your favorite Italian dish? Maybe I can prepare it for you.”

“Sounds great, but . . .” I grimaced. “I don’t eat solid food. Sorry.”

“Oh, a dieter.” He nodded. “I see. No trouble at all. Anyway, was there anything else I can do for you lovely folks? It’s been delightful having this chat. The mortal world is a dangerous place, but much more interesting than where I’ve been hanging out.”

Dangerous? I would think his dangerous days were over.

“Lorenzo,” Rose said, “why are you appearing to us only partially?”

“Am I?” He frowned, then turned in a full circle so I could see the bald spot on the back of his head. “Ah, you’re right. I don’t know. I had a body.”

“It’s me,” Heather said, her voice catching. “I’m not powerful enough to summon his entire body. Only”—she sniffed—“a face!”

Lorenzo was fading as I watched him, like a firefly nearly out of juice. “Good night, all. I must leave. Please, tell my wife that I loved her. Even though . . .” His expression darkened. “Wait a minute. She poisoned me! Let everyone know—”

He disappeared with a soft popping sound.

“He was poisoned?” I looked around at the others, alarmed.

Rose waved a hand dismissively. “Lorenzo was always full of drama. His wife didn’t poison him. He choked to death on a piece of salami the day before yesterday. It was certainly tragic, but not a crime. By the way, he wasn’t kidding about the meatballs at his restaurant. Fantastic.”

We’d come close to contacting Owen but, alas, no luck. Instead, we got a friendly floating head who’d choked on a piece of processed meat.

Still, it was better than a scary witch hunter with glittering black eyes and a stare even icier than Thierry’s at his most intimidating.