Adrenaline spiked in my stomach. Dottie chose that moment to appear, her gaze wandering all over Damian. I looked at Dottie puffing on her nonexistent cigarette and I wanted a smoke so bad, I'd even have settled for a ghost cig.
"Gabriel saved my life." My voice quavered. "If he's not my guardian, why would he do that?"
"Let's go ask him." Damian rose and turned in a fluid movement, which reminded me of his wolf's strength and grace.
He got to the porch before the rest of us. He unsheathed a gun from his side holster, then opened the door and pointed it inside.
"He's not in there," said Dottie. "Mr. Hunky woke up and went out the window in your bedroom. "
Damian apparently figured this out, too. I went inside, followed by Jessica and Patrick.
"Blood," said Damian, looking at my couch. He sniffed the air and frowned. "He's odd, this one. His scent is ... off."
Gabriel smelled just fine to me, but I didn't have a lycanthrope's nose.
Damian made a call and put the word out about my moon-haired savior. Then we all traipsed outside to stare at the dead guy again.
Patrick and Damian hoisted the big man and carried him to the back of the truck.
Jessica looked at me. I saw the concern in my friend's eyes. "Move into the compound for a while, Patsy. Just until we figure out what's going on."
"I hate the compound." It reminded me of a prison environment. I hadn't seen the inside of a jail cell, mind you, but I'd been on the other side of the window on visiting day.
"We're getting overrun every night with desperate, Tainted vampires. The Ancients are here, which means our security teams are protecting the compound instead of the borders." She rubbed her temples. "To top it off, this week the Wiccans moved into town."
"Witches?"
"Wiccans," she repeated. "We need their protection spells, especially with our security shortage. "
I didn't really care who did or didn't live in Broken Heart as long as they left my little piece of sunshine alone. "They got a need for hair care?"
Jessica chuckled. "Probably." Then she looked around. "Are your ghost friends here?"
"Yeah." Ghosts really geeked Jessica out. Right now, Dottie and Nonna were by the truck, watching Patrick and Damian ready Rick's body for transport.
As usual, she carried her fancy half swords tucked into a black hip holster. She clamped the handles as if considering whipping them out. Swords wouldn't do much good against these spirits, but I totally understood the desire to stab anything that annoying.
"I need to get going. I still have to tuck my kids into bed. And make sure Brian brushed his teeth."
I laughed. "A mother's work is never done."
"You said it." She took out her swords and swung them Xena-style. "I'm taking no chances."
"Hey, Mom. What's up?"
My sixteen-year-old, Wilson, sauntered across the yard, his brown eyes glazed. He stopped about a foot away, but I didn't need my vampire senses to know he'd been smoking dope. My stomach clenched.
"I thought you were inside," I said through gritted teeth. "Where have you been?"
"Out." He infused a lot of hostility into the word.
I glanced at Jessica. I could tell by her expression and crinkled nose that she could smell the marijuana, too. She looked at me, sympathy in her eyes.
"Hi, Wilson," she said. "You doing all right?"
He shrugged and looked away. Jessica didn't seem bothered by his rudeness, but it bothered me. Every time I looked at Wilson, I saw the child and not the struggling teenager. I wanted to hug him into good behavior. But he was past hugs. He was past spankings, too.
I heard the truck start up and looked over my shoulder. Damian backed the truck out of my yard and drove out of sight.
Patrick rejoined us. Dottie and Nonna floated by him; naturally Dottie was checking out his ass. "I'll ask Darrius to watch your place while you rest."
"Thanks."
"Oh!" said Jessica. "We're having our first parent-teacher meeting tomorrow night."
"Yeah. Sure. See you later."
Patrick and Jessica waved good-bye to me. Since they were part of the Family Ruadan, vampires who had fairy blood, they had the ability to fly. I watched my friends rise into the air. Now, that would be a nice power to have. Better than the ability to hang out on a Friday night with ghost hags.
As soon as they were out of sight, I turned a fierce glare on my son. "Don't ever leave the trailer without telling me! God!"
I didn't want to freak him out by saying anything about the demon attack. I only hoped that thing would be caught soon.
The scent of pot rolled over me again and I crinkled my nose. "I told you to stay off that shit, Wilson."
"Don't start, Mom." He walked away, heading toward the trailer.
I marched behind him, feeling helpless and pissed off. "You're going to screw up your brain. You're going to screw up your life."
"So what?" Wilson opened the door, hopped the two concrete stairs, and went inside.
I followed. He took off his coat and tossed it onto the couch. He U-turned into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He pulled out a tube of cookie dough, the last of the deviled eggs, and the leftover chicken pot pie. He took his goodies, ignored my smoldering presence, and sat on the couch. He arranged the food on the coffee table, then clicked on the remote.
I stomped to the TV and turned it off. "I'm not through talking to you."
Nonna and Dottie looked at each other, grimaced, and winked out of the trailer. I imagine they didn't want to witness the fight.
"I smoked a joint. Big fuckin' deal."
I bit my tongue. Wilson did more than just smoke some weed now and again. He was prone to drinking himself stupid and he'd tried other drugs. I'd gone through this crap with his daddy. I didn't want to do it with him.
"Doing drugs is a big deal, Wil! Your father - "
"I'm outta here." He scooped up his food and walked down the minuscule hallway to his bedroom. He slammed the door shut. The music shot into migraine-causing decibels.
I wanted to weep, but vampires don't get to cry. We don't get to eat, either. Or smoke. Or have one stress-relieving vice. Argh!
My undead heart squeezed as I thought about Wilson and the path he'd chosen. I didn't know what to do or how to help him. I was used to being the sober one, the rock in a crisis, the ever-present maid.
But I'd promised myself: never again.
When I was nineteen, I wed pretty boy, empty-headed Sean Donahue. I had been going to beauty school in Tulsa to get my required certifications even though I'd been a part of my grandmother's beauty shop since I could walk.
Sean worked at a gas station near the school. He could charm the fur off a yeti. All it took to get into my pants was a few dozen compliments and a six-pack of Budweiser. Next thing I knew, I was in l-o-v-e.
It took four years to have a child: Wilson. Ten months after he was born, Lynnie came along. She stayed with us for seven weeks, nine days, eight hours, and thirty-seven minutes. Crib death. After that, I had three miscarriages, so I went to the doc's and had my woman parts removed. No more babies. No more losses.
I don't know if losing our daughter and babies exacerbated the wounds Sean already had, but the drinking got worse. I justified his boozing and bad behavior. For a while, I could point to the good intentions he had and the nice things he did.
Yeah, he drinks, but he supports his family.
After ten years, he lost his job at the Tulsa Bus Plant due to absenteeism. Work was cutting into his drinking time. After that, the man couldn't keep a job longer than a month or two.
Yeah, he drinks, but he's a good father.
He stopped playing catch with Wilson, dropped out as Boy Scout leader, forgot birthdays, slept through Christmas mornings, and left me to do the emotional cleanup.
The years passed and the disease of alcoholism did its work; the good man was destroyed inch by inch until only the monster remained. Whatever love and sympathy I had for him was worn away until only grief and anger remained.
One morning, as I cleaned up Sean's vomit for the umpteenth time, I decided fifty more years of this bullshit was more than I could take. The man's first love was booze, and not even losing his home, his wife, and his son was enough motivation for him to stop. We hadn't seen him since the day we signed the porce papers.
I tried not to think about Sean or about what I had been like with him. We'd been better off without him, but finally giving up and filing for porce felt like peeling off my own skin with a cheese grater.
I couldn't rely on Wilson to stay in his room while I slept, but he couldn't leave the town without running into one of the wolves. Yet, even without access to the outside world, he was still finding a way to get drugs. I wasn't too keen on asking the Consortium any favors, but they were efficient problem solvers. I'd been thinking lately I would swallow my pride and ask for their help.
I tugged on my oversized football jersey and crawled into bed. There was something to be said about vampire sleep. Worry and guilt couldn't keep me tossing and turning.
The undead sleep like ... well, the dead. When the sun rises, we have no choice but to shut our peepers and lie down. And when the sun sets, we wake up ready for a blood breakfast.
Ever since I got undead, I haven't dreamed.
Until tonight.
In my dream, I sat at a small table that was one of many in an outdoor cafe. Daylight slanted across the marble surface and I touched it with one finger. I inhaled the scent of strong coffee and cinnamon rolls.
Across from me sat a young woman wearing a halter top and jeans. She had the bluest eyes I'd ever seen. Her skin was creamy, her lips rose red. Her dark hair hung in careless ringlets. She took my hand and turned it over, tracing the lines.
"You must follow your heart, Patsy. Don't let past disappointments shape your future," she said with an Italian accent. "You have a great destiny, one that you share with Gabriel."
"I don't understand."
"You will." She winked at me.
The dream shifted... .
I stood at a picture window in a room I didn't recognize. I looked over my shoulder and saw a huge, four-poster bed. The covers were messed up, as if whoever slept there had just gotten up. A fire crackled in the big, stone hearth, where two red wing chairs faced its warmth. I returned my gaze to the window.
Outside, the full moon danced along the treetops. I was dressed in a luxurious silk robe. I could feel my lungs fill with air and my heart beat steadily in my chest.
My belly felt heavy. I looked down and gasped. I was pregnant. Impossible. I pressed my hands against my roundness and felt a tiny foot kick against my palm.
I wanted to weep.
To my surprise, I did. I closed my eyes and let the tears course down my cheeks.
Fingertips brushed away the wetness. I opened my eyes and met Gabriel's sun-fire gaze.
Lord-a-mercy. He stared at me with such longing, such love, I wanted to give him anything he asked.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"
"Nothing," I whispered. Happiness welled within me. "Everything is perfect."
His ravenous grin reminded me that he was a werewolf. I felt like he might devour me in that moment. As if to confirm my fears (or hopes?), he pressed his hot mouth to mine.
And then the dream melted away and I fell into the soft darkness of vampire sleep.
The Story of Ruadan the First
As Written by Lorcan O'Halloran
Once there was a great warrior-magician whose name was Ruadan. He was the son of magician-healer Brigid and warrior-prince Bres.
Brigid was born the daughter of Dagda, all-father to the Tuatha de Danann, and of Morrigu, the crow queen. Bres was born the son of Fomhoire prince Elatha and of Tuatha de Danann princess Eriu. So, the families bound together their children so that they might rule as one.
Many believed Bres would bring peace to the troubled nations. When he came of age, he married Brigid to solidify his bond with the Tuatha de Danann. In time, he was made King of Eire.
But Bres was a foolish ruler, ignorant of his people's suffering and unjust in his judgments. The sons of Tuatha de Danann rose up against him and took his crown, banishing him. In defeat, Bres returned to his father's kingdom.
Bres was too prideful to turn away from the dishonor shown to him by the Tuatha de Danann, no matter how deserved. He vowed to take back what had been taken from him and to once again rule Eire.
Brigid wanted peace between the Fomhoire and the Tuatha de Danann. Without her husband's knowledge, she sought her mother's counsel. Morrigu foresaw the future and told her daughter the truth: The Tuatha de Danann would triumph over the Fomhoire, but not before Brigid lost her husband and their sons, Ruadan, Iuchar, and Uar.
The Tuatha de Danann had a magical well that instantly healed their warriors so long as they had not suffered a mortal blow. Created by a goldsmith named Goibniu, the well was safeguarded by spells and men alike. "Kill the builder of the well," said Bres to his sons, "and destroy its magic ... and the Tuatha de Danann will fall."
So it came to pass that Ruadan's wife, Aine, bore twin boys, Padriag and Lorcan. Satisfied that his family was safe, Ruadan and his brothers sailed to the Isle of Eire to fulfill his father's plan.
The brothers used stealth and cunning to break through the defenses of their enemy. While Iuchar and Uar battled those who guarded the well, Ruadan stabbed Goibniu with the fae swords. But Goibniu, though mortally wounded, thrust his spear into Ruadan's chest and felled the warrior.
Near death, Ruadan arrived in his homeland and was taken to his mother. She used all her magic and healing arts, but could not save her son. The very same night Ruadan breathed his last, Brigid received word of the deaths of Iuchar and Uar. She fell to her knees and wailed with such sorrow that anyone who heard the sounds knew a mother's heart had been rent from her.
Morrigu heard the keening of her daughter, so she turned into a crow and flew to the land of the Fomhoire. Though the dark queen craved chaos over tranquility and war over peace, she felt pity for her daughter and offered one chance for Brigid to regain her son.
"Give Ruadan a cup of my blood, but be warned! When he awakes, he will not live as a man, but as a deamhan fola. He will never again walk in the light. He will not consume food or drink, but shall siphon the blood of the living. Neither will he have breath nor beat of heart. Never will he sire another child by his own seed."
"Is there no good to be wrought then, Mother?"
"Where there is dark, there is also light. Ruadan will never age. He will heal from even the most grievous of wounds. He will know the thoughts of those he loves. And he will be a warrior none can defeat. He is of the Fomhoire and of the Tuatha de Danann, and those skills and magic will always be his to wield."
So blinded by grief was Brigid, so badly did she want her son to live again, that she agreed to her mother's terms. But still, Morrigu was not satisfied.
"Should Ruadan drain a man and replenish him with Tainted blood, he shall Turn. Your son will create others and he will rule a master race long after all whom you know and love turn to dust and ash. Even knowing this, will you still give him my blood to drink?"
And again, Brigid agreed without hesitation. Morrigu cut her wrist and bled into a silver goblet. Brigid lifted her son's head, opened his mouth, and poured every drop of her mother's blood into him.
When Ruadan awoke, he was deamhan fola.
Bres, devastated by the loss of his sons, went himself to the Isle of Eire to wreak vengeance on his enemy, but he, too, was killed. Finally, the Tuatha de Danann triumphed over the Fomhoire, and there came to pass an uneasy peace between their peoples.
But Aine was frightened of the creature her husband had become and refuted him, calling him demon and eater of flesh. He wished only happiness for his family and so, he bartered with Aine. If she returned with his mother to the Isle of Eire and raised their sons as Tuatha de Danann, he would leave them alone.
For twenty-five years, Ruadan wandered the world. He made six others of his kind. And then, because he longed to see his sons, Ruadan broke his promise. He visited his twin boys - and both were killed. He turned them into deamhan fola, and together, they left the Isle of Eire.
Ruadan summoned his first six deamhan fola to a meeting, and they created the Council. They labored to create laws for their people and bound all deamhan fola with magic and by oath to uphold these laws. Those who broke faith with their Families faced banishment ... or death.
And so it was that Brigid's son fulfilled her mother's prophecy.
He was the creator of the deamhan fola.
He was ruler over all.
He was Ruadan the First.
