"Sweet Mary and Joseph!" Maggie gasped. "I should be there for her. Do you mind if I teleport over to see you?"
"No, not at all." He strode to the security console by the front door to turn off the alarm.
Meanwhile Maggie informed her family of her emergency trip to New York. A few minutes later she appeared in the foyer.
"Phil!" She grinned at him. "Look at you. I believe you've gotten more handsome than ever."
He smiled as he reactivated the alarm. "And you've gotten more Texan."
Maggie's usual short skirt, clunky goth boots, and tight sweater had been traded in for a pair of jeans, cowboy boots, and an embroidered denim shirt. A fringed leather handbag was looped over her shoulder.
"That's what happens when you lead the glamorous life of a rancher." She hugged him, then stepped back with a gasp. "You're a shifter!"
Phil was so surprised that he could only stare at her for a moment. "You know about shape shifters?"
"Yes. Pierce's uncle is a were-coyote and his sister's a were-jackrabbit." Maggie made a face. "You can imagine how tense it gets around the house when the moon is full. No one wants Uncle Bob to gobble down his niece."
Phil winced. "That is awkward. I guess they were bitten?" Otherwise, members of the same family wouldn't shift into two such different creatures.
"Yes." Maggie gave him a sympathetic look. "Is that what happened to you? Did you get bitten in Texas, too?"
"No, I was born a shifter."
Her eyes widened. "Really?" She ran a hand through her black hair, which was still cut in a short bob. "I guess I never realized it 'cause I didn't know about shifters till I moved to Texas. I recognize the scent now."
"A lot of Vamps don't know. And we'd like to keep it that way, if you don't mind."
"Of course." Maggie pretended to zip her lips. "Now, tell me all the latest gossip about the ex-harem."
Phil ushered her into the kitchen, and she warmed up a bottle of Chocolood in the microwave while he explained his quest for information about Vanda's past. "You see, I believe she has unresolved issues that she's been avoiding for years. If we can force Vanda to confront them, we might be able to cure her anger problem."
"Very interesting," Maggie murmured as she poured hot Chocolood into a teacup.
"Well, I've studied a lot of psychology, so I think my theory is sound."
"I wasn't referring to your theory." Maggie set her cup and saucer on the kitchen table and took a seat. "I find it interesting that I asked for news about all the harem ladies, and you talked only about Vanda."
Phil shrugged. "I'm concerned, naturally, because I agreed to be her sponsor."
Maggie sipped her Chocolood. "And why did you agree?"
"Someone had to do it. No one else volunteered, and I do have some experience in psychology." When Maggie just stared at him with a knowing look, he raised his hands in a surrendering motion. "All right, I admit it. I'm hopelessly attracted to her. Always have been."
Maggie grinned. "I always knew there was something between you two. But why do you say it's hopeless?"
He took a can of beer from the fridge and popped the top. "At first I couldn't get involved with her because I was her guard, and frankly, I just thought she was playing with me because she was bored."
Maggie nodded. "She was bored, but I think she was genuinely attracted to you."
"I've just recently become aware of that." He thought back to their kiss, and the way she'd surrendered in passion. And then he recalled the years he'd wasted when he could have been pursuing her. With an inward groan, he guzzled down some beer.
"It shouldn't be hopeless now," Maggie said.
He sat across from her at the table. "I'm her anger management sponsor, so I'm not supposed to get romantically involved. And I'm her guard again. Technically, she's forbidden."
"Technically?"
He shrugged and drank more beer. "I'm not a very technical person."
Maggie's mouth twitched. "A man of action, eh? That could be exactly what Vanda needs."
He plunked the beer can on the table. "She's avoiding me. I think she's...afraid."
"Ah." Maggie traced her finger along the rim of her teacup. "She was always very cautious about forming new relationships. She knew me for over ten years before she would even admit we were friends. But once she calls you friend, she'll fight like a tiger to defend you. Do you know she threatened my husband once if he didn't treat me right?"
Phil smiled. "That sounds like her. She tried to defend Ian, too, last December."
Maggie nodded. "She told me once that Ian looked a lot like her youngest brother. But when I asked about her family, she refused to talk about them."
"Do you know what happened?"
"No, not really. When she first came to the harem, she was like...a wounded animal. She wouldn't speak to anyone. Wouldn't look at our faces. It was so sad." Maggie grew silent, frowning as she remembered.
"Tell me more," Phil said softly.
"I was afraid she would starve to death. There were nights when she refused to go out for...food." Maggie gave him an apologetic look. "That was before synthetic blood."
"I understand. And Vanda would refuse to hunt? Wasn't that painful for her?"
"Oh yes. Something awful. I would beg her to go hunting with me. Even when she did, she would barely take enough blood to stay alive. I always had this terrible feeling that she was punishing herself."
"Why would she make herself suffer?"
"I asked her, but she would never say." Maggie finished her Chocolood, then took her dishes to the sink to rinse them out. "She reminded me of a sparrow with broken wings. All brown and downtrodden. She wore this old brown dress, and her hair was brown, too. A lovely brown, streaked with dark red highlights, but she pulled it back severely in a bun. It was like she wanted to crawl into a hole and never fly again."
Phil sat in silence. This was not the Vanda he knew. As far as he could tell, she had suffered from a case of post-traumatic stress syndrome and depression. She might still be suffering from the aftereffects. After all, she'd gone from one extreme to the other, from the broken brown sparrow to a purple-haired, whip-toting, wildcat prone to violent outbursts. The real Vanda - the one she was afraid to be, lay somewhere in between.
He finished his beer. "She never confided in anyone?"
"No," Maggie set her cup and saucer in the dishwasher. "Her first year in the harem, she hardly spoke at all. George, the Coven Master back then, gave us a small monthly allowance. Cora Lee, Pamela, and I would go shopping or to the movies. Vanda spent her money on art supplies."
Phil sat back, surprised. "Art?"
"Yes. She painted. Every night. All night." Maggie grimaced. "Ghastly pictures. Red paint everywhere. Blood, dead bodies, swastikas, barbed wire, wolves - "
"Wolves?"
"Yes." Maggie shuddered. "She painted them with such huge, vicious teeth."
He swallowed hard. What the hell did wolves have to do with the war? Or with Vanda?
"Then one night she went crazy," Maggie continued in a low voice. "She piled all the paintings in a heap in the backyard and set them on fire. She burned her art supplies, too, and never painted again."
Phil crumpled the empty beer can in his fist. "Did she ever say why she stopped painting?"
"Just that she didn't want to remember anymore." Maggie sighed. "But of course, she still remembers. We all remember the painful memories from our past."
His own painful memories crept out of hiding, brought to mind by Maggie's words. It had been nine years since his father banished him. Nine years since he'd seen his family. During the first few years, he'd received letters from his sister. She didn't know his whereabouts, so she left the notes in his hunting cabin in Wyoming, hoping he would find them.
He hadn't been to the cabin in four years. What was the point? He could never go back to his father's pack. That part of his life was over.
Maggie suddenly brightened. "I know what might help. Darcy interviewed the harem girls for that reality show a few years back. There might be a copy here somewhere."
Maggie dashed from the kitchen to the living room. "Eew." She wrinkled her nose at the leftover pizza sitting on the coffee table.
"I'll get it." He closed the box, then hurried back to the kitchen and stuffed it in the fridge. By the time he returned, Maggie was sliding a disk into the DVD player.
"I found it!" She showed him the case titled The Sexiest Man on Earth.
"I remember that show." Phil settled on the couch. "That's when the ladies won the money that financed the nightclub."
"And Darcy won the Sexiest Man," Maggie added with a laugh. She located Vanda's interview on the menu, then sat on the couch next to Phil.
Vanda's image came on the TV screen. She was smiling at the camera, her lovely dove gray eyes twinkling, her lips full and sweetly shaped. The zipper on her purple catsuit was pulled down just low enough to show some cleavage. Phil found himself smiling back.
Maggie chuckled. "You're so smitten."
He hushed her when Darcy's voice came on, asking Vanda to tell the audience about herself.
Vanda began, her clear voice showing just a hint of accent. She was born in 1917 in a small village in southern Poland. Her mother died when Vanda was eighteen, and as the oldest daughter, she'd taken over the care of her large family. A father, four brothers, and two sisters.
Her smile started to fade when she talked about her mother's death. She was frowning by the time she told how the Germans and Russians invaded Poland in 1939 and her father and brothers marched off to fight.
Her face grew pale. "My father urged me to escape with my two younger sisters. I packed some food, and we fled south to the Carpathian Mountains. I'd been there before, and I knew there were some caves where we could hide. I...never saw my father or brothers again."
"How terrible," Maggie whispered.
Vanda continued, describing their long trek into the mountains. The youngest sister, thirteen-year-old Frieda, took ill, and by the time they found a shallow cave, she could hardly walk. Vanda stayed with her and sent her other sister, Marta, to fill up their water bags.
Marta didn't come back. The next morning, Vanda made her sick sister as comfortable as possible, then went to fetch water. By that evening she was frantic with worry. Marta was gone and Frieda was failing fast.
She went in search of her sister, and squealed with joy when Marta stepped into her path. But Marta attacked her, bit her, and with superhuman strength carried her off to a cave. The vampire who had turned Marta was there, and he changed Vanda, who was too weak from hunger and blood loss to fight off two vampires.
"The next evening," Vanda said, "I was still reeling in shock from what had happened. But I rushed back to my little sister to see how she was. She had died. All alone."
Vanda covered her face, and Phil could tell the film had been edited. The camera rested on Darcy for a moment, and when it returned to Vanda, she was composed once again.
She quickly explained that the war had been so difficult that she'd joined the harem to find a little peace and relaxation. Then she smiled and said she was happy to participate on the show, and the interview ended.
"Poor Vanda." Maggie sniffed. "She lost everyone."
"Not quite." Phil used the remote to turn off the television. "She has one sister who might still be alive."
"Marta?" Maggie made a face. "Marta should have helped her save their sister."
Phil nodded. "Vanda may feel that her only surviving relative betrayed her."
Maggie took a deep breath. "Well, at least you know why she's so angry now."
"There's still a lot she didn't say. She was transformed in 1939."
"Oh, you're right." Maggie sat up. "And she didn't come here till 1948. That's eight years unaccounted for."
"And she merely called it 'difficult' in the interview. I have a feeling she went through hell."
Maggie's eyes filled with tears. "Of course she did. It was in her paintings. Dead bodies, swastikas, barbed wire, blood."
And wolves. Phil swallowed hard. How would he ever gain Vanda's trust if she was terrified of wolves?
Maggie touched his arm. "I want to see her. Even if all I can do is give her a hug."
"Of course. She'll be at the Horny Devils."
"I've teleported there before, so I know the way." Maggie rose to her feet. "Would you like to hitch a ride?"
"Yes." He wrapped an arm around Maggie's shoulders. Vanda wouldn't be able to avoid him now. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell her about my being a shifter."
Maggie frowned at him. "You'll have to tell her if you intend to have a future with her."
"I will." But not now. She was already looking for a reason to run away from him.
Phil and Maggie threaded their way through the crowd at the Horny Devils. When Maggie spotted Pamela at the bar, she squealed, and the two women spent five minutes hugging and laughing. Phil could hardly hear them over the noise.
He lifted a hand in greeting. "Big crowd tonight."
Pamela grinned and handed him a beer. "Isn't it marvelous? That awful Corky told everyone not to come because we were so nefarious and evil." She laughed. "And of course, they just had to see for themselves."
