The sun fell down the next night, but I'd been awake for about an hour by the time it was full dark. Still wasn't taking my increasing resilience to sunlight for granted, and still not trying to rub it in to Tina and Sinclair who were, after all, much older than I was.
I knew it was a real treat to be able to go for a walk outside in the late afternoon. I'd paid for it, though, thanks to the Faustian bargain that was the Book of the Dead. (Sinclair lost a bet once when he didn't think I knew what Faustian meant; but there's more than one way for a girl to Google a cat.)
I got dressed, then remembered what I'd forgotten last night. Amazing what good sex and half a pint of vampire king blood could do to jog your memory.
I flopped onto the bed, picked up the bedside phone, and dialed Nick.
"Homicide, Detective Berry."
"This is the woman," I purred in my throatiest voice, "who is going to make all of your dreams come true."
"Aunt Marian?"
"Gross!" I nearly dropped the phone. "Nick, that's disgusting!"
"So is your sexy voice. You sound like Patrick Warburton with a head cold. What's on your microscopic mind?"
"I forgot to tell you something last night."
"Of course you did. You're a dimwit."
"It's something that will make you extremely happy," I wheedled.
"You're moving, and you can't remember your forwarding address."
"You wish."
"The mailman left a hand grenade in your slot?"
"Do you want me to tell you, or do I have to listen to more dumb comments?"
"They are not dumb. So. What is it?"
"Nothing much. A cadre of old vampires is ticked at me, has already tried to kill me once, and won't stop until I'm dead or they are, and there's, like, twenty of them and only one of me. Also, we're out of milk."
"Really?" Nick sounded like he'd won the lottery. "You wouldn't tease me, would you?"
"I swear on every one of Marc's stitches that it's true. Not a drop of milk in the whole house."
"Marc's stitches - hmm. Interesting that Jessica hasn't mentioned any of this. You'd better tell me."
So I gave him the whole story, thinking, You only think Jessica's in hot water, you poor bastard. She must not have reached him last night. He had no idea the storm was about to break over his head.
"Uh-huh." I'd assume he was taking notes, only Nick never wrote anything down. Not like the cops on TV, that was for sure. "Uh-hmm. And you don't know where they are?"
"Not yet, but Sinclair and Tina are doing hours of drudgery research to figure that out."
"And Marc's at the General?" he asked, using the slang we used for the local hospital.
"Yeah, but he'll get out today. They ended up keeping him for a couple of nights, but not because anything wrong popped up. I think it was probably because he's big-time popular on the staff. But we're moving him to The Grand Hotel tonight."
"Where he'll stay indefinitely."
"Yeah, and the thing is, Jessica won't go. I mean, flat-out refuses."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Sic her!"
"Doesn't she have, I don't know, a fucking Swiss chalet or something? Some other property besides the mansion where she can stay?"
"No, she doesn't care for Europe unless it's Tuscany, but surely you've got a chalet up your sleeve, John Deere Boy."
"Well, she doesn't have to stay there," he said grimly. "Not in Vampire Central."
"Yeah, so sock it to her." I didn't mention that Jessica wasn't staying at the mansion because she had nowhere else to go. He knew why she was staying, too, but didn't want to admit it, at least out loud. "Go tell her who's boss, by God."
"Oh, shut up," he said, and clicked off his phone.
