So now I just had Sybil. At least my ability to bring people to life or back to life was slowing its roll, because it would be damned awkward if people started noticing how the dead were becoming live again.

  I pulled into the driveway a few minutes later, after speeding heavily. My near-death car accident hadn’t really taught me anything. Besides, after being blooded by both Lorcan and the vampire terrorist who’d tried to murder Maverick, Janeth, I’d found myself a bit stronger, and a bit faster, and a great deal harder to injure. The pointed little tips of my teeth and the enhanced senses weren’t bad, either. Though I could have done without the fact that blood actually smelled rather appetizing these days, as opposed to pennies and raw hamburger like it had for my entire life.

  Honestly, waiting for Lorcan to get home wasn’t any better than it had been waiting for him at the theater, though it was more private. In the house, there was no one to see me pace, or stare dramatically out the window, and then storm off, mad at myself for acting like the stupid wife in every made for TV drama ever made. Luckily, Hellcat had opted to live in the Coven house rather than stay with me at Lorcan’s. And that was just as well, because the two of us couldn’t stand one another. So, now he was able to bother any and everyone in the coven, and that suited me just fine. Trying to keep my thoughts occupied, I walked into the kitchen and reheated some food from the fridge while pouring myself a glass of wine. Then I seriously considered taking a bubble bath. Date night might be off, but that didn’t mean my evening was ruined.

  I was starting to get worried again as the hours rolled by and the sunrise crept closer and closer. What if Lorcan wasn’t planning to make it home and had to spend the day in the coffin in the back of Marty’s hearse? That meant I wouldn’t see him until sunset again and that idea rattled around my head like a stray bomb.

  When I finally heard the rattle of the keys in the door, I didn’t fly into the front hall like some woman welcoming her sailor back from the sea. Instead, I took a deliberate sip of my wine, schooled my face into a neutral mask, and waited for the man to come to me.

  Lorcan finally appeared in the kitchen, his surprisingly loud footsteps announcing his arrival. He shuffled in, still in his scrubs with a jacket he didn’t need thrown over his shoulder. He looked tired, and worn, with dark circles under his beautiful green eyes, and his hair looked like he’d run his hand through it so many times, it had eventually given up and now just stood up in blond spikes.

  I felt a tiny twinge of compassion in my heart, but ruthlessly stomped it out. Emergency or not, I had been stood up, and I deserved a proper grovel. Or, at least, an ‘I’m sorry’ ice cream cone from Stomper’s Creamery.

  “Hello, Sweetling,” Lorcan said blearily, heading my way. “Sorry about tonight. Got held up at work. I’ll make it up to you.”

  Lorcan had been turned into a vampire in his early forties, leaving him with only a few faint lines at the corner of his eyes for all eternity. He was dapper, and dashing, but for the first time I’d ever known him, he actually looked his age. There were lines creasing his brow, and stress pulling his cheeks tight. His eyes were bloodshot, which I hadn’t even thought was possible. It must have really been a night.

  And then he dropped an absent kiss on the crown of my head like I was a toddler and shuffled through the kitchen towards the bedroom.

  What the what? I thought to myself as I whirled around and faced his retreating back.

  Perhaps I could let him off the hook. Just for the night. He could grovel once he’d rested and eaten. And he would, by goddess, be making it up to me.

  I nodded to myself, then paused, my nose wrinkling up.

  With my enhanced vampire senses, I picked up on smells a lot more than the average person could—think bloodhound but like half as good. Normally, when Lorcan came home from the clinic, he tended to smell of antiseptic, mint, and sometimes soap or the latex from his gloves. Normal things that he might pick up from any medical office.

  So, why was it that I’d caught the hint of sweet vanilla when he’d bent down to kiss my head?

  Chapter Three

  As I suspected, Lorcan gave me a proper apology the next evening when he woke up, and he made sure to get off work a bit early so we could catch the movie while it was still in the theater.

  After smelling that vanilla scent on him the night before, I was a bit cool with him, doing everything in my power not to blow my lid. Because it could simply be a case of a little, old lady giving him a hug after he’d successfully done whatever dentists do to dentures. The vanilla scent didn’t have to mean that Lorcan was fooling around on me.

  At least, that’s what I kept telling myself and by now, I mostly believed it. After another conversation with myself, I’d pretty much decided to let it go, because I didn’t want to be that woman—the kind who flew off the handle in a jealous rage for no apparent reason. And it did help that, a few nights later, Lorcan handed me his credit card and suggested I go into Portland on a fabric shopping trip. I was out the door so fast, I left a witch-shaped dust cloud in my wake.

  Sure, I could get fabrics online and delivered to my door. But there was nothing like getting to pore through the racks of carefully rolled bolts of cloth. To feel the weave under my fingertips and see the colors in person and breathe in that scent. I was pleased just thinking about it on the drive there.

  I left basically the instant the sun set. The days might have been getting shorter again, but I’d still only have a couple hours to shop my little heart out. I broke half a dozen laws speeding all the way into Portland, and soon enough I was blissfully pawing through the first, and best, of the fabric stores there. There were so many beautiful things to choose from; gorgeous cloth in every shade and texture, not to mention thread and notions. It was enough to make my black little heart pitter patter excitedly.

  While I did take commissions when someone had a specific clothing item they wanted, a lot of the time I just made what I thought people would want to stock the store. A great deal of it was handmade, because that was the easiest way to set the spells and charms into the fabric—when something hadn’t yet had a life of its own and, consequently, absorbed the energy from that life. I had been known to buy a few higher end articles of clothing from consignment shops on occasion though—when people were a little more budget conscious.

  I was working my way down one aisle of the fabric store when I spotted it. The most luscious, wine-red satin I’d ever seen in my life. It was absolutely gorgeous, with a subtle sheen, a tight weave, and it spilled over my fingers like cool water.

  Forget making something for my store, I was going to fashion something for myself with the luscious fabric. I had no idea what, but whatever it was, it was going to be amazing. My mouth was watering just thinking about it.

  Pleased with myself, and with a hefty charge on Lorcan’s credit card, I dropped my carefully wrapped prize in the trunk of my car and thought about getting something to eat. Real vampires didn’t eat food, but I still had to. Blood couldn’t sustain me, no matter how good it smelled these days. And besides, no one knew I was in Portland. If I was careful, I was sure it would be fine.

  Luckily for me, there was a small pub not far from where I was parked. It looked like the kind of place students would congregate: not terribly fancy, but good food, and relatively unknown. I might be about a hundred and twenty-two years older than the usual clientele, but they certainly wouldn’t know it.

  With thoughts of a chicken Caesar wrap putting a bit of speed into my step, I was tempted to just power walk into the couple having a rather intense discussion right in front of the restaurant. I didn’t have much patience on the best of days for people getting in my way, but when I was hangry, everyone beware. I was just winding up to tell them to take it elsewhere, when the girl turned far enough that I could see her profile when she tucked her hair back behind her ear.

  “Bryony,” I said, surprised. I hadn’t expected to see her here—so far from her family.

  She jumped, and rounded on me, her eyes wide. The man with her reached out and hesitated, like he was going to put his arm between us to keep me from reaching her—like he thought I was going to attack her or something. Clearly, he must have caught on to the fact that I was a witch—or maybe he’d heard I was a vampire.

  I gave him a look that promised he’d regret it if he tried to touch me, and he was smart enough to shrink back out of my way. I didn’t know who he was, but I could tell by smell alone that he wasn’t a werewolf, so he couldn’t be Bryony’s groom to be. He was definitely a supernatural, though. There was a glamour draped over him, hiding his true features, leaving him dark-haired, dark eyed, and remarkably human looking. Draping oneself in a human guise wasn’t unusual, especially among supernaturals who couldn’t pass for human—this way they could blend in better.

  Bryony smiled at me, but it was a sickly thing. “Oh, hello. Wanda, was it? I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  She was nervous, her eyes wide and darting. It was an odd change from the girl who’d been completely unimpressed by everything in my store, but then, werewolves tended to be a lot more retiring when they didn’t have their pack around.

  “Same.” I glanced at the young man still hovering awkwardly by the pub windows, but then turned back to Bryony. “Anyway, your order is ready, and you can pick it up whenever you’re available.”

  The nightgown had been easy enough, the design hadn’t been an elaborate one. And with Maverick helping me with the enchantments, we’d managed to wrap it up fast. I’d wanted a bit of extra time, to make sure everything was how she wanted it, since the wedding was coming up fast. Running into Bryony was a stroke of luck, since it meant I didn’t have to put a phone call to the lady werewolf mafia. Hopefully she’d pick it up alone, and I wouldn’t have to deal with the hordes descending on my store again.

  And given the fact that I hadn’t actually ordered anything from the restaurant, my cover wasn’t completely blown. Still, I looked up at the sign which clearly proclaimed itself to be a deli, and frowned.

  “Oh, I thought this was a shoe store—silly me,” I continued with an embarrassed shrug.

  Bryony smiled, and it was faker than a twenty-dollar Prada bag. “That’s great you finished it. Thank you so much. I’ll be in to get it tomorrow.” Then she tossed a nervous look at the guy she’d been talking to and folded her arms across her midriff. “I’m just confirming some stuff with the restaurant. We’re hiring some servers for the reception to pass around appetizers and drinks.”

  Weddings ranked about a zero on the list of things I cared about, a stranger’s wedding even lower. And there was a wrap calling my name inside the pub, so I just smiled absently as I tried to figure out where I could hide until Bryony left so I could make sure the coast was clear to order my food. “Okay. I’ll see you later, then.”

  The girl’s shoulders relaxed as I walked by, but she couldn’t seem to meet my eyes, keeping her gaze firmly on the sidewalk. I fought not to sigh. It was such a pity. I’d thought she had a bit of a back bone, at least.

  ***

  By the time I walked back out of the restaurant, no longer hungry and cranky, the pair was long gone, so at least I got to avoid another awkward conversation. I was halfway back to the car when my phone rang with Lorcan’s ringtone.

  “Sweetling,” he said, something odd in his tone. “Where are you?”

  “Still in Portland.” I glanced around to make sure no cars were coming before crossing the street. “I’m almost back to my car, and then I’ll be heading home. Why? Can you smell your credit card burning from there?”

  He laughed, a low, rich chuckle that had my belly tightening. “I actually was wondering if you could do me a little favor.”

  “Every day I tolerate you is a favor, Rowe.” I paused as he chuckled once more. “But I might be persuaded. What’s the favor?” I leaned against my car, not bothering to unlock it.

  Across the line, I heard fabric rustle. Lorcan kept his voice quiet, like he didn’t want to be overheard. “I have an order that needs picking up. I could make the drive tomorrow, but since you’re already there, I thought you might grant me a boon.”

  Most of the stores were already closed, so there was no way he’d be able to get whatever it was if I didn’t pick it up for him. And since the vampire had just indulged my expensive shopping spree, I figured I could pick up whatever it was for him. I gave a dramatic sigh for appearances, though. “I suppose.”

  “Thank you, Sweetling. I’ll see you when you’re home.” He rattled off the store I needed to go to. And then he hung up, before I could say goodbye. And, I noticed with interest, that he hadn’t bothered with any of the little lovey sentiments he usually ended our calls with. There was no mention of my lady bits and how much he was looking forward to reuniting with them, no mention of the nicknames he called me when it was just the two of us (nicknames I absolutely refuse to list, because they’re that mortifying). Nothing at all.

  I stared at the phone, blinking in shock for a few seconds.

  Suddenly in a sour mood, I jerked my car door open, ready to have the rest of the night over with.

  ***

  I was never going to forgive him for this.

  How could he? How dare he? We were so over. Divorced. Done. Kaput. Over.

  He could have his blood back, but I was keeping the car.

  I stood in line for the customer service desk in the most obnoxious big box store I’d ever seen. The fluorescents were giving me a headache, and the bland music echoing through the tinny PA system was enough to induce rage in my soul. What could Lorcan even want from such a place?

  We shuffled forward another step, and I had to resist the urge to hex everyone in the building. It probably wouldn’t have done much good, anyway. I’d met a zombie that was livelier than the staff here. Or the customers, for that matter.

  With every second I was forced to wait, my temper crept a little hotter, like the red line in a thermometer. If I didn’t reach the cashier soon, I was going to erupt. Finally, it was my turn to talk to the dead-eyed teenager who was chewing gum in an obnoxious, open-mouthed way that reminded me of a cow chewing its cud.

  “I have an order for pick up under the name: Lorcan Rowe.”

  The teenager gave an enormous sigh, like my asking her to do her job was the greatest inconvenience ever suffered by mankind.

  My fists slowly clenched.

  She took an inordinately long time searching the shelves behind the register, pawing through the stacks of items put aside there. When she finally turned back around, I almost shrieked at what she had in her hands.

  Lorcan had put me through this indignity for a phone charge cable? A thing we already had over a dozen of? A thing he could have bought in any number of stores right in Haven Hollow? A thing he could HAVE ORDERED FROM AMAZON?!

  My nails dug into my palms hard enough that I was going to have permanent little crescent divots in my skin.

  “You’re lucky it’s here,” the cashier told me, in a voice that was completely without inflection, but still managed to sound extremely nasal. “The order just came in. You’re supposed to wait until we email you.”

  I told myself to count to five, before turning back with a baring of teeth that only a drunk or an idiot would call a smile. “Oh? Well, so sorry to have troubled you,” I said in a sickeningly sweet voice that I may or may not have copied from Poppy. Though her version was less sarcastic certainly.

  As I tapped Lorcan’s card to pay for the stupid thing, I glanced up at the computer screen where the order was still displayed. The time ordered was less than ten minutes ago. That meant, Lorcan would’ve ordered it after he hung up the phone with me. So, he hadn’t had an order waiting at all. He’d made the order specifically so I’d have something to pick up. But why?

  Confused and a little frustrated, I took the bag with the charger and stormed out of the store. The automatic doors came within inches of being hexed off their tracks, but luckily for them, they opened in time.

  Why would Lorcan order something so stupid? Just to delay me in coming home? Why would it matter what time I got back to the house? Or was he trying to stall me from getting back to Haven Hollow? Either way, he was trying to delay me and I wanted to know why.

  Maybe I was thinking about it too hard. It was possible the silly man had just forgotten to ever put the order in and then hearing I was in Portland, decided to put it in right then. But why special order something so easily found anywhere else? It made no blasted sense, and I didn’t like things that made no blasted sense.

  Chapter Four

  I barricaded myself behind the counter at Wanda’s Witchery and tried to figure out what the spell was up with Lorcan.

  He was trying to keep me from getting home, but why? Did he have some sort of surprise planned? If he had a surprise party for me, I was really going to kill him. But there wasn’t a reason to have a party in the first place.

  It wasn’t our anniversary, no matter which way you looked at it. Not an anniversary commemorating the moment we were married, not one commemorating the moment we’d started dating, not even the day he gave me his blood to keep me from dying. It wasn’t my birthday, and quite frankly, a surprise party for a witch was liable to end up with someone hexed. And it wasn’t his birthday. It wasn’t Yule, his dog’s, birthday either.

  So, what in the hell was going on with him lately? Staying out late—missing our date, trying to keep me out of town, being tired and stressed, and downright taciturn for the last week. Usually, I couldn’t stop Lorcan’s mouth with all the magic in the world, and suddenly it was nothing but exhausted silences and a few clipped words.

  At the rate he was going, I was going to have to lock him in a coffin and sit on it until he agreed to spill what was going on with him. I wasn’t a patient witch to begin with, and all of this was testing my last nerves.