Zani had left the light on in her room at the boarding house. As she passed the building again on the way to the gate, she considered ducking back in to retrieve her boots. Nobody was awake to see her, save the spirits. But she didn’t dare. She knew better than to believe the adage that dead men tell no tales. In her experience, there was no greater gossip than ghosts. What other amusements did they have besides bavardage, messing with mirrors, and the occasional relocation of household items?
Still, she wanted to keep the boots. Carefully, she withdrew her wand and traced a shape in the air. Moments later, the boots appeared in the window, toes pressed to the glass like the noses of kittens. With a subtle flick of Zani’s wand, the window slid open. She held out her arms and nodded encouragingly. Almost playfully, the boots leapt down into her arms. Zani closed the window with her wand before walking away. She didn’t want the manager to wake up before dawn with a chill.
Knotting the laces together, she draped the boots around her shoulders and turned toward the gate, stepping up her pace. The night was still young. She knew Cosimo would already wait for her. She relished the thought of surprising him with her speed and efficiency.
She could feel the bloodstone amulet in her pocket, warm and heavy. It thumped against her hipbone.
Cosimo would be pleased, she knew. He might even be impressed. She pulled out her compact and checked to be sure there were no remnants of the potion. Just in case he tried to kiss her? The thought of this made her even warmer, and more aware of her desire. She wanted to impress Cosimo.She wanted him to kiss her.
If and when he did, she didn’t want him to be stupefied by a simple potion she’d made to confuse his lesser peers.
“Thank goodness you’re here!” Cosimo exclaimed as she reached the gate. “Do you have it?”
“I do.” Zani nodded. Where was the praise? “Hope you didn’t have to wait too long.” She raised her eyebrows and pretended to check her watch.
“I will confess that I was worrying when you weren’t back in an hour. Those three are notoriously slow and stupid.”
“There were four of them!” Zani’s voice cracked as she defended herself.
“Pardon me. I forgot about the fourth. Is he even mobile?” Cosimo wrinkled his nose in distaste.
“One of them had a cane, but I assure you, they were all perfectly mobile.” Zani scowled. She rested her hands on the boots hanging by her armpits. “And now they are all dust.”
“Well then, mission accomplished. We should get out of here quickly before anyone awakens.”
Zani nodded, then lowered her head and pressed her lips together. Cosimo was the opposite of impressed. Why wasn’t he elated that she’d retrieved the stone that he claimed had caused him so much trouble? Instead, he seemed even more on edge than usual. She reached into her pocket.
“Don’t,” Cosimo whispered. “I don’t need to see it. I can feel it.” He cupped a hand around her hip bone, pulling her in closer.
Zani held her breath. Cosimo leaned in. His lips were just a fraction of an inch from hers. She could see herself reflected in his odd silver and gold-toned eyes.
He really wasn’t like other vampires.
When he brushed a chaste kiss across her forehead, she felt the sharp pinch of her own disappointment.
“It’s just my stupid ego,” she thought. “I am not mesmerized by him.”
But she knew her Auntie Minodaura would not agree.
Chapter3
The Mermaid With Moxie
Goldie Pearlmutter gazed out the window of her cottage on Catalina Island. The pelicans were swarming, circling about a hundred yards off the coast. She watched as they dipped and dove with military precision, hardly making a splash as they broke the surface. No doubt there were anchovies forming a bait ball below.
The pelicans, with their short legs, round bodies, and comically long beaks, were hardly a thing of beauty on land. The way they huddled and waddled reminded her of the old women at the markets back in Brooklyn. She recalled the way they eyed the produce suspiciously. They had wicked side-eyes for anyone who’d done them wrong, and secret, surprisingly sunny smiles that were reserved for cheeky toddlers.
Like the pelicans, those little old ladies were not to be underestimated.
Goldie had expected to become one of them. In fact, she’d welcomed this transformation with open arms. Yet here she was, diligently lacing up her plimsolls for her usual morning walk. Time and tide had been uncommonly, irrationally kind to her. She didn’t look her age. But she was still old. Older than anybody else she’d ever met before. Old enough that nobody who met her would believe her. So she didn’t tell them her age. Fortunately, her age and true identity were details that didn’t matter to most people anyway. Neither the locals nor the handful of other residents in Avalon bothered to question her rather threadbare cover story. She was just another old wannabe artist who had wintered on the island and decided to stay. Not that she’d been producing much art besides the mosaic sculptures in her “grotto” garden. The half-finished canvas sitting on the easel in front of the bay window was only there for show. She was a terrible painter. But she liked the way her hanging collection of crystals and prisms caught the light and cast rainbows across the water she’d painted so poorly.
Oh, to be one of the birds soaring freely over the ocean and plunging into the depths with such grace and purpose. She envied them.
The sky was gray and the harbor fogged in. She could hardly see the casino, the large, round, art déco building that dominated the Avalon waterfront. The weather didn’t bother Goldie, however. She was rarely cold. She grabbed a Fair Isle sweater and a hooded rain slicker and headed out the door without bothering to lock it.
As she turned down the steep street leading to the harbor, she filled her lungs with the briny, balmy sea air. The mist caressed her cheeks and she could swear she felt her skin cells preening and plumping themselves up in response. Whenever anyone asked her what her youthful secret was, she inevitably replied, “Living near the ocean.”
As long as she never venturedintoit. Goldie suffered from a rare autoimmune disorder that made her skin go scaly the instant it came in contact with salt water. She’d been this way since she was a small child. Just one drop on an arm or a leg and her skin would sizzle, blister, and peel. Growing up in Brighton Beach had been torture for her. She’d have to sit alone on her beach towel, watching all her friends frolicking in the ocean waves.
