“It’s safe now,” she told him as she waved her hand in front of her face. “You can come over.”
“Thank God. I hate cops.”
“And yet that doesn’t stop you from lighting a joint when they’re right across the hall.”
“It wasn’t a joint. It was my bong. And I told you, they make me nervous.” He closed Devon’s door behind him and went straight to her fridge. “So, who’s breaking into your apartment, Dev?” He peeked over his shoulder. “And don’t bullshit me. I know you know. Or at least have an idea.”
She sat at the table and started tracing circles in the condensation left by her glass of iced tea earlier, and decided to tell him. She needed to tell him. If for no other reason than so someone would know if anything happened to her. “Remember yesterday when I was so hung over from going dancing Thursday night?”
“Yeah.” He found a jar of peanut butter in her pantry and brought it and a spoon over to the table, sat down, then immediately hopped back up to get a glass of her tea. “What about it?” he asked when he got back to the table.
“I wasn’t hung over. At least, not from drinking. I went to The Caves.”
Frank nearly choked on his peanut butter. “What the fuck, Devon? Why did you go there?”
She swirled her finger in the ring of water, strangely calm. Frank was one of the few people who didn’t work at Parasupe who knew the same things she did about the owners of that club. Because she’d told him after she knew him well enough to know that in spite of his frequent ridiculousness, she could completely trust him. And, she wanted to make sure he knew what he’d be getting himself into if he were ever invited there. “I don’t know why I went there. I just wanted to be around people, without being around people. You know?”
He snorted. “Uh, yeah.”
“Honestly, I just needed to get out of this box, and you weren’t home, so I just started driving, and somehow I wound up there.”
“I need bread.” Frank got up and went back to her pantry.
“There was a shooting while I was there.”
The pantry door slammed. Frank spun around, a loaf of bread in one hand and a jar of dill pickles in the other. “Holy shit. Inside the club?”
“Yeah.”
“How many shooters?”
“I don’t really know. Two? Three, maybe.”
“Who the hell would do…” The words faded away as he saw her face. His neck reddened the way it always did when he was angry. “Son of a bitch.”
Devon sighed and got up to get a towel to wipe up the water on the table. “Yeah.”
“How many people?”
“Everyone on the dance floor.” Her voice was thin. She cleared her throat.
“Just the humans?”
She shook her head. “No. Human and vampires, both.”
“Definitely your old company.”
“Sounds like it. But I’m not convinced. Why would they do something like that?” She stared at her friend, searching for an answer he couldn’t possibly have. “The vampires said one of the shooters told them they were after me, but it wasn’t Parasupe.”
He came over and wrapped his arms around her—bread, pickles, and all—and hugged her tight. “I’m so glad you made it out of there, Dev.”
She hugged him back hard. “Me, too. I was lucky. One of the bartenders saw it happening before any of us slow humans comprehended what was going on and knocked me out of the way.” And then she lost it completely. She thought she’d cried herself out last night after Kohl had dropped her off. She was wrong. Once again, the terror and sorrow and outright rage of seeing and hearing people mowed down by bullets hit her full force. Their screams rang in her ears and the pungent smell of blood and fear filled her nose.
Frank held her the entire time. When her sobs turned to sniffles, he asked, “Do you think the shooters were really after you?”
“The vampires think so,” she told him as she went for the box of tissues on the counter. Blessedly numb again, she wiped her face with trembling hands. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure why they let me leave. Though they did wipe my memory before they stuck me in a cab.”
“Then how do you know this happened?”
