“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was talking to Cromwell.”
Camille had set the table with two place settings, and then a bottle of blood at the third. The bottles were dark so we couldn’t see inside. It made it easier to be around Menolly when she fed.
“What’s he up to?” Camille asked.
“It’s not him I’m worried about,” I said. “I smelled a coyote shifter out there. Near enough to catch my notice. I just have an uneasy feeling.”
“Coyote shifter?” Iris said. Her ankle-length hair was braided up and around her head in a large bun. It was golden, like mine, only more so. She was gorgeous, buxom and yet muscled, and she was like a milkmaid out of a pastoral painting of some Swiss village. “The Great Coyote is chaotic and unpredictable, and so are his followers. But they aren’t nearly as dangerous as the Koyanni.”
“Who are the Koyanni?” I asked.
“They broke from the Great Coyote centuries ago and follow a false prophet.” She set a tureen on the table. The smell from inside was delicious.
I licked my lips. “What’s for dinner?”
“Whatever it is, I wish I could eat,” Menolly said, stepping out from behind the bookcase that led to the basement. We’d changed out the door to the basement for a secret entrance. The bookshelves looked built in. But in secret, they hid the entrance to her lair, in case anybody broke in during the day. Because during the daytime, Menolly was at the mercy of anybody who found her. And there were too many wannabe vampire hunters in the world.
“I wish you could, too,” I said.
The subject of food was always delicate around Menolly. As a vampire, she was stuck with blood—and apparently animal blood was okay, but never as good as fresh, warm blood from a person. I got queasy thinking about it, but tried to keep my distaste under wraps.
“Maybe someday we can figure out a way to make blood taste like food,” Camille said. “It’s worth a try. So, Delilah was just saying that we have coyote shifters near.” She sat down at the head of the table.
I took my place as Iris placed the tray of roast beef and a boat of gravy on the table. Menolly joined us, staring with resignation at the bottle that sat in front of her. I reached for the rolls, then stopped, flickering a look at her.
“Oh, take it. Butter it. Eat it. I don’t begrudge you the food, Kitten. I just wish I could eat like a normal person,” she said, picking up the bottle. “At least I can feed without hurting anybody,” she added, a flash in her eyes.
I nodded, tossing a roll to Camille, who caught it midair. As we helped ourselves to the mashed potatoes, beef, and gravy, I said, “Cromwell smelled the coyote shifter, too. It wasn’t far from here. I think maybe down the road a piece.”
“We haven’t met any of our neighbors yet,” Camille said. “Maybe it was one of them.”
“I don’t know. Maybe we should take a midnight walk down the road and check it out,” Menolly said. “I’m not working tonight, so anybody want to join me?”
Camille and I both nodded. It wasn’t often that Menolly suggested a group activity.
“So, how’s the bar?” I asked.
Menolly shrugged. “I like it. It keeps me out of my head. And I can engage without getting too deep with anybody. Being a bartender seems a lot like manning a confessional. I hear all sorts of crap.” She snorted. “People over here are weird.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Camille said. “Try hanging out at the Faerie Watchers Club. I mean, Erin’s great, but a few of the club members aren’t playing with a full deck.” She scooped another spoonful of mashed potatoes onto her plate and added a buttload of gravy.
We were almost done with dinner when the doorbell rang. I placed my napkin by my plate and went to answer.
We had installed a peephole, and I peeked out, but didn’t see anybody. I opened the door to find what looked like an oddly shaped charm on the porch. I stared at it for a moment before reaching down, but the moment my fingertips neared the bauble, I froze.
“Camille? Can you come here?” I knew enough about magic to know that I shouldn’t be playing with it. Camille and Menolly joined me, and I backed up, pointing to it. “What’s that?”
She knelt down, moving her skirts behind her so they wouldn’t brush it. As she studied it, Menolly hurried back into the kitchen and returned with a rubber glove and a plastic zip bag.
“I thought you might need this,” she said.
Camille nodded. “Thanks. I don’t want to touch this with my bare hands. I don’t like the feel of it.” She glanced up at me. “You were smart not to pick it up. This thing feels cursed.”
“Should you pick it up even though you’re wearing gloves?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but we can’t just leave it. Go get Iris, would you?” Camille asked.
Menolly slipped out into the night. “I’m going to have a look around to see if I can figure out who left this.”
