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Balthazar had almost forgotten that. How ludicrous the cow had looked, and how silly they’d been about it. “That was funny, wasn’t it?”
“It was.” Charity leaned her head against his shoulder, the way she used to when she was little and they sat in front of the fire. “We used to have lots of fun, didn’t we?”
“Yeah. We did.”
That was why she’d murdered Redgrave. The sip of Skye’s blood—the tool Redgrave had thought would make any vampire his minion forever—had instead reminded Charity of who she was when she was alive. At the moment, she was more his sister … more truly herself … than she’d been since becoming a vampire. He let his head rest against hers, just for a second.
From the front seat, Britnee said, “So, I couldn’t help hearing the comment about drinking blood? Are we talking about vampires here?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Craig said.
“Yes,” Balthazar said. “I’m a vampire. So is my sister, Charity.”
“I’m not,” Skye added sleepily. “I’m just a psychic. I can see deaths suspended in time, and use them to reach through and speak to the dead.” When Balthazar glanced over at her, she said, “I’ll explain later. That last trip over the river told me a lot.”
Britnee said, “Our next substitute is going to seem so boring?”
Craig shook his head from side to side. “This night had better not get any weirder.”
Once they reached Skye’s house, she was able to take the warm shower she needed to heat herself up; Britnee found a tin of cocoa in the kitchen and set about making some for everyone, with Craig’s help. Balthazar remained downstairs with Charity.
She clearly hadn’t spent much time in a normal human home anytime recently; Charity’s curiosity led her to pick up the remotes and punch multiple buttons at once, then to trace her fingers around the sides of the unfamiliar thin plasma-screen TV. Balthazar let her do what she wanted as long as she didn’t cause any harm; for tonight, at least, he thought she was safe to be around.
In the meantime, he checked himself out in the front hall mirror; it had been too long since he’d properly fed, because the image was hazy. Still, he could see that the cuts on his face had already healed, and the bruises were almost entirely gone.
“Looking good,” Skye said.
Balthazar glanced up to see Skye standing at the top of the stairs. She wore a simple white cotton T-shirt and jeans; her hair had the slightly windblown look that told him she’d just finished with the blow dryer, and her face was clean-scrubbed, still somewhat pale. To him, she had never appeared more beautiful.
“Come here,” he said, opening his arms for her as she came down the steps to leap into them. She smelled like fresh soap and lavender. When they kissed this time, he buried his hands in her warm hair, opened his mouth, and pretended they were all alone.
When they finally pulled back from each other, Skye said, slightly breathless, “Well, I’m heated up now.”
“You’re sure you’re all right? If you need to go to the hospital—”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m warm again, and you’re with me, and we’re safe. I’ve never been better.” Her eyes flicked over to Charity. “I can’t believe I just said we’re safe, considering … but we are, aren’t we?”
“For now.”
Eventually, Charity would become monstrous again. But Balthazar now knew—no matter how terrible she became, no matter what she did, he would never be the one to destroy her. There had been times, over the past few years in particular, when he’d attempted to find the will to kill her. Charity was a murderer countless times over. She was unstable, manipulative, and cruel. Right now she remembered their love for each other as brother and sister, but she’d probably forget it again.
Someday, someone would have to stop her. Balthazar accepted that. But he also knew that he would never have the right. He’d killed her once; that had been more than enough to damn them both. No matter what she became, Charity was his sister—in life, in death, always.
When he turned back to Skye, her sad smile told him that, somehow, she knew exactly what he was feeling; she understood him more than he’d ever thought a human could. Perhaps more than he’d thought anyone could. “I saw Dakota,” she said. “While I was on the riverbank. Brothers and sisters … the bond doesn’t go away when you die.”
“Or long after death,” Balthazar said. “What did you see?”
Before Skye could answer, Craig and Britnee entered the room, Craig with a tray of steaming mugs in his hands. “Okay, who wants hot chocolate?” Britnee chirped.
Skye went straight for it; she needed the heat. Though human food had little taste for Balthazar, he wouldn’t mind some himself—vampire bodies were slower to chill but also slower to warm again. When Britnee cheerfully handed a mug to Charity, his sister stared down into it suspiciously, as if they might have spiked it with holy water. But she held on to it, and he could see a small smile of pleasure as a few curls of steam wafted past her face.
While everyone settled in, Craig said, “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. Skye’s got psychic powers, and that does something amazing to her blood, so a vampire was trying to capture her and make other vampires follow him just to get some of the blood for themselves. But now that vampire’s dead, so everything’s okay?”
Balthazar had been feeling better before Craig said that. “The first part is right. But Redgrave’s death doesn’t make everything okay. Not by a long shot.”
“They’re still coming,” Charity confided. Good God, she was actually trying to be helpful. He could see her struggling to be clear, to behave well. “So many vampires. They won’t know what to do without Redgrave, but they’ll look and they’ll look.”
“And Black Cross is on the way,” Balthazar added. Charity startled; Craig and Britnee looked confused. To explain to them both, he said, “Vampire hunters. Armed and extremely dangerous. Our old friend Lucas used some old contacts to send them this way. They’ll take out any vampire they find, present company included.”
