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She thought for a moment, then said, "At least a couple of years for me. As far as my mother . . . I don't know. She does a lot of wildcrafting in the forest. I doubt if it's been more than a few months. The energy was slow to show itself at first, like a storm gathering offshore. Nobody thought it would stick around. I guess we didn't take it seriously. And then, one day a few months ago, we woke up and the town was engulfed in a shadow. Shortly after that, the Society started to fall apart. People began to vanish."
"Heather said Marta's throat had been ripped apart, she'd been drained of blood. But your mother also said she didn't think it was the vamps that did it. What about you? What do you think? I know the bloodsuckers aren't to blame for everything, but when trouble comes home to roost in a supernatural way, nine times out of ten vampires are involved."
Rhiannon blushed. "Honestly? No, I don't believe they did it. My boyfriend, Leo, is a day runner for Geoffrey. And while Geoffrey admits that the energy feels similar to his people's, he insists that they aren't to blame for what's been going on."
That was news. First that Rhiannon had a boyfriend--she'd always been rather shy--and second, that she was dating someone who worked for the vamps.
The Vein Lords--also known as the Crimson Court--kept to themselves for the most part, but on occasion, they mingled with people. As in socially, not a feeding frenzy. They tended to hang out with the magic-born more than anybody else. The vamps had their bloodwhores, but most of them were willing humans, only too happy to play host for their masters.
My aunt and cousin had kept me abreast of the latest exploits of the bite-me set over the course of our phone calls and my brief visits home.
"But can we believe Geoffrey? I'm not up to snuff on vampire lore, but they are predators. There's nothing to say they can't lie."
"I think we can take his word for it. The Vampire Nation has a lot to lose if they're lying. They're stronger than we are, but they are stuck in stasis half the time, and the retaliation would be horrible if they turned on their word. No, our problem is hiding out there.
"No." She shook her head and glanced out the kitchen window. "Whatever caused those deaths, and the deaths of our Society members, whatever is taking the people of New Forest, isn't human. And I don't think it ever was."
"Then I guess our next step is to search the forest, and for me to contact Grieve. Do you have anybody that can help us? Maybe your boyfriend?"
She let out a long sigh and nodded. "I haven't talked to him about Heather yet, because his sister was one of the Society members and she vanished, too. And he was studying wortcunning--herbal lore--with Heather. She really liked him and ever since Elise vanished, Heather acted as kind of a buffer for him--almost like his aunt. I didn't want to put him through the pain of losing someone all over again until I knew for sure. But I guess . . . do you think she's really gone? Could I be wrong?"
I hated breaking the fragile hope in her voice, but right now, we needed to face reality. "Yeah, and if we don't find her soon, who knows if we'll ever have the chance? You call Leo while I get my things from the car and take a shower. Then we'll bundle up, and head out to the woods to see what we can find."
And just like that, without ceremony or even time to sit and chat, I was home.
Chapter 3
While Rhiannon called Leo, I headed upstairs to my mother's old room, to unpack and take a shower. The incident at the hotel had made me so uneasy that I'd slept in my clothes, not wanting to be caught unprepared. After two days on the road, I was overripe and ready to hose myself off.
The thought of looking for Grieve weighed heavily on my heart, but I had to face him sometime. The memory of his skin against mine, of his lips against my lips, flashed through my mind and I bit back my heartache.
I loved him. I'd always loved him, but when he wanted me to stay, I'd still been too young to commit myself . . . too afraid of what it meant to bind myself to someone so strong and so different. Now, at twenty-six, nine years distance had put a lot of mileage on my soul. I'd seen the worst of the worst. I was ready to come in out of the cold, to build a hearth fire. The only question was: Did I still have a chance with him? Was he even still around?
The room was just like I remembered it, in shades of violet and ivory, which seemed out of place for my junkie mother, but then again, she'd just been starting down that road the last time she was here.
Deciding to leave the unpacking for later, I pulled my tank top over my head. The room was cool and I shivered as I exposed my skin to the air.
Banding my upper left arm, a pair of blackwork owls flew over a silver moon with a dagger stuck through its center. A matching tat banded my upper right arm. The owl was my familiar, though I didn't have one, and never had. Owls responded to me, though, and I was drawn to them. I gazed at them, and once again, it felt like they were there for a reason, but I didn't know why.
Every tattoo inked on me had a meaning. My fingers trailed down my left breast, lingering over the gently raised skin against which blossomed a deadly nightshade plant. A feral, wild girl peeked out from behind the glossy leaves and drooping violet blooms, with her shadow creeping along behind her. I didn't know what she stood for, either, but she was there for a reason.
Slipping out of my jeans, I traced the vine, dappled with silver roses, that trailed up my left thigh, across my lower stomach, ending near my ribs under my right arm. Entwined among the roses glimmered a trail of violet skulls, and right above my navel, a wolf stared out at the world through emerald eyes.
Grieve . . . the wolf was for Grieve, though I couldn't remember why I associated him with the animal. I'd had it inked on me when I was fourteen. As I gazed at the tattoo, a shiver raced through my stomach, and the wolf let out a low growl, his breath light against my skin. My body was hungry, and the feel of his soft breathing made me ache.
I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Time to get moving. We had no time to waste--Heather could be out there, hurt. Or worse. Practical possibilities raced through my mind--she might have fallen and hit her head, or broken a leg and found it impossible to manage the walk home. Any number of things could have happened. And yet . . . and yet . . . I knew that wasn't the case.
After jumping in the shower to rinse off, I towel dried and dressed in a clean pair of black jeans and a black knit turtleneck. Shrugging into my leather jacket, I took another look in the mirror.
"Right on." I might be Value-Mart chic, but I had the goth rocker chick look going on, and I wore it well. Turning sideways, I patted my abs. Tight, but not concave. While most women angsted over their weight, I didn't mind packing an extra twenty pounds. At five four, and one hundred-forty pounds, I was solid and muscled from my workouts and life on the road.
My hair was straight, draping just past my shoulders, jet-black and in need of a trim. I pushed the long bangs back behind my ears and stared at my face. The smooth, straight-as-silk strands contrasted against my green eyes and pale skin.
A gust blew against the window, startling me out of my thoughts. Welcome back, Cicely. Aren't you going to come say hello?
Cautiously, I opened the sash. The inner radiance I'd always associated with the copse had faded. The welcome mat had been pulled. As I stared at the forest, a shadow covered the wood. I leaned on the sill and stared out at the thicket, fat flakes of snow drifting down to blanket it in a lacework of white.
"Are you really still out there?" I whispered. "Are you waiting for me? Do you still want me? What happened, Grieve? The light's gone from the trees."
