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She sighed. “Harold has been a severe disappointment to his parents, failing not only to get into Yale, Princeton, or any other Ivy League college because of his personality, not his grades. He also managed to get himself in trouble a number of times.”
“And Chase—did he do the background checks on the boys living there?”
“Yeah, I was talking to him when dispatch interrupted with the news about the ghouls. He’ll fill us in on what he found after we take out the undead crew.”
She pointed to the parking lot that served for both the cemetery and the park. “There—there’s a spot near the gates.”
I swung in, my Jag smoothly rolling to a stop as Camille pulled in on my left in her Lexus. We headed across the lawn. The cemetery’s labyrinth of cobblestone paths was lit by a string of gas-lantern replicas, but in reality they were as up-to-date as Delilah’s laptop. The lamps added a serene, peaceful sense to the somber environment.
The cemetery was still open, but it looked like most of the patrons—those still with breath in their lungs—had fled. The dead inhabitants remained dead, or at least I hoped so. If there was a necromancer somewhere around dabbling in resurrection, then we were all in trouble.
Chase strode over to meet us. He’d brought backup, and most of the officers were Fae or elfin.
“What have you got for us?” I asked.
“Ghouls. Apparently one of the picnickers was a house sprite and recognized them. He’s the one who called in. He said there were quite a few.” Chase motioned to the officers. “What do they need? What kills ghouls? And what’s the difference between a wight and a ghoul? None of my men seem to know much about the undead.”>“What did she say?”
“She sends her love and wants to know if you can come over to the compound a week from tonight. She’s taking the next day off so you two can spend the entire night together.” Camille’s eyes were twinkling.
I grinned like an idiot. Nerissa never took a day off, and that she’d do so just to spend the entire night with me gave me a warm fuzzy feeling. Disconcerted—I didn’t do warm fuzzy—I tried to brush it away, but I couldn’t.
“She’s a special woman,” I said quietly.
“To take you on? I should say so.” Camille rattled her paper and folded it into a square. “Andy Gambit is at it again.”
“Shit, what’s he written now?” I asked as I shimmied into a pair of jeans and a loose, long-sleeved, rose-colored blouse.
The Seattle Tattler was a rag, yellow journalism at its best, but since they often printed stories that included the Fae and Supes as primary targets, we subscribed and read it on a regular basis. Andy Gambit was, by far, the worst reporter on the staff. He was always taking potshots, at us in particular. His goal in life seemed to be focused on becoming one of the big-time paparazzi, but somehow he never quite crossed over to the level of the brightest and best busybodies of the world.
Camille gave me a long look. “You really want to know? It isn’t pretty. In fact, it’s a slam against all vampires. Hell, Weres, too.”
“Oh wonderful. What has that prick got stuck in his craw now?” Knowing Andy, it could be anything.
Camille twisted her mouth in that peculiar way she had whenever something had set sour with her. She handed the paper to me. “Read it and weep.”
I glanced at the headline. “Freedom’s Angels Spread the Word: The Sordid Sex Secrets of Supes and Vamps.” Uh-oh. I settled down to read as Camille made my bed and picked up my dirty clothes, tossing them in the hamper.
In a shocking revelation the Freedom’s Angels, the premier moral compass group, have revealed new and sordid secrets about the creatures of the night. Dr. Shawn Little, a psychologist who volunteers his spare time to helping the group, has this to say about the Earthborn who might contemplate entering into an intimate relationship with one of the demonic beings:
“Before ever letting one of the unnaturals touch you, bear in mind that if you enter into intimate relations with a vampire, you are—in essence—committing an act of necrophilia. We realize that the law doesn’t see it our way, but morally, you are doing nothing more than having sex with a dead body that’s been demonically reanimated.
“And should you decide to strike up a relationship with a Were creature, you are committing an act of bestiality. We urge all of the true Earthborn to resist any such temptations, to keep themselves pure, and not defile the temple of their body by cavorting with these unnatural creatures.”
In related news, the Freedom’s Angels have applied for recognition as an official nonprofit religious organization. They plan on erecting a temple that can hold ten thousand worshippers in Nevada. The church will be called the Brotherhood of the Earthborn and construction is expected to be finished before the year is out, regardless of the government conspiracy to cover up the truths revealed by the founders of the organization.
“Holy shit.” I stared at the paper. “Why am I not surprised? They actually think they can attract enough people to fill that place?”
“Of course they can,” Camille said, shaking her head. “We’re fairly safe here, but there are plenty of people out there who think we all rode in on the train straight from Hel’s domain. And they’d like nothing more than to drive us out again. Either that or stick us on top of a pyre and light the match.”
“Hmm . . . wonder if they’ll try to set up halfway houses for the blood whores. I wouldn’t object if it were some other religion. Some sane religion.”
While the ultra-right-wing Christians thought we were straight from the devil’s lair, most of the mainstream denominations had found ways to coexist with us in a quiet truce.
Vampires had it harder than the Supes and Fae, definitely. The church’s stance on the Fae and Supes had grown to encompass them as beings of the universe . . . a phrase now used by a number of religions as a catchall term instead of humanity. Vampires, though, they were still nebulous about. But mostly, as long as we didn’t stir up too much trouble, the mainstream churches were content to live and let us live.
“So you and Roz sure had yourself a party this morning,” Camille said as I tossed the paper on my desk and headed for the stairs. I stopped, turning around. She had a telltale smirk on her face.
“I should have known you’d find out,” I said. “Yes, we had sex, and yes, it was good, and yes, he’s all that incubi are cracked up to be. More so.” And then, because I couldn’t help it—and I knew she’d understand—I whispered, “He’s got stamina, that’s for sure.”
