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Startled, I remembered my original reason for dropping by. “Yeah, I need information about the Clockwork Club, if you have it. And I need to know if you are acquainted with a woman named Claudette Kerston.”
She snorted. “The Clockwork Club? They invited me to join, but they’re not my style. Take out your notebook. They’re a peculiar group, and you’ll want to remember what I tell you.” And with that, the mood lightened, and she began telling me about the most elite vampire country club in the nation.
CHAPTER 6
The faint stirring of sunset brought me out of my slumber. I blinked, sitting up abruptly and throwing the covers back before I quite realized where I was. I never needed blankets. I didn’t get cold, but I felt too vulnerable sleeping naked without at least a sheet covering me.
I stretched and yawned. Even after twelve years of death, I still yawned out of instinct. The oxygen wasn’t necessary, but it had been so ingrained in my persona for almost sixty years of life that I still hadn’t shaken the habit.
Sometimes, when I yawned, a particularly odd, hollow feeling rushed through me as the air passed into my body and lungs without flooding me with the relief each breath brought to a living person. The air molecules rushed through my veins, trying to find a hold, trying to stimulate blood cells, but there was no catch, no recognition. I let out the breath, slowly, in a long stream, and my lungs fell silent again.
So many reflexes that were imprinted on behavior and thought became invisible, until they took on a new meaning after death.
As I pushed my way out of the bed, the secret passage to my lair opened from up the stairs, and Delilah and Camille came traipsing down. Camille was carrying Sabele’s journal.
“Good, you’re awake. Iris wants you to help her with Maggie.”
Sometimes one of them would come down to wait for me to wake up, but they knew enough to stay away from the bed, out of the danger range. When I woke, instinct took over, and it was easy to hurt someone who’d gotten too close.
“So anything earthshaking happen while I slept?” Unlike someone just taking a nap, if the demons broke in and set fire to the world while I was sleeping, I wouldn’t know about it until the sun set.
“I translated Sabele’s diary,” Camille said, sprawling across my bed on her stomach, bending her knees into the air and crossing her ankles. The stilettos on her shoes looked dangerously sharp. “And I have to tell you, she was one fascinating elf. She was also being stalked by some creep.”
Delilah handed me my jeans, and I shimmied into them. When it came to jeans, my theory was the tighter the better. Nothing screwed with my circulation anymore. Of course, if I couldn’t fight in them, they weren’t worth the denim from which they were made, but other than that, I liked them snug.
“Unrequited love?” I asked, sliding a silk turtleneck over my head.
“You should wear a tank top. It’s so warm out,” Delilah said.
I shook my head. “Not ready for it. Not yet. Besides, the hot and cold don’t affect me.” Free of my sire or not, I still felt self-conscious about the kaleidoscope of patterns Dredge had etched on my body with his long nails and a dagger. I hadn’t reached the point where I felt comfortable wearing revealing clothing. I leaned over to fasten my granny boots.
“Unrequited love?” Camille repeated. “No, oddly enough. You’d think so, but this guy—where’s the page?” She flipped through the diary. “Right, here it is. The guy’s name was Harold Young. He went to the University of Washington, apparently. Harold was following Sabele around, but he never made a move to ask her for a date or anything like that. Sabele was getting spooked. Then, for five nights in a row he trailed her home. The sixth day . . . well, the diary’s blank. It ended there.”
I glanced up at her from lacing my boots, and as I lifted my head, one of my braids managed to get itself hooked on the fringe of my bedspread, the thin threads tangling with the ivory beads that decorated my cornrows. Delilah hurried over as I tried to tug myself free.
“Here, you’re going to rip the spread if you aren’t careful.”
As she unwound the threads from my coppery hair, a playful glint began to grow in her eyes. She stared at the strings, fixated. Oh shit, I knew what that meant.
“Let go of my hair and back away slowly,” I said, quickly grabbing for my braid in her hand. “I’ve got it.”
She quivered for a moment, breathing quickly, and then reached out again, her eyes glazed over. Within the blink of an eye and a whirlwind of color, I had a golden tabby hanging from my braids, wrestling them with all the glee of a kid in a candy store.
“Hey! You little sh—” I tried to shake her off, but my braid was still tangled in the threads. Delilah tightened her grip on the hair.
Camille raced over and scooped her up, getting a nice little swipe on her arm for doing so. I decided that I could buy a new bedspread and ripped the fringe off the edge, tearing the material in the process. But it freed me. I turned to find Camille holding Delilah up above her head, her hands wrapped around our sister’s furry tummy. Delilah plaintively yowled and squirmed, her eyes wide, toes splayed, tufts of fur sticking out from between them.
“You free?” Camille asked.
I nodded, and she tossed Kitten on my bed. Delilah promptly zoomed off across the room and up the stairs on a manic quest for—well, for whatever cats were aiming for when they did that. I’d asked her about it once but only got a burst of laughter in reply.
“Well, hell. That was not exactly the way I planned to start my night,” I said, examining the ruined spread. “It’s not too bad. Maybe Iris can mend it for me when she has some extra time.”
Camille finished untangling the fringe from my hair and gave me the once-over. “You ever think about a different hairstyle? Your hair used to be so pretty when you wore it long and curly.”
“Just why do you think I wear it this way?” I asked. “Think about it. When I’m fighting, it’s out of my way. When I’m hunting, I don’t get blood on it. And . . . well, generally, I think it’s kind of cool.”
“Yeah, well at least take it out once in awhile to wash it. I can braid it again for you.” She tossed the fringe in the trash basket. “Just sticking your head under the shower and hoping the shampoo makes it through those tight braids isn’t exactly sanitary.”
