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How worried they must be. Or maybe not. If they were that involved in their daughter’s life, wouldn’t they have worked a little harder to keep her away from Lucien Dumond?
Why Violet had reached out to me, I didn’t know. Maybe it really was that I was the only person in Globe she knew…and that she also knew I was safe because I’d never had any designs on Lucien.
“You really should call your parents,” I said, but I kept my tone gentle, trying to let her know it was just a suggestion and not something I’d make her do in exchange for my help.
Her fingers tightened on the mug. “I know. But…can I call them in the morning? I just can’t deal right now.”
I knew the feeling. “Sure,” I replied. “You can crash on the couch — that’s all I’ve got, since I use the second bedroom as an office.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” she said, expression immediately brightening. Then she added, the words rushed, as though she’d just realized that she should show some kind of gratitude for my offer, “Thanks, Selena. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem,” I told her, although I had to wonder whether it would turn out to be one.
But no — she’d crash here, and she’d call her parents in the morning, and either they’d come get her, or they’d read her the riot act and tell her she needed to get herself home immediately. Either way, it wasn’t really my problem.
In the meantime, I’d get her a blanket and an extra pillow, and hope she’d have a somewhat restful night’s sleep. The apartment had been recently cleansed and protected, and so I had to believe that no evil dreams would reach her.
“Do you need to get your bags out of your car?” I asked next.
At once, she shook her head. “No. I mean, I’ve got a travel toothbrush and toothpaste in my purse, and I can get the rest of my stuff in the morning. I don’t want to go back down there in the dark.”
I wanted to tell her she’d be perfectly safe, but I could sense she didn’t want to hear it. After what she’d been through, she had every right to be rattled.
So I showed her where the guest bathroom was, and loaned her an old T-shirt to sleep in, and got a blanket and a pillow from the linen closet. Afterward, I escaped into my bedroom and shut the door, and did my own nighttime prep. It was only as I set my phone down on the bedside table after turning off the ringer that I paused.
Calvin really needed to know Violet was okay. Problem was, I knew if I texted him to tell him she was staying at my place, he’d be right over, and the girl needed to rest. He could talk to her in the morning.
I decided to compromise. I picked up the phone and sent a brief text:Violet is safe.
That should be enough. We could sort out the details in the morning.
I put the phone back down and lay back against the pillows. From outside my closed door, I heard the faint whisper of water running, and then the even lighter pad of Violet’s bare feet as she headed back to the living room. Silence after that, and I closed my eyes and released a breath.
But even though I knew I should be trying to sleep, my thoughts couldn’t seem to calm themselves enough for me to reach that state. Something kept picking at the edges of my mind, telling me I’d missed something big.
What, though?
I rolled over on my side and released a breath. The scene down at the river replayed in my mind’s eye. The angry, restless wind which was all that remained of Lucien Dumond. The howl of that disembodied voice.
Vile….
Huge….
My eyes flared open, and I shifted onto my back again as I stared up at the ceiling.
What if Lucien hadn’t been saying “vile,” but had been trying to utter the word “Violet”?
And “Huge”?
Lucien’s younger brother was named Eugene. He’d never been even on the periphery of GLANG, but….
Oh, dear Goddess.
I sat up in bed, alarm shrilling through me. But even as I was reaching down to push back the bedcovers, the door to my bedroom flew open.
Standing in the doorway were two figures, one short and slender, the other tall and bulky. The light in the hallway made a halo of her blonde hair, although I doubted she was an angel.
The taller figure moved into my bedroom.
