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I nudge her in the ribs. “That wasn’t me, that was Delilah.”
“No, it was you first,” Blaire insists. “Where do you think Delilah got the idea? Now, come on, woman. And bring that spitty pretzel with you. I’m hungry and snacks always taste better after Amy’s slobbered on them a little.”
Edmond winks my way. “See you soon.”
I blow him a kiss and follow Blaire across the lawn, discreetly searching for signs of Priscilla. I lost track of her while Amy and the other girls were racing around the bonfire, too focused on keeping my toddler out of the flames to split my focus. I scan the clumps of people—mostly adults now—still gathered around the various fire pits and sipping drinks at the bar set up under a brightly colored tent, but there’s no sign of Edmond’s maker.
“She left a little while ago,” Blaire says, answering my unspoken question. “A couple of her key ass-kissers wanted a tour of her yacht. As far as I know, she’s not due back until tomorrow night for the clan meeting.”
The tension eases from my shoulders. “Good. I wasn’t sure how well I was going to sleep knowing she was still wandering the property being tiny and evil.”
Blaire grunts. “Judging by the look Edmond was giving you when I walked up, you won’t be sleeping much anyway. That man is ridiculously smitten with you.”
“And my kid,” I agree, torn between feeling like the luckiest—and unluckiest— woman in the world. Yes, a kind, clever, fabulous man is head over heels for me and my baby, but my first long-term relationship was with a dickhead demon who used his mind-powers to hold me hostage, and my second is with a man who’s basically on death row.
But tonight, I decide to feel lucky. Assuming this thing with Sultan goes well, I might soon have a real reason to hope for a brighter future.
We enter the interrogation room to find Darcy seated in one of the three gray chairs lined up on the right side of the space. In the center, there’s a bar cart on wheels with all my supplies already laid out on top, and on the left, a pale Sultan is strapped to what looks like a dentist’s chair with heavy metal shackles.
I shudder as we close the door behind us, memories of my run-ins with our rural Maine dentist as a kid surging to the surface. “Ouch,” I say, wincing. “My teeth hurt just looking at that thing. Why didn’t Mom make us brush our teeth when we were kids? She could have saved herself so much money and us hours of excruciating pain.”
“Why did Mom do anything?” Blaire says. “The woman was a mystery conundrum wrapped in a What the Fuck burrito.” She crosses to Sultan, gazing down at him with a detachment that isn’t like Blaire. “Huh. Smells like lemons over here.”
“Fuck…you, bitch,” Sultan says weakly.
“That’s witch, thank you very much,” Blaire says, sniffing audibly. “And yep, definitely catching some lemony freshness. What about you Darcy?”
“He’s been sprayed with a near lethal dose of citrus juice,” Darcy says, his voice flat and weary. Citrus is dangerous to vampires and can even be deadly in large quantities. “But the antidote is at hand.” He motions toward the bar cart. “All he has to do is share his secrets and his pain and suffering will come to an end.”
Sultan groans. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“We don’t know anything of the sort,” Blaire says. “All we know is that you aren’t even trying.” She crosses to sit beside Darcy, watching Sultan moan and squirm in his chair. “I mean, you say spilling your guts will make your tongue fall out, but so far I haven’t seen so much as a speck of blood from that piehole of yours, let alone something more vicious.” She glances at Darcy. “I’m beginning to think he’s a big fat liar, darling, what about you?”
“He’s certainly proving a disappointing waste of time,” he drones. “Perhaps we should leave the citrus to do its work and adjourn to our bed. We can always tell the high council there was a terrible accident.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Sultan says, his bloodshot eyes widening as pink sweat breaks out above his plush upper lip.
“We wouldn’t, no,” Darcy says. “But Casey is new in town. She had no idea what citrus can do to a vampire.”
“She was just trying to make you a refreshing drink to encourage you to share your secrets,” Blaire says, motioning toward the cart, where a tiny squeeze bottle of lemon juice and one of lime sit next to the ingredients that I’ll actually be using tonight. “She had no idea she was putting you in danger until it was too late.”
Darcy stands. “When she realized something was wrong, she hurried to fetch us, but by the time we made it back to the interrogation room, it was too late to save you.” He clucks his tongue. “Such a shame.”
Blaire hums low in her throat. “Truly. A terrible shame. Perhaps you could have been rehabilitated given time to reflect on your crimes in a detainment center setting.” She stands with a sigh. “But now we’ll never know.”
“Stop it. Both of you,” I say, propping my hands on my hips and doing my best to sound outraged on Sultan’s behalf. I have zero acting experience, but hopefully Sultan will be too distracted by citrus cramps to realize my “good cop” bit is just an act. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. We’re supposed to be the good guys and good guys don’t torture people to death.” I point at Sultan. “That man may be a complete sack of shit, but he doesn’t deserve this.”
“No, I don’t,” he says, hope making his voice quiver. “The Indian Princess is right. I never meant to betray the clan. I was blackmailed, I swear it.”
“Call me that again and I might think twice about mixing an antidote,” I say, glaring at his increasingly pink and swollen face. “It’s Casey or Cassandra, Ms. Wonderfully if you’re nasty, and we all know you are.”
He gulps. “Yes, Ms. Wonderfully. Please, just…help me. I’m at the mercy of your good heart.”
He’s actually at the mercy of my amateur potion work—which could do worse things to him than the citrus if I make a mistake with the proportions—but as I cross to the cart and begin mixing the Truth of Body cocktail, my hands are steady.
I’m not nearly as anxious as I expected to be.
This feels…right, like I was born to pour, squeeze, dribble, and shake these everyday liquids until they become something extraordinary.
