The Eldritch Conspiracy

“I think I’d like to check that out for myself, if you don’t mind.” The policewoman stepped onto the porch and into the doorway.

I turned to face her from the entrance to the kitchen, giving her a rueful smile. “Hello, Officer…?”

“Dade. Karla Dade. Are you all right?”

“I’m embarrassed more than anything. I’ll probably have some bruises. Did you happen to see my shoe?”

“It’s in the next yard.” She returned my smile. “Do you want me to call the paramedics so you can get checked out?”

“No. Thankth.” Crap. A lisp. I’d avoided it before, but sometimes those final ess sounds gave me trouble. And just like that, she saw the fangs she hadn’t noticed before. Her eyes narrowed and she gave me a long, long look.

“What is your name, ma’am?”

“Celia Graves.”

She gave a little nod of acknowledgment. The name was familiar. The face probably was, too. But she was smart enough to check. “Do you have any identification?”

“In my purse.”

Bruno handed her my bag—he must have retrieved it from the lawn; I hadn’t even thought to look for it—and she handed it to me. I opened it and shoved aside my travel toothbrush and comb to pull out my wallet, which I passed to Officer Dade. She checked out my driver’s license and my concealed carry permit before flipping the wallet closed and returning it to me. “Everything appears to be in order, Ms. Graves. If you’re sure you don’t want medical attention…”

“Not nethethary.” Damned fangs. It was harder to control my speech when I was rattled, which I was, a little, though I was trying not to be. I fought hard not to react when she flinched. “Thank you anyway.”

“Sorry for the trouble, officer,” Bruno mumbled.

She eyed the charred remains of the pan of lasagna in the sink. “No trouble,” she assured him. “You two try to enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He led her back through the house and closed the door behind her. I went back to looking for a corkscrew.

“I am so sorry.” I turned to find Bruno standing in the kitchen doorway, looking frustrated and hurt. “I wanted everything to be perfect. Fucking Creede, with his winery, and his…” I stepped forward and put my finger to his lips, cutting off the flow of words. He looked down and discovered my cleavage. There was a long, silent moment. When he was able to speak, his voice was a little rough. “That is a really nice dress.”

“You’re just now noticing that?” I teased.

He lifted his head and I saw that his eyes had darkened with desire. “You wore heels”—he took a breath—“and a thong.”

“Yup.” I was smiling now.

“You hate thongs.” He stepped into me, his body pushing mine against the kitchen cabinets.

“I didn’t want to ruin the line of the dress.”

He drew a ragged breath, his eyes locking with mine. “Is there any possible way for me to salvage this evening?”

“Tell you what. You fix me some broth and a stiff drink, and we’ll find out.”

It was his turn to smile. “I can do that.”

8

The earthquake woke me at 3:00 A.M., even though it wasn’t a particularly bad quake and didn’t last long. It was just enough to rattle the windows and knock things off shelves. I’m pretty used to them; this is California, after all. But even little ones tended to wake me up since I changed, and I didn’t know if that was the vampire, the siren, or just me.

Not surprisingly, Bruno was still out cold. He was so exhausted I think he could probably have slept through Armageddon.

He’d been pushing himself too hard. Again. He was finishing his doctoral thesis, teaching classes, and I was betting he was moonlighting, quietly helping his brother Matty. Matteo’s job is to take down major demons, übervamps, and all kinds of big-bads. But he’s only a level-four mage—average—though with Matty’s training, it’s enough to make him a force to be reckoned with. But Bruno is a level nine, and I knew he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to his brother that he could’ve prevented.

Bruno needed sleep, and he wasn’t going to get it if I was fidgeting next to him. So I very carefully disentangled myself—from Bruno and the bedding—and climbed out of bed. Pulling on Bruno’s discarded long-tail T-shirt, I padded down to the kitchen, straightening pictures and picking up fallen knickknacks along the way.

I started coffee brewing and downed a nutrition shake while I waited for my caffeine fix. A stack of mail had fallen off of the counter. When I picked it up, a photo fell out. A sticky note in Bruno’s mom’s handwriting covered most of the image. “Angelina Bonetti is back in town. Her annulment is final. She asked me to give you this.”

I do not believe in snooping. I don’t. It’s wrong. People are entitled to their privacy.

But I had to know. Had to.

So I lifted the sticky note off the picture.

The image was a surprise. It was a group shot of teenagers standing on a boardwalk. The one in the middle was Bruno, younger and wearing a Metallica T-shirt, worn jeans, and a grin. He had a girl on each arm, but the one on the left was his girlfriend. I could just tell. The girl on the right had bigger hair, more makeup, and less clothing, but the girl on the left had it. Charisma, star quality—whatever you want to call it, she had it in spades. Clouds of dark curls had been pulled back from a face dominated by huge dark eyes and the kind of sultry lips that just beg to be kissed. She wore plain shorts and a T-shirt, but they didn’t look plain on her.

Angelina Bonetti, I assumed. I found myself fighting down a wave of pure jealousy.

“Morning, sunshine.” Bruno greeted me from the kitchen doorway.

“Good morning.” I held out the photo to him. Taking it from me, he glanced at it and gave a gusty sigh, then leaned forward to give me a quick kiss and set the picture on the kitchen counter behind me.

“Your high-school sweetheart?” I supplied, guessing.

“Yup.” He slid one arm around my waist and pulled me against him. Since he was only wearing a thin pair of pajama bottoms I could tell he was happy to have me there. But he didn’t make a move on me. Instead, he righted the little metal cup tree on the counter, pulled off a mug, and put it down in front of the coffeemaker.

When he spoke, his voice was calm and matter-of-fact. “Angelina, and pretty much everyone else, assumed that we’d get married and that I’d take over Uncle Sal’s business while she stayed home and raised babies.”

Uncle Sal probably has some legitimate businesses. But that’s not the kind of business Bruno was referring to. The fact that Sal isn’t in jail with Gotti and the others says he’s smart and dangerous. “I’ll bet Joey didn’t make the same assumptions.” Joey was Bruno’s cousin, Sal’s son and heir. I like him … sort of. But he’s a scary bastard. Not as scary as Sal, but impressive enough all on his own.

“No. Joey didn’t.” There was a long silence. Bruno was lost in thoughts of the past. I didn’t rush him. He’d tell me in his own time and his own way. “Joey and I get along okay now. But back then it was … tense. One of the reasons I came to the West Coast for college in the first place was to get away from the family, from everybody’s expectations, so I could figure out what I wanted. All my life, all my decisions had been made for me. I wanted to make my own choices.”

I thought about that for a long moment. It made sense. It also explained why he has had a hard time sharing in the past and including me in the decision making. I didn’t like the notion. But at least it made sense. I filed that thought away for thorough consideration later, because Bruno was talking again.

“Angie wasn’t happy about my leaving. She wanted me to go to school in New York so we could see each other. We broke up right before I left.” He shook his head ruefully. “Broke my heart.”

The coffee was ready. I moved aside and he busied himself pouring us each a cup. I started to say something, but he continued.

“I hated it here at first. I didn’t fit in at all. My roommate in the dorm was a total asshat. Sal told me to give it time. ‘Finish out the year. You still don’t like it, then we’ll talk.’” He took a sip of coffee. His eyes met mine over the rim and started sparkling. “Second semester, the roommate dropped out, I met you, and I had my first class with El Jefe.”

“You think Sal knew?”

“Maybe. He’s got clairvoyants on staff. I know he was worried about me and Joey. He never said anything, but I could tell.”

I took a sip of my own coffee, and some of the tension in my shoulders eased a bit. “Did I ever tell you about the vision Dottie showed me last Christmas?”

With his mouth full of coffee, he raised one eyebrow in inquiry.

“I was really depressed because of the whole thing with Gran. She showed me what would’ve happened if I’d been killed with Ivy. It was pretty scary—sort of It’s a Wonderful Life as produced by Tim Burton.”

He put down his cup and looked at me seriously. “I’m not the same person I would’ve been without you.”

“No, you’re not.” I brought the cup to my nose with both hands, deeply inhaling the wonderful scent of liquid nirvana before taking another drink. It kept me from shuddering at the memory of what Bruno might have become.

He smiled. “I like this me better.”

It was my turn to look quizzical. “But you haven’t even heard—”

He held up one hand. “Don’t need to. I know what I was like then and I have a pretty good idea of what kind of man I would’ve become.” He set his cup down on the counter and pulled me close. I put my coffee down, too. We were standing face-to-face, bodies pressed together. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about Angelina Bonetti.”

The photograph drew my gaze like a magnet. Damn, she was beautiful. And she was the type who would only have gotten better with age. And Mama DeLuca liked her. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">