I heard footsteps. Somebody was coming along the hallway, possibly to use the bathroom or possibly to check up on me. I grabbed George's arm and pulled him along with me to the back door, opened it, and let it swing shut behind us.
"You didn't even wait for my answer," he said, rubbing his arm. "Damn, you're getting a bit pushy, aren't you?"
Everything that had happened began to rush over me in a flood of emotion and my bottom lip wobbled. "I'm sorry. Really, George, I'm sorry for everything."
"Hey, don't cry. It's going to be okay."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me. But… but it's not. Not if I don't meet with Stacy and apologize to her. And even then…" I swallowed hard. "I don't know. Just as things are going really great with Thierry this had to happen and now if he touches me we want to bite each other and stupid Veronique won't agree to the annulment. Nothing ever seems to go right for me."
He put his arm around me and gave me a side hug. "Nothing ever goes right for you?
Well, you met me, didn't you? Obviously after that windfall, fate had to give you a few hard knocks."
That made me smile a little. "Of course. What was I thinking? That must be it."
"And how bad can life be? You're gorgeous. You know amazing people, me at the top of the list, of course. Your fangs are definitely the cutest I've ever seen, and since I now know them practically in the biblical sense I feel that I can say that in all honesty. And even though he's extremely moody, you have a boyfriend who is beyond crazy for you."
I blinked. "You really think so?"
"Crazy. Beyond. You obviously have a talent for making people crazy, Sarah. It's a gift.
Don't deny it."
I laughed. "Great."
He nodded. "Now let's go. Another moment of being all snark-free and complimentary like this and I might toss my cookies. It's so unnatural."
And so we went.
A park at night. A witch with a grudge. A desperate, bloodthirsty, cursed vampire and her trusty sarcastic, nicotine-addicted sidekick.
No problemo.
Interlude
London, England, 1811
Thierry knew it was a trap, but he went anyhow. He had no choice.
He watched from the shadows.
A nightwalker had managed to lure Veronique to an abandoned house in London's East
End with romantic promises. Even Thierry was surprised, despite his wife's weakness for handsome men who showed her the slightest attention, that she had been so naive as to be led there near the docks—an exceedingly poor and disgusting neighborhood.
It was true that the nightwalker in question didn't show any outward signs of what he was.
Despite his never going out during the day, he seemed quite normal indeed. A handsome, well dressed man of means at first glance.
A nightwalker who had murdered scores of women—all of whom were vampires. He was a tool of the hunters who were trying out nightwalkers as secret weapons.
Only Thierry knew this. He also knew that the hunters had recently decided that it was a very bad idea.
Nightwalkers couldn't be controlled. To trust one would be a deadly mistake.
Thierry also knew that the rookery where Veronique was being held was being watched by three hunters. They were to wait until the nightwalker had killed Veronique—a vampiress they considered highly dangerous—and then they would slay the nightwalker himself.
He and Veronique hadn't spoken in months. She'd left him to go to London and play among the rich and fanged citizens, having a string of affairs with men a fraction of her age.
Thierry kept waiting to feel jealousy or anger at his wife's decisions, but he felt nothing at all. This disturbed him. He should mind that his wife was unfaithful, shouldn't he? But he didn't seem to care.
Sometimes, late at night, he would stare up at the ceiling and worry that he had no heart.
That there was nothing in him that was human anymore. Perhaps the human part of him had died in the plague, now nearing five hundred years ago. It was a long time. It had felt like a long time.
He shook his head. It was no time for dark thoughts. They smacked of weakness.
He slid the mask of the Red Devil in place over his face and slipped into the building.
The nightwalker had already bitten Veronique. The marks on her neck had healed remarkably well, but were still visible. He'd watched from the shadows outside as the monster had swept her hair off her throat and bent to taste her. To begin with, she had welcomed his bite, but it had been obvious that her lust had quickly turned to fear. When she pushed at him he had struck her so hard it had knocked her unconscious. He had tied her up and left her in the room alone. When the nightwalker returned, he would finish her.
She moved when Thierry began to loosen her bindings, and she turned her beautiful face to him, her eyes widening.
"You are… you are the Red Devil," she whispered.
"Yes."
"And you've come to rescue me?"
The mask felt warm. He hated wearing it for too long. "Yes."
When the ropes were loose he helped her to her feet. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
"How can I ever thank you?"
He pulled away, and looked down at her. "There's no need for that."
She stared at him. The mask covered most of his face, but his mouth and eyes were visible. He waited to see if she would recognize him. He almost wanted her to find out his secret, but there was no flicker of recognition. The woman he had known for almost five centuries gave no hint that she knew who he truly was.
Then again, she thought her husband a coward who would hide from danger. It would never occur to her that he was capable of knowing, let alone being, the Red Devil himself.
No one knew. Not one soul.
"Come with me." He took her hand and led her to the open window.
There was a crash. The nightwalker had returned, his eyes black as pitch, his lips curled back from his fangs. Without a word of warning, he attacked, and Thierry fought back, keeping Veronique behind him for protection.