Then I tried to find out as much as I could about Gideon Chase. There was lots of information and some very flattering pictures with him and a variety of arm candy at movie premieres and fancy restaurants. He gave money to charity. He bankrolled wings of children’s hospitals.
He was a freaking hero. At least, on the surface.
I had to dig a little deeper to find any references to his even being associated with the vampire-hunter organization. Most regular web surfers wouldn’t pay any attention to that at all, considering 99 percent of the world was ignorant or in denial of vampires existing outside Hollywood. They might think it was just a rumor—much like my nickname of
Slayer of Slayers. Or that vampires were completely fictitious. To them, Gideon Chase was simply a billionaire—a rich, handsome dude who liked to travel and have fun.
Now he was—as far as everyone in the rest of the world believed—dead.
And about to be resurrected as a vampire in two days, courtesy of me.
I could totally sell the film rights if I lived long enough.
Amy obviously got the message that I’d been looking for her earlier because she called me late in the afternoon wanting to meet me for coffee. Since I didn’t have any plans aside from my eight o’clock meeting with Gideon, I decided to stop obsessing about my problems and meet up with her.
I dragged my butt to a place called Bodacious Bean, a local Starbucks rip-off that had a mighty fine Colombian hazelnut blend. Amy was already there, sitting at a table in the corner of the café. She had a moccaccino and a piece of banana bread in front of her.
Another vampire fact: Some vamps could eat solid food without wanting to immediately vomit out all of their internal organs. Other vamps, like me, didn’t have that luxury.
Amy could eat anything she wanted. And she usually forgot that anyone might be different from her.
“Banana bread?” she offered.
I waved a hand. “No thanks.”
I sat down across from her and slid my sunglasses up to the top of my head. The always busy Yonge Street was the view from the window, and it looked like your average bustling, chilly Sunday in late February.
She seemed as if she was attempting a smile, but failed. Her mouth seemed to be stuck in
Downward Dog. “How are you, Sarah?”
“You sound a bit melancholy. Your manicure didn’t go very well?”
“It was fine.” She looked down at her airbrushed French manicure with her ring finger sporting both a ring with a tiny diamond—courtesy of Barry—and a tiny airbrushed bat on the nail itself. “Barry said you stopped by.”
“I’m surprised he’d even mention it considering how much he hates my guts.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know why he’s so cranky lately.”
“Lately?”
“He said that Thierry was there when you were there and you looked extremely unhappy about that.”
“He said that?” I took an awkward slurp of my coffee.
She nodded gravely and I frowned at her. What was up? She was far from her bubbly blond self today.
There was silence for a long time.
Amy let out a long, shaky sigh. “I’m worried about you.”
My eyebrows raised. “Moi?”
She nodded. “I know you’re trying to convince everybody that you’re okay, but I can see that you’re not. Sarah, we’re friends. You can’t lie to me.”
This wasn’t starting off very well. “I don’t know what you mean. Everything’s fine and dandy. Wonderful, really.”
“I know that you said you were the one to break things off with Thierry, but that’s not true, is it?”
I felt sick. Was I so bad a liar that I couldn’t even convince Amy? I loved her to death, but she wasn’t the brightest star in the sky. She normally accepted news as it was presented to her, with no questions asked. I’d told her that I’d finished things with Thierry and she’d believed it. Been happy for my break from “that miserable jerk.” Those were her exact words, actually.
“Of course it’s true. I broke it off.”
“Then why were you over at my house earlier wanting to talk to him?”
I took a moment to visually scan our general surroundings. Since Gideon seemed to know what I was doing all the time, I was sure he had somebody spying on me right now. But who? The convincingly distracted-looking group of teenagers? The old woman with the double espresso over by the rack of overpriced, hand-painted ceramic coffee mugs? The guy with the seeing-eye dog and the chai latte? He looked shifty. For that matter, so did the dog.
“I went there to see you, not him,” I explained. “The fact Thierry was there was coincidence only. I can’t help it if your husband happens to be my ex’s slave boy.”
“I really don’t like that term. I prefer valet.”
“Right. Well, whatever he is, I didn’t stay very long. Didn’t want to intrude on whatever he, Thierry, and Veronique were meeting about.”
“It had something to do with the Ring,” she said. “They contacted Thierry recently.”
The Ring? Very interesting and enough to near-painfully pique my interest. The Ring was the vampire council, based in California, that had representatives spread across the entire world. They’d been interested in me when my Slayer of Slayers reputation came into being.
I frowned. “I wonder what they want now?”
“It’s your curse,” she said matter-of-factly. “They heard about it and they wanted to know if you’re a threat to life, liberty, and the vampire way.”
My eyes widened. “And?”
“I know Thierry defended you. He said that the curse is a temporary condition and doesn’t reflect on you overall.”
My hero. “That was sweet of him.”
“Although he did tell them you’re extremely unpredictable at the moment.”
Bad hero. “He said that?”
She shrugged. “That’s what I heard.”
I’d only met one member of the Ring’s elders before. He’d tried to kill me. Even though he was crazy, it didn’t leave me with a favorable impression of the organization.
“So that’s why you wanted me to meet you here?” I asked. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not going to freak. Thierry can handle the Ring, and as long as I have my gold chain I’m not a threat to anybody.”