Susan Sizemore

Chapter Two

Three Years Later

If there was one thing Phillipa didn’t like about hotel bathrooms, it was that the shower was always directly across from the mirror. Even with the glass all steamed up she could see herself when she stepped out. It wasn’t that she was all that body conscious. She knew that, at least on the outside, she had a perfectly good body. The scar on her arm didn’t bother her. What she didn’t like seeing was the splotchy line of fading and fresh bruises that marched across the flat expanse of her stomach. She made herself look, because one couldn’t be a coward about these things. She made herself think about how pretty the small black and gold sun symbol she’d recently had inked onto her stomach was. It was the one area where she never stuck the needle.

She decided she was being maudlin, and grabbed a towel. Her sister was waiting and it had been months since they’d seen each other. She dried off quickly, and went into the bedroom dressed in shorts and a tank top.

Of course the first thing Jo did was ask, "How’s your arm? Does it hurt?"

Should have worn sleeves. Phillipa touched the scar. "I hardly notice it." She gave a faint laugh. "Getting shot’s what saved my life, you know." It was true, even if she did resent it, even though she knew it was stupid. She took a seat on the bed, while Jo stayed in the room’s one chair. She glanced out the wide window that looked out on the Las Vegas strip. The Bellagio’s huge fountain danced in the distance. "The view’s gorgeous from up here. Even in the daylight."

"You still could have stayed at our place," Jo answered.

"Uh uh." Phillipa counted off on her fingers. "You have a new baby, a mother-in-law, and a grandmother-in-law staying at your place. I’m not going near that mix."

"I see your point."

"And why is it that you didn’t bring young Brandon Mathias Cage with you?" Is Matt short for Mathias? And why am I thinking about him? Because I’m in a hotel room in Vegas? She waved an admonitory finger at her younger sister. "Where’s my nephew?"

"He’s safe at home, surrounded by over-protective Cage women. And I am getting a little antsy about it."

"Says the equally over-protective new mother."

"I’m new at this mom thing. I like it," Jo added.

"Which means you want to get home soon so you can get back to it. You didn’t have to meet me here."

"I was told I needed a break, and there’s no way Marc was going to let me help with the party. Besides, I wanted a chance to talk to you alone."

"Having a husband that’s a better cook than you must be daunting," Phillipa said.

"Actually, I love it. I fly the planes, he caters the parties; it works for us. Not that I plan to fly much until Brandon’s older."

"You’re giving up piloting? Does dad know about this?"

Jo laughed. "He’s a granddad now, which makes him all for my staying on the ground with his infant grandson. Which leaves an opening at Elliot Charter, at least a temporary one." Phillipa bridled at the hint. "I’m a cop."

"You can fly a plane."

"I don’t have the kind of ratings to do it professionally. I might not be able to qualify. Besides, I like what I do."

"But—"

"Vegas hotels are always looking for good security people. I thought I’d look into it while I’m here." She was still officially on the force even if she wasn’t on active duty. She didn’t know if she’d ever get back on the streets. "I have to think about my future, even if all I want is to get back what I had."

Damn! She’d vowed not to whine about anything!

Jo, of course, ran with it. "How are you feeling?"

The look of concern on her sister’s face bruised Phillipa. "I’m fine."

It was an easier answer than explaining about how there were good days and bad days, and how sometimes she was nauseated, and sometimes her vision was blurry, and she was always cold, and she wanted everything to go back to normal, but she was stuck with a life that was regulated, constricted, and she didn’t know who she was anymore.

"You’re not," Jo answered. "I’m an empath, remember?"

Jo did have this gift for reading peoples’ emotions. Phillipa had a variation of it herself, though not as strong. She trusted her instincts when it came to telling the good guys from the bad guys. The ability to read people had come in handy, even saving her ass on the street a few times.

"I don’t feel fine," she admitted to her sister. "I feel – complicated. But healthier," she added, trying to project sincerity.

Phillipa’s cell phone rang before Jo could press for more details. By the time she was finished with a short conversation, Jo was using her cell.

"Party crisis?" Phillipa asked when Jo was done.

"Yep. Marc’s mom is frantic, but he says it’s under control."

"It?"

"Something about meringue swans breaking and flowers that were delivered to the restaurant instead of the house. As long as the baby is fine, I don’t care."

"Is the baby fine?"

"I’m still here, aren’t I? Who were you talking to?"

"Little sisters shouldn’t be so nosy."

"It sounded like it had to do with your love life."

"You should definitely stop being nosy. But since I invited him to your party I’ll let you get away with it this time."

"Him?"

"A friend. A LVPD detective."

"A hunky friend?"

Phillipa nodded.

"I look forward to meeting him."

"He called to tell me he can’t make it tonight. He says there’s been a rash of robberies that has everybody pulling extra shifts."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about it on the news. Banks and some of the smaller casinos have been hit." Jo stood up. "Listen, I know we said we were going to do lunch, but—"

"But the antsy new mom wants to go home to her kid."

Jo gave a sheepish grin. "Yeah."

Phillipa waved toward the door. "Then you should go."

"You could come with."

Phillipa shook her head. "I love Brandon dearly, but I’ll coo and fuss over him tonight. You go home, and I’ll finish unpacking and making phone calls and stuff."

"You’re sure?"

"I’m sure. Go."

"You’ll be all right by yourself?"

"Mother Brandon, not me. Go," Phillipa repeated.

Jo gave her a concerned look, but she went after a quick hug and kiss. Phillipa sighed with relief at getting out of several hours of catching up once her sister was gone. It wasn’t that she couldn’t have made it through an afternoon and evening of socializing, but now she didn’t have to. Now she could take a nap.

##

"You’re late."

"You’re lucky I came at all," Michele answered the vampire. "And I don’t appreciate being searched. I don’t carry weapons to public places."

"Weapons that harm humans, you mean," the vampire said. "But my man outside did relieve you of a pair of silver bracelets. Those could be used as weapons against my kind. I think I have a right to a certain amount of paranoia when negotiating with a Purist."

Michele shrugged.

When the vampire gestured toward a chair, Michele hesitated a moment before taking a seat. "It’s more contempt, than paranoia on my part," she explained.

"But neither of us wants to appear conspicuous out here – " The vampire cast a significant look around the room packed with crowded tables. " – among all these innocent civilians."

Michele Darabont did not want to be in the same room with a vampire, let alone sitting across a restaurant table from one, but one did what one had to for the Cause. She took a seat.

"Oh, please. Let’s both cut the melodrama crap, shall we?"

"You started it." God, she sounded like a fool!

"And you are thinking that this petulance is no way for an experienced hunter to behave. It was a long drive from San Diego to Las Vegas, you’re tired, and you think I’m supercilious. No, I’m not reading your mind when I can read your expression well enough. Let’s start over, shall we? Can I call you Michele?"

"No."

"Fair enough. No introductions, then. Let’s think of each other as the Purist and the monster."

"I’m not a Purist. No Purist would have a face to face with one of your kind. I have worked with your sort before."

Which was why several of her friends who were members of the Purist cult had persuaded her to represent them at this meeting when the vampire’s message mysteriously arrived. The Purist agenda was to kill the ancient enemy before asking questions, but they were intrigued enough by this proposal to want to explore the possibilities, even if they wouldn’t do it themselves.

"I don’t blame you for not liking to work with my sort." A waiter approached, and the vampire waited until he’d left with her order for iced tea before going on. "I, on the other hand, am neutral about your sort. I’ve never killed a human, and my blood sources are all volunteers. This is the twenty-first century. It’s better to share the world than to make war on each other."

Michele did not agree with this live and let live philosophy, but most vampire hunters did. All but the Purists. While she hadn’t quite stepped over the line that divided the hunter camps, she’d always been close to it. She’d recently discovered that her niece Eden had betrayed the hunter’s beliefs, and this was causing Michele to edge closer to the extremists’ views.

"Why do you want to help the Purists?" she asked.

The vampire laughed. "I am a Purist."

The waiter arrived with her tea, so all Michele could do was stare incredulously at the beautiful creature across the table until he was gone. Then she said, "I don’t understand."

"I believe in the purity of my own kind, just as you believe in the purity of yours. I want to help my own species. While I do believe in most of the covenants of the hunter and vampire truce, there is one function you humans once performed that helped keep the vampire race from becoming tainted and weak. There are those among us who wish a return to at least that ancient practice. We are as much a minority among vampires as the Purists are among the human hunters. In this one thing we are in agreement. In this one thing we can join forces."

"You’re talking about the Abominations."

The vampire looked disgusted. "There are those who prefer terms like niece, nephew, grandson and so on, but I am not one who believes that the offspring of our mating with humans should be considered family. Thanks to centuries of being hunted by your kind our pure population is low enough that our people are forced to mate with yours."

"It’s our fault that your damn Primes seduce girls away to--?"

The vampire held up a hand to cut her off. "Oh, please. I know all about how your niece ran off with one of our boys. You have my sympathy, and every reason to be indignant, but Eden went with Laurent of her own free will. It happens. Live with it. I have to live with similar situations in my own family. Mating happens. What should not happen is reproduction between your kind and mine. Hunters used to be very good at culling the mules born into the vampire Clans and Families, and the Tribes were wise enough to take care of the problem on their own. These days we are all too civilized, too humane, too domesticated to take the necessary measures. The breeding has to stop." The vampire turned a dark, compelling stare on her. "Don’t you agree?"

Michele could not look away. The world slowed down, and reality shifted. She’d been trained to resist vampire tricks, but all she could do was say, "What do you want me to do?"