Part 8 (1/2)

Even in daylight.

So instead I checked on my mini upstairs, finding it hanging neatly over the shower curtain rod along with my panty hose. Dampness, however, still clung to both.

I headed to Sebastian's bedroom with the intention of borrowing another pair of sweatpants and possibly a s.h.i.+rt. Besides Vivian's room, there were two closed doors. The first one I tried was locked.

Who locks a room in their own house? Very Bluebeard/Dorian Gray, I thought. The other opened to what I a.s.sumed must be his bedroom. I crept over the threshold, feeling like a trespa.s.ser in his sanctum sanctorum.

No, I thought, that would be the door with the lock.

I'd had the fantasy of the four-poster bed with the gauzy canopy, but Sebastian had more utilitarian tastes. The bed was king-sized and unmade. Though the sheets appeared to be plain white cotton, Sebastian had a soft-looking maroon comforter and tons of pillows. A dressing table with a triptych mirror rested against a wall. Several large windows had been thrown open to the morning breeze, and curtains fluttered in the manure-scented air. Ah, farm life.

No coffin, at least. Maybe that was in the locked room. Part of me wanted to check under the bed for it or for sacks of Austrian dirt, but the clock was ticking. Sebastian could be fighting for his life right now.

Finding his closet, I rummaged quickly through his things. Grabbing the first T-s.h.i.+rt I found-a campaign s.h.i.+rt for Jimmy Carter-I pulled it over my head. Then I borrowed a pair of dark green sweatpants out of the bottom dresser drawer Sebastian had conveniently left open. I'd noticed several interesting things in my quick perusal of his room: the man had an opera coat and a jewelry chest. I smiled; there was a little bit of the literary vampire in him, after all.

I came downstairs to find Sebastian's son perched on the arm of the couch. He'd taken the opportunity to dispose of our dirty linens. I tried not to think about hot, naked Sebastian flesh, but a blush rose to my cheeks as I stalked past Sonny Boy to retrieve my boots from where they'd sat near the fire all night.

”That's certainly a look,” he said, checking out my b.u.t.t.

I still had no underwear. ”Oh, shut up.” ”Ah, your witty repartee stings me,” he said.

Plunking down on the couch, I pulled on my boots. I wiggled my toe experimentally; the interior was only a little squishy with residual moisture. It would have to do.

Sebastian's son shook his head slightly, as though in disbelief. ”Tell me again why I'm following the orders of Daddy's newest little chew toy?”

I swallowed my anger with some difficulty but managed to explain through clenched teeth, ”Someone is trying to kill your Sire, you insensitive jerk.”

”Sire?” His mouth curled up in a mocking smile. Throwing an arm casually over the back of the couch, he leaned in closer to where I sat struggling with the damp buckles of my boots. ”Girlfriend,” he drawled.

”Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but myfather can take care of himself. He's not exactly easy to kill.”

”What would you know about it?”

”Dhampyrs traditionally hunt vampires.”

I tried to hide my confusion by frowning at a particularly stubborn strap.

”You have no idea what that is, do you?” He put a hand to his chest, feigning concern. ”He did... that is, you at least know what my father is, don't you?”

He ended his sentence with that irritatingly smug chuckle again.

”Of course I know what he is,” I snapped.I just don't know what you are . I thought I had. When he'd said Sebastian was his father, I a.s.sumed he mean through blood, as in his Maker or Master or Sire or whatever vampires were calling the one that transformed them these days. Thanks to Sebastian I'd gotten used to the idea of vampires who walk around in the daylight.

So, Sonny Boy was not a vampire? Was he saying he was a dhampyr? And what the h.e.l.l was that? I began to suspect it might have something to do with being a vampire's biological son, but that still didn't give me a clue.

I gave Sonny Boy the mystical once-over. His aura was a strange muted green-gold, like his eyes, extending several inches from his body. Squinting harder, I saw flashes of silver. A very active aura usually meant magic. Since he implied he was a dhampyr, I guessed that probably accounted for it. The fact that he had an aura at all meant that, despite his att.i.tude, he had a living, beating heart somewhere in there. Hard to believe.

I wondered if Sebastian's son was older than he looked. He'd have to be if Sebastian was the age he claimed. Vampires couldn't have children after they died, could they? I'd never heard of it.

Maybe this kid was lying. Sebastian had acted all freaked out when I read in his palm that he had no children. Then again, I thought, giving Sonny Boy a sharp glance, if this jerk was my only offspring, I'd want to disavow him, too.

I looked up expectantly when the front door swung open. To my great relief, Sebastian walked in withan armload full of groceries. He smiled to see me, but when he registered the presence of Sonny Boy lounging on the arm of the couch, Sebastian's expression darkened noticeably. His jaw twitched, like he wanted to say something, but instead Sebastian refused to look at Sonny Boy. He said to me, ”I brought in some supplies.”

”Thank the G.o.ddess you're all right,” I said, standing up.

”Your new friend seemed to think you were in mortal danger, Papa. We were both terribly worried.”

Sebastian put his bags down beside the door and hung up his coat. His back was to us as he said, ”I'd really hoped my wards would keep you away from my house and my friends, Matyas.”

Now Sonny Boy had a name: Matyas. I had to say that the thick, Slavic sound of it fit his Euro-trash look.

Matyas ignored Sebastian's jibe. To me, he said, ”My father finds it clever for people to have to be invited into a vampire's home.”

”I wasn't invited,” I said.

”Perhaps not explicitly, but you probably had something of his like... say, his business card?”

”Matyas,” Sebastian cut in sharply. ”Garnet does not need a lesson in magic from you.”

Maybe I did. Wards. I'd thought so, but now I knew for certain. They must have been extremely well-crafted in order to be subtle enough that I didn't catch more than a whiff of them.

”No? So you found yourself another little Witch, did you? Is she Romany, as well? Mama would be so pleased.”

Sebastian flushed. I couldn't tell if it was with anger or shame. ”You will not speak of your mother in that tone.”

”Of course,” Matyas said, his tone dripping with false acquiescence. ”As you wish.”

Breakfast churned uncomfortably in my stomach. I wondered if I should sit down, but I didn't want to seem even more like a spectator of this train wreck of a father-son reunion.

”I visited Mama's grave.” Matyas turned toward the fireplace, casually inspecting his finely manicured fingernails. ”She's still dead.”

”I imagine she would be,” Sebastian said. His tone sounded disinterested, but his eyes stayed riveted to Matyas's back. ”You should really stop disinterring her. It's costing me a fortune in reburial fees.”

Was he serious? I glanced over at Matyas, who shrugged. To me, he said, ”She's still beautiful.

Completely uncorrupted by time. Yet she doesn't walk.”

”She's dead, Matyas,” Sebastian said softly. There was a hint of something-remorse? regret?-in his tone. ”Leave her be.”

”Is she, though? Dead, I mean.” Matyas directed his question to me. ”I've used mediums, psychics,Ouija boards, even necromancy, and no one can find her on the other side.”

Sebastian's mouth was set in a grim line. He hefted the grocery bags into his arms and started for the kitchen. At the door, he paused. Turning to Matyas, he said, ”Have you considered the possibility that she simply doesn't want to talk toyou?”

Ouch. Score one for Dad, but that was pretty harsh. I looked at Matyas after the door to the kitchen swung shut. Despite myself, I said, ”I'm sure he didn't mean that.”

”I'm sure he did.” Matyas stood up and flicked imaginary dust from his pants. Our eyes met, and for a moment he seemed to drop his guard. The look he gave me was pure sadness. His fingers reached for the spot under my tee where Sebastian's ”love bite” still ached, but he stopped before actual physical contact. ”Don't let that happen too often, or you'll end up like my mother.”

”Trust me,” I said. ”I won't.”