Part 13 (2/2)

We both stared down at the grimoire. One of Parrish's hands still rested casually on its tooled leather cover. ”No,” he said. ”Because I already have it.”

A disturbingly good point.

”It belongs to Sebastian, Parrish. I should give it back. He...” I wanted to explain that Sebastian needed it, but I hesitated. I didn't think Sebastian would want another vampire to know about his weakness.

”For someone who had no problem dispatching a half dozen Vatican agents single-handedly, you're distressingly ethical,” Parrish said, his fingers tracing the gilt border.

”It's one of my charms,” I said. I held out my hand. ”The book, Parrish. Give it back.”

”Do you know what this is worth on the open market? There are vampires who would pay millions of pounds-or euros or whatever the h.e.l.l-for the chance to walk around in daylight again. I could become a very rich man.” Parrish glanced at me. ”Or we could.”

Nice to be included. I shook my head. ”It was never my idea to take it. I just want to give it back.”

Parrish nodded slowly. ”Then let me borrow it. I'll take it to Kinko's. We can sell the copy.”

”Uh...” Okay, so there was nothing inherently wrong with the idea of letting Parrish walk off with the grimoire for a couple of hours, but I just didn't think that if I did, I'd ever see him or the book again, and Sebastian needed the spell in that to survive.

Parrish, for his part, looked completely unthreatened. He made no sudden move to run off with the grimoire, but neither did he remove his hand. Leaning back in his chair slightly, as though to get a better look at me, Parrish clearly waited patiently for my next move.

What would it be? My little five-foot-something self had no chance of overpowering him physically. Not unless I called on Lilith, which was kind of an endgame, especially since I got the impression from the cold calmness in Parrish s eyes that he would fight me for the grimoire. I could feel Lilith rising to the challenge, but I held Her back with the thought and the power of the recently woven spell.

”Yeah... okay,” I said, as though finis.h.i.+ng my earlier thought.

”Youwant me to take the grimoire?” Parrish's eyes were as wide as saucers.

Did I? Well, I sure as h.e.l.l didn't want to fight him for it, not if it meant that Lilith would rise up and kill him. He said he'd bring it back. He was a thief, but he loved the idea of being an honorable one. Not more than a couple of hours ago, he begged me to consider him a gentleman. I played that card now.

”You said you wanted me to believe you were a good guy; well, here's your chance to prove it.”

Besides, I told myself. If he didn't come back, I'd let Lilith find him. She was my ace in the hole. ”I'm trusting you with this, Daniel.”

No one ever called him by his first name. I never knew why, but I'd always followed what appeared to be protocol in the matter. Maybe he didn't like it, maybe he thought it was too Biblical, but he smiledwarmly at me now. ”I shall not fail you, lady,” he said.

I might actually see him-and Sebastian's grimoire- again. ”Thank you.”

After Parrish left, I puttered with my herbs in the tower room. The s.p.a.ce was no more than ten feet in diameter, and was mostly windows. The room faced south, so the plants loved it. Culinary herbs crowded together in a big clay pot in the center of the room: oregano, thyme, rosemary, basil, and cilantro. Rubbing my fingers on the rosemary leaves, I sniffed its distinctive, sharp, piney scent. In separate pots, I also cultivated a few weeds, some of which I transplanted from roadside ditches: Queen Anne's lace, chicory, cowslips, and catchfly.

Ivy and philodendron vines twined around the circular ceiling and had begun to follow the star-shaped string trellis that I'd rigged up. By next spring, it would be a completed pentacle of living plants.

Barney rubbed against my leg. I crouched down to pet her, which is how I managed to avoid the bullet that cracked through the window with a loud smack.

Fifth House

KEYWORDS:.

Luck, Arrogance, Creativity

The bullet punched through the plaster of the opposite wall. Barney and I stared in horror at the dust blooming from the hole in the archway.

”Was that a bullet? That was a bullet! Someone f.u.c.king shot at us,” I said to Barney. A dime-sized circle of warmth near the right side of my hip reminded me of the protective talisman tucked into my pocket. Staring at the puckered spot on my window that looked like an inverted nipple with a hole in the center, I thanked the G.o.ddess for inspiring Barney to need a cuddle just then.

Barney, for her part, hissed and scrambled out of the room.

Fighting the desire to look out the window to see where the shot came from, I flattened myself on the floor and told myself to stay there. My hammering heart wanted me to flee. Meanwhile, my brain was conflicted on the subject. Mostly, lying still seemed like a good idea, but then there was the door. I doubted Parrish had locked it, since I'd neglected to give him a key. What was to stop the shooter from coming upstairs and doing me in, execution style, while I quivered helplessly on the floor?

I compromised. Crab-crawling into the kitchen, I made my way toward the front door. I froze when I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairway. My first instinct was to hide behind the couch. The couch was one of those ma.s.sive rummage-sale foldout beds that had nearly killed my friends and me dragging it up the stairs. Despite being plaid and sagging in the middle, it had enough steel in it that it might actually qualify as armor. The second creak on the steps decided things for me. I scuttled behind the couch and cowered. When I saw Barney's furry, gray tail sticking out from under the dust ruffle, I felt I'd made a good choice.

The sounds stopped. I held my breath. Beside me, Barney's tail flicked once in irritated antic.i.p.ation.

A loud rap on the door made me nearly choke on my own heart.

What kind of freakishly polite son of a b.i.t.c.h knocks before coming in to kill you? Had they knocked before killing my coven? Had someone let them in?

The second knock took me by surprise.

Okay, once seemed like maybe it could be part of some a.s.sa.s.sin's handbook, i.e., step one, see if the mark is stupid enough to let you in, but to knock again? What, was the killer really expecting an invitation?

Another knock.

”She stood me up,” Sebastian muttered on the other side of the door. ”Christ.”

I started to stand up but stopped myself just in time. I had no idea if Sebastian needed to be invited in-Parrish hadn't-but this was no time to mess around with details. ”Come in, Sebastian,” I shouted as loudly as I could. ”Stay low and lock the door behind you. They've got a gun. They're shooting at me.”

”Garnet?”

”Get in here!” The last thing I wanted was for the Vatican agent to come running in while Sebastian hesitated at the door. ”Now, G.o.dd.a.m.n it.”

I heard the door open, close, and the click of the lock. Then came the sound of cloth rubbing against something, which I realized must have been Sebastian's coat sliding down the door as he sat himself down on the floor. ”Well,” he said. ”This is different.”

”Did you see anyone outside?” I poked my head out from behind the couch to look at him.

Sebastian sat in a half lotus with his back on my door, just as I'd expected. He'd dressed up for our date: black jeans, white s.h.i.+rt, black tie, and a s.e.xy-as-h.e.l.l leather trench coat. His hair was neatly tied back in a thick ponytail, which showed off the strong line of his neck.

”Like a sniper?” he asked.

”Yes, like a sniper,” I said, crawling the rest of the way out. The kitchen was at the back of the house, opposite the large living room/dining room s.p.a.ce. So, when I thought about it, it wasn't likely that Sebastian would have pa.s.sed through the sniper's line of fire at all.Well, duh, Garnet. Or he'd have been shot, too . Still, I kept talking. My mind was still trying to process this whole thing. ”Or anyone out of the ordinary.”

Sebastian grimaced. ”This is Madison, Garnet. There were plenty of strange people on the street.”

I started to ask if he'd seen anyone suspicious-looking, but then I remembered how forgettable the real estate agent had been. Great Mother, that image was going to make me paranoid. Now everyone, eventhe ubiquitous tie-dyed hippie on a bicycle, could be a Vatican killer.

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