Stakes & Stilettos ib-4 Page 21

  I wondered if Stacy had killed to live there. Or used her magic somehow. Actually, I was willing to bet that she had.

  Thierry parked down the street, and we got out and cautiously approached the beautiful home. The lights were off, which was unexpected, considering that she was expecting us, after all.

  "I'm not feeling any warding spells," Claire said. "She's not trying to keep us out."

  Thierry led the way to the front door. His determination was extremely reassuring. If

  Stacy reneged on her promise to break the curse, I had full faith in his ability to be… convincing.

  However, I also had full faith in Stacy's ability to possibly turn him into a strong but silent toad. Or a moody, guilt-ridden armchair.

  "Be careful," I warned him.

  "I'll do my best," he said.

  Stacy was a powerful witch. Check. She'd cursed me with a really crappy curse. Check.

  She also didn't seem to care if those who'd done her wrong ended up dead in a ditch somewhere. Also check.

  But she wasn't completely evil, was she? I mean, she'd even apologized to me. If she was willing to reverse things before it was too late, that had to count for something. I wondered just who this mystery man who'd swept her off her feet was. Did he know she was a witch? Would she turn him into a furry creature if he did her wrong, like Claire had done to Reggie? More likely Stacy would do something much worse. I felt sorry for this guy, whoever he was.

  I still felt extremely uneasy about this whole situation. I didn't want anything bad to happen. I didn't want to put Thierry's or anyone's life in peril for helping me. Was that what I was doing?

  No, I assured myself. It's fine. This all will be fine.

  If that was so, then why were the damn lights out?

  Thierry rang the doorbell and we waited. My mouth felt dry and my heart let out a plaintive beat before going silent again. George whistled nervously under his breath. He'd brought his lock-picking kit with him again just in case of emergency.

  After a couple of silent, beat-free minutes went by, Thierry knocked on the door. I literally forgot to breathe for two minutes. He glanced at me, his brow lowered into a frown, then he turned the handle of the door and pushed it open to find that it wasn't locked.

  The interior of the house was dark. I swallowed hard.

  Thierry met my gaze. "Stay behind me."

  He slipped into the darkness inside and I followed. As soon as I passed over the threshold

  I frowned.

  "Hold on," I said quietly. "How did I just do that? I thought I couldn't enter private homes without an invitation anymore? I figured that Haven and places like that were off the list because they were open to the general public, but this is an actual house."

  Claire shrugged. "A witch's home must be different."

  I frowned. "Maybe."

  Where was Stacy? Had she given me the wrong address? I didn't like this. My skin had been crawling with bad vibes ever since being at the reunion and they'd just intensified.

  "Hello?" I called out. "Anybody home?"

  "I'm still not sensing anything," Claire said.

  "What do you think you should be sensing?"

  "A paranormal presence. Some sort of malevolent magic. It leaves an impression in a house like a stinky-cheese smell."

  "Maybe she went to the convenience store for something," George suggested.

  She shook her head. "I'd still sense her magic here."

  "She's out," I said firmly. "That's all there is to it. She'll be back. This is the address she gave me, I'm sure of it."

  "Then we shall wait for her to return," Thierry said, and there was an underlying darkness in his words. His patience had worn out with this situation. Maybe not with me, specifically—at least I hoped not—but with the curse itself and the witch who'd caused it.

  Frankly, so had mine. I wanted this over with.

  Reggie was sniffing the archway leading into the living room area. He turned to Claire and whined through his muzzle.

  "What is it?"

  "Ahh heeensh rumhing."

  He turned and padded into the living room.

  "I should have kept him on the leash," she said under her breath. "We'll check it out. You guys stay here and keep a lookout."

  She walked after him.

  "George," Thierry said. "Perhaps you should wait out front. Conceal yourself and keep an eye open for the witch's return."

  "Sure thing, boss." He nodded and slipped back outside.

  Thierry turned to me. "Are you feeling well?"

  "Other than the fact that the answer to all of my problems is currently AWOL, I'm doing okay." I swallowed. "Listen, Thierry, about what Butch said earlier."

  His expression didn't change. "What part do you refer to?"

  I licked my dry lips. "About… about eliminating me. If Stacy doesn't come back or if she's changed her mind… if I don't fix this mess I've gotten myself into…"

  "I wish you hadn't heard that."

  "I don't blame him for suggesting it. This is all really bizarre. This whole situation."

  He shook his head. "I won't let anything happen to you."

  "You say that now, but…" My voice caught on the words. "What if I go all dark and dangerous again? I mean, I know what happened to the other… the other nightwalkers.

  That you knew they were evil and a threat and what you did was the right thing, but… if

  Stacy bails and this really is a debilitating curse that sends me permanently on a one-way trip to Monsterville—"

  "It isn't."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  His determined expression didn't waver and he brought a warm hand to my cool face.

  "Because you are not a monster, Sarah. There is nothing about you that is remotely evil, if that is what you're concerned about. Of this I am utterly convinced. Being evil is a choice one makes."

  "So what happens if I am stuck like this?"

  He turned so that he was completely facing me, and he reached down to take my hand in his. The one that wasn't currently clutching my emergency Thermos.

  "I know that there are parts of Alaska that are dark for weeks at a time," he said.

  My bottom lip quivered. "Like that scary movie with Josh Hartnett and the bad vampires who ate everybody?"

  His mouth moved into a small smile. "That was just a movie. But there are places that would suit one unable to bear sunlight. There are steps one can take to make such a life very tolerable."

  "So you're suggesting I pack my bags and head to a place like that?"

  "No," he said. "I'm suggesting that we will both head to a place like that."

  I blinked up at him. "Both of us?"

  "I, too, have a darkness inside me that I must deal with. I truly believe that we will be better off together than apart as we both learn how to control our inner demons. I know, now that I have the proper motivation I can find that control, as will you." His grip on my hand increased. "We'll make this work. Whatever it takes."

  My heart beat at that announcement. One little, barely audible thump.

  A tear splashed down to my cheek. "That sounds like a very reasonable option."

  His smile remained. "I thought so."

  "But Alaska? You know I'm room temperature now. I'll be like an ice cube up there."

  "I'll make sure we have many electric heaters available to us."

  I sucked up the emotion I thought might overwhelm me. Butch suggested Thierry kill me because I was a nightwalker. Instead, if the curse wasn't broken, Thierry was going to take me to Alaska so we could be together in a place that didn't have sunshine all the time.

  He was going to buy electric heaters to raise my body temperature.

  It was the most romantic thing I'd ever heard.

  "This is, of course, worst-case scenario," he said. "But I have given it a great deal of thought over the last forty-eight hours."

  I bit my bottom lip. "If you're not careful, I'm so totally going to kiss you."
/>
  He gave me a small smile. "You say that as if it's a threat."

  "More like a promise."

  He met my gaze. "Only a kiss?"

  "That's just the appetizer."

  He circled my waist with his hands and I felt the comparative warmth of his body against mine as he pulled me against him. I rested my head on his chest. "It will be fine, Sarah," he said softly. "Trust me."

  "I do." I said it quicker than I would have expected. But I did trust him. More than anyone

  I could remember.

  I felt safe with Thierry, even knowing that he had serious issues of his own to deal with.

  Now I knew for sure that he wanted to deal with his monsters while I dealt with mine. We were a pair, all right.

  Claire cleared her throat and I looked over at her.

  "Sorry to interrupt," she said. Her expression was grim. "But there's something you need to see."

  She led us in the living room and through to a hallway beyond. Up a short flight of stairs and into an expansive, professionally decorated master bedroom with a king-sized canopy bed. Candles were lit and flickering throughout the room. Dozens of them. There was the scent of perfume in the air.

  Stacy was lying on the silk sheets of her bed wearing black, lacy lingerie and high-heeled slippers. She was asleep with her long blond hair spread out on the black silk pillows like a macabre Sleeping Beauty.

  I frowned. No, she wasn't asleep. I sucked in a breath that I didn't actually need anymore.

  Her eyes were open and staring up at the ceiling, wide and glassy.

  And very, very dead.

  The silver hilt of a knife stuck out of her chest, and I touched my own chest, flashing back to my stake wound. But I'd recovered from my injury.

  Stacy wouldn't.

  I heard somebody sob and realized it was me. Thierry gathered me into his arms and held on to me tightly.

  "We'll find another way," he said softly.

  "Somebody killed her," I said out loud, and it didn't even sound like my voice, too shaky, too broken. "Who would kill her?"

  Considering her recent black magic activity, I'd say that was actually a long list. But looking at the romantic setup of the room, from the candles to the lingerie, I'd have put money on the murderer's being her new boyfriend.

  "I don't sense the murderer is still here." Claire had her eyes closed, her arms raised to her sides. "Whoever it was left only minutes before we arrived."

  I pulled away from Thierry and looked down at Stacy's face, still as coldly beautiful as she had been last night in the park. I wanted to feel sorry for what had happened to her, because it was a hell of a way to go—killed by somebody you thought that you loved—

  but all I could feel was…

  Nothing. There was a big, gaping hole inside me. A black hole that seemed to devour emotions. I wasn't upset or scared or depressed. At the moment, at the revelation that

  Stacy had died, all I felt was nothing.

  I remembered something she'd told me last night along with the three-day time limit for curse reversal.

  "It's over." I swallowed hard. "She told me that if she dies, then the curse is permanent."

  "Don't say that!" Claire said, and she began rooting through the bookcase at the side of the bed. "I've never heard of a completely permanent curse. Look, all of her magic books are here. I'm totally taking these back to Niagara Falls tonight. I'll read through them. If there's anything I can do to help you out I'll be in touch as soon as I can, okay?"

  I nodded stiffly, still too stunned to even make room for a little bit of positivity. "Okay. If you say so."

  Thierry turned me away from the bed to look at him instead of the dead witch. "Sarah, please be strong. This isn't the end."

  "Just feels like it, right?"

  He took my face between his hands and forced me to look at him. "Sarah, please. Don't lose hope. Hope is sometimes all we have."

  "Since when have you become such an optimist?"

  "Since about ten weeks ago."

  I smiled weakly at him. "I'm tired. I know I've only been awake for a few hours today, but

  I think I want to go to sleep in my own bed tonight. I'll pull a Scarlett and think about everything tomorrow."

  He nodded. "Perhaps that would be for the best. Let's leave this place. I'll contact the authorities when I return to Haven."

  So we left, literally closing the door behind us on any hope for breaking my curse tonight.

  I went back to George's place, to my bed that I hadn't slept in for a week in which I'd stayed with Thierry at his townhome, stayed at the motel in my hometown, or slept on the sofa at Haven, and I pulled the covers over my head and tried to sleep.

  Not too surprisingly, I dreamed. Vividly.

  I was in Mexico with Thierry. A picture postcard of our trip to Puerto Vallarta shortly after we'd first met when I thought that I might have just achieved my little vampiric happily ever after with my handsome but angsty Prince Charming.

  The sun was setting over the ocean, which sparkled like diamonds. The sand felt cool against my hands. I reclined on a lounge chair under the umbrella that had been up during the day. The sky was all shades of pinks, oranges, purples, and golds as the sun slowly slipped beneath the horizon. There was a slight wind that felt warm against my skin and I could smell a mixture of sea salt and that cocoa-butter aroma of suntan lotion.

  I took a sip of the drink the waiter just brought by—a Tequila Sunrise. My favorite and definitely appropriate to the location. The mixture of tequila, orange juice, and grenadine slid satisfyingly down my throat.

  I wore the skimpy red bikini that I'd bought specifically for the trip. When I'd first put it on

  I felt strange and exposed wearing so little compared to the way we had to dress for winter in Toronto, but I'd quickly gotten used to it. A couple of beaches away the women went topless, so my small bit of red material was comparatively modest.

  "You're so beautiful," Dream-Thierry said. He sat on the accompanying lounge chair. I turned my head and smiled at him. His shoes and socks were off and his black shirt was unbuttoned to the waist.

  "You're not so bad yourself," I said.

  He got up from his chair and knelt beside mine, resting his hand on my bare stomach.

  "I'm glad you convinced me to come here," he said. He pulled off my dark sunglasses and set them down on the little table between the lounge chairs that also held our drinks. "I want to kiss you right now."

  "Well, what's stopping you?"

  His hand drifted down to my hip, over the tied strings at the side that held the bikini bottoms in place, and then further down to my thigh, my knee, my calf, and then back up again all the way to my face.

  "When I'm with you, Sarah, you have a tendency to make me forget myself," he said, and his dark gaze returned to mine.

  I frowned. "What does that mean?"

  "It means that when I'm with you I feel like a normal man when I am anything but."

  "You're normal," I said. "Very normal. Now are you going to kiss me, or what?"

  A small smiled played across his extremely kissable lips. "I'm not normal," he said as he moved his face up to mine and brushed his mouth against mine. "And neither are you. Not anymore."

  "Are you talking about the nightwalker thing?"

  He leaned back slightly. "That, yes. But there's much more than that that makes you different now. My own mistakes have changed things that should have been left alone. Les jeux sont faits."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means that the games are set. The plays have been made. And now we must wait and hope that all is well, for I fear that there is no turning back."

  "I remember the good old days when you didn't talk so much." I smiled and put my hand on the back of his head, twisting my fingers in his dark hair to bring him back down to me.

  His lips parted with the next kiss and I felt his tongue slide against mine, which made my entire body ache for more of him.

 
; "What am I going to do with you, Sarah?" he mused.

  "I can think of a great many things," I said. "None of which require a French translator.

  And we better get started right away or it'll be too late. There's not much time left."

  "Indeed," he said.

  He pulled me into his arms and lifted me off the lounge chair. I put my arms around his neck.

  "Room. Now. Immediately."

  "As you wish." He kissed me again.

  Best dream even Yes. It was definitely number one, taking over from the George Clooney one back when he was on ER and I was a patient he had to "take care of."

  But in my new bestest dream ever, Thierry didn't carry me immediately back to our hotel room to ravish me like something out of a romance novel. Instead he placed me back down on the lounge and I stared up at him.

  "What's going on?" I asked.

  "I forgot something very important," he said.

  "What?"

  "That little issue of you being a nightwalker."

  I frowned. "I thought you said that didn't matter."

  "I'm afraid you were wrong."

  I gasped. There was suddenly a wooden stake sticking out of my chest. The same one that was there the other night when Heather's boyfriend tried to kill me. And I wasn't on the beach in Puerto Vallarta anymore wearing a red bikini, I was wearing regular clothes, jeans and my white camisole, and the only thing red was my blood.

  "The weapon hasn't pierced your heart," Thierry said. There were people behind him.

  George was there. Amy and Barry. Butch. Claire and Reggie. And even Veronique looked over Thierry's shoulder.

  "My poor, stupid, trusting dear girl," she said. "However did you come to be in this unfortunate situation?"

  "Get it out of me," I gasped. Every breath I took hurt.

  No one else approached me. It was as if they were afraid for some reason. But Thierry did. He pressed his palm against my chest and with one forceful pull, he removed the stake.

  I looked down at my chest and watched as the wound healed itself before my very eyes.

  After a few seconds it was as if it had never been there in the first place.

  I felt so relieved I began to cry. "That was a close one."