in her anger, she recognized the irony. While she’d been stressing about his dark side, he’d concluded she was a vampire hunter. Time had not improved his view of the incident at the Second Chance Saloon. Any hope for trust between them seemed to be slipping away.
Andreas started to answer, but, stung, Ari lashed out. “For the record, I don’t know anything about Marcus. And I certainly didn’t kill him. I don’t go around indiscriminately killing vampires. Although you’re seriously making me reconsider that. Get the hell away from me, Andreas. And take your freaking accusations with you.”
She stalked off, and this time he didn’t follow.
Chapter Fifteen
The days began to run together and most of the next week passed without drama. Molyneux’s girlfriend, Sheila Montgomery, hadn’t surfaced yet, and the wolves rarely left their house on Vine. The noticeable tension in the lycanthrope community settled down. Steffan and Ari met for lunch toward the end of the week to talk over the situation. The upshot was that anxiety still simmered under the surface, awaiting some trigger to set it off. That didn’t help Ari’s sense of frustration.
The young vampire, Marcus, was still missing. Ari heard Andreas had been all over the city asking questions without finding a solid lead. Even 200-year-old vampires had their limitations.
As far as she knew, there were no new attacks on Prince Daron, but the vampires were restless. Convinced the would-be assassin had not acted alone, vampire leaders were still questioning everyone, trusting no one. Rita said her friends were watching each other, afraid the enemy might be in their own nest. Vampire paranoia had reached a new threshold.
In spite of the tension in the city, or maybe because of it, Ari drove to her grandparents’ home in the hill country on the night of Mabon, the fall equinox. Visiting relatives was a bonus, but she’d come to reconnect with the twelve sisters of her coven.
Mabon was a sacred night of ceremony, feasting, and meditation. Over a harvest meal, served on Great-Gran’s best china, they downed half a dozen bottles of vintage wine, offering thanks to the Goddess for their achievements and toasting the tasks unfinished. Afterward, with hugs and good wishes, each witch went her separate way, renewed by the assurance they were not alone. It was a reminder Ari had badly needed.
She spent the next day with her grandparents, relaxing, setting her responsibilities aside for just a few more hours. When her parents died, her grandparents had raised her two siblings, and Ari had visited whenever her training schedule allowed. Mostly holidays, plus four weeks in the summer. Next to Great-Gran and Yana, they’d been the primary influences in her life. Grandpapa walked with a cane now, and Grandma’s hair had turned white. Ari vowed to call more often.
On the drive back to Riverdale that evening, she was still feeling mellow when the ring of her cell phone dragged her back to reality.
“Ari? You gotta help me.” The voice on the phone was female, high-pitched with stress, somehow familiar. Ari couldn’t quite place it.
“Who is this?” Then immediately, “Rita?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Please help me. Somebody’s got him!”
“Who? Got who?” Ari asked.
“G-G-Gordon.” Rita’s voice shook so badly she struggled to get out the words. She choked on a sob.
“Who’s Gordon? Calm down and talk to me.” Ari pulled to the side of the road and gave Rita her full attention.
Rita sniffed, hiccupped. “My man. Number one dude. He’s missing.”
Ari sat up straighter. Another missing vampire? Well, this had a familiar ring. At least Rita didn’t automatically assume Ari had killed him.
“What makes you think he’s missing?”
“He’s not here. We’ve seen each other every night for two weeks, like regular. And his friends say he never came home Friday night. They got him, Ari. And I’m s-scared.” She choked up again on the last words.
Ari’s first thought was Rita might have overreacted, that the new boyfriend could be shagging with someone else. Two weeks did not make a lifelong commitment. But this was the second missing vampire, and Rita’s voice held panic.
“Where are you?” Ari asked.
“I can meet you somewhere,” was the response.
Which meant she was calling from her nest. Whatever their sleeping abode—apartment, cave, or crypt—vampires never revealed the home address for a logical reason: sleeping vamps were defenseless to attack. It was a rule so deeply ingrained that Rita had followed her instincts even in a crisis. They agreed on Maurie’s Bar in an hour.