her comfort zone in the cottage or the cave.
When the sedan rolled to a stop, she noticed the plane. There was no way she was getting on that thing. Before the sorcerers could get out, Fiona opened her door and bolted for the cover of the trees. She was almost there when a wall of fire stopped her. She turned to find the fire circling around her, trapping her in the middle.
The two men jogged up to the outside of the fire ring.
"You shouldn't waste your energy." One said to the other.
"She's driving me batshit. I'm putting her to sleep."
"But the boss may want to talk to her."
"Then he can wake her up."
The other sorcerer shrugged, and they both began to chant. Fiona wasn't sure if they'd put the fire out, but she felt cooler as she tumbled into blackness.
Chapter Eleven
Z parked his motorcycle across the street from the Java Junkie. Cherry worked all the damned time. If only he could learn her schedule, he might still be able to get his coffee during her off times. But not today he wouldn't. Her car was right out front.
He grumbled, his eyes changing briefly. He'd have to settle for the diner on State Street. Their coffee was too acidic.
"What can I get for ya?" the bottle blonde asked when he stepped in the diner. She popped her gum and smelled of cigarettes. She had to be pushing hard against fifty.
"Just a tuna melt and some coffee."
She raised a brow and cocked her head to the side like a curious poodle. "Tuna melt? You're a brave one."
Z had a stomach like iron. You could pour poison straight down his throat, and his stomach would take care of it, no problem. He hadn't tested the theory, but he'd never had a bout of food poisoning in his life, and he'd eaten in worse dives than this.
He slipped into a corner booth and pulled out his cell phone to dial the number he'd been trying not to dial since he'd left Fiona at her cottage. He had no idea what he'd say to her. 'Hey, sorry I'm such a schmuck, but how are you?' It rang six or eight times, but no one picked up. She's okay. She just doesn't want to talk to you. Leave her alone.
He wasn't sure what he'd do if she answered the phone. How was that conversation going to go? He was still the same guy he'd been when he'd told her he couldn't give her anything. Nothing monumental had happened to change that in the past several hours.
Z stared out the window until a familiar figure passed into his line of sight. He tensed when he saw the priest's collar. It was the vampire who liked to absolve people.
The priest's gaze locked with Z's as the moon rose in the sky. If it had been the sun, with the way the vamp was standing in the middle of the street staring at him, he'd think he was being challenged to a duel.
After a minute or two of intimidation, the priest began moving toward the diner. The bell over the door dinged, and ominous footsteps plodded to the back corner, stopping at his booth. Z tried to look bored, but he knew the vampire could hear the blood pumping faster than it should as his heart pounded out a staccato beat. At least therian minds couldn't be controlled by vampires.
"Panther," the priest said.
"Vampire," Z mocked.
The vamp glanced around, but there was nobody else in the diner save for the cook and the waitress, and they were busy with Z's ever-so-complicated order of tuna and cheese on toasted bread.
Without an invitation, the vampire slid into the seat across from him. "I don't normally like to have my back to the door, but I'm sure you'll watch out for me."
The waitress appeared with burnt coffee and a tuna melt that looked like it might be able to get up and walk off the plate on its own, but Z didn't care. How this place had stayed in business even before the Java Junkie was anybody's guess.
"Can I get you something, Father?" the waitress asked. She'd gotten rid of her gum, or at least had the courtesy not to smack it at him.
The priest's smile was mild, but the disgust was clear in his eyes as he looked from the tuna melt to the waitress.
"I'm afraid not," he said. She nodded and stuck her pencil behind her ear, then went back to