name changed from Connor to Reese.”
“Did you get your mother’s book?”
Thalia nodded. “It’s in the suitcase.” Her beautiful eyes grew solemn in her pointed face.
“After what just happened, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you knew both victims. Or that they were killed near the Tomb.”
He scanned the thoughts of the woman heading toward the door. She was tall and slender with long shiny brown hair, but her looks weren’t important. Did she know the Champion? It was difficult to find humans who frequented the Butcher’s bar and knew the Champion. Unless they were witches.
He grimaced as he remembered how close he’d come to taking a witch the other night. He’d only discovered his mistake at the very last minute. Witches. He curled his lip back in distaste. What a waste of human prey. He’d almost killed her anyway just for spite, but had decided it would take too much time.
He rose from his stool at one of the high tables. The Champion and the Butcher were the talk of the bar. Their association vied with the murders as the topic of the day.
Vampires didn’t trust anyone they couldn’t read or control, they hardly trusted each other, and witches considered vampires little more than worthless parasites.
His plan was working. His reward was near. After so many long centuries of waiting, he would have both his revenge and incredible power. He smiled as he followed his unsuspecting prey out the door.
In the dream, a soft breeze ruffled Thalia’s long hair as she walked, head up and alert, to her car down the dark quiet street. She wasn’t herself in the dream; she was taller, younger, freer. Grace, that was her name, and she stood on home turf, not far from The B.B. and C. Her flip-flops shushing against the pavement the only sound as the wind died down. A strange smell raised the hair on the back of her neck.
Seeing her car across the street, she tucked her hand in her pocket, groping for her keys. The sound of a distant bark cut like a rifle shot in the distance and she flinched, almost dropping them.
Damn. What was that stink? The odor held a pungent tang, like something decaying. She glanced around. With the recent murders, she couldn’t be too careful. She supposed she should have stayed home tonight. She had an early class in the morning, but she and her friends had done well on that evening’s belt test, and they’d wanted to celebrate.
She was a regular at the Bell, Book, and Candle, but her friends, all male, had never been. The memory of their reaction to the Goth club eased her nerves, and she grinned. At first, they’d made fun of the bar and its clientele, but as they’d noticed how incredibly attractive most of the women were, their reservations had disappeared, and they’d begun to enjoy themselves. When she’d left them, they’d each been busy pairing off.
The breeze strengthened, tossing a tendril of hair into her eyes, and a fresh wave of that terrible odor crashed over her. It was thick and foul, a mixture at once sickeningly sweet and repulsively sour.
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The smell seemed to trigger some primordial response in her body, like an animal scenting a poacher. Adrenaline surged through her veins. Her heart began to speed.
She sucked in a deep breath, suddenly choking on the vile smell. Tears of fright filled her eyes. What had she been thinking of to leave the bar alone? She looked over her shoulder. There was nothing there. She struggled to stay calm, but the smell overwhelmed her. It was more than a collection of scent molecules driven by a careless wind. A shiver rippled through her. Her body recognized the smell for what it was, the incarnation of evil. Death come calling.
Grace began to run.
“Thalia!” Gideon’s beautiful voice wrenched her from the dream. She caught her breath. Her eyes opened to find that glorious face leaning over her. His dark eyes liquid with worry. His full lips no more than inches from hers. Her heartbeat, which had started to slow when he’d banished the dream, leaped back into frantic mode.
“Gideon.” She sat up, forcing him to move back, then ran her hands through her ruffled hair, still recovering from the all-consuming terror of the last few minutes.
“You were yelling in your sleep.” His face was grave and tender, as if he had awakened a child from a nightmare.