for me. With his good hand, Cormac popped the medication and took a drink from the glass I offered. We waited for him to say something; he scowled.
Finally, Ben said, “So. What happened?”
“I fell.”
I would have yelled, but Ben knew him better. “Oh no, that’s not going to cut it. What were you doing at the church?”
He adjusted his arm in the sling, grimacing at the awkwardness. “You know those magical protections? I wanted to see what it would take to set them off.”
“You poked the hornet’s nest,” I said flatly.
“Guess so.”
“And how did that work out for you?” Ben asked.
“Found the hornets,” he answered, grinning sleepily. “Any kind of offensive magic crosses the line, zap. The protections retaliate with some kind of fire-based magic. Anything else, mundane attack or passive magic, nothing. This tells us something.”
“That you shouldn’t poke hornet’s nests?” I said.
“This guy’s worried about something specific. He’s not worried about guys with stakes, or Girl Scouts selling cookies. He’s worried about a certain kind of magical attack, something that can be stopped with fire, and that’s what he’s defending against. I’m guessing he’s got a stalker out there who’s tangled with him before.”
“And that stalker is probably going to follow him to Denver,” I said, heart sinking.
“If he hasn’t already,” Cormac said.
“I need to tell Rick about this.”
Ben said, “I think we can assume that Rick knows, if he’s been talking to this priest guy.”
Maybe I just wanted to talk to Rick, to find out more about Columban. To find out what Columban knew about his stalker.
“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Cormac said. “It’s between the priest and whoever he pissed off. Shouldn’t bother the rest of us.”
“Back to your arm,” Ben said. “I’m assuming that when the magic went zap, that’s when you fell.”
Cormac gave his head a frustrated shake. “Stuck my arm out and bam. Hardin saw the whole thing. She’s asking way too many questions—she’s after the vampire, and she was following me to get to him. She could have just asked.” His words were starting to slur, the medication taking effect. He sank back against the mound of pillows under his back.
“Would you really have agreed to work with her if she did?” I said.
“Hell, no.”
“And what does Amelia think?”
“The word ‘idiot’ might have come up. Idiot, clumsy, oaf…”
“Easy for her to say, she doesn’t have a body,” Ben said.
“That’s what I told her.”
I said, “I meant about the magic, the boundary, the stalker?”
“Amelia’s the one doing most of the work. We don’t know anything about the stalker—just that the vampire’s worried about something, something he can beat with fire.”
And he was wanted for arson in Hungary, which meant he’d faced down this thing before. When he came to Denver, had he brought his enemy with him? It would be wishful thinking to say no.
“Do we need to worry?”
“Always need to worry,” he said, voice fading to a mushy whisper.
Ben patted his cousin’s good shoulder. “Get some rest, we’ll talk more later.”
Cormac was already asleep, slouched against the pillow on the sofa.
“It’s weird, seeing him knocked out,” Ben said.
“Yeah. But at least he’s okay. He’ll be okay.” No matter how bad things got, it always seemed like they could be so much worse. Had to keep that in mind.
“What are the odds he’ll let it go after this?”
I huffed a laugh—quietly, to not disturb our invalid. “The best we can hope is that the arm will slow him down.”
“I can’t believe he broke his arm. All the crap we got into as kids, everything he’s done since, he’s never even smashed a toe. And then he fell?”
I frowned. “I need to talk to Rick.”
“He taking calls now?”
“He’d better be.”
* * *
RICK WAS not, in fact, any more diligent in answering his phone or returning calls than he’d been the week before. Whatever was keeping him busy, Father Columban or otherwise, must have been fascinating.
I decided to track him down at Obsidian, assuming I didn’t get distracted like I had last time. And who in their right mind walked into vampire lairs and knocked on the door? Me, that’s who.
One of the younger vampires—young being under a hundred—answered. She had pale tan skin, which meant she’d probably started life brown, probably Latina. I’d met her once or twice—Christina.
“Hi,” I said brightly. “Rick here?”
“No,” she said and moved to close the door.
I stuck my foot in the way. She kept pushing, and I leaned forward to keep it open, just enough to talk. If we