After that, she’d been subjected to fifteen solid minutes of the Vision from Hell. None of which made a damn bit of sense. There’d been a seven-foot devil and cups of human blood, women sacrificed on stone altars, vampires grinning while they did stuff no vampire had any business doing. She’d even seen herself, flinging magic around like something out of The Lord of the Rings. But what really worried her was the guy with the sword, his handsome face cold with determination as he fought at her side.
That was all she needed. Another flipping vampire, sinking his fangs into various parts of her anatomy, including her heart. Unfortunately, she was going to need all the help she could get.
This being a witch thing was starting to seriously suck.
No way, Caroline thought, beginning to panic as the implications of her vision became painfully clear. This is a really bad idea. I haven’t had the training. I’ll screw it up. I’ll get somebody killed. I’ll get me killed. She climbed to her feet, longing to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her face. I’m only an English teacher. They can’t seriously expect me to…
Yes, they could. Caroline had only been in Avalon a month, but she already knew these lunatics took the Maja’s Oath seriously.
But what if she didn’t tell anybody? What if she just ignored it? Nobody had to know.
Except her.
Caroline groaned, knowing there was no way she’d just stand around with her thumb up her butt and let people die without trying to do something about it. Of course, she didn’t have a clue what to do, but one step at a time.
Okay then. She straightened her shoulders, the decision to act steadying her. Much as she hated the thought, she had to find the vampire swordsman. Luckily, that shouldn’t be a problem. It felt as if the vision had tied a mystical cord around her neck, and he was somewhere out there on the other end.
She’d just have to make sure he didn’t get too close. She wasn’t up to another game of Bite-and-Run, not after her glorious month with Count Rat Bastard, otherwise known as Dominic Bonnhome, who’d gotten her into this mess to begin with.
Just before she stepped outside, Caroline took one last longing look around. Over the past couple of weeks, she’d consoled her broken heart by playing with her new powers, including conjuring a houseful of French antiques. She’d since decided they were a little much for her tiny brick ranch, so when she’d seen this cool cream leather living room set on Queer Eye, she’d magicked herself a copy. She liked the results. The cream set off the gold in the cheerleading trophies tastefully displayed on top of the TV.
Now, whether a twenty-eight-year-old woman should actually display her cheerleading trophies was a different question. She’d think about that one if she survived.
Enough stalling. Time to find the vampire.
Caroline opened the door and stepped out into an alien world. To the east, a Scottish castle towered over an expansive golf course that was a dead ringer for Augusta. Just across the cobblestone street, the neighbors’ Roman villa lazed in the moonlight, surrounded by an olive grove. Something tiny and glowing zipped around in the trees, reminding Caroline of the lightning bugs back home.
It was probably a fairy.
Next to those displays of conspicuous magical consumption, her pretty brick ranch looked like a double wide. It was a good thing witches and vampires didn’t form homeowners’ associations, or she’d be in deep trouble for dragging down the neighborhood’s property values.
When she got a little stronger in the magic department, Caroline fully intended to ditch the magical duplicate of her house in Georgia and replace it with something that would let her keep up with the Draculas. Disneyland, maybe.
Crossing her postage-stamp of a yard to the cobblestone street, she paused a moment to get her bearings. Ahead, the magical city of Avalon sprawled in all its shimmering, otherworldly glory beneath a sky spread with alien constellations.
Pretty as it was, it was a little unnerving.
In the space of eight weeks, she’d gone from grading papers to losing her job to living on an alternate Earth in a parallel magical universe. Sometimes she got mental whiplash so bad, she had to create a dimensional gate back to Realspace Earth, where her parents had a house in Atlanta. An evening spent listening to Dad bitch about the Braves made her feel almost normal again.
One of these days she was going to have to tell them what she’d become. But any conversation that began, “Well, Dad, I picked up this vampire in a bar…” couldn’t go anywhere but downhill.
CAROLINE tracked the swordsman down in an elegant brick Georgian that looked like a set in My Fair Lady. The massive double doors opened automatically when she stepped up to them, but once inside, the building seemed as empty as the rest of Avalon. She wondered where the heck everybody was. The place had seemed crowded enough when she’d arrived with Dominic. Then, poof! Instant ghost town.
Was it something she said?
He was here, though. This close, Caroline could feel him—strength and masculinity, powerful and dark and frightening.
Her favorite flavor.
Cut that out, Caroline, she told herself sternly. You’re on a fangfree diet, remember?
Following that psychic pull, she walked down a short corridor past stained glass windows, heavily carved wainscoting, and a chandelier dripping with crystals shaped like daggers. Yet another set of intimidating doors swung slowly open. Caroline resisted the temptation to give them a magical creak.
The first thing she saw was a walnut bar the length of an aircraft carrier, equipped with more brass than the Boston Pops and more crystal than Tiffany’s. Around it stood walnut tables and massive armchairs upholstered in oxblood leather. Other than the swordsman, there was no one in sight.
He sat in an armchair wearing a full suit of plate armor that gleamed gold in the dim lighting. A great helm sat on the table at his elbow, next to a pair of gauntlets. His long sword leaned against the arm of the chair, its hilt encrusted with gems.
Damn, he looked more gorgeous and romantic than he had in the vision. Black hair lay tangled around shoulders broad enough for an Olympic gymnast. His face was equally broad and exotic, with an arrogant Roman nose and cheekbones so high and sharp, they could grate female hearts into pâté.