Autumn Bones (41 page)

Pulling one hand from his pockets, Cooper cocked a thumb at himself. “Again, not a mind reader, me. But . . . no. More like fear and uncertainty.”

“Huh.” I wondered if we should cast a wider net, maybe interview husbands and wives instead of just blood relatives. I glanced over at Cody, who was listening and nodding into the phone. It was getting late and the fading sunlight glinted on his stubble; he needed to shave again. I shivered a little at the memory of his chin rasping against my shoulder.

Cooper followed my gaze. “There’s no future for the likes of you with a wolf, missy.”

I eyed him. “You could tell me what he’s feeling, couldn’t you?”

“I could, but I won’t,” he said with another eloquent shrug. “Myself, I’m Team Stefan all the way.”

“Ha ha,” I said. “That might actually be funny if your boss had indicated he was interested in me that way.”

Cooper’s pupils contracted. “You think he hasn’t?”

“I don’t know. Has he?” Now I was uncertain. Sure, there was the hunger I sensed in Stefan, but that had more to do with
what
I was than who I was, didn’t it? And yes, he’d made a comment or two that could have been construed as flirting, but I hadn’t taken them seriously for reasons that seemed pretty damn obvious to me. “Cooper, we come from different worlds. Different centuries. He’s a freakin’ medieval knight, for God’s sake!”

“Aye,” he agreed. “And some days, he feels the weight of six hundred years’ worth of immortality, six hundred years of being Outcast, six hundred years of hunger. He feels the cut of every betrayal, everyone who turned against him, called him a ghoul, called him a monster, called him unnatural. He feels the loss of every loved one who succumbed to age and death, while he went on and on; sometimes dying, only to be thrown back into the feckin’ mortal coil in no more time than it takes your heart to beat once.”

I had a feeling Cooper wasn’t just talking about Stefan.

“But you know what?” he continued, gazing steadily at me. “Some days he feels just like the regular old boyo he used to be before heaven and hell slammed the door in his face. Some days, all he wants to do is have a laugh with his mates, drink poteen, and steal kisses from a pretty lass without creeping into her soul along the way. And those days? Those are the loneliest days of all.”

I doubted that was the sort of regular old boyo Stefan Ludovic had been, but I got the point. “I’m sorry,” I said softly.

Cooper looked away. “You’re suited, is all I’m saying. You being a bit of a tempest and all. You’d have a good run. And he’d take care of you when it was over.”

“Excuse me?”

“When it was over,” Cooper said patiently. “You’re . . . what? Mid-twenties? You’d have at least ten years.” Looking back at me, he grinned. “Maybe longer these days, eh? You’ll be what they’re callin’ a cougar in your forties.”

My mouth had fallen open. I closed it. Well, duh. Of course it would end that way. How else could it end? Even Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore couldn’t make it work, and an immortality gap was a hell of a lot bigger than an age difference. And I didn’t doubt that Stefan would take good care of me in my dotage. More and more, I was realizing he had a highly developed sense of honor.

“Thanks,” I said to Cooper. “But I think I’d rather spend my life with someone I can grow old with.”

“Or of course,” he said in a casual tone, “you could always invoke your birthright and bargain for immortality.”

“And risk unleashing Armageddon?” I stared at him. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Don’t think so, no.” Cooper rocked back and forth on his heels. “But some days? Some days, I’d welcome Armageddon.”

Cody finished his call and rejoined us. “Okay, Daise. I told the chief that the Cavannaugh curse was a dead end so far. Levitt’s pulled files on a handful of kids with priors for vandalism in the cemetery, and that’s what the chief wants us to follow up on tomorrow. Sound good to you?”

“Sure.”

He glanced at Cooper. “You willing to lend a hand again?”

Cooper sketched a bow. “The big man’s placed me at your disposal. Just tell me when and where.”

“The big . . .” Cody frowned. “Oh.”

“I’ll call you,” I said to Cooper. With a nod, he straddled his bike, brought it to life, and chugged away.

Cody watched him go. “He looks so young.”

“I know. But he’s over two hundred years old.” It occurred to me that Cooper might be the perfect candidate to tell Heather Simkus, the underage vampire acolyte wannabe, a few things about the burden of immortality. That was either a great idea or a recipe for catastrophe. I’d have to think about it more. I didn’t have a lot of faith in my judgment right now.

Cody had to drive me back to his place to pick up my car, which of course resulted in an awkward parting with the two of us standing in his driveway, both of us feeling that something needed to be said, neither of us knowing what it was.

“This has been a very, very disconcerting day,” I said finally.

He looked relieved that I’d broken the silence. “No kidding.”

“I should go.” Something howled in the distance, long and mournful. Cody’s head turned. “Kinfolk?”

“No. Bob Conklin’s dog. He keeps her tied up around the full moon.” He glanced up at the darkening sky, then at the shadows falling around the woods, then at me, and there was regret in his gaze. I didn’t need to read minds to read his at that moment. If I were a suitable mate, we’d hunt beneath the just-past-full moon tonight, running with the pack and calling to one another, the autumn air ruffling our pelts. We’d hunt and kill and feast, and then we’d go home and fuck like werewolves, and one day we’d teach our own little wolf cubs to do the same thing. Well, just the hunting part with each other, obviously.

I sighed. “Just make sure you get some sleep. God only knows what tomorrow will bring.”

“I will.” Cody hesitated, then grabbed my shoulders and kissed me. It was quick, but firm and decisive.

“You confuse me,” I informed him when he released me, feeling slightly breathless.

“Sorry.” He took a deep breath, possibly feeling the same way. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I got in my car, settled the spirit lantern I’d been toting around all day in the passenger seat, and did what any sensible hell-spawn in my situation would do: I called my mom.

Less than ten minutes later, I was sitting at the old Formica dinette table she’d found at a thrift store when I was still a kid, shuffling the deck of
lotería
cards she used to tell fortunes, which was the ostensible reason for my visit. It wasn’t a total lie—Mom had done a reading on the Vanderhei kid’s death last July, and it had been uncannily accurate. And as close as we were, I wasn’t ready to tell her that I’d hooked up with Cody this morning. Not yet. I’d found the bandanna that Stefan had lent me in the cemetery in my car and tied it around my throat in what I hoped was a jaunty manner to conceal the evidence.

I plucked out El Diablito, my significator, and laid it faceup on the table, then shuffled the cards a few more times, doing my best to hold the image of Talman Brannigan’s mausoleum in my mind before cutting the deck three times and handing it to Mom.

She turned over the first card. La Luna, the moon. Cody’s significator.

“Wait.” I held out my hand. “Something doesn’t feel right. Let me try again.”

Mom waited while I shuffled and reshuffled, cut and recut the deck. Once again, she turned over the first card, indicating the crux of the matter.

La Luna.

I sighed. “This isn’t going to work tonight.”

Mom returned La Luna and El Diablito to the deck and set it aside. “Did something happen with Cody, honey?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I laid my forehead against the Formica table with a thunk. “Mom, I screwed up big-time.”

She paused. “With Cody?”

“No,” I said without lifting my head. “Yesterday. Everything went wrong. And it’s my fault.”

“Oh, sweetheart!” The chair legs scraped as she got up and came around the table to stroke my hair. “It didn’t sound like it from what I heard.”

“Well, if Jojo hadn’t—” I lifted my head. “Wait a minute. What did you hear?”

“Sandra said that the coven made a mistake focusing on protecting Sinclair Palmer,” she said.

I stared at her. “You knew Mrs. Sweddon was in the coven?”

“It wasn’t my place to tell you, sweetheart.” Mom sounded apologetic. “But it’s all right to talk about it now that you know.”

“Well, there’s not a lot to say.” I shrugged. “Whatever mistakes were made, the responsibility is mine.”

Mom went to the sink to fill the teakettle. “I understand the coven is thinking of trying a summoning spell to capture this . . . duppy, is it?”

“Uh-huh. Sounds like you know more about it than I do,” I said. “I hope they were planning to inform me.”

“Of course.” Mom set the kettle on the stove and turned on the burner. “We were just talking. Sandra’s been after me to join the coven for years.” She gave me a faint smile. “She thinks I have a gift.”

“Why didn’t you?” I asked her.

Her smile faded. “I’ve had enough of summoning for one lifetime, honey,” she said quietly. “I’m happy with my cards.”

I didn’t say anything. I knew the details of my conception. The whole town knew. Mom had been vacationing in Pemkowet with college roommates when it happened. They’d awakened in the middle of the night and witnessed the, um, results of my mother’s inadvertent summoning. Mom had never hidden anything about my heritage from me. From my earliest memory, everything was on the table for discussion, including the difficulty of raising a half-demon baby as a single mother and her decision to move permanently to Pemkowet, where at least there was a community that understood eldritch issues.

But the one thing she never talked about was the . . . act . . . itself. And God knows, I never asked. I mean, duh. It’s not something parents discuss with their children under the best of circumstances.

Now I felt a sharp stab of anger at my absent father, sharp enough that cans of fruit on a shelf in the tiny kitchen jumped and rattled.

“Daisy!” Mom said in alarm.

“Sorry.” I wrestled my anger under control. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just . . .” I asked the question I never thought I would. “Was it awful?”

My mom drew a quick, short breath as though I’d struck her, then met my gaze with her clear blue eyes. “No,” she said simply. “Not at first, not while I still thought I was dreaming. Not until I awoke to my friends’ screams and understood that what was happening to me was real. Then . . . yes.”

Getting up from the table, I put my arms around her and leaned my brow against hers. She hugged me back hard. We stood that way until the teakettle shrilled, making both of us jump.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Turning away, Mom shut off the burner and poured water for two mugs of tea, letting it steep until it was good and strong before adding sugar and lots of milk. “Sweetheart, you know I love you, and I’m proud of you no matter what.” She handed me one of the mugs. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. That coven’s got years of experience on you, and they didn’t know any better.”

“I did.” I blew on my tea. “I didn’t trust myself.”

“Next time will be different,” she said in a firm tone. “You’ll find a way to fix this, Daisy baby. I have faith in you.”

Apparently, that was exactly what I needed to hear. I smiled at her. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” My mom sipped her tea and cast a speculative glance at the bandanna knotted around my throat. “Do you want to talk about Cody Fairfax now?”

So much for jaunty. Jaunty was no match for mom-radar and the
lotería
cards. “No.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes stinging a little. “I’m just not a suitable mate for a werewolf, that’s all.”

“Oh, honey.” There was sympathy and concern in her voice. Mom knew all about my breaking up with Sinclair and my long-standing crush on Cody. But she also knew when to push me for my own good and when to leave me be. I imagine anyone who’s ever parented a hell-spawn child learns that pretty quickly, what with the random damage we wreak on our surroundings when our emotions are out of control. “How about I make popcorn and we watch a few episodes of
Gilmore Girls
?”

I wiped away a surreptitious tear. “That sounds great.”

Forty

E
very police force should have a ghou
l on it. That was the conclusion I came to after a second day of having Cooper ride shotgun on this assignment.

I mean one of the Outcast, of course, but the thing is,
ghoul
is the word people know. And when it comes to sullen teenagers—I’m not saying all teenagers are sullen, but the five we tracked down and questioned that day were—it was particularly effective to have Cooper slouching beside us, angelic blue eyes glittering feverishly in his too-pale face as he let his beast slip the leash enough to filter their emotions for the particular taste of fear that telling a lie engendered.

That was the good news.

The bad news was that none of them knew anything about the theft and none of them were lying. If the Tall Man’s remains had been stolen by one of Pemkowet’s disaffected youth, it wasn’t someone with a prior for cemetery vandalism. We were out of leads.

After we struck out with the last possible suspect, I called Sinclair to report our lack of progress and ask him about the summoning attempt my mom had mentioned.

“The coven’s working on a ritual, Daise,” he assured me. “We’re just being really, really careful, because we got it wrong with our last plan.”

“Well, tell them to step it up,” I said. “Because we’re not making any progress finding the Tall Man’s remains, which means we’re no closer to finding Grandpa Morgan’s duppy. As long as he’s on the loose, the gateway between the living and the dead is ajar, and that’s not a good thing.”

Sinclair’s voice took on a worried tone. “Has something else happened?”

“Not yet,” I said. “But time’s a-wasting.”

No kidding.

No sooner had I ended our conversation than Cody and I got a call from dispatch reporting a disturbance in progress at a wedding reception aboard the SS
Osikayas
. A distinctly supernatural disturbance.