In the Dark (51 page)

I liked to think
I had a good start at not upsetting people – except that I had
probably royally pissed Alec off. And quite possibly the pack.

Alec. He and the
rest of the pack should be gone by the time the sun rose this
morning. I wondered if I’d ever see him again . . . if I wanted
to.

We’ll
see,
I finally came up with. I didn’t want to, but someday
that might change.

He was an ass.
Worse, he was a dangerous ass. It didn’t change the fact we
still had something in common. Kent.

I shook my head.
Whatever. We had two different versions of Kent in common. I couldn’t
help feeling mine was more accurate . . . but at the same time, I had
to admit Alec’s had been more accurate a hundred-odd years ago.

“Ian,”
Amanda said, gently. I looked up and she gave me a half-smile. It was
the best expression I’d seen on her face since she got dragged
into this mess. I tried to smile back and found I could only offer
the same – a half-smile. We were both going to be a while
recovering from this.

“We should
probably get going. I’m hungry. Did you want to call the band
tonight, or later?” she asked.

I thought about
it. Telling the members of Dark Rage that Kent had died would not be
fun, but it wouldn’t be as bad as telling Mom that Amanda was
moving in with me. I shrugged. “Might as well get it over
with.” Amanda nodded and disappeared back down the hallway.

I spent the next
hour phoning each member of Kent’s old band, leaving messages
to call me and delivering the bad news to the two live people I got.
Angelo was the worst. I could hear him choking back sobs after I told
him the cleaned-up version of how Kent died. I wished there really
had been a funeral that I could invite him to. I stayed on and talked
to him for a while. We’d always gotten along, and even though
it made me cry, talking about Kent with someone who knew him made me
feel better. Better than I’d thought it might.

After talking
for a while, we made plans to get together later that week and got
off the phone. I wiped blood-reddened eyes, smiling a little to
myself. Angelo was a good guy. Maybe he and Amanda could get together
and think about starting a new band. Though that kind of left
Amanda’s Eugene group out in the cold. None of that made me
feel real good, but I couldn’t do anything about it now except
apologize. I hoped Amanda wouldn’t be too angry with me.

I got off the
couch and shoved my phone back in my pocket, then wandered back to
the studio to find Amanda. I found her right where I thought I would,
hovering over her new toys, playing and not worrying about anything
for at least a moment.

“I’m
done,” I said quietly. “Let’s go.”

She looked up
and made a face at me. “About time. You better call Sebastian
so he doesn’t worry about where we are.”

That made me
smile. Sebastian. Worried. About us. Not something I would have
thought possible two weeks ago.

“Yeah,”
I said. “I know.”

I opened the
door for her, followed her out, and locked it behind us.

S
ebastian
and Josephine left shortly after Ian and Amanda. Josephine had not
fed enough the night before, and Sebastian had nothing left to offer
her. She’d taken nearly everything from him after Specter had
almost drained her. He’d woken up dizzy with hunger.

“As long
as the children are out,” Josephine had said, “we might
as well go enjoy ourselves. Get something to eat.”

He’d
laughed when she’d called Ian and Amanda “the children.”
A short laugh. But genuine. It had earned him a smile.

He sat in a
sheltered booth along the side of the floor, watching Josephine
dance. He’d fed the way he always had, if more gently.
Josephine preferred seduction, as Ian did. He watched her move in on
a lean red-head all in black, imagining himself in that stranger’s
place, watching Josephine approach with hunger in her eyes . . .
knowing he need only wait his turn.

Watching
Josephine reminded him of Sarah. How she’d leaped and danced at
their wedding, her shining eyes on him the whole time, as if she
couldn’t look away. He thought that perhaps she and Josephine
were not so very different . . . and shook his head to himself.

Comparing
them is futile.

As every woman
who ever lived, they had things in common and things that set them
apart. The particulars no longer mattered. Sarah was a woman out of
his past, an important one, yes, but gone for all that. Josephine was
here, now, calling up an emotion Sebastian thought had died with
Sarah.

Perhaps it would
have upset Sarah that he found himself falling in love again. He did
not think so. The man he had been could only imagine the woman he had
loved would wish him to be happy. Whatever form that happiness took.

He only wished
he could have found it sooner. That he had not needed to spend
centuries inflicting pain on others trying to escape his own. It
would have saddened Sarah to have seen him so.

Sitting in the
booth, alone, Sebastian swore to himself never to forget her again.
Never to forget their love. But he also allowed that it was time to
let it go.

Josephine looked
up at him, briefly, while the red-head turned away from her. One
golden-green eye winked at him, a promise of things to come.

He smiled back
so that she saw it and watched her feed. Perhaps if she were quick,
they could beat Ian and Amanda back to the penthouse.

Not that he did
not like Ian or Amanda’s company. Quite the opposite. They
would not remain in his home once he made certain the pack had left
Seattle, and the idea saddened him.

Of course, Ian
would continue her training. And they would visit.

And of course if
anything happened to any of them, the others could be called on. Even
if only to talk.

That made him
think of Ian. She most likely needed to talk about Kent, about Emily.
She had not tried to converse with him about those painful subjects.
He would have to make certain she did.

And Josephine.
She had lost loves, too; Emily, Evan – Lillian. Sebastian
suspected Josephine had not discussed her mother with many. He would
ask her.

And then he
would tell her how much she meant to him. And about Sarah.

For the first
time in too long, Sebastian let his guard down, closed his eyes, and
listened to the music. It was a music of this time, this place, fast
and wild, though the beat was not too different from the music that
had been played by his mortal kin. It quickened his blood. He vaguely
recalled the feeling, dancing to the music of his mortal life. It had
changed since then, of course. As had he. How appropriate.

Perhaps,
he
mused,
I will ask Ian to teach me to dance.

T
he
E
nd,
and the Stuff that Comes After the Book:

While
researching how to put together a good-looking e-book, I looked and
looked for a place to put a dedication, or thanks to the people who
helped me get this far. There didn’t seem to be an opinion
about how to insert that, except that anything at the beginning or
end should be short. So, my (kind of) short list of thanks:

Mom, for giving
me your old college typewriter when I was thirteen.

Molly and Annie,
for reading and commenting not only on this version, but on the
versions that came before. It’s nice to have a literary family!

Lisa Bible and
(Other) Rob Strehlow, for giving the final version a once-over.

Rhonda Redmond,
for reading the whole rough draft way back when. Your suggestions
were right on, even if I didn’t know it at the time.

Eric, for saving
chapter fifteen from a lightning strike and occasionally saying, “why
don’t you do some writing?”

Grandma and
Grandpa, for being proud of me, even the naughty parts.

Pamela
McLaughlin, for hand-typing the first version of this novel into her
computer because my original word processing program was hopelessly
out-of-date. I complained about the typos a little too loudly. I’m
glad you are still my friend.

Patti Ruskey and
all of the crew at the Coffee Hag, past and present, including staff,
patrons and entertainers, for being wonderfully artistic, supportive,
and indie-artist minded.

The Blue Earth
County Library, for having a copy of “Be the Monkey,” by
Joe Konrath and Barry Eisler. I didn’t know e-books were a
thing until I stumbled onto that book. I live in a cave, apparently.

Larry and Judy
Buck, for buying me a Kindle for Christmas. I didn’t know what
to do with it at first.

Zoe Winters, for
her excellent guide on getting started as an independent author.

And finally, for
my Uncle Rick Field (much missed), for reading the book when I first
printed it, being proud of me, and for the pen to use at my signing.
That won’t work here, but I still have the pen. Just in case.