SNAP: The World Unfolds (21 page)

“This is a strange map. Where are the roads? How can you tell the land boundaries?”

“I guess it does look odd to your eyes. I don’t even notice it. It’s a copy of one done in1810 when we needed to reach a pact with Felix. This is just not like what you’re used to. See these?” and he pointed to thin, spider-web lines. “These are the roads. They’re cart trails and hunting trails. Some were paved and on a new map, they’d show up, but these are paths we’ve used for years so we know where they are. That’s not what I wanted you to see, though.”

He went over to the desk, smoothed the map out and said “Come here.”

I felt an instant bristle. It sure sounded like an order to me. I bit my tongue and walked to the desk, glowering, a look not lost on him. “What now,” he asked, impatience making his voice tense.

“I’m trying to learn your language. It sounded like an order you’d give to a demon.”

He rolled his great violet eyes and blew out air, flaring his nostrils. “I’ve talked this way for more than 400 years. It wasn’t an order, I don’t mean to insult you, but you’ll have to cut me some slack. I can’t relearn how I speak.”

He must have learned a lot of American idioms over the years; his use of “cut me some slack” tickled me and I nodded in agreement. “Will do.”

His finger circled a batch of the tiny trees. “This is the forest claimed by the Huszars. See, it’s south and west of their castle and village.” He pointed to huts surrounding a large manor house. “It’s some of the original oaks interplanted with hazelnuts. This is where the truffles grow; the primary spot where the feral pigs live. We seldom track into there. And the werewolves are predictable, they won’t shape shift without orders...or a full moon.” Jean-Louis wrinkled his nose and snickered.

“The stream is the boundary between our lands and we’ve negotiated a treaty so that our visitors can fish there. We send a messenger over just before dawn to tell them there’ll be fishermen. They know enough not to attack the Baron’s visitors. You were attacked the night before, but the next day when you walked down to meet the guys fishing, you were fine. Anyone who gets an invitation to the castle, and then is allowed to fish, is as VIP. Taking someone like that is an instant invitation to war.”

The map showed that the Kandeskys held a vast tract of land around the castle, with outbuildings designated by drawings of their purpose. Horses were in a stable and surrounding yard, a mill was on the stream, and two villages connected to each other and the castle with the spider-web trails.

He looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. “Good god no, you ninny,” he snorted. “We hire people to do that. I think you must be tired if you can ask a question like that.”

I was tired. We were somewhere over Kansas and I was running out of steam.

“Go in and get some sleep,” he told me. “I have work I need to do before we land.”

I hadn’t fully acclimated to day and night changes in New York and knew that once we landed, Jean-Louis would send me home and then spend the rest of the night working.

“I’d rather stay here and curl up on the couch near you. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to see of you when we hit L.A.”

“Maybe not a lot.” He looked at me but I couldn’t read him. “I’m only going to be there for three days, then back to the Castle. I have some research to do on starting another SNAP branch. I’ll be asking you for some help, so we will have time together.”

I had to be satisfied with that, so I kicked off my shoes, curled into the corner of the couch closest to his desk and closed my eyes. His voice on a call with Stefan was a soothing background and I drifted until shrieks, howls, snorts and beating wings woke me with a jolt.

Jean-Louis was coming toward me. “What were you hearing? Where were you?”

“The forest, I think,” my voice quavered. “There was a lot of noise—shrieks and howls mostly—and shapes coming at me. Flying things. I felt threatened, but I knew I was safe. It was like looking at a scary movie.”

Jean-Louis nodded. “I think you’re beginning to get the sight.” He took me in his arms and held me the rest of the way to L.A.

. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

It was good to be home. Surrounded by familiar things, I put off unpacking and climbed into bed. The castle was luxurious, the New York apartment was decorated and comfortable, but sinking into my sheets, my down pillows, was like being hugged by my mother. They say we react to smells we don’t even identify, and these subtle scents were mine.

The sun woke me. I hadn’t been waked like this for more than a week. I’d chosen a white gauzy fabric that let in sun all day long for my drapes.

It was just after 8 a.m. I started coffee and flipped on the morning TV news shows. Nothing spectacular had happened over night. Still unrest in the Middle East, troops still in Iraq and Afghanistan, still squabbles in Congress.

I’d stayed in touch while in New York so didn’t expect much when I opened my email and was rewarded with an announcement that Jean-Louis would attend this afternoon’s content meeting. That had caused quite a stir, with several people chiming in to say they’d be there, too.

OK, I decided, I’d better get myself back in SNAP mode. Back in the bedroom, I dumped my luggage. Separated things for the cleaners, things for the wash, put away soaps, lotions, cosmetics.

After a long shower that loosened all the travel kinks, I pulled out a pencil-slim skirt, an oversized thin-knit silk and cotton sweater, a wide belt and stiletto heels. My work uniform was ready, with the addition of a chunky necklace, a hobo bag and my briefcase. Comin’ into Los Angeles, like the song said.

It was a slightly different homecoming when I opened my front door. There was Carlos. He reached out to take my briefcase. “What are you doing here?” I could feel my voice raising and I tamped it back down.

“I’m going to be your driver and bodyguard now,” he almost smiled. “The Baron and Jean-Louis arranged it. I’ll be with you 24/7, even in the office. Well, not right in
your
office, but I have a cubicle.”

Hmmm, I should have expected this. After the guy accosting me in the hallway in New York, they weren’t taking any chances. And truth to tell, I did feel safer when the demons were around.

So, Carlos and I headed off to work.

He parked on the second floor of the garage, escorted me to the staff elevator, rode up with me, escorted me to my office, nodding to people along the way, and left me to go to a cubicle about 20 feet away.

Jazz came in with a sheaf of papers and messages, her eyes like saucers.

“What happened to you,” she was stymied because she usually had an in with the office changes and gossip. I wasn’t sure how much she knew and how much to tell her.

“I had a good night’s sleep.” I shrugged. “Why?”

Her mouth opened, closed, made a fish face. “You look different...I don’t know, fancier, thinner, happier? You’re sort of glowing.

“And what’s with the bodyguard? He looks like the kind that trails around and protects the Baron and his crowd. And all the town car drivers we use.”

“What do you know about the bodyguards?” If she didn’t know they were demons, I’d have to talk to Jean-Louis. I sure didn’t want to blurt out something beyond her need to know.

“I know we get them from some agency,” Jazz wrinkled her nose in thought. “I can’t remember the name, ordering cars isn’t usually my job. I think the Ice Princesses do that for the company. They’re always big—buffed—and dress in black. I’ve always thought they were European, maybe Eastern European, I don’t know why.”

“You’re right, I think they’re from Eastern Europe, too. They were all over the place at the Baron’s and drove us back and forth to the airport.”

“OK, the Baron’s. What happened? Is it as fabulous as I’ve heard? How did your clothes measure up?”

“You get gold stars for hooking me up with the personal shoppers, Jazz. Most of the other women were dressed as though they’d shopped in Paris or New York, but I was turning a few heads, too. I met a couple of producers from here, Bruce Johanssen and Rick Almdale. They seemed like nice guys, A-list and important if the Baron invited them for a house party. We need to get all their contact info and keep tabs on them.

“As for the rest, it’s amazing. It’s really a castle in the Hungarian woods. The food was wonderful, we watched the French and German SNAP episodes, the grounds are manicured and I had a personal maid who laid my clothes out and helped me dress.”

Jazz was frowning. “Oh, I don’t know if I’d like that. It’s a little more personal than I’m used to.” Her voice got dreamy, “I’d like to experience it once, though. And how was Jean-Louis?”

Like flipping a switch, Jazz was back to her professional mode. “Yes. Chaz, Carola and Mina are back, too, so there’ll be a full complement for the meeting. One of the items will be going over possible newbies. The hunting crews have five girls they’ve followed and put together portfolios on.”

“Will they have them ready for the meeting?”

“The money is yes. One of the IT guys has been working editing and packaging clips. Rumor is that’s why Jean-Louis is here. You know his ‘top and bottom’ routine.”

I couldn’t completely suppress my grin. “I do know it. And he’ll make quick work of any he decides are the bottom.”

Jazz smiled back and whirled out of my office saying, “I’ll get the contacts for Bruce Johannsen and Rick Almdale and put them in all your contact files. And welcome home.”

I sank back in my chair and closed my eyes. My desk was clear thanks to Jazz, and the agenda for the content meeting was set, so I had time to make some calls and chat with Carola. This might be awkward. I’d shown angst and vulnerability during our last meeting and now we were back in the supervisor/employee roles...at least on the surface. Could I face her and carry out my role knowing that she was really part of the family that owned SNAP? And that, in reality, I worked for her?

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I didn’t see Jean-Louis until he came into the conference room for the meeting. He was in his SoCal clothes; jeans, t-shirt, open dress shirt and stubble, the ubiquitous sunglasses pushed up. He nodded at Chaz, said “Sorry, I was previewing the clips,” and took a seat at the end of the table, away from me.

Was he avoiding me? I felt heat rising along with my temper then realized I was being watched. I slid a look down the table. Most people were focused on Jean-Louis, but Carola’s eyes were burning into me. When she caught my eye she raised an eyebrow and gave her head a single shake, as though to toss her hair back.

Damn those vampires and their uncanny body-reading abilities. This was a good warning. Even here, even home, I’d have to keep the lessons from Hungary in my consciousness. It would be too easy to slip into the usual snit; I knew I had a short fuse when I sensed I was being dismissed or not taken seriously. And I expected people around me to be quick and smart, not traits that everyone had. Part of my testiness could be laid to the pace of life I’d led over the past decade or so. It was a modern version of the quick or the dead; the new media reality required instant decision-making and I was good at it.

A few days at the castle were a different world. Beyond the language, manners, sumptuous surroundings, topsy-turvy time, there was the stately pace that centuries of life developed in the vampires.

I wasn’t going to be able to rush Jean-Louis. Jealousy, drama, fits of pique had no place if there was to be any relationship. I had to sit back and let things move at a speed that was out if my control. On the other hand, the threats of the Huszars required immediate reaction. I needed to take a page from police; hours of boredom interrupted by flashes of terror.

The overhead lights snapping off brought me back. Jean-Louis was running the clips with narration. The five girls were arresting. Three Southern California blonds had been shot at Santa Monica and La Jolla beaches, shopping on Rodeo Drive, jogging through Brentwood and out at clubs. They were model-pretty with clear skin, wide smiles and, on two of them, plastic surgery breasts.

Chaz and Carola were both shaking their heads when they realized the girls had “augmentation.” Jean-Louis wasn’t interested, either.