Death Takes a Holiday (30 page)

I spot April and Javi just outside the auditorium with Carlos and Flora. April scans the crowd, spotting me. We each wave before she thrusts Flora into Javi’s arms and rushes over. I glance at the grinning Oliver. “Best behavior,” I warn him.

“Of course, my darling.” He so doesn’t mean it.

April gets within a few feet of us and slows down, her eyes popping out of her head. In a second her tongue will be on the grass with the rest of the mothers. “Um, hi!” she shouts, not taking her eyes off Oliver. “Oh my God!” Oliver flinches. “I can’t believe you’re here. This is him, right? The you-know-what?”

“This is Oliver.”

He takes her hand, pressing his lips against it. “
Enchanté
.”

She chortles like a mentally deranged person. “Oh wow.” He releases her hand. “You are … wow!”

“Thank you,” he says graciously. “As are you. Your pictures did not do you justice.”

“Uh huh” is all she can manage.

Javi, no doubt worried that his wife is acting like a drugged-out groupie, strolls over with the kids. April’s eyes never leave Oliver. “Hello, Bea. Who’s your … friend?”

“Oliver, this is Javier. April’s husband.”

They shake hands. “You are a lucky man,” Oliver says.

“Thanks.” They break apart. “This thing’s about to begin. We better get seats.”

“You go right in,” April says. “We’ll be there in a second.”

“Yes,” Oliver says, “we must give them time to discuss me.” He nods at me with Grin Number Three, no fang but nice, and walks toward the auditorium with Javi and the kids.

April grabs my arm, pulling me to a slightly secluded spot. “Oh my God! That man is walking sex! And I never would have guessed he was a you-know-what. How have you not jumped his bones yet? He’s even more gorgeous than Will! And where is Will? Did you dump him for Oliver?”

“April, calm down!”

“We’re about to begin,” someone shouts. “Please come inside!”

“Shit! Stupid children,” April says. We power walk with the rest of the stragglers. “Okay, quickly, is Will coming?”

“No.”

“Did something happen? Something bad?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Fine.”

We get inside the stuffy, crowded auditorium and spot our guys in the middle. Javi and Oliver are chatting like old friends, and Javi even laughs. I sit between Oliver and April, who pulls Flora onto her lap. “So, Oliver,” April says, “what did that rat bastard do to my best friend now?”

“April!”

“Rats are yucky,” Flora says.

“Yes, they are,” April says. “Especially big, jerky ones who look like the Marlboro Man. So are you going to have to kick his booty or should I?”

“Can we please not talk about this now?” I ask.

Mercifully, the lights dim and the principal walks on stage before further embarrassment ensues. The pageant is cute with some of the older kids singing non-denominational holiday songs, and then
the younger ones doing a little play about a snowman trying to get home. Manny doesn’t have any lines and just stands off to the side, occasionally running around with the other snowflakes. Javi and April seem so proud, and every time I glance at Oliver, he’s smiling. I lean over and whisper, “I’ll bet in five hundred years you’ve never seen one of these before.”

Still smiling, he whispers back, “No.”

“Glad I help you expand your horizons.”

“Perhaps later we can return to your bedroom and I can expand yours.”

I laugh and smack his arm. “There are children present!”

“They are not invited.”

I smack him again and chuckle, but someone behind shushes us. We bite our lips to stop the laughs. April’s grinning from cheek to cheek. I scowl at her, and she stops.

About ten happy, peppy minutes later the snowman is reunited with his snow wife and the audience applauds. All the children line up and take a bow before jumping off the stage in search of their parents. Short, just the way I like these things. Oliver and I take the restless Carlos and Flora outside while Javi and April find their snowflake. Flora grips Oliver’s hand and refuses to let go even when we stop walking.

“Your brother was quite good,” Oliver says to Carlos.

“He didn’t do nothin’. ”

“Just stepping on that stage is a triumph. I could not do it.”

“You talk funny.”

“Carlos!” I say.

“It is alright, Trixie. I do. I am from England, and this is how we speak.”

“Oh,” The boy shifts on his feet. “Are you Aunt Bea’s boyfriend?”

“No,” he answers without hesitation.

“Carlos, stop being rude,” I say. “Go take your sister to the playground. Now.” Carlos has to pry his sister from Oliver, but they obey. “That kid is going to be heck on wheels when he’s a teenager.”

“He is just jealous of the attention his brother is receiving,” Oliver says. “I remember when I brought Catherine a kitten from the O’Mara farm. Samuel cried for an hour then smashed his dinner bowl. I had to tan his hide.”

My mouth hangs open a little, but I have no idea what to say. “You’re talking about your children, aren’t you?” finally comes out.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the playground but nods. “Yes.”

“What were they like?”

“Mischievous. Loving. Beautiful. The loves of my life.”

“Did you ever see them after you were turned?”

“No. I had no desire for this life to touch theirs. I simply sent funds as often as I could.”

“What happened to them?”

“My wife, Sarah, returned to her family’s farm. She and Samuel died five years later of the Black Death. Catherine married her cousin and shortly died in childbirth.”

“Do you still miss them?” I ask, studying him.

Those gray eyes turn my way, deep never-ending melancholy radiating from them. “Oh yes. Every single day.”

We stare at one another, the pain so deep it crushes me again. I reach up to touch his cheek. “I—”

“There you are!” April calls from behind us. The spell’s broken. I quickly lower my hand and both plaster smiles on as we turn around. April, Javi, and snowflake Manny walk up. “Please tell me you sold my other children.”

“Nobody would take them,” I say. I look down at Manny. “You were so good. Best snowflake ever!”

“Thank you,” the boy says.

“Well, Mr. Snowflake here wants to go to Johnny Rockets for milkshakes. You guys in?”

I’m about to reply, but Oliver beats me to it. “I am afraid I cannot. I really must be returning to my hotel to pack. Our flight is scheduled to leave in an hour.”

“Really?” April asks, disappointed.

“I am afraid so, but it was very kind of you to include me in the festivities.”

“Of course,” Javi says.

Oliver touches my back. “Trixie, I shall meet you at the car.” He looks at the Diego family. “It was lovely to finally meet you all.”
He shakes Javi’s hand and kisses a surprised April’s cheek before walking off.

“Was it something—” April says.

“No. Look, I have to drop him at the hotel, but I’m gonna swing by your house later, okay? I have
so
much to tell you.”

“I’ll bet. Is this a wine or tequila conversation?”

“Tequila with a side of moonshine.” I hug her. “See you in an hour.”

I run off after Oliver, catching up with him at the gate. The huge cross still looms. Without a word I take his arm and lead him up the street to the car. To anyone we’d look like a couple strolling arm in arm.

“I was rude,” he says.

“It’s okay.”

“I simply … ”

I squeeze his arm and rest my chin on his shoulder. “I know.”

The ten-minute drive to the hotel is made in silence as we both think about those fatherless children dead for five hundred years. I imagine the girl, Catherine, petite with her father’s brown hair, pale skin, and wicked sense of humor. Samuel was probably a carbon copy of his father complete with mischievous smile and charm. I have a million questions but don’t dare ask. Some things are better left unexplained and in the past. Oliver just stares expressionless out the window.

I park the car at the hotel’s curb, but he doesn’t get out. We just sit for a minute, neither of us ready to break the invisible tethers entwining us to the other. I have the strongest urge to touch his exquisite alabaster face one more time. “This may be the last I see of you,” he finally says.

“I’ll fly back to pack up my things.”

He turns and looks at me with beautiful, aching eyes. “Perhaps.”

He’s right. This is it. I’ll never see him again. We can swear to call, e-mail, or visit, but we both know we won’t. All or nothing, that’s who we are. Bond forged in blood and tears, the strongest kind there is. I try to hold back the tears but can’t. I shake my head. “I am going to miss you.
So much.”

Hesitantly he raises his hand. He touches my wet cheek, wiping a tear away with his cold thumb. I press his hand in mine. “Do not cry, my darling,” he whispers. “I cannot bear to see you cry.”

“I always seem to be doing it in front of you,” I say with a chuckle. “And you’re the only one. You … ” I can’t say it. It’ll make it all too real. “Just … ” I lean in and embrace him, holding him tight and breathing him in for the last time. I think my heart is breaking for the second time today.

He hugs me back, holding me as tight as I am him. “Thank you, my goddess. Goodbye.”

And then in a blink, he’s gone.

The car door is open, and I’m hugging air. The only remainder is the gold bracelet sitting on the dashboard. I pick it up with a gasp. My charm bracelet. The one Mom gave me. He found it. He brought it back to me. My friend. My partner. My dark angel.

Goodbye.

I shouldn’t be driving like this. I can barely see through my tears and my hands tremble, but I have to get home. I want Nana and April
and my bed and a place to think.

But I’m not that lucky. Never ever. Halfway home a police cruiser begins flashing its lights, and I have to pull over. Crap. We end up at the corner of a residential street. I take deep breaths to calm myself down. It works. I’m only weeping as the officer shines his flashlight through the window. I roll it down. I sniffle and say, “Here’s my license and—”

“Hey, Bea,” a familiar voice says. I look up, and Steven smiles down at me. “You look like hell.”

“Steven?”

“I would say I’m sorry about this, but I’m not.”

“What?”

I see his hand move, but don’t register what has actually happened until after the sharp stab of the needle in my neck. Then the world goes from fuzzy to black.

After this day, I welcome it.

TWELVE

DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

I
WAKE UP BUT
… don’t. Everything seems far away from me. Unreal. Right as I open them, my eyes refuse to stay open. When they open again I have no idea how much time has passed. Seconds? Days? I feel squishy and gooey and sleepy. Very sleepy. This time I force my eyes to remain open for a few seconds.

I’m lying on a cot. The room is sparse, with a chemical toilet and two bottles of water next to it. That’s it. Oh, and the heavy chain coming from the floor and ending at the handcuff on my ankle. This should be the part where I freak out, but instead I give my eyes what they want once again.

The next time they open about half the fuzzies have vanished and complex thought is possible. As is walking. Well, after the second attempt. I devour the unopened water of half its contents and use the toilet, but that’s all I can manage right now. I flop back on the cot before my legs give out.

Okay, I’ve obviously been kidnapped. Again. This makes three after the necromancer and Freddy. They both ended bloody, but at least I knew what they wanted from me. I was a means to an end in both cases. Was this Connor? Likely suspect, but I doubt it. I’m not much use to him unless I’m willing. Who … Steven stopped me. He injected me with something. Steven. But why? I really don’t want to consider the possibilities. I can’t think of a single good one. Pure, unadulterated fear pushes through the drug haze, and I curl into the fetal position. I don’t fight unconsciousness this time.

The sound of the door unlocking jolts me awake. But instead of my bastard ex-boyfriend, Kristen steps in with a grocery bag in one hand and pistol in the other. Per usual, she is not pleased to see me, pretty face ugly with a sneer, but for once the feeling is not mutual. The woman can’t stand me, so it’s doubtful she’ll sexually assault me. I’m hanging onto any sliver of hope here.

“Oh God, you’re awake,” she says as if I’ve inconvenienced her. She grips the pistol tighter. “Move and I shoot you.” I stay still as she approaches but try to take the gun out of her hand with my mind. It doesn’t budge. Stupid drugs. She tosses the bag by the bed and a jar of peanut butter rolls out. “Your dinner, Countess.”

“What the hell is going on?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Where am I?”