Death Takes a Holiday (4 page)

“No, it’s not okay. We live in the same house. Our lives are in each other’s hands. And … ” I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at him. “We were friends.
Good
friends, and I don’t have that many. So losing one … it kills me. And it’s for such a
stupid
reason.” I open my eyes and look at him. “I miss you. A lot. I miss the sparring lessons, and the trips to the coffee shop. I miss riding in your truck to Wichita, and your stories about DC. I miss learning to be a better agent from you. And eating dinner with you. And watching you smile at one of my crap jokes. And the way you try to protect me even when I yell at you for it. I miss that you do it anyway because you care about me. I miss you. Don’t you miss me?” He doesn’t respond, but his arms drop.

I take a step toward him. “I want … you to teach me how to pick a lock. I want to smile at you. I want us to be friends again. More than
anything.
” I take another step. “But … you have to stop punishing me for something I didn’t do.” I take another step. “And I’m sorry, but even if I did sleep with him, you’re not my father. You’re not my boyfriend. You’re barely even my friend anymore, and who I choose to spend my time with isn’t up to you. Oliver is my friend. That isn’t going to change. And it’s not in any way, shape, or form right for you to treat me like you have because you’re jealous. It’s petty and cruel and I know deep in my heart you’re neither of those. You can’t make me choose between the two of you because I shouldn’t have to. And if you keep doing it, you will lose me forever. Is that what you want?”

His face falls. “Of course not,” he says in a low voice.

“Then,
please
let go of all this anger.”

“I just … I … ” he sputters, searching for the right words, “guess we both have problems with managing our expectations.”

“Well, then, maybe we should be clear about them.” I take another step. “I expect you to treat me with respect. To listen to my ideas. To not judge me, especially when you don’t have all the facts.”

“And I expect you to not question my every order, and to talk to me when you have a problem with me.”

“I will. And I’m sorry I was so cold to you when you needed a friend the most.”

“And I’m sorry for judging you and letting my issues with your …
friend
spill over into our relationship.”

“I accept your apology.” I extend my hand for him to shake. “Friends again?”

He shakes my hand hard. “Friends.”

This doesn’t seem like enough. I release his hand before bridging the small gap between us. I toss my arms around him, bringing our bodies so close not even a germ could get between us. He’s so warm. Solid. Safe. He hesitates for a split second, body tensing until he wraps those large arms around me, resting his cheek on the top of my head. His fingers spread across my side, index fingers lightly touching the base of my breast.

“See? Isn’t this better?” I ask.

“Yes,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too,” I whisper back into his throbbing heart.

He gazes down and I up. Our eyes meet, and I swear I’m hit by lightning. He looks shocked too. Yet happy. So damn happy that those green eyes twinkle as if filled with fairy dust. I’m surrounded by magic all day, but nothing like this. His left arm leaves my body so he can hesitantly trail his thumb down my cheek. I manage to block the shudder of lust sprinting down my spine. Our shallow breaths sync. This is it. Even through the war I’ve dreamt of this, longed for it since I first opened my door to him all those months ago. He clutches onto my shirt as he slowly lowers his lips to mine. I’m literally vibrating with anticipation. I close my eyes.

Merde
.

They fly open when there is a knock across the hall. “Trixie?”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I am going to kill him. Dead. He won’t get up from this one, no siree Bob.
Dead
.

“Trixie dear?” Oliver says after another knock.

The magic’s gone. We both feel it. We’ve missed the window. Damn it, damn it,
damn it
! Will’s arms leave my body as he pulls away. I can’t bear to look at him, so I have no idea what he’s thinking as he walks to his door. “She’s in here,” he says. “Come in.”

In the hall Oliver glances at Will, then me, expressionless. Will steps aside to let him pass. “I was actually venturing to speak with you, William.”

“Then why were you knocking on
her
door?” Will asks in the tone he reserves for Oliver. Annoyed with an undercurrent of fury.

“To apologize. I should not have interrupted your conversation earlier as I did.”

“And yet here you are, doing it again,” I point out, my tone coming close to Will’s.

“I did not know.”

“Bullshit,” Will says.

“You question me?”

“Always.”

Oliver’s lips spread into Grin Number Two, mischievous with half fangs yet somewhat restrained. “William, had I known she was in here, I would have interrupted sooner. With your recent brutish behavior, I would not dare leave an ogre in your presence alone, let alone a dear friend.”

The enraged werewolf almost lunges at Oliver. “
You’re
calling
me
dangerous, you psychotic lowlife piece of shit?”

“Can you not see, Trixie? There is just no talking to him. I come to soothe the waters, and he verbally assaults me. Why you care what this cretin thinks about you is beyond me.”

“And it bothers the shit out of you that she does care, doesn’t it? You worried I might be able to get her to see the real you? A cold-blooded leech?”

“Better that than a petty, small dog who ostracized her just because he could not bear the thought of her with another man.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Will says, shoving his finger in Oliver’s face. “This is all just an act. You’re playing the nice guy so you can suck her and toss her aside like all the others. Lori. Cassie. Rachel. Irie. I’m shocked you haven’t made a go at Nancy. You liked them young before.”

“You are disgusting,” Oliver spits. “Do not presume to know about my relationship with Trixie. You know
nothing
,” he literally snarls, showing all of those white, sharp fangs, “about my feelings for her. How could you? What do you know of friendship? Of love between two people? The only person you ever loved you let die in front of you and did
nothing,
like the coward you are.”

I anticipate the next move in time. Just as Will lunges at Oliver, I grab them both with my power, tossing each as far from the other as possible. Oliver slams against the wall, as Will lands on his bed. “That. Is.
Enough
!” I shout. “Both of you!” They both gaze at me, eyes wide in shock and anger. “I swear if either of you says another word I’m going to scream! For Christ’s”—Oliver flinches—“sake! What the hell is wrong with you two? I feel like I’m back in elementary school and you’re fighting over a kickball. Except they’re more mature!”

“He—” Oliver says.

“Shut it!” I say. “I am done. I’m done being the kickball! Sort your crap out and neither of you so much as
look
at me until you have.”

I storm out, slamming both Will’s and my door as hard as I can behind me. I pace around my room, shaking my emotions out through my hands, attempting to calm down. Jesus Christ. Jesus effing Christ. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t. I’m about to leap out of my skin. It’s not like I don’t have enough to deal with, risking my life every day. No. I’m done with them. I’m done. I’ll avoid them, that’s what I’ll do. I won’t leave my bedroom. I’ll—

My cell phone chirps on the dresser. I pull it off the charger and step into my bathroom, shutting the door. Both jerks have super-hearing, and I wouldn’t put it past them to listen. I sit on the toilet and flip the phone open. “Hello?”

“Hello,” Nana says on the other end.

With the sound of her dusky voice, I burst into tears. I love my Nana. Stupid statement, but I’ll say it again: I love my Nana. She raised me when Mom put her head in our gas oven after I killed her boyfriend. He was trying to molest me, and I used my mind to squeeze his heart until he keeled over and died on my bedroom floor. I was eight. Mom gave her final swan song a month later. On good days I convince myself she did it for bringing that pervert into our lives. On bad ones it’s because her freak daughter killed the man she loved. The bad days outweigh the good.

Nana, who I had only met once in my life before that, flew in and picked me and my brother, Brian, from the police station in Phoenix, whisking us from the desert to the beautiful sea. The following few days were a blur of tears, catatonia, and fear. My strongest memory is of Brian glaring at me through the memorial service. Such hatred. Such pain. To this day our relationship is strained at best. Another way of putting it is Brian hates my guts. It doesn’t help that I almost killed him a few months ago. That was the night I joined the F.R.E.A.K.S. I haven’t seen Nana since.

“Oh Nana,” I sob into the phone, rocking back and forth on the cold porcelain.

“Bea, baby, what’s wrong?” she asks, her voice a mix of concern and fear. “Bea?”

I sob and sob, unable to even form words. Within seconds, I can’t even breathe. My entire body jerks with each wracking cry. I start hyperventilating, trying to draw air, but the sobs won’t let me. I’ve only cried this hard twice before. Once was the night I killed Leonard, and the other was during my first case. Oliver held me that time, rocking and hugging me until I fell asleep in his arms. The beginning of a beautiful friendship.

“Beatrice?” Nana says forcefully. “Beatrice, listen to my voice. Calm down. Do you hear me?
Calm down
. You are going to pass out. Control your breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Do it!”

I attempt to draw breath but can’t. So much is out of control, but this is something I can control. I can draw the air in. I can. I will. I try again, this time managing it. Another follows, then another. The tears lessen, and within a few seconds and breaths, I’m out of the danger zone. I can breathe without forcing it.

“Good girl,” Nana whispers. “Good, good girl.”

“Thank you,” I cry. The tears won’t stop but at least speech is possible now. I breathe deeply.

“Oh baby,” she says with relief. “What happened?”

“I—I … everyone here hates me. I’m scared all the time. They keep yelling. I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t. I can’t.”

“Bea, I don’t understand.”

“Everything is just so … confusing. I have no idea what to do. Everything I try only makes it worse.”

“Honey Bea, if you’re this miserable then quit.”

I’ve thought about it. No more concussions. No more kidnappings. No more running for my life. But let me say the look on a victim’s face when I told them I’ve stopped the monster is more addictive than heroin. “I can’t.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you, baby.”

I wipe my eyes and my snotty nose. “I—I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

She’s silent for a moment. If my Nana had a power, it would be the gift of wisdom. She never steered me wrong. She’s the one who told me to ignore Sarah Cale when she was picking on me. She’s the one who told me to keep going to April’s house even after she found out about the psychokinesis. She’s the one who told me to break up with my ex Steven if I had any doubts when things got serious. We should have her on the team.

“Nana?”

“Christmas is in a week. I think you should come home. You missed Thanksgiving.”

I did. Stupid vampires killing prostitutes during the holiday season. Jerks. “I had to work.”

“They can do without you for a week or two, can’t they? How else can I spoil you rotten?”

“I don’t know.” And I don’t. I’m not exactly clear on the F.R.E.A.K.S. vacation policy. But she put it out there and honestly, how many daycare center emergencies can there be? I’ve used the excuse with April on her birthday, and with Nana for Thanksgiving. She’s right. A vacation is exactly what I need. That and Christmas presents. I love presents.

“Beatrice, if you’re working for a company that expects you to miss Thanksgiving and Christmas, then maybe it’s not the kind of company you want to work for no matter how much they’re paying you. I’m sure you could find another teaching job here.”

My loved ones believe I left my beloved career as a teacher to pursue a lucrative one as Director of Childcare Services for Black Industries. They think I fly around the country with my co-workers setting up daycare centers at all the branches. The truth is I joined the F.R.E.A.K.S. to gain control over my psychokinesis. And I have gotten more control in the past ten months, but not enough that I’m comfortable working around small children. Beds and lamps still float when I have a bad dream. I’m not even close to chancing sex. One orgasm and my partner’s head could literally explode. I still have a lot to learn, and this is the only place to do it. But Kansas is disgusting in the winter with the sleet and sub-zero windchill; San Diego is in the high fifties. I’d be an idiot not to go. Postponing my troubles. Sounds like a plan. Worked for Scarlett O’Hara.