“I’ve got nothing,” Jasmine said, throwing her hands up in the air as I entered the main area of the suite.
“You’ve been looking for five minutes,” I said, glancing up from the notes I was still typing into my phone from my conversation with Lavender — a transcript detailing our two minutes of stilted communication, which had only served to inform me that she and Nevada hadn’t uncovered any additional leads into Ruby’s whereabouts.
“No, I mean I’ve got Yale’s movements mapped out.” Jasmine was perched over her laptop, which she’d set up on the desk in the parlor area again. “From New York to Chicago, then to Los Angeles. But I don’t have anything else connecting him to LA.”
“And any other missing witches?”
“None that I could find who fit the timeline. And nothing registered with the Convocation.”
I sent my notes to Jasmine, who grunted in acknowledgment when they popped up on her screen. I tried to think about the many ways an Adept like Yale could hide from magical investigation — and all the ways he might kidnap a witch such as Ruby, who wouldn’t necessarily be immediately reported to the Convocation. “What about local law enforcement?”
“For a missing witch? How would I even make the distinction from mundanes? I need to figure out where Yale lives, or lived. Like, whether he maintained a residence where he could have been keeping Ruby.”
I nodded, content to follow Jasmine’s lead. Not finding any substantive evidence to support Kett’s theory of Yale’s possible predilection for feeding on children, or at least on young Adepts, was a positive outcome. One missing child was enough.
“Where’s Kett?” I asked.
“Who knows? Doing whatever he does when he needs to feed but can’t ask to feed on us.”
My jaw dropped.
Jasmine snorted. “He’s too pale. Even for him. His magic is more present in his eyes. I get the impression he has a hard time being around the three of us. You know, without tearing our throats out. You heard his maker say that thing about him and witches? And here I thought I was unique.” She laughed, softening the wry twist of her voice.
“Actually, I was putting the flight crew on notice.” Kett’s blisteringly cold voice emanated from behind me. “I thought it would distract Jasmine, so I stepped into the hall.”
I glanced over my shoulder.
The door to the corridor was slowly closing behind Kett, his phone still in hand. He raised an eyebrow at me. “We’re heading to LA?”
“Are we?” I asked.
“Yep,” Jasmine said, completely nonplussed over being overheard. “I’ve verified another car rental on Yale’s credit card. In Los Angeles for three days at the beginning of January. So after New York and Chicago, but before he drew my attention in Connecticut. He also withdrew more cash from an ATM there. So I’ll keep digging, but we might as well be on the jet heading there while I do.”
“All right. You’re the lead investigator.”
“And don’t you forget it.” Jasmine flashed me a grin. “We’ll head out as soon as Declan gets back with breakfast. What’s taking him so long?”
“Well, you did demand the best coffee,” I said.
“For you, Betty-Sue.” Jasmine jumped up from the desk, packing up her computer and other electronics. “For you.”
Hustling by, she kissed my cheek, offered Kett a saucy grin, and exited into the bedroom.
I called after her. “I got nothing new from Lavender, by the way.”
“I already read your notes.” Her voice faded as she crossed past the partially open door, getting ready to pack and change.
“She implied that the sooner we found Ruby, the better.” I pitched my voice a little louder so my best friend could hear me. “Which wasn’t particularly helpful.” I looked at Kett, including him in the conversation. “The witch, Lavender, intimated that having Ruby back could possibly help the reader deal with the block on Coral’s mind.”
“Lavender’s a delightful witch.” Even practically yelling from the other room, Jasmine’s sarcasm was unmistakable. “So caring. And professional.”
I looked at Kett questioningly. “Based on the weeping bite marks already on Coral’s neck at the beginning of the reconstruction, Yale bit her, then exerted his … powers of persuasion. Is that … normal?”
“The gift is different for everyone,” Kett said. “Beguiling victims is generally within every vampire’s abilities. Clouding a mind, taking a snippet of time so you may feed, is a combination of the influence of venom and a vampire’s skill at wielding forms of telepathic magic. What Yale has done is … rash, clumsy. There was absolutely no way he wasn’t going to be caught.”
“Can you undo it?”
“No. I am no healer.”
“The reader, Nevada, has no experience with this. The Convocation is seeking out a telepath with some understanding of vampires. So far, they’ve been unsuccessful.”
“Most vampires aren’t so stupid.”
“Can Yale fix it?”
That question gave Kett pause. He tilted his head thoughtfully. “And if he could? You know that he would demand a favor for doing so.”
“He can bargain for his undead life.”
A slow smile spread across Kett’s face.
“What?” I asked. “I can be Machiavellian. I’m a Fairchild, after all.”
“I don’t think you are,” he said softly. “You are much, much more.”
Heat flushed my cheeks at the compliment. At the hint of tenderness backing his words.
Jasmine popped her head back into the room, wearing only a pretty pink lace bra, low-slung jeans, and a wide grin. “I can be cunning too, you know.”
Kett inclined his head.
I laughed. “No one doubts it.”
She shrugged. “I’m not a fan of games, but you don’t have to shield me so much. Either of you.”
She retreated back into the bedroom before I could respond.
I glanced at Kett, offering him a smile. “I should change too.”
“We should discuss my maker … Estelle …” I could tell that he really didn’t want to talk about any such thing, but it was lovely that he was willing to offer.
“Do you make me justify my crazy family?”
“The ones I’ve met, Jasper excepted, aren’t in the same league as my maker.”
I shrugged. “They’re comparatively young yet.”
“Estelle, to whom you understand you will likely be bound, plays games that take centuries to unfold.”
I nodded, ignoring the way my stomach twisted at the idea of such a timeline. “You haven’t met my mother yet. Or Dahlia. Trust me, Estelle is out of practice.”
Kett laughed abruptly, then appeared surprised that he had done so. Grinning, I followed Jasmine into the bedroom to change and pack. I, however, closed the door behind me.
Kett had a white SUV in the hotel parking lot. We drove to a private airport just outside the city center, finding his Learjet waiting for us. So, despite the intermittent showers and thick fog that had encased the city that morning, forty-five minutes after Declan returned with coffee and donuts, we were on our way to the West Coast.
Upon climbing into the jet, Jasmine immediately commandeered one of the white leather center seats and began plugging in every device she owned.
“Remember to charge your phones,” she said bossily as I settled into the seat across the aisle from her and Declan took the one seat in front of me, rotating it to face Jasmine and me.
Neither of us argued. Though I’d barely used my phone, I didn’t want to do anything that could possibly dampen Jasmine’s renewed energy. And Declan had just been silent since arriving back in the hotel room, emitting that brooding quiet that should have driven me crazy — but which instead made him crazy endearing.
And that said way more about me than it did him.
Kett disappeared for the takeoff, which seemed to be his regular routine, and I found myself wondering if he actually had anything to do with piloting the jet. Or maybe he was simply such a control freak that he couldn’t leave such things to mere mortals. Perhaps life became even more precious when you could live forever. I cast my mind back, recalling Kett’s behavior when we’d confronted the necromancer Teresa Garrick in a graveyard teeming with zombies. How he’d laughed. How he seemed to relish the challenge that a necromancer of power had presented.
We’d left a massive mess that evening, and —
I sat upright in my seat, unaware that I’d been lightly dozing while the plane leveled off. “Jasmine.”
“Yeah, babe?” Jasmine muttered around the rainbow-sprinkled chocolate donut she’d brought with her onto the plane.
“What if you looked for unusual events?” I asked. “In LA, in early January.”
“Like what? A mass slaughter that the Convocation didn’t notice?”
“Like a mess that was small enough to not get the authorities’ attention. A mess connected to a child. A witch not necessarily registered to the Convocation.”
Jasmine was staring at me. “That’s a little vague.”
“Like … like …” I racked my brain, formulating the thought and trying to offer possibilities at the same time. “Magical events that could have been explained away, but which might indicate that Yale screwed with other people’s thoughts.”
“People reporting missing time? Again, too vague to track down with any efficiency.”
Declan was watching me intently as he sipped a coffee. I noticed the three copper-and-raw-gem rings he wore on his right hand. I’d only gotten a glimpse of them before. Normally, he kept them shielded from view. I lifted my gaze to meet his, and he curled his lips, noticing my attention. Then he stretched his legs across the aisle, settling them only inches from my own.
Each of the three nested, hammered-copper bands he wore contained a single birthstone — a raw topaz, a sapphire, and a fire opal, representing each of our birthdates.
We all carried our past, our connection to each other, differently. Jasmine had her tattoo, I had my bracelet, and Declan apparently had his rings. Though it was likely that those rings served double duty. Raw gems and copper were perfect for storing the energy spells he wielded so skillfully. That, along with his blasting rod, was the type of magic Jasper would have taught Declan once his talent asserted itself.
Declan.
Jasper.
“Like Declan …” I said, continuing as if I hadn’t become lost in my own thoughts. “Declan’s birth wouldn’t have been registered with the Convocation. Your mother wouldn’t have bothered, would she? Not being a witch?”
Declan frowned, but then he twirled his fingers, inviting me to continue.
“And when Jasper came for you in New Orleans, who knew? Who would have noticed?”
Declan laughed edgily. “A vampire would have had a difficult time snatching me, even at nine.”
I looked triumphantly at Jasmine.
She shook her head, though. Doubtful. “Jasper knew Declan existed. He must have used some sort of blood-based spell to track him. With Grey’s blood … or mine …” She frowned thoughtfully.
“And if a vampire was hunting witches? What do you think they hunt by? Blood.”
“And unaffiliated witches would be easier to snatch,” Declan murmured.
“You knew what you were, Declan,” I said. “Even at nine. But what if you hadn’t grown up with a magical parent? What if you’d been born with a recessive gene?”
“The Academy tracks magical manifestations,” Jasmine said.
“When they’re strong enough to register,” I said. “When an Adept reaches puberty, say. But Yale took Ruby knowing her mother was practically alone in the world. If Jon hadn’t come back when he did …”
Jasmine’s fingertips hovered over her keyboard. “I still have no idea where to start.”
“Police reports,” Kett said, strolling through from the front of the jet. “Strange animal attacks. Odd disappearances. Panicked calls to 911 by children that were later deemed pranks.”
“Los Angeles is a large place,” Jasmine groused. But her fingers were already flying across the keys of her laptop.
Kett’s gaze settled on Declan as he slipped into the seat in front of Jasmine, then rotated it so all four of us were facing each other. “The heart attack or stroke of an elderly caretaker,” he said thoughtfully, adding to his list of possibilities for Jasmine to research.
Declan eyed him, a deep frown etched across his face. “What are you implying, vampire?”
“Not everything happens naturally.”
“What are you saying?” I asked, aghast. “Are you thinking … Declan’s grandfather?”
“I don’t know anything for sure,” Kett said. “But the timing is suspect, isn’t it?”
Declan clenched the arms of his seat, jutting his jaw out angrily. “Losing my grandfather put me on the streets. What the hell would that benefit …” A terrible realization flooded through him.
“Oh, no,” Jasmine gasped, pausing her search. “That’s not … that’s … crazy.”
“You think Jasper murdered my grandfather.” Declan’s voice was flat, emotionless.
“I’m saying it was easier to extricate you from New Orleans abandoned, rather than tied to family.” Kett’s tone was stiffly dispassionate. “You indicated you would have fought if a vampire had tried to take you.”
Declan didn’t answer, his lips tightening until they were just a strip of white cutting across his tanned face.
“How easy was it for Jasper to pick you up?” Kett asked. “What did he do to convince you to come with him?”
Declan’s eyes cut to Jasmine, then to me.
“Did he have pictures? Of Jasmine? Of Fairchild Manor?” Kett asked silkily.
“Enough,” I whispered. Then I strengthened my voice. “That’s enough. This isn’t a game, Kett.”
A tense silence settled around us. I glanced out the window. Miles and miles of gray cloud shielded the earth from my view.
“My apologies, Declan,” Kett said coolly.
Declan lifted his hand, waving off the vampire’s sentiment.
Jasmine applied her fingers to her keyboard again. The renewal of her incessant tapping instantly soothed me.
“I know what to look for now,” she said.
Declan shifted his seat back, closing his eyes. He brushed his ankle against mine. In response, I curled my foot around his leg, offering a touch of comfort. Then I remembered that wasn’t my role anymore … or that it soon wasn’t going to be. I pulled my leg away, meeting Kett’s silvered gaze instead.
After another fifteen minutes of listening to Declan’s quiet snoring and Jasmine’s typing, I slipped back through the sleek jet to the bathroom. I wanted to freshen up, though I knew I was doing so more as an excuse to keep busy rather than from any actual need. It would likely be warmer in Los Angeles, though, so a change of clothing might be in order. Any outfit that required nylons would definitely be out and inappropriately dressy for a visit to a group home.
Still thinking over what items of clothing I’d packed, I opened the door to the bathroom to return to my seat. Kett was leaning back against the far wall. His posture was slumped. Casual. As if he waited for women outside of bathrooms all the time.
His woman.
Me.
My breath caught in my throat.
He lifted his silvered gaze to me, curling his lips in an expectant smirk. As if he was gleefully anticipating the tongue-lashing he deserved for needling Declan with suppositions and innuendo about his grandfather’s death.
Except I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of fulfilling his expectations that I’d be typical and trite. Instead, I lifted my chin archly. “If you were any other male, I would think you were looking to join me.”
“I’m patiently awaiting an invitation.”
My jaw dropped. I scanned his face for sincerity. Kett’s smile twisted, turning almost self-deprecating. I glanced up the aisle toward the passenger cabin, where I could see Declan’s long legs and a section of Jasmine’s riot of curls as she bowed over her computer.
“Asleep,” Kett whispered. “And otherwise occupied.”
I looked back at him, knowing that in a moment he’d hold his hand out to me — always inviting me to touch him, always careful to not overwhelm me.
“I’m not a victim,” I said matter-of-factly. “Yes, Jasper abused me. He abused us all, but I don’t … I have a more difficult time with my mother, actually. Of her not protecting me when I came to her. Jasper is just … ill. Damaged. Likely abused himself.”
“So the literature would suggest.”
I laughed quietly. “You’ve been reading books about abuse victims?”
“No,” he said. “I’ve been reading books about abuse survivors … since January.”
Since Kett had offered me a sexual relationship. Since he’d offered to be my lover. To compete for my affections, if that was what it took for me to accept his offer of an immortal existence with him.
I took a step, closing the space between us just enough so that I could gather his thin cashmere sweater in my hand and pull him toward me. He came without resistance. Or at least he made a show of ceding control. I couldn’t have moved him otherwise.
I tugged him against me. Our thighs and hipbones brushed. Then I stepped back into the bathroom, acting on a sudden desire to be without thought. To be without obligation.
In two-inch heels, I was only a couple of inches shorter than him. He flicked the door closed behind us, turning away only to flip the lock.
I pressed against the hard length of him, molding myself against his body. I lifted my gaze to his, seeing nothing in his gaze but the silvered blue of his eyes. Hovering my parted lips over his, I breathed him in. He smelled like breath mints. Peppermint, maybe.
I laughed quietly at the idea that an ancient vampire had freshened his breath for me.
Kett ran his fingers up my bare arms. His touch was featherlight.
I darted the tip of my tongue into his mouth, but withdrew it before he could close the kiss. He laughed huskily, the sound running through me. I shuddered, turning my head slightly away. His breath whispered across my neck.
He brushed his thumb across my nipple, coaxing it to harden in an instant even through my dress and bra. Shivers of desire fluttered in my stomach.
I moaned softly.
Then, even before I’d registered the movement, he had me propped up on the counter beside the sink with his hand up my dress. I wrapped my right leg around him, spreading my left leg so he could slip his fingers between my thighs. I gasped as he made contact with me through my underwear, then pushed the lace fabric aside, pleasure flooding away the embarrassment of opening myself to him so eagerly, without words, without even a kiss.
I arched back into the hand he held steadily at the small of my back, pressing my center into his fingers. Abandoning myself to the orgasm that was already curling my toes and burning through my nether regions.
I moaned, swallowing the need to vocalize as I convulsed underneath his steady touch, swiftly climaxing.
He eased his pressure, whispering into the skin of my neck, “Another?”
I opened my eyes, finding him only inches away. I lifted my hand to caress his face, running my fingers over his firm lips. “Who says no to seconds?”
He chuckled, rubbing a finger against me in a slow but steady circular pattern without further prompting.
I gasped as I wrapped my hand around his wrist, delaying the pleasure, but not denying it. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his ear. “Bite me.”
“Not today,” he said. “I want you clearheaded and focused on me, Wisteria Fairchild. Not befuddled by my venom, which won’t have the same effect on you when you’ve been remade.”
He lifted an eyebrow, as if asking me to argue.
Not dropping my gaze from his, I loosened my hold on his wrist. He slipped his fingers through my wetness, slowly increasing the rhythm of his touch. I kept my gaze locked to his until my breathing was once again ragged.
“So … take you as you are, as you will be to me?” I asked. My voice quivered with pleasure. “You … we … won’t drink from each other when I’m remade?”
A deep-red haze rolled across his eyes. “Oh, we will drink from each other. Deeply.”
He kissed me then, darting his cool tongue into my mouth. I met him with my own, matching the steady rhythm of his fingers.
I orgasmed a second time without warning, nearly falling off the counter as pleasure liquefied my limbs.
He grunted with such satisfaction, with such a human sound, that I had to laugh breathlessly.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You are welcome to anything I have to give, Wisteria. God knows, you’ll have to take my shortcomings as well.”
I snorted quietly. “God knows?”
“I’m open to the idea of an ultimate creator. I just know that divinity had no hand in my second incarnation.”
I traced my fingers across his cheekbone, then down along his jaw. “Well … I have to believe that our choices … our deeds define us. Even if we are only … good enough.”
“Good to a few good people,” he whispered against my neck. “I can do that.”
“A conversation for another time.” I licked his neck lightly, running my tongue up his carotid artery. And for the first time since we’d entered the bathroom, he was the one who shuddered involuntarily.
I smiled against his smooth, hard skin, feeling exceedingly wicked. Then I spent some intense time figuring out where else he liked to be touched … or licked, as the case might be.
“I’ve got a half-dozen possible incidents that I could dig deeper into,” Jasmine said before I’d even made it back to my seat. “Including a fire with no probable cause that will likely be ruled arson any day now, a couple of siblings remanded to state care after their grandmother had a stroke, an unusual animal attack, multiple reports of flashing lights in an abandoned warehouse … and Jack Harris.”
Jasmine spun her laptop so I could see the screen as I settled back into my seat. “Twelve years old. Reported as running away from his group home on January 4.”
“And?” Declan spoke up though he remained inclined back in his seat. I’d thought he was asleep.
“Every window on the first floor of the facility was broken,” Jasmine said. “Completely shattered that same morning. No one knows what happened.”
I leaned across the aisle, peering at the picture of a mixed-race boy with dark-blue eyes on Jasmine’s screen. He looked closer to ten than twelve. “They could have at least updated the picture,” I said. “Are they saying Jack broke the windows?”
Jasmine shook her head. “Someone made a call to 911 from the group home number. I’m trying to get access to the recording. The police investigated, but it’s still listed as an open case. I connected the missing person report, which was filed two weeks after, to the broken window incident myself. I’m not sure the police have done so yet.”
“Does Jack have a history of running away?” Declan straightened up in his seat.
“Yeah.”
“That’s why they haven’t connected it yet.”
“What are you saying?” I asked. “That the police would write off a twelve-year-old’s disappearance?”
“I’m saying that a boy who’s run away repeatedly and is currently living in a group home has fewer advocates. That’s all.”
I leaned farther out of my chair, attempting to read the file Jasmine had found on Jack. “You think it was wild magic?”
“I think there’s a chance,” she said. “Declan broke windows multiple times when we were younger.”
“Training incidents,” her brother groused. “It’s doubtful that an unregistered fledgling witch would have the amount of magic it would take to inadvertently break every window on the ground floor.”
I glanced to Declan. Caught in a death echo I’d inadvertently reconstructed outside of a circle in October, I’d unknowingly lashed out and broken every window in a funeral home in an attempt to free myself. Still, he was right. Though that was ample evidence that such an incident could result from a burst of emotionally fueled wild magic, I was no fledgling.
I reached across the aisle to turn Jasmine’s laptop, but she batted my hand away. “Don’t you come any closer. I can’t replace my computer while we’re in the air.”
Nodding to acknowledge her concerns, I scanned the screen from a distance. “Mom dead, father unknown. He’s been in the system for six years? Why hasn’t he been adopted?”
“Keep reading.” Jasmine ran her finger up the laptop’s trackpad, scrolling down so I could read more of the file.
My gaze snagged on his date of birth as she scrolled past. “Wait,” I murmured. “Wait. Go back.”
Jasmine obligingly scrolled back up the page.
I stared at the date on the screen. September 9. “That has to just be … a typo.”
Jasmine pivoted the laptop back so it faced her. “What?”
“His birthday.”
Jasmine’s jaw dropped. “I … I didn’t bother looking closely. The missing person’s report simply lists him as twelve years old.”
“What?” Declan asked. “He isn’t?”
“Can you confirm it?” I asked. “Find his birth certificate?”
Jasmine nodded, her fingers already flying over the keys.
“I just love playing the game where you don’t answer any questions,” Declan said, exceedingly heavy on the sarcasm.
I settled back in my seat, glancing at Declan, then looking out the window. “He was born on the same day as me.”
“Okay, so? It’s a weird coincidence.” He glanced between Jasmine and me.
“Ruby Cameron was born on the same day as you,” I said.
Declan frowned. “Yeah? That’s … odd.”
“Yeah, odd.”
“And if Jack was a witch … is a witch, how did Yale track him down?” I asked. “Are there any other reports of odd incidents?”
“If. If Yale tracked him down,” Jasmine said, correcting and cautioning me at the same time. “We’re jumping to conclusions without much to base them on … other than Kett’s belief that there would be more than one kidnapping, Yale’s car rental, and some broken windows.”
“Why hasn’t he been adopted?” I asked quietly. “Because he’s … different? Because weird things happen around him when he gets upset, so he’s been deemed violent?”
“Harris isn’t a typical witch surname,” Declan said, offering counterpoints rather than outright disagreeing with me.
“Could be his father’s name,” I said. “Could be a name his mother took during a previous marriage. Could be that the witch magic skipped a generation or two.”
“Could be that the kid’s a psychopath,” Jasmine said. But her fingers stilled on her keyboard before I could counter her argument with the fact that the police report would probably have indicated Jack had broken the windows if that was the case. “It’s not a typo.” She looked up from her screen, locking her gaze to mine. “Okay. So that’s officially weird.”
I nodded. “I’ll need to get into the group home.”
“Too bad they’ll have replaced the windows by now,” Declan said. “We could get in under the guise of being a work crew.”
Jasmine snorted. “Please? Wisteria as a glazier?”
I laughed. “You think you could pass any better?”
“I’ll be the one in the car, glued to my computer.”
I leaned my head back. “If we were Kett, we’d just buy the building.”
I was totally joking as I said it, but Declan and Jasmine glanced at each other thoughtfully.
“Don’t be crazy,” I said. “We can’t buy the building.”
Jasmine’s fingers hit the keyboard again as she muttered to herself. “The group home must be funded with some combination of private and government money. It’s doubtful they’re funded well enough to own the building outright. So who does?”
“We can’t buy the building just because I need to reconstruct residual magic we don’t even know exists.”
Grumbling, Declan pulled out his phone, then levered himself out of his seat. “I’ll call Grey.”
“Good, good,” Jasmine said absentmindedly.
They were both completely ignoring me. “Absolutely not!” I cried. “The proper channels of … we’d have to submit a requisition to the Convocation.”
“Which would take weeks,” Jasmine said. “Plus, we’d have to prove that something actually occurred on the property to justify the financial outlay. And to do that, we’d need to have already obtained the reconstruction you want to cast.”
Declan wandered forward toward the galley, then poked around in the cupboards with his phone pressed to his ear.
“There has to be another, easier way,” I said.
“Like one that doesn’t involve our parents?”
“Like one where we pose as social workers or police investigators,” I said, helplessly casting around for ideas.
“Yeah? Which one of us is going to pull that off? Kett?” Jasmine giggled.
Declan stepped up beside Jasmine, phone still pressed to his ear. “Grey wants you to email him the details. He figures it’s a good tax write-off for a Fairchild trust.”
“Of course he does,” I muttered.
Jasmine hit a key on her computer. “Done!”
Declan continued looming over me with the phone pressed to his ear. Grinning, he abruptly waved a bag of chips that he’d been hiding behind his back in my face. “Corn chips!” he crowed.
I grabbed for the bag. He jerked it just out of reach.
“Really? I can get my own chips.”
“Last ones,” he said, wagging his eyebrows and the bag at me again. A muffled voice came over the speaker of his phone, pulling his attention away. He addressed Grey, stupidly taking his gaze off me. “Yep, still here.”
I lunged out of my seat for the bag. Corn chips had always been my favorite when we were kids.
Declan shouted as we stumbled sideways, grappling for the bag. He managed to tear it from my grasp, but not before we’d ripped it in half.
Corn chips rained down all over Jasmine’s head and shoulders.
“Geez, guys!” my best friend shouted.
Declan’s booming laugh reverberated around the cabin. I collapsed against him, giggling madly.
“Ah. I thought someone was being murdered,” Kett said coolly from behind us.
Jasmine gathered a handful of chips from her laptop. “With corn chips?” she asked teasingly. “Or was it the laughing that confused you, vampire?” She shoved the chips in her mouth, happily chewing while she returned to work.
“What?” Declan spoke into his phone. “No, no one is being murdered, Grey.” He sauntered away, chatting quietly with his father as if he did so every day. I still wasn’t certain whether he and Grey had ever forged a real relationship despite Dahlia’s vindictiveness — and despite the abuse Declan had suffered under Jasper’s so-called tutelage. But if he and his father had managed to bond, then Declan forgave much easier than I did.
Kett tilted his head as if waiting for something. Something from me.
I simply smiled at him, then plucked a chip from Jasmine’s abundant curls and ate it. “Salty,” I said appreciatively.
Jasmine collapsed over her laptop in a fit of giggles.
Kett raised an eyebrow, closing the space between us. “Might I suggest some real food?”
“Not sure why,” I whispered, grinning saucily. “I certainly haven’t done anything to build up an appetite.”
A frown flashed across Kett’s face, then his lips twisted questioningly as he contemplated my innuendo. He brushed his fingers against mine. The gesture, the need for contact, felt almost involuntary. As if his previous touches had all been well considered and carefully implemented.
“Still,” he said, stepping away abruptly, “I’ll have the steward put something together quickly. Before we land.” He crossed through the jet, passing Declan leaning back against the wall of the galley.
“It’s going to be okay,” Jasmine said quietly. “We can get used to the vampire. If it has to be him.”
I combed my fingers through her curls, loosening a few more of the corn chips trapped in her hair. “What do you mean?”
“When he turns you,” she said, looking at her screen rather than up at me. “It doesn’t mean you have to go away.”
I stilled. All the joy that had warmed me just moments before was draining away. “I … I think it does. I don’t think they … the Conclave … and I’m not sure …”
Jasmine reached up, grasping my hand harshly but still not looking at me. “Just ask him. Like with Ben staying with Teresa —”
“She’s a necromancer, Jasmine. And I think it only works because Ben is … weaker. Because Kett thinks he isn’t strong enough to be around other vampires yet.”
“Just ask him.” She loosened her grip on my hand, returning to typing.
I watched her hands flying across the keyboard, suddenly desperately wishing I could drop my shields and get a glimpse of her magic dancing around the laptop. But I didn’t want to inadvertently burn out her computer.
I glanced over at Declan — but stopped short when I saw Kett standing a few feet down the aisle, watching me. I was suddenly conscious of a tear trailing down my cheek, wiping it away as I turned from his dispassionate gaze.
Vampires didn’t stay with their human families. They gained immortality and invulnerability, but they didn’t get to keep their old lives. Mostly because their loved ones wouldn’t be safe. Unless your mother was a necromancer, such as in Ben’s case. Or if your maker was able to impose his own control over you, as with Yale’s brood. If I was going to be remade, it was to save Declan and Jasmine not to inadvertently tear their throats out myself.
“Does your iPad have enough protection on it that I can use it?” I asked Jasmine, keeping my tone as professional as I could.
“Yep. For a bit at least.” She handed the tablet to me.
“Could you send me everything you’ve compiled on Jack Harris so far?”
Jasmine acknowledged my request with a grunt.
I sat down diagonally across from her, lifting my gaze to Kett. He was still watching me from the aisle. I gestured toward the seat beside me, offering him what I was sure must have been a sad smile.
“Have you had any luck with a place of residence?” Kett asked, crossing up the aisle toward us and settling into the seat I’d indicated. “LA seems an unlikely place for vampires who cannot bear the sun.”
“Still stymied,” Jasmine said. “I’m running checks on Valko, Amaya, and Mania. But you know those are totally fake names.”
“Try Garrick,” Kett said.
I glanced at him. “You think they might have taken over a property owned by former vampire hunters?”
“I think it’s an unexplored connection.”
Declan threw himself into the seat opposite me, then leaned over, trying to read off Jasmine’s screen.
“Don’t you dare read over my shoulder,” she groused.
A message flashed across the screen of the iPad I was holding. I tapped it, accepting the airdropped file Jasmine had sent me.
“I can’t just sit here,” Declan said.
“Kett says the steward is bringing food,” I said absently. I began reading the files and the brief history that Jasmine had compiled for Jack Harris.
“I’m not a teenager, Wisteria,” Declan said. “Easily assuaged by the promise of food.”
Silence fell as three of the four of us read from various electronic devices.
“What kind of food?” Declan finally asked.