Garnet Lacey - Dead If I Do Part 1

Dead If I Do.

Tate Hallaway.

Acknowledgments.

It would be easy to forget, after so many under my belt, the people who make each book possible. Thanks must go to my editor, Anne Sowards, and her loyal a.s.sistant, Cameron Dufty. Also much, much continued grat.i.tude to my tireless agent, Martha Millard, without whom none of this would be possible.

My writers' group, Wyrdsmiths, deserves praise (and credit for all the truly clever bits): Eleanor Arnason, Bill Henry, Doug Hulick, Naomi Kritzer, Kelly McCullough, and Sean M. Murphy. Extra special thanks goes to Naomi, Sean, and my partner, Shawn Rounds, for reading the first draft at the midnight hour and making this book that much better. Also in need of a shout -out are the very fine folks at Amore Coffee who keep me caffeinated and in quiz questions: Cathy, Paul, Cole, Glen, Zollie, Michele, and the rest!

First Aspect: Conjunction

KEY WORDS: Coming Together, Beginnings

Introducing your fiance to your parents for the first time is always tough, but when you add that he's a vampire . . . ?

Plus, add into that awkwardness that my parents and I have been benignly estranged since I turned eighteen, and I haven 't shared as much as a postcard in all that time, well . . .

Let's just say: oy.

The four of us sat in a darkened booth at Porta Bella's, a place voted by the local newspaper as one of the best romantic restaurants in Madison, Wisconsin. Sebastian and I occupied one of the tiny, pewlike wooden benches and my folks the other.

Darkly colored tapestries hung on the walls. A candle flickered in a cut -gla.s.s container at the center of the wooden table. Pine garlands accented with gla.s.s icicles draped the wood beams of the ceiling.

The atmosphere at our table was as chilly as it was outside. Though the waitress had brought crusty bread and garlic-flavored oil, it remained untouched. We all hid our faces behind the red leather menus. Occasionally, my mother would peep out from behind hers to stare at the garlic and glance at Sebastian like she expected him to burst into flames.

Honestly, I hadn't meant for everything to come spilling out like that during the introductions.

All last night I'd thought about clever ways to naturally insinuate the topic of my lover 's vampirism into everyday discussions about the price of chicken feed and egg production, but instead, just as soon as we met at the restaurant, I 'd blurted, "This is Sebastian Von Traum, my fiance. He's a vampire."

My mother had simply said, "Isn't that interesting," in that Minnesotan way that implied I'd made a major faux pas. I blame the state's Norwegian heritage that Minnesotans tend to be so polite that they won't say what they mean.

Even so, silence had followed. No one had spoken a word for the last ten minutes and counting.

"So . . ." I started, but no one looked up from their menus.

I sighed and searched my parents for a safe avenue to start a discussion-any discussion-about. My folks are farmers, but they're also pot-smoking hippies. Even though it had gone gray and thin, my dad still wore his hair long and straight; it hung in a tight braid down to the small of his back. A ball cap advertising some organic seed company kept his bangs from falling in his sun- brightened and weathered face. His plain cotton s.h.i.+rt revealed forearms that might have belonged to a younger man but for the dusting of fine white hairs. Where a watch usually would be he wore several woven friends.h.i.+p bracelets.

Mom wore a hand-dyed dress and a necklace she made herself with leather strips and beads imported from Africa. Her hair was cut short and utilitarian, but her shoes were Italian leather. She sported almost no makeup, just a little light brown mascara that highlighted pale blue eyes-the color mine used to be before the dark G.o.ddess Lilith possessed me . . . another something I hadn't quite gotten around to talking to my folks about.

Though she hadn't said anything about my eyes, my mother had noticed my hair. She'd fussed and clucked about the pixie cut when I'd met them at their hotel last night. Finally she'd shaken her head and said, "The black dye just makes you look so severe, dear." Dad pointed out he'd hardly recognized me, and he'd thought I was "some hooligan coming to cause mischief." I probably should have told them I was intentionally in disguise, what with the Vatican witch hunters potentially still out there trying to kill me, but instead, all my teenage rebellion came flowing back, and I'd basically told them all the cool kids were doing it.

You can imagine the conversation that followed.

I had really hoped today would be different.

"How about them Packers?" I ventured, trying to make a joke. To ask about the local football team, in this case, the Green Bay Packers, was a well-seasoned conversation gambit, on a par with "How's it going?" and "What's up?" I knew my folks weren't into sports, but they should get the funny and acknowledge my attempt to get conversation rolling again.

But my dad just grunted, and my mother rolled her eyes. Sebastian, at least, gave me a little smile. See, now, we could talk about how awesome Sebastian was, if my folks weren't all hung up on the vampire thing. I mean, what parents in their right minds wouldn't want their only daughter married to a man this well -heeled and nicely put together? Sebastian's shoulder-length black hair was pinned back at the nape of his neck. He was perfectly clean-shaven, which was actually kind of unusual for him, but he'd gone all out for tonight. You'd think he'd be every parent's dream in his gray silk s.h.i.+rt and black dress pants.

I should never have mentioned the vampirism.

Sebastian, I could tell, brooded a bit. Because he could walk around in the daylight, Sebastian completely pa.s.sed as human.

He hated it when I felt the urge to out his supernatural origins. In fact, we hadn't actually gotten around to agreeing that we would tell my folks. He'd said he thought the whole thing was on a need-to-know basis and, frankly, it was no one's business but our own.

Right now I could totally see his point.

"The linguine's good," I offered into the stillness.

Without looking over the menu, Sebastian added, "Yes, I recommend any of their pastas. They make them fresh on the premises."

It was a noncommittal show of support from Sebastian. I could tell he was still mad at me, but he was willing to put up a united front to the parents for my sake.

"I'm getting the goat cheese-filled ravioli," I said, a note of cheer creeping into my voice. Maybe if I kept talking about mundane things, everyone would pretend to forget what I'd said earlier, and we could all have a do-over.

My father's menu hit the table with a snap. "So, Sebastian, is it?" My father's voice was full of judgment. His shoulders squared against the hard back of the bench, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What is it you do for a living, then?"

The then implying "since you're some kind of freak." I could hear it in my father's tone.

I chewed the edge of my fingernail, my eyes darting to Sebastian anxiously.

Folding his menu, Sebastian very carefully and deliberately tucked it under the bread plate. He laced his fingers on the tabletop in front of him and leaned forward slightly, like a CEO brokering the big deal. "I'm a car mechanic."

My dad nodded, considering. "That's a pretty good living."

Mom was less sure. "Did you go to college, dear? Education is very important in our family."

Which was a nice little dig at me, of course. I'd gotten a degree in English, but I was in the middle of a long, extended, all-but- thesis master's when the Vatican paramilitaries a.s.sa.s.sinated my coven and sent me into hiding. I 'd always figured my folks disapproved of my career in bookselling, even though I now owned Mercury Crossing, the premier occult bookstore and herb emporium of Madison.

"Sebastian has a Ph.D. and teaches an extension cla.s.s at the UW in herbalism," I offered, hoping my folks would choose to bond with him over the growing of things.

"If you can teach, why work on cars?" My mother again. Despite the fact that she and Dad were farmers, she was a sn.o.b when it came to collar colors. She preferred white.

"Magic," Sebastian said with a nod and a smile. "Alchemy."

I loved him for that answer, but I could see the confusion in my parents' eyes. He'd told me the same thing when we first met, and I'd understood instantly that he was talking about elemental magic: fire, air, water, earth. My mom looked to me for a translation. My dad gave a little snort that seemed to say, "Yep, crazy as a loon."

"No, seriously," I started. "Carburetors bring in air, see, and spark plugs, fire. Gas and steel are earth-" Thank the G.o.ddess the waitress interrupted my attempt to "clarify" Sebastian's comment.

My father opened his mouth and, afraid he was going to ask for more time so that he could grill Sebastian about his answer, I yelled out my choice, "Goat cheese-filled ravioli for me!"

"Honestly, Garnet. No need to shout, she's only right here," my mother admonished.

"Sorry," I muttered, my cheeks brightening to crimson. Could I feel any more like a four-year-old?

Somehow we managed to talk about the weather before the food arrived. For my parents, this hardly const.i.tuted small talk.

The fall had been dry again, so all the Finlayson farmers were hoping for a heavy snowpack now that the winter had started. Even though my folks only raise chickens, the ins and outs of the climate are serious considerations. Until I lived in Wisconsin, I never realized how Minnesotans use the term weather. "That was some weather that blew in last night," my dad said. "How many inches did you get?"

Enough that my arms still ached from using the s...o...b..ower the full length of Sebastian's driveway, but I'd done my homework.

I'd had the news on at breakfast just so I could answer this question authoritatively. "Six inches in some places, they said."

My mother made a comment about the previous season 's drought, and Sebastian mentioned how much snowier he remembered winters being generally. We were all getting along nicely for the moment. I should have realized that meant we were doomed.

I noticed the smell first. A combination of rotten meat and sickly sweet flowers, the scent tickled the edges of my nose. I had to hold back a sneeze. Looking around for an open kitchen door or exposed garbage can, I saw nothing. I chalked it up to some odoriferous anomaly and was returning my attention to the riveting discussion of snow, when a figure lurched toward us.

A low hiss caused everyone at the table to look up.

"I curse you," said a woman in a harsh whisper. Still dressed for outside, she had on a knee-length down coat, and snow clung in clumps to her windswept long black hair. She could have been beautiful in a haughty, aristocratic way, except for her too-thin face-plus the dead-bluish lips and wild eyes, which stared possessively at Sebastian.

I might have mistaken her for some random, deranged druggie, but that Lilith growled low in the back of my throat. I knew instantly this woman was some kind of creature of magic and a dangerous one at that. Given the smell and the trouble we've had in the past, my first thought was, Zombie!

"Tereza!" Sebastian said at the same moment.

"Tereza?" I looked at Sebastian for confirmation. Tereza was his . . . what? Betrothed? Fiancee? Only she was supposed to be, well, not quite dead, but definitely not up and moving around.

Well, this was certainly awkward.

"Who is this?" my mother asked, clearly miffed that I hadn't instantly offered introductions.

"Uh . . ." I was really hoping for help from Sebastian here, but he was still gaping, openmouthed, at Tereza. "Well, this is Tereza. She's Sebastian's . . . uh. Sebastian and she . . . uh . . . Tereza is Sebastian's late-really late-uh, almost wife?"

How was I supposed to explain Tereza anyway? Back in eighteen-something she'd been dying of consumption, and Sebastian had tried to turn her into a vampire. Since his vampirism came from alchemy and not from a Sire of the blood, he failed-kind of.

She didn't die. But she didn't exactly live either.

"She's mostly dead," I added. "That is, until recently, she was . . ."

I was stumbling over my words so much that I was actually kind of grateful when Tereza lunged at Sebastian, trying to kill him.

Second Aspect: Trine

KEY WORDS: Active, Idealistic

Tereza had her hands around Sebastian's neck. The bread and the oil spilled all over my father, who'd leaped up to avoid the candle, which now rolled across the table, dripping wax everywhere.

An inhuman snarl escaped my lips. Lilith coursed through my veins like liquid fire. In a flash, I found myself on top of the table, ready to grab Tereza with all of Lilith's might and toss my rival across the room.

Then I caught my mother's eye. My mother stared at me in horror, like the killer zombie ex -girlfriend was somehow all my fault.

Not so long ago, no force on earth could stop Lilith once she 'd awoken. Now the ice in my mother's eyes cooled Lilith's reaction. I felt Lilith's strength deep inside my bones and muscles, but the full force of her fearsomeness retracted at my response to my mother's well-honed glare. The Queen of h.e.l.l had been stopped cold by "the look."

Just then Sebastian gave a push that sent Tereza cras.h.i.+ng into the waitress bringing our food. The two of them toppled into the neighboring table. Plates broke with a crash. Hot food slopped everywhere. People shouted. My dad cursed. The glow of camera phones shone all over the restaurant.

Great. Now this little family disaster would be all over YouTube by morning.

Sebastian stood up. He rubbed his neck with a dark look in his eyes. He talked, and it took me a second to realize that he wasn't speaking English.

Tereza held her hands up in supplication. Sebastian snapped out another command.

Her dead, gla.s.sy eyes slid to me. She whispered something in that foreign language, and I felt a chill settle on my shoulders.

Lilith flared defensively, ready to strike if Tereza made another move to attack.

Instead, she went toward the door, scuttling like a crab in a jerky, too-fast motion. It was unnatural and creepy. My folks and I watched her go with our mouths agape.

My stomach twisted. Even though Tereza had gone, I felt light-headed and a bit nauseous. It might have been the sensation of the adrenaline flus.h.i.+ng out of my system or the smell of all the spilled food on my empty stomach, but I couldn't shake a sickening sensation that something was wrong.

Lilith noticed it too. She hung at the surface of my consciousness like a watchdog ready to strike. I had to take several breaths to convince Lilith to go back into what pa.s.sed for hiding these days.

Then, Sebastian shrugged, as though he witnessed this sort of thing all the time.

No one in the room moved. We were all stunned silent.

"We should go," he said. His words broke the spell.

"Uh, yeah," I said, suddenly hyperaware that I was standing on top of the table. I slunk quickly back into my seat.

My mother cleared her throat as I was sliding out of the booth. The sound stopped me cold. "I think you have some apologizing to do first," she said, her eyes flicking in the direction of the waitress and the patrons who were untangling themselves.

But Sebastian was already graciously helping the waitress to her feet and making offers to pay for damages. Trying not to glance at my mother for approval, I told anyone who would listen that I was very, very, very sorry for everything. Several times.

My father watched the whole thing with his hands on his hips and a shake of his head. I felt completely chagrined.