Читать книгу Be Mine Forever - Rosemary Laurey - Страница 7

Havering, Yorkshire. The following February.

“Are you sure?” Stella Corvus, née Schwartz, looked up from dropping teaspoons of cookie batter on a baking sheet.

Angela smiled. Stella had to be the only vampire in the country, maybe on the planet, who baked cookies on a regular basis. Come to that, she was probably the only one with a kid. “No, I’m not sure, but I’ve got to do something. Tom won’t share anything he’s discovered—if there is anything to share. I feel I’m at the same point as when Vlad found us in the park.”

“You’re a good bit beyond that.”

“I know. I’ll be eternally grateful to you and the rest of the colony. You given me a home, clothes, sanity, a job when I needed one. But I can’t stand this anonymity much longer. I want to be more than a name I picked out of the phone book. I look in the mirror and have no idea who I’m staring at.”

“At least you can look in the mirror! Ghouls have that over vampires. I live in dread, I’m going around with my hair on end and smudged lipstick.”

Angela chuckled. Stella seldom wore lipstick, and her new, cropped hairstyle always looked sleek. “Please understand, Stella. I need to know who I am. I’m falling in love with Tom. What if I’m married? Have a lover somewhere looking for me?” She sighed. “I used to worry I’d abandoned children or babies, but Justin reassured me there.”

“Yup, it’s handy having a doctor in the house.”

“You’ve got a good man there, or rather a good vampire. I keep thinking, perhaps Tom and I…” She sighed.

“That’s why you left him?”

“I left him because I got sick of Tom Kyd telling me he’d take care of everything. He followed up leads. He decided if they were red herrings. He studied the old lore books in the library. He declared what was fact and what was fable. He drove me bonkers!”

“I can see why.” Stella pulled up a stool beside Angela. “They have a way of taking over. I’m not sure if it’s testosterone, the ‘me vampire’ act, or both.”

“At least you can ‘me vampire’ back!”

“You could try ‘me ghoul.’”

“Doesn’t quite carry the same weight. Not yet.”

Stella raised her eyebrows. “Not yet?”

“If I can look Tom straight in the eye, and tell him who I am, he’ll have to do something about his ‘poor, little ghoul’ attitude.”

“Any idea how you’re going about it?”

“Stomping the sidewalks. Tom’s looking for the answer in old tomes. I’m going to search the here and now.”

“He’s used the computer too, just as Kit has.”

“Yes, and every so-called lead is a dead end. I have one clue: my leather coat. I want to go down to Totnes and search for the shop—Mariposa, according to the label. Maybe they keep records of customers.” She sighed. “I doubt it’s that easy. But it’s a chance and I’m grabbing it. If it’s a dead end, at least I’ve done something.”

“Maybe it isn’t a dead end, but you could be in for a shock. You don’t know what you will discover.”

“I really doubt I’m a long-lost heiress. More like something very ordinary like a teacher or secretary. But at least I’d know. It might be fun to look Tom in the eye and say, ‘I’m Tallulah Bloggs and I’m a cocktail waitress.’”

“If that ends up as the name your mother gave you, you’d better stick with the one you picked out of the phone book.”

Angela’s smile faded. “That’s what’s so hard. Hell, I don’t even know if I had a mother!”

“You must have, once upon a time.” They were both silent a few moments, until the buzz of the timer distracted Stella for a few seconds. She pulled out one cookie tray, and slid in the next batch. “Don’t forget the reason behind everyone’s caution. Somewhere out there still lurks the vampire who made you.”

Not a thing she was likely to forget in a hurry. “The odds are he’s the other side of the Atlantic.”

“He could get on a plane as easily as we did.”

Angela nodded. “Trust me, Stella. I’ll never forget the horror and terror we fled from. If that monster were anywhere near, and I mean within miles, I’d know.” Just thinking about it made her shudder.

“Maybe. But we can hide ourselves when we want to. Be careful.” Stella started easing the cooling cookies off the sheet. “It might be wise to leave before Justin gets back from this conference. He’s bound to give you every bit as much flack as Tom.”

Good point.

Stella picked up the mixing bowl, but as she turned on the water, Angela grabbed it. “No point in letting good cookie dough go to waste.” She scraped it half clean before she realized Stella was eying her. “Miss it, do you? I’m so wrapped up in myself, I forgot that you, too…”

“Had a life-altering change?” Stella smiled. “I soon got over the shock. Given the alternative to being vampire, it didn’t take long to accept the inconveniences. But I do miss cookie dough. And ice cream. And chocolate.” She sighed. “No point in going there.” She snapped the lid on the flour canister and put it away.

Angela held out a spoon. “Sure you won’t have a taste?”

Stella shook her head “Thanks, but no way. I tried it once. It tasted of nothing, and for days afterward, I had the awful sensation of a lump stuck in my throat.”

Angela reached for a still-warm cookie. Life as a ghoul did have its compensations, and Stella made great cookies.

“Bye, Sam.” Stella watched her son as he crossed the crowded playground and joined a group of other nine-and ten-year-olds. Satisfied he was safe inside the school gates, she smiled at Angela. “Here we go.” She turned down the village street and headed for the Moors and York. “How long are you planning on going?”

“Maybe a couple of days. I’ll either find out something or I won’t. I don’t plan on hanging around.” With a bit of luck, she might be back before Justin. He was liable to be just as unreasonable as Tom. Male vampires tended to act as if they ran the planet. “I don’t want you catching flack over this. Do you think Justin will cut up rough?”

Stella shrugged. “If he does, it won’t be the first time, or the last. Quit worrying! And for Abel’s sake, take care of yourself. I don’t want you ending up in the same condition as when Vlad found you.”

“I’ll be careful,” Angela promised, half smiling to herself at hearing her friend invoke Abel’s name. Stella fitted so easily into a vampire existence. She couldn’t help but envy her. Vampires had the colony for support and company; being a ghoul was an empty pain in the patootie. Not much point in complaining. Better up stakes and do something about it. Good thing she hadn’t said the last bit aloud. Vampires could get touchy.

“Sure you’ll be okay?” Stella asked as the train drew into the platform.

“I’ll be fine, honest. You know where I’m staying?”

Stella nodded. “The Royal Oak. Call me. Promise?”

“I’ll tell you everything I find out. Drive carefully, and let’s hope the rain keeps up.” Angela worried that Stella would get stranded in sunlight. Not that there was a lot of chance of that in February, but…

“The car protects me.”

“You should have just dropped me and driven home. I’ll be fine.”

Stella shook her head. “I wanted to be able to assure Tom, if he asks, that I saw you safely on the train.” But he’d still throw a hissy fit. Another reason to get back quickly.

A signal failure outside Birmingham added fifty-seven minutes to the six-hour journey. By the time Angela stepped down onto the platform at Totnes, she was ravenously hungry. Train food wasn’t the sort to sustain a ghoul. She had to find meat, probably should look for her hotel, and wanted above all else to scour the leather shops. The town looked small. How hard would it be to find one shop?

Harder than she anticipated.

The clerk at the Royal Oak, a woman called Sarah, hadn’t heard of Mariposa but admitted she didn’t live in Totnes. She drove in every day from Kingsbridge. She suggested Angela walk up Fore Street and look for herself, and gave her a small street map. Seemed there were only three main streets—Fore, High, and Castle. Mariposa had to be on one of those. With a bit of luck she’d find it this afternoon, return in the morning, be back before Justin, and never be missed.

Food was her next most pressing need. Catty-corner from the hotel, near the river, was a butcher shop, not a full-scale grocery store but a narrow shop front with a window display of sausages, chops, roasts, and steaks set out on a marble slab. Couldn’t be handier.

Angela indulged in local venison steak, lamb chops, and organic corn-fed chicken. Famished as she was, she hauled her booty back to her hotel room. Chewing on a raw steak in public was not the way to pass as mortal. Putting aside the chicken and half the chops for later, she ate, her energy returning as she chewed and swallowed. Rounding off with a cup of coffee, courtesy of the kettle and supplies in her room, she wrapped up the leftover bones—no point in leaving them in the room for a curious maid to find—and set off. Armed with her map and resolution, she started up Fore Street in a soft Devon drizzle.

It was later than she realized. The afternoon was already fading, and some of the shops were closing. Interesting old shops lined the steep street, but none was called Mariposa. A clock arch spanned the street halfway up. Different enough. Surely she should remember it? She didn’t. It was a fascinating curiosity—something England seemed to be full of—but as a trigger for her fragmented memory, it was useless. She walked on up the hill, promising herself she’d stop at the used bookstores after she found the all-important Mariposa.

At the top of the hill, Castle Street veered off to the right. Twice she walked up and down the steep, twisting street with its mix of old cottages and shops, but there was no sign of a leather shop. She darn well was not giving up. Tomorrow, when the shops opened, she’d ask in every single one. Even if, as she was beginning to suspect, Mariposa had closed, someone would remember it.

It was close to full dark, and the drizzle showed no signs of stopping. She might as well save her efforts for the morning and get out of the dark and the rain.

She was halfway back up the street, and more than ready to be back in the warmth of her hotel room, when she passed a little shop she’d half-noticed earlier: Crystals and Dreams. Angela paused briefly to look in the bow window hung with crystals, candles, and hand-painted scarves. No leather jackets, but there were two pairs of soft leather slippers in a corner.

A bell jangled as Angela pushed the door open and stepped into a cluttered shop that smelled of joss sticks and pot. She looked around, not sure how she recognized the two smells but certain the hand-rolled cigarette in the woman’s hand wasn’t made of best Virginia Bright. Not that she had any idea what Virginia Bright was; like so many snatches of memory, it just poked her mind. But Angela felt pretty certain Virginia Bright was a whole lot more legal that the sweetly smouldering contents of the gray-haired woman’s toke.

“Can I help you?” She smiled at Angela but didn’t move from the bentwood rocker.

Angela postponed her mission to find a leather shop as she glanced around the little store. “I’d like to browse, if you’re not closing.”

“Not to worry, my love.” The rocker creaked in the quiet. “You have a good look around. Anything special you want?”

Other than her true identity? “I’m not sure.” Something about this cramped shop that made her feel—comfortable, as if she belonged. Odd thought! She’d been comfortable at Stella and Justin’s. They and Sam treated her like another member of their family. Tom’s London house had impressed her. She’d wandered from room to room, marveling at the size and luxury, but not overwhelmed. She’d felt at ease among the Adam fire surrounds and the antique furniture. But in this overstocked shop full of the scents of incense and cannabis, she felt surrounded by familiar things. Obviously, she was affected by secondhand inhalation of illegal substances.

Angela moved from a display of crystals to boxes of candles in all colors, jars of dried flower petals, and sachets of herbs. The smells of lavender and rosemary, pine and anise, tugged at her blocked memories. Or perhaps her senses were heightened in the close atmosphere of the overheated shop. Outside, a gust of wind blew rain against the small windowpanes. Better in here than getting drenched outside, if the owner didn’t mind her using the shop as a place to stay dry.

Moving away from the shelves of herbs and jars, a display of tarot cards twanged Angela’s fogged memory. As she reached for a deck, recognition came in a rush. She read cards! Not these pictorial ones, but true cards. She could because…The floor seemed to shift under her feet. She grasped the table as she fought to stay upright and retain the fading shreds of memories.

“Hang on!” a voice called from a distance. “Came over funny did you? Here, have a seat.” With more strength than her gray-streaked hair suggested, the woman had Angela by the waist, steadying her until she plonked down in the rocking chair. “Keep your head down a mo…” She pushed Angela’s head between her knees.

Ungainly and undignified, but effective. Her head cleared fast, and as the pressure on her shoulders eased, Angela raised her head to meet a pair of worried, dark eyes. It was the first time she’d actually looked closely at the woman. Her complexion was almost Hispanic in tone, and her long, dark hair was abundantly streaked with gray, but her face was alert, intelligent, and wise.

“Take it easy, my love. You came over faint.”

“I’m okay.” It was a lie but…

“You sit tight there and I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”

“Please don’t bother.” Surely she could stand up and go. It wasn’t that far back to the hotel.

“No bother!” The woman shook her head. “I have a pot brewing in the back room. I made it just a minute before you walked in. I always have a cup this time of day. You stay put.” The last came out as an order. Angela stayed put. Maybe a nice, warm drink would help. She’d learned one new thing this afternoon—ghouls could faint.

Angela sat back, the chair creaking in a reassuring way as she rocked. She looked down at her lap and noticed the deck of cards in her hand. Not these. She wanted simple telling cards. Ones like she’d always used…

“Here we are.” The woman returned with a small tray. “Milk and sugar?”

“Please.” Angela let go of the cards, and took the mug, closing her hands around its warmth. The woman pulled in a straight-backed chair from the room behind and sat beside her.

“Cheers,” she said and drank. “Since we’re sharing a cuppa, I’m Meg Merchant.” She set her mug down and held out her hand. It was strong and her handshake was steady.

“I’m Angela Ryan.”

“Welcome to this part of the world, Angela. Come far, have you?”

“From Yorkshire.”

Meg nodded and sipped her tea.

Tasting the warm, sweet tea had her remembering how Tom had convinced her to try sugar and milk in tea. Tom! Angela fingered the jet heart she wore around her neck. It would protect her, Tom had insisted when he gave it to her, by linking her to the earth. She felt a pang of guilt at absconding, but not for long. This was her life and her past, and it was her job to delve, and with a bit of luck, uncover.

Had she been frowning? Talking to herself? Meg was watching her with speculative light in her dark-rimmed eyes. “In some sort of trouble?” she asked after a long silence.

“Not really.” Even if she wanted to tell this old woman, where could she begin?

“Something happened to you.” Meg sounded concerned, almost anxious. “Your aura,” she said after a pause, and shook her head.

Heaven help her! A New Age grannie! A nosy, New Age grannie! But kind and thoughtful. “I had an accident and lost my memory.”

Meg shook her head. “Lost your memory! More like someone tried to steal your mind and soul!”

A chill settled in Angela’s bones. How could this old woman possibly suspect? “Just amnesia.” Meg’s eyebrows shot up. She said nothing, just waited, her body language expressing skepticism. That irked. “What’s wrong with my aura?”

“You don’t have one. Not to speak of. Never seen anything like it in my life.” She paused. “You’ve nothing, not even gray or black. Just nothing. When you fingered your locket, I saw pink flashes near your heart. A little while back as you touched those cards, you had some faint flashes, but other than that…” Intent eyes met Angela’s. “You didn’t lose your memory; more like someone took it.”

Meg was so darn close to the truth, Angela’s heart went tight. Who was this old woman? “It was an accident. That’s all.” Meg was as hard to convince as a judge. “Seeing the cards brought back a memory. My stepmother taught me to read them.” How did she know? Did she even have a stepmother? Yes, and she’d taught her to read cards, and other skills. Angela glanced at the deck still in her lap. “She used a plain deck.”

Sounded like blathering to Angela, but it made sense to Meg. Putting down her cup with a soft clink, she stood up and went over to the shelf. “Here,” she said, “this what you’re talking about?”

It was. Angela broke the seal and tapped the deck out of the box. The shiny, new cards fanned out easily. Just as she remembered, the numbers were only printed on one end. “Yes.” She snapped the fan shut. “I had a deck just like this”—she wasn’t sure how she knew but she was certain. “How much are they?”

Meg shook her head. “You see what they tell you. If you can do nothing with them, just bring them back. If they let you read, then we’ll talk payment.”

“You’re very trusting.”

Meg shook her head. “You won’t cheat me. Maybe the cards can help you find what you’ve lost.”

Angela wanted to race back the Royal Oak and lay out a spread and…and what? She had no idea but felt a burning need to find out. Her fingers tingled where she held the deck. There was power in them, and she needed to…

“Finish your tea,” Meg said. “The rain’s eased off. Make sense for you to get back before it starts again.”

Good advice. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Take your time. I’ll be here when you need me.”

Angela was so occupied with the promise of the cards in her hand, she was on her way out the door before she remembered why she’d entered the shop in the first place.

“Meg,” she said, turning back. “Perhaps you can help. A friend told me there was a wonderful place in Totnes to buy leather things. I noticed the slippers in your window.”

Meg smiled. “They come from Bangladesh, not local at all.”

“What about a leather shop called Mariposa?”

Meg frowned, as if thinking. “Can’t say I know one, not here. Ask old Mr. Lee up the High Street. He does shoe and leather repairs. Been here forever. He might know.”

It was grasping at straws, but a straw was more than thin air.

“Where is his shop?”

“Up to the top of the road, turn right at the corner and you’ll find him on the right, along a little ways. But he’ll be closed by now.”

Darn. Morning seemed a long time away. But Mr. Lee would still be there. If he’d been in business for as long as Meg claimed, he was unlikely to disappear overnight. “I’ll ask him. Thanks for the tea, and the cards.”

“My pleasure. I enjoyed the company. Take care of yourself. Wear that locket of yours.”

Angela caught the shiny black stone between her thumb and finger. “I will.”

Meg smiled. “Someone gave you that for protection. Jet, right?”

“Yes.” And that was all she was saying. “It was a gift from a vampire” might be a bit much, even here among the crystals and the element bowls.

“Take care!” Meg said as Angela closed the door.

Angela was halfway down Fore Street before she wondered what element bowls were for and how she recognized them.

“You let her leave! Just like that!” Justin couldn’t credit it. Thank Abel, he’d come back a day early! Three days in Reykijavik for a medical conference and Angela absconds, with Stella’s blessing and connivance. Did they have no understanding?

Apparently not. Stella looked unconcerned. “Did you have a good conference?”

“Hang the conference! Angela’s gone off, Abel only knows where, and…”

“I know exactly where she is. She’s at the Royal Oak in Totnes, checking on that coat of hers.”

Devon! Abel help them all! The pair of them had no idea!

“I have her hotel and phone number. She’ll be back in a couple of days.”

He wished he shared Stella’s optimism. But the West Country! “I can’t believe you abetted her! Didn’t you think?”

“Hey!” Sam ran in from the kitchen and pushed between them. “Don’t you dare yell at my mom!” He was nose to Justin’s enameled tiepin, but ready to take him on. Even his little fists were clenched and raised.

“It’s okay, Sam.” Stella rested a hand on her son’s tense shoulder. “Justin and I are discussing something. That’s all.”

“He was yelling at you.” Sam frowned up at Justin with all the machismo of his nine years. “He’d better not try it again.”

Justin fought back the smile that Sam would take as an insult. “Sam, your mother’s right. We’re just discussing. I’m not going to hurt her.”

Sam gave no quarter. “You were yelling at her.”

“I wasn’t, Sam. Not really.”

“You were.” Stella folded her arms across her breasts and gave him a half smile. “That was yelling.”

He’d take her word for it. “Apologies, my love.” He bent down so Sam was eye, rather than tie, level. “Sorry, Sam. How about I promise not to yell at your mother, and you go back and finish your homework? Stella and I need to talk.”

“About Angela going away?”

“Angela—has—not—gone—away.” Stella enunciated each word deliberately. “She went on a trip for a few days. She’ll be back. Soon.”

Justin restrained the urge to shake her. She had no idea of the dangers that lurked once they left their own territory. “Stella, we have to talk.”

“Just a minute.” She watched as Sam walked back into the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder as he went, obviously keeping an eye on both of them.

Once Sam was out of sight, Justin looked at Stella. He loved her to the point of insanity and she’d have him right there if she pulled many stunts like this. And when Tom heard about this, the universe would crackle. “Let’s go in my study. This is serious, and I don’t want Sam to overhear and worry.”