Bite. Part 16

"You did everything you could. More than most people would have done, I bet," Liam told her, squeezing her hand. She

squeezed back, carefully, and smiled at him. "Oh, man. I ever tell you, you've got the prettiest smile?"

"No. It seems to be one of many things you've been keeping to yourself," she teased.

"Not anymore."

"I have things to tell you, too," she admitted. "Many things."

"Well, we've got plenty of time now. We can tell each other everything."

"I can't wait. Liam, I-I don't think you're a child with a crush."

"I think that might be as close to 'I love you, too' as you will get," Sinclair said.

"Seriously. You guys. We're right here." Betsy waved at them from across the table. "I mean, make with the goo-goo eyes a little

more, why don't you? Get a room!"

"We did. And we'd better get there pretty quick, or my new girlfriend is going to go up in smoke like that little p.r.i.c.k."

"Horrible thought. Dr. Trudeau." Sinclair nodded at her, and she stood beside the booth and bowed back. Liam slid out behind

her. "Liam." Since he wasn't a subject, the king shook his hand. "Thank you again."

"It was nice meeting you," Betsy said, shaking their hands. Sophie started to bow to her, then thought better of it (the warning

glare was a tip-off). "Thanks for figuring it out, tracking down the bad guy, and killing him. I'm trying to figure out what you needed us for," she joked. "It's nice to make new friends, if nothing else," she replied, smiling shyly at the queen. "I've been alone for a while, but it was by choice...a poor one, I'm thinking now."

"Yeah, well, nice to meet you, too."

Sophie was looking at the new queen with a thoughtful expression. "I avoided this area when Nostro was in power, but now

things seem very different. I'd like to stay in touch."

"Nothing would please us more," Sinclair said. "Good night."

"One more thing," Liam said, as he and Sophie went back out to the truck. "Since I'm telling you all the deep dark secrets I've

been keeping, I've got another one."

"Yes?"

"I hate cats."

She laughed. "Be serious."

"Sophie. I hate 'em. That's why I don't have any."

"You have a dozen!"

"Well, they aren't mine. I just feed them and look after them."

"I thought you loved cats," she said, confused. "You're always bringing them to me and-oh."

"Yeah."

"Oh!"

"Uh-huh. You know, you're not as smart as you think you are."

"I guess not," she admitted, and laughed, and kissed him.

GALAHAD.

Angela Knight

S HE came out of it curled on the living room rug, sweating and nauseated. Caroline Lang swallowed hard, trying not to heave up the pint of magic, calorie-free Ben and Jerry's she'd had for dinner. The copper taste of blood drowned out any lingering chocolate, accompanied by a pulsing throb in her lower lip. She must have bitten it.

Groaning, she rolled onto her hands and knees and watched her arms shake. Her muscles were still jumping in the aftermath of the vision, and her head throbbed. The television didn't exactly help, blaring a used car commercial loud enough to wake Elvis. "Off!" Caroline gasped, casting a quick spell.

The TV instantly went silent. She sighed in the blessed stillness.

One minute she'd been licking a spoonful of Chunky Monkey and yelling answers at a particularly witless Jeopardy contestant. She'd just told him the capital of Lithuania when all h.e.l.l broke loose in her brain. Blinded by the storm of images, Caroline had reeled to her feet, tripped over the coffee table, and fallen flat on her face.

After that, she'd been subjected to fifteen solid minutes of the Vision from h.e.l.l. None of which made a d.a.m.n bit of sense. There'd been a seven-foot devil and cups of human blood, women sacrificed on stone altars, vampires grinning while they did stuff no vampire had any business doing. She'd even seen herself, flinging magic around like something out of The Lord of the Rings. But what really worried her was the guy with the sword, his handsome face cold with determination as he fought at her side.

That was all she needed. Another flipping vampire, sinking his fangs into various parts of her anatomy, including her heart. Unfortunately, she was going to need all the help she could get.

This being a witch thing was starting to seriously suck.

No way, Caroline thought, beginning to panic as the implications of her vision became painfully clear. This is a really bad idea. I haven't had the training. I'll screw it up. I'll get somebody killed. I'll get me killed. She climbed to her feet, longing to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her face. I'm only an English teacher. They can't seriously expect me to...

Yes, they could. Caroline had only been in Avalon a month, but she already knew these lunatics took the Maja's Oath seriously.

But what if she didn't tell anybody? What if she just ignored it? n.o.body had to know.

Except her.

Caroline groaned, knowing there was no way she'd just stand around with her thumb up her b.u.t.t and let people die without trying to do something about it. Of course, she didn't have a clue what to do, but one step at a time.

Okay then. She straightened her shoulders, the decision to act steadying her. Much as she hated the thought, she had to find the vampire swordsman. Luckily, that shouldn't be a problem. It felt as if the vision had tied a mystical cord around her neck, and he was somewhere out there on the other end.

She'd just have to make sure he didn't get too close. She wasn't up to another game of Bite-and-Run, not after her glorious month with Count Rat b.a.s.t.a.r.d, otherwise known as Dominic Bonnhome, who'd gotten her into this mess to begin with.

Just before she stepped outside, Caroline took one last longing look around. Over the past couple of weeks, she'd consoled her broken heart by playing with her new powers, including conjuring a houseful of French antiques. She'd since decided they were a little much for her tiny brick ranch, so when she'd seen this cool cream leather living room set on Queer Eye, she'd magicked herself a copy. She liked the results. The cream set off the gold in the cheerleading trophies tastefully displayed on top of the TV.

Now, whether a twenty-eight-year-old woman should actually display her cheerleading trophies was a different question. She'd think about that one if she survived.

Enough stalling. Time to find the vampire.

Caroline opened the door and stepped out into an alien world. To the east, a Scottish castle towered over an expansive golf course that was a dead ringer for Augusta. Just across the cobblestone street, the neighbors' Roman villa lazed in the moonlight, surrounded by an olive grove. Something tiny and glowing zipped around in the trees, reminding Caroline of the lightning bugs back home.

It was probably a fairy.

Next to those displays of conspicuous magical consumption, her pretty brick ranch looked like a double wide. It was a good thing witches and vampires didn't form homeowners' a.s.sociations, or she'd be in deep trouble for dragging down the neighborhood's property values.

When she got a little stronger in the magic department, Caroline fully intended to ditch the magical duplicate of her house in Georgia and replace it with something that would let her keep up with the Draculas. Disneyland, maybe.

Crossing her postage-stamp of a yard to the cobblestone street, she paused a moment to get her bearings. Ahead, the magical city of Avalon sprawled in all its s.h.i.+mmering, otherworldly glory beneath a sky spread with alien constellations.

Pretty as it was, it was a little unnerving.

In the s.p.a.ce of eight weeks, she'd gone from grading papers to losing her job to living on an alternate Earth in a parallel magical universe. Sometimes she got mental whiplash so bad, she had to create a dimensional gate back to Reals.p.a.ce Earth, where her parents had a house in Atlanta. An evening spent listening to Dad b.i.t.c.h about the Braves made her feel almost normal again.

One of these days she was going to have to tell them what she'd become. But any conversation that began, "Well, Dad, I picked up this vampire in a bar..." couldn't go anywhere but downhill.

C AROLINE tracked the swordsman down in an elegant brick Georgian that looked like a set in My Fair Lady. The ma.s.sive double doors opened automatically when she stepped up to them, but once inside, the building seemed as empty as the rest of Avalon. She wondered where the heck everybody was. The place had seemed crowded enough when she'd arrived with Dominic. Then, poof! Instant ghost town.

Was it something she said?

He was here, though. This close, Caroline could feel him-strength and masculinity, powerful and dark and frightening.

Her favorite flavor.

Cut that out, Caroline, she told herself sternly. You're on a fangfree diet, remember?

Following that psychic pull, she walked down a short corridor past stained gla.s.s windows, heavily carved wainscoting, and a chandelier dripping with crystals shaped like daggers. Yet another set of intimidating doors swung slowly open. Caroline resisted the temptation to give them a magical creak.

The first thing she saw was a walnut bar the length of an aircraft carrier, equipped with more bra.s.s than the Boston Pops and more crystal than Tiffany's. Around it stood walnut tables and ma.s.sive armchairs upholstered in oxblood leather. Other than the swordsman, there was no one in sight.

He sat in an armchair wearing a full suit of plate armor that gleamed gold in the dim lighting. A great helm sat on the table at his

elbow, next to a pair of gauntlets. His long sword leaned against the arm of the chair, its hilt encrusted with gems.

d.a.m.n, he looked more gorgeous and romantic than he had in the vision. Black hair lay tangled around shoulders broad enough for an Olympic gymnast. His face was equally broad and exotic, with an arrogant Roman nose and cheekbones so high and sharp, they could grate female hearts into pate.

He turned to look at her as she entered, one brow lifted, his eyes a smoky blue that gave his harshly handsome face a hint of the poet.

All of which provided a marked contrast to the bottle of Jack Daniels he balanced on one knee.

"You just sit around in full armor?" d.a.m.n, she'd kill for a can opener. "Doesn't it chafe?"

"It's enchanted. I've worn less comfortable Armani." The swordsman squinted at her through the smoke curling from his thick black stogie. Instead of the usual cigar reek, it smelled masculine and exotic, a hint of magic giving the smoke a faint glow. "Don't believe I know you, kid. And I thought I knew every Maja in the Mageverse." White teeth flashed. "Most of 'em in the biblical sense." Flicking ashes into a crystal ashtray sitting beside his helm, he took another puff. His hand was big, square, and scarred, but his lips looked impossibly erotic as they closed around the cigar.

She dragged her wandering attention away from all the carnal ideas that mouth gave her. "I'm Caroline Lang." And how was she

supposed to explain the situation without sounding like an even bigger idiot than usual? "I'm new here."

The swordsman stood to shake her extended hand. His touch did devastating things to her concentration. "h.e.l.l of a time to join the business." He nodded at the nearest chair. "I'm Galahad. Have a seat."

"Galahad? The Galahad?" When he lifted an amused brow, she mechanically moved to take the chair he'd indicated.

Gorgeous old tales spun through her memory. Sir Galahad, son of Lancelot and knight of the Round Table. So pure of spirit, he alone of all Arthur's knights was fit to find the Holy Grail, the cup of Christ.

The legends had neglected to mention he was a vampire.