Guarded

Chapter One

Shooting that cheating son of a bitch gave me a satisfying thrill. The moon was out, and scraggy branches obscured my cross-hairs, but I still got the bastard dead to rights.

My calf muscles contracted in a spasm. Crouching for twenty minutes would do that, I guess. I pushed myself up and shook out my legs. Save for the whistling of the wind through the trees, the park was quiet at this time of the night. The perfect place for clandestine activities. My boss called these night jobs ‘character building exercises,’ whereas I called them plain depressing. Our filing cabinets were a veritable cemetery for marriages, and my victim’s name would soon decorate the next tombstone. My father could have landed there if my mother were a less trusting type.

Not the kind of thing I liked to be reminded of.

I adjusted the angle of my camera. How in the world did Mr. Wenthorpe lure his mistresses? Not to be cruel, but with his squat build and hawkish nose, my money was on expensive gifts rather than looks.

A strong hand clamped my shoulder. Why are you spying on me?

I wheeled around. Parker Reeves. My neighbor’s broad ribcage rose like a living, breathing mountain.

My heart thumped in my chest, and I retreated a few inches. Here was a man who should have no trouble attracting the ladies. Big brown eyes. A hint of stubble on a slightly rounded chin. His figure filling his jeans and tee nicely, with arms built for wicked dreams.

Nope, I wasn’t going to go there.

I wasn’t spying. I switched off the camera.

What, and the camera is a fashion accessory? His glare folded his features into something feral. Yeah, right.

How could I spy on you? I didn’t even know you were here. I packed confidence into my words, even though my body urged me to scram.

Are you going to hand me that memory card voluntarily?

You got this all wrong. I’m here for that guy. I pointed into the darkness.

He peered across to the empty bench, where my camera’s victim had minutes ago slathered his hands over his curvaceous date. My pulse jigged. The guy had disappeared. A snarl erupted from Parker’s throat.

I can prove it. I fumbled with my camera and rewound the frames to Mr. Wenthorpe mid-pucker. Satisfied? I held the display up.

He studied the recording then aimed his frown back at me. Let me say this only once. If I ever catch you pointing that camera at me, you don’t want to know what will happen to you. Understood?

My lips trembled and I pursed them tight.

He spun around and vanished among the bushes with more grace than his hulk of a body should have allowed. I pushed my hands into my jeans pockets, brushing the cool smoothness of the metal plates that had become my constant companions. Their presence gave me a measure of comfort. Then again, what good were my guards, the most potent magical weapons I possessed, if I didn’t think to use them in times of danger?

I lifted my chin and stalked to the car. On the bright side, this could have gone worse. If Parker ever discovered I was aware of his real identity, I’d be puppy chow.

Underfoot, the trampled grass formed something akin to a path, yet so bumpy it antagonized my delicate stomach. I touched my clammy forehead. Yup. I was coming down with something. What a crappy day.

Slumped in the seat of my car, I willed my hands to stop jittering, and finally took off. My stereo’s funky beats didn’t calm me as much as distract me. By song number five I was tapping along. Parker’s presence aside, I got the pictures I wanted. All in all, a successful mission.

The distinctive smell of petroleum entered the car’s interior. I pulled a face.

Not again.

A couple of seconds later, my not-yet geriatric, but no longer youthful Ford Mustang stuttered and wailed. The thumping sound of ‘Bad Religion’ heaved it into my driveway, but I knew I might not get it started again. Dammit. My third repair this year.

A shadow peeled off a dark corner and rushed across the road. My thoughts of the unfairness of life lifted, and I smiled. Dressed in his usual muted colors, Florian gave a mock salute. Not even the lack of a California tan detracted from the fact that he was, by all accounts, a handsome devil. But it was his inner qualities that made him my best friend.

I got out and slammed the door shut.

Flo shot me his trademark grin that half begged to be mothered, half promised a naughty night. Happy birthday, Ivy!

Not so far. I think my car’s kaput. I sent an eyeroll toward the steam escaping the hood.

Oh? His forehead puckered. Let’s see. Did it slug and thud into the drive? His index finger in his ear, he shook his tilted head, as if to force out some lingering noise. Check. Is it stinky? He sniffed the noxious plume surrounding the vehicle. Check. Broken side view mirror? Check. Well, I can confidently say I notice nothing out of the ordinary.

You’re a funny guy, mister. If you’re not too busy doing standup tomorrow night, do you think you could chauffeur me? I pouted. I have a work thing, and getting the car fixed might take some time.

Aww, come here. Of course I will. He yanked me into a firm mother-bear hug.

I held tight. His fresh, if powerful, cologne was a scent for sore noses, and I added another couple of gratuitous sniffs. Thanks. I needed that.

I’ll let you get some rest, then. You don’t seem in the mood for a birthday bash. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Despite his curious looks at my front door, he knew better than to invite himself in. With a wave, he turned and crossed the road to the large building he and his siblings called home.

I never let anyone enter my house without at least half an hour’s notice. The metal guards on my walls would reveal my secret. And more than anything, my friendship with Florian was based on mutual subterfuge.

He didn’t tell me he was a vampire. And I didn’t tell him I already knew.

I PICKED UP THE MAIL from my welcome mat, then dropped it and my bag on the small table by the coat rack. The background hum from the guards on my walls, one on each side, reassured me they were charged, yet I couldn’t help but touch their patterned surface to double-check. These magazine-sized power houses protecting my home dwarfed the tiny metal plates I carried in my pockets, not to mention those on my charm bracelet and on my belt. But like their miniature counterparts, grooves meandered and intersected across the surface, ready to collect and discharge magic energy with the right spell. The patterns appeared random, unless you knew their secrets. One day, my life might depend on that knowledge.

I closed the curtains covering the big glass doors to my backyard, and picked the one birthday present I’d received off the back of the armchair. A little black dress Julia, Florian’s sister, had given me at the break of dawn. I held it against myself in front of my tall bedroom mirror, then hung it in the back of my wardrobe. As if I’d have the balls, or the occasion, to pull off a sexy number like that. Julia’s other present, pricey mandarin-scented body soap, fared better and was put to use straight away.

My shower was as fragrant as it was quick. Balancing a towel on my wet hair, I clamped a bottle of soda under one arm while the other hand carried my celebratory ice cream. Full fat, of course. None of that frozen yogurt, twenty-calorie crap for me today. The disc was already in the Blu-ray player. I placed my goodies within arm’s reach and went to fetch the remote from the top of the cabinet.

The corner of an envelope peeked out from a bunch of glossy leaflets that had come in the mail. My heart hopped. Last week, my attorneys promised an update on my trust fund money, and after the day I’d had, I needed some good news.

The paper was off-white and velvety to the touch. My full name was written on the front in all-too familiar calligraphy: Felicity Jocinda Ivy Bell. Postmark: Silverton.

It couldn’t be. With shaking hands, I turned the envelope over and glimpsed the signature. My heart thumped in my chest now, trying to carve its way out.

Lathan.

The name I’d hoped never to hear again.

Chapter Two

My personal bogeyman in demon form. As if signing his name hadn’t been enough, Lathan’s insignia was printed on the back. I inched my fingers up my right arm and found the same mark. My throat tightened. He'd branded me the way he'd branded his stationery, with three jet-black pyramids woven together in a geometric abstraction of a cage. Images too horrific to put into words tripped up my thoughts.

I fumbled to tear open the delicate paper.

My dearest Felicity,

Happy 25th birthday!

My castle is empty without you. I had your private quarters decorated in preparation for your return. You are going to be pleased.

In eager anticipation,

Lathan

I stared at the letter as if reading it again would erase the words and leave behind a blank page.

One shallow breath followed another. I shuffled across the carpet to the fireplace, nearly toppling over my feet. My hand found the lighter even if my mind wasn’t keeping up. Fire sprang to life, its heat too brief to warm me. The paper went up in flames, and I didn’t turn away until every last scrap had crumbled to ash.

The laws of magic prevented someone as powerful as Lathan from putting as much as his pinkie in the human realm, or ‘Oldworld.’ The Rim, the border between the worlds and a feat of magical engineering, would suck his powers right out of him.

What reason could he have for coming after me four years after I’d gotten away?

The letter had to be an empty threat. Something to mess with my head.

One blow after another had combined to make this into the worst birthday. I yanked a sheet of paper from my jacket pocket, crumpled and a little torn. A two-story house with a glazed front stood overlooking the beach, and with four bedrooms, a skylight in each. There’d be space for dogs, perhaps a horse.

I ran my thumb over the paper. If Lathan thought he could destroy my dream, he’d be in for a hell of a surprise, because once I got the money to buy a house like this, maybe a new identity, I’d be gone, and he’d never find me.

I wilted into the couch and opened the tub of ice cream. It was cookie dough, but all I tasted was the cold on my tongue.

I GOT OFF THE BUS AND took a deep, drawn-out breath, trying to blow away my headache. Lathan’s attempt to psyche me out was bad enough, but the more immediate threat came from Parker. I was on his shit list now. He or a member of his household could waylay me anywhere, and I knew he was dangerous. So the frequent glances over my shoulder weren’t paranoia, but precaution.

Then again, he’d be keen to uphold his image as a successful computer mogul who’d become one of Silverton’s success stories. His mansion spoke of his wealth, although not as much as the acres of woodland that came with it. But like so many in this wretched town, his clean image hid a dirty truth.

As per my usual routine, I popped into the coffee shop on my way to work. Nothing beat the scent of fresh, strong coffee in the morning. I placed my order and skimmed the clientele.

All five men in the line stared at me. I shifted on my feet and shot them a tentative smile. The tall dude at the end had a Colin Farrell thing going on, while the guy in front of Fake Farrell should have been in some Viking movie, with fur and weapons covering his massive bare chest. Nice of them to lighten my mood with their presence.

Finally, it was my turn. The guy who took my order did so with a wink. Odd. Come to think of it, the guys on the bus had gawked at me as well. Crap, did I have something in my teeth? I closed my smile, paid the barista, and hightailed it out of there.

The fresh air carried somewhat of a bite. I took the shortcut to our office, which was housed on the third story of an apartment block. Fred, my boss, insisted the peculiar location kept the overheads down, and we had the added advantage of being surrounded by our own neighborhood watch brigade. I was no more than thirty minutes late by the time the office door slammed shut behind me.

I deposited my breakfast on my desk, shook the chill from my jacket and relaxed. Time to stop driving myself crazy.

The glow from fitted lamps gave the room a gritty atmosphere, not unlike the detective agencies in old black-and-white films. Normally, my boss would sit on his swivel chair behind a monstrous, old-fashioned oak desk. Not today. For the first time since I’d known him, he’d taken time off work. He’d survived one hell of a year, and no one deserved a break more than he.

According to the list Fred had left, most of my day would tie me to my desk. The only variety I’d see would be a quick trip to the ‘burbs to pick up a statue for a client.

"Are we still on for tonight, say, at seven?" I shot off a message to Flo.

He didn’t leave me waiting long. "I’ll be ready."

Now that I’d run out of excuses, it was time to knuckle down. I saved the recording of Wenthorpe onto a flash drive we kept hidden in the safe behind a large watercolor landscape, then went about selecting the right photos. The ‘money shots.’ One set of those photos went into the client’s file, and I saved the other set on another flash drive for our official records.

The morning passed quickly. At lunch time, I caught up with personal emails, and I dedicated the afternoon to filling in forms and sending payment reminders.

You’ve got mail, a woman whispered in her most alluring voice—best retro notification setting ever.

I checked my cell’s display. Florian’s message consisted of garbled words, unusual emojis, and exclamation marks. Over the years I’d learned to decode his digital notes: It was after seven p.m., I was late, and he was getting impatient.

Since the garage had confirmed my car was in need of expensive and elaborate surgery, and would remain in ICU for another few days, I rode the bus home. Florian stood outside his house, his finger not-so-subtly tapping his watch. Sheesh. Really?

Although he preferred hushed grays and dark greens, tonight he was dressed in black, from his expensive shoes up to his tailored shirt. Only the orange backpack he’d slung over his shoulder ruined the ninja apparel. A leather belt wrapped around his narrow waist. The guard etched into the buckle was a necessary fashion statement for any vamp who preferred not to shrivel up like dried apples during the day.

Many kin, from vampire to demon, relied on and used guards, but few could weave them. Florian’s was of decent enough quality, produced by a capable weaver, but its copper base had long lost its reddish gleam. Still, I couldn’t exactly make him a better one.

What’s with the bag? I pointed at his colorful accessory.

He unlocked his new black Mercedes with a beep. Supplies. Hop in.

The earthy smell of the car’s creaky leather seats made me want to snuggle up and go to sleep. A stark contrast to my Mustang, which needed monthly refills of air fresheners to drown out the many pints of energy drink I’d spilled over the years.

Florian tossed the backpack on the seat behind him and faced me, awaiting my instructions. I dug out the file to check the address. He pulled out of his drive and joined the sparse traffic on the roads skirting the town center.

It won’t take long. I stuffed the file back into the bag. Pick up a statue, and we’re done. What are we watching tonight?

I don’t mind, as long as it’s funny and has smooching.

I grinned. Smooching? What are you? Ten?

He gave a suffering sigh. Let’s watch that movie about the British President.

He probably meant the Prime Minister portrayed by Hugh Grant in ‘Love, Actually.’

Not my favorite. Yeah, okay.

Twenty minutes later, we reached the first signs of suburbia. Gone was the hodge-podge blend of mansions and in-the-sticks farmland of our Custer Fields.

Welcome to the dark heart of Silverton. Flo sounded serious.

Here, the fashion du jour was to not stand out. The cars belonged to the same price bracket, the houses were built from the same blueprint, and most likely the people who lived here lacked any individuality.

I fumbled with the shoulder strap of my P.I. bag. Thanks again for helping out.

He shrugged aside my gratitude. It’s not like I had a date. Besides, Julia’s on my ass about where my life’s going, and that it’s not about getting laid. He snorted. As if that’s all I do.

I tapped the fingers of one hand to count off. There’s also daytime television, sci-fi books, celebrity magazines. I did a mock wave. Pah, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

He shot me an oh-no-you-don’t look. And whose side are you on?

Why, yours, of course. I fluttered my eyelashes while curbing the grin that wanted out. Wasn’t that clear from what I said?

Could have fooled me. He shifted down a gear. It wouldn’t be too bad if my brother hadn’t gotten a job. Traitor. Now it’s, Eli this and Eli that, and why can’t you be more like Eli. Glad she’s out of town. I needed the break.

A sad smile crept onto my lips. I’d been friends with Flo’s family since Dad had handed me the keys to my house, located opposite the Dupree’s home, for my eighteenth birthday. In its former life it had served as a guard house for the mansion where Parker Reeves lived, but it had since been converted into a small family home. My neck muscles tensed, hot and painful. Leaving my friends would be hard. But Lathan’s letter had only intensified the need to disappear from my current life.

Anyway, Florian said, piercing my thought bubble, I’ve now been reduced to least-wanted status at home and keep to my rooms. So, coming out here with you is the most excitement I’ve had in a week. Even if— His finger surged forward in the direction of a street sign. I think we’re here.

He parked the car. Side-by-side, we strolled along the quiet road in search of number nineteen. The cliché of happy families was evident in every white picket fence and manicured lawn.

Flo nudged me. What do you know about the statue?

Fred said it’s expensive. I kicked a tiny stone that tarnished the otherwise neat-as-a-pin sidewalk. The guy who hired us told him it used to belong to his family a long time ago. The current owners, Melissa and Stephen Carter, inherited it from an uncle.

There’s nineteen. He jutted his chin at a large house with no remarkable features.

The lights were on downstairs, although thick curtains prevented anyone from looking in. The lack of toys and gimmicky window hangings indicated the Carters had no kids we might wake up with our visit.

I lifted my hand to ring the bell. Florian stopped me with a snap of his fingers. He pointed at the door. It was ajar. Odd. I knocked three times, and the door swung open. On quiet soles, I stepped into the entryway and made my way along the corridor. The smooth mosaic floor gave a clean, spacious appearance, emphasized by a large mirror on the wall and a small table with a crisp white table cloth. Patches of light fell into the hall from a room to our right.

Hello? I called into the silence.

A growl from behind made my skin crawl. I whipped around. Florian’s face was grim, his posture unnatural and stiff.

The hairs on my arms stood on end. Are you all right?

Can’t. He propped his hand against the wall. Not feeling well.

My gaze followed the direction of his stare. Large crimson stains pooled on the immaculate living room carpet. Oh shit. Blood.

I turned back. Florian’s pupils dilated to form two black marbles. His canines lengthened, coming to sharp and lethal points. The pounding of my heart overrode my motor skills, and for a second, I stood rooted to the spot.

This wasn’t how I’d envisioned his secret being revealed to me. I’d pictured cupcakes, not a full-out blood frenzy.

At last, the switch labeled ‘survival’ flipped. I fingered the guards in my pockets. The small plates were my only chance.

Harra-deferdi. The incantation to charge them reeled off my lips in a bare whisper. With every syllable, magic prickled along my skin, flowing into the grooves in the metal surface.

His muscles tightened. Like a hellhound on PCP, he pounced, teeth gleaming in the dim light.

My skin went cold. Fintero, I mumbled.

The guards expelled a blue and orange flood of crackling energy that slammed Florian into the wall. Its opposing force spun me into a coat rack. Pain exploded in my skull. I scrambled up and felt my temple. It was wet and sore.

He dove at me. At the last moment, I stumbled up and out of his way. His head whacked into the mirror, which shattered into a thousand sparkling pieces.

With fast, shallow breaths I slinked back against the wall. My thigh bumped into the corner of a set of drawers. Crap, that hurt.

I’d run out of space to move. Please, Flo. Stop this.

He came at me again, his face gaunt and dead. Once more I activated my guards, stuffing in every scrap of energy I could scrounge together. The jet pulsed past his ear.

The smell of singed hair hung in the air. The heat drained from my body, leaving me with shaking limbs and a tired mind. One way or another, this confrontation had to end.

Skin magic was my last shot, no matter the cost.

Chapter Three

Iducked under Florian’s arms and rattled off the new, more dangerous spell. A continuous stream of light hissed from my guards. Flo twitched under its electric field and strained against it, face contorted, but the magic wouldn’t let him escape. Every second, the spell drained more life force out of me. My arms shook, and I ground my teeth.

I inched the heavy beam, with Flo in its focus, toward the open door. Sweat ran down my temples. This had to work. One deep breath, one final push. Bright sparks flew off into the corridor’s darkness. The force exploding from my guards smashed into his chest. He plowed past the threshold into the breezy night and collapsed in a heap on the grass.

I said a thank-you to whoever might be listening and threw shut the door between us.

Sweat burned my eyes, and I mopped it up with my jacket sleeves. My surroundings shifted from focused to blurry and back, and a giggle bubbled up from inside. For one wonderful moment, my muscles throbbed with power. I was strong. Stronger than a vampire.

My first use of the guards in a real-life situation had been a success. Take that, kinfolk.

After a few more breathtaking seconds, I came down, and bone-dragging fatigue trailed the giddiness. A drum set had relocated to my head and added to the nausea that accompanied my crash.

Instead of skin magic, kinfolk should really be calling it ninja magic. You think it’s cool, until it kills ya. With my eyes shut, I leaned against the door and wiped my brows.

Florian’s change from best friend to psycho had shaken me. His human façade had lulled me into believing myself safe.

I swiped my hand across the smooth paintjob of the door, twitching to open it. Even now I couldn’t wrap my brain around his personality change. Knowing he lay bruised on the other side of the door made my chest ache.

Apparently, this was a temporary situation. Assuming he stayed out of the house, away from the smell of blood, he should be all right soon. Or so I’d been told.

My nerves still in a jumble, I glanced toward the living room. With considerable delay, the private investigator in me jumped into action. First things first. Where were the blood’s owners? Not inside, because the ruckus would have alerted them to my presence. Had they managed to call an ambulance?

I stepped inside the room. White carpet, white sofa, white pillows, and white curtains. Even the TV set was housed in a unit of the same deathly shade. Or used to be, anyway. Now, two merging pools and the matching splatter on the walls, furniture, and ceiling added a touch of color. Like a sick piece of art. Whatever happened here hadn’t been pleasant, yet by my reckoning it had been quick.

I bit my tongue against the metallic smell, and with self-imposed detachment searched the room for a phone to call the police, while alert for clues. Since my detective experience of handling murder scenes was pretty much zero, nothing useful jumped out at me.

I tripped. Well, lookie here. The very item we’d been hired to retrieve. I picked up the statue and grimaced. The owners had had a reason for tucking it away on the ground near the sideboard. The statue was a tiny little thing, no bigger than my hand. In terms of shape, it resembled a flattened cat, or a deformed lizard. Maybe the rock had been too hard to carve into something pretty, although they’d buffed and polished it to a high shine.

Should I take it? Our client had already paid for it, so by law it was his. On the other hand, this was a murder scene.

My ears pricked. A whisper came from somewhere.

Slam.

I jerked round toward the rear of the house.

Dammit. My fight with Florian had made a right old rumpus, but since nobody had asked us to keep the noise down, it hadn’t occurred to me the assailants, or indeed killers, might still be here.

Loud voices announced the presence of two men headed my way. There was no time to run outside, at least not without being spotted. I jumped behind the long drapes nestled in the corner of the window. For good measure, I shifted a large potted plant in front of me.

Is no right, Max. If we bury instead of dump in backyard, it takes cops longer to find.

Idiot. You think a bloody mess in the livin’ room don’t look suspicious? Course they’ll look in the yard. Don’t know why we tried hidin’em. Did a right job on ’em, didn’t ya? Shoulda brought Jeff instead. The man groaned. This was meant to be a quiet gig.

Ah, it is done. Do not worry your head. The other guy gave a hearty belly laugh.

Max sniffed. Well, you coulda waited till they said where they put the damn thing.

If statue’s here, we find it.

My fingers tightened around the cold, polished form in my hand.

Doors slammed, chairs thudded, feet clomped, and pillows ripped. Max and his partner rained down chaos on the house. I nosed the curtain ajar and stole a glimpse to assess my situation.

Shit, the one with the strong accent said. I don’t find it.

My stomach somersaulted. Okay, situation assessed. If my internal kin-radar was to be believed, the two rough but otherwise normal looking dudes were in fact demons. I closed my eyes, forcing my galloping pulse to slow. If I stayed here, I’d be found. No way would they let me walk away, even if I handed over the statue like a good girl.

I ain’t taking the heat for your mess. Max sounded determined.

Careful not to shift too much, I stashed the statue in the back pocket of my jeans and slid my hand toward the front. My house keys jangled. Shit. I clasped my fist around them.

Hang on, Max said. Hear that?

The tearing and shuffling stopped. I stiffened, my breath caught in my throat.

I hear nothing. Maybe they have cat?

I swallowed past the fist in my throat. I had to risk it. Inch by inch, I slid my guards out of my pockets until I held one in each freezing-cold hand. The incantation to charge them rolled from my lips. At least one thing was working for me.

If there was a cat, I’d know. I’m allergic.

Footsteps drew closer, and I braced myself.

Think it came from the window here.

One was so close I smelled his musky aftershave. Going by the grunts, the other demon trailed right behind him. The nausea in my guts pushed its way up. Since my power reserves were drained, I had one shot at overpowering them.

Afterward, I’d run like hell and take my chances with the crazy, blood-thirsty vampire outside.

My options totally sucked.

Okay. Not cat. Maybe is Jeff? the one who wasn’t Max said.

Nah, Jeff was told to wait outside. He does as he’s told.

One moved the plant aside while the other stepped up and whisked the curtain back. They looked at me, eyebrows raised high.

I smiled the smile of a brave little toaster. Hi guys.

Max’s scarred face twisted into a spiteful grin, and his hand shot out. Gotcha.

My lungs rattled, and I raised my guards to release the energy. Glistening magic spilled into the men. They crashed back the length of the room like they were attached to an elastic band. A tall lamp wobbled and collapsed on top of them. I didn’t take the time to be impressed by my handiwork, and made a beeline for the door. The mirror shards nearly became my downfall. Don’t fall. Do not fall. They slipped under my feet, and it