Jeanne Stein - Legacy

Silver offers protection against werewolves. (Finally, something in the lore that I recognize.) A silver-topped cane or silver saber or knife will dispatch a werewolf, as will silver bullets.

The most effective method of protecting oneself?

Avoidance. Simply put, all ye, stay away from werewolves.

I close the book and lay it on the desk.

Stay away from werewolves.

Good advice under most conditions, I’m sure. My meeting with Sandra has nothing to do with her being a werewolf and everything to do with finally freeing myself of Avery. When we fought and I killed him, I did it defending my life. I didn’t do it to become heir to his fortune. I wasn’t aware of the ancient vampiric law that bestowed his property on me as survivor of an unjust battle. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it. I’ve spent the last six months trying to forget it.

As far as I’m concerned, Sandra’s claiming title as Avery’s wife is a relief.

There isn’t a reason in the world why Sandra and I shouldn’t part tonight as friends.

An urgent stirring sends heat flooding through me.

Maybe more than friends.

I stand up, stretch, move to the deck.

I need to move. I need air to clear my head. I need to understand why once again, thoughts of Sandra spark such a powerful sexual response.

That I’m attracted to Sandra sexually is startling. I made fun of it with Culebra, blamed the feeling on a spell. I’ve almost finished Frey’s reading assignment, however, and there has been no mention of werewolves being capable of casting love spells.

I think about seeing her in the bar. How I hadn’t noticed her at first. Hadn’t noticed her at all, really, until she wanted me to. Then she hit me with a psychic sexual punch so strong, it left me dizzy.

So strong, the sound of her voice made me agree to go to Avery’s tonight, something I’d sworn never to do.

So strong, I get shivers of delight imagining how it would be to please her.

Like a junkie jonesing for a fix.

Doesn’t make sense.

Until suddenly, it does.

It’s crystal clear.

I don’t know how she’s doing it, but I do know why. This compulsion to be with her, this need to please her, is a weapon. She either doesn’t understand or doesn’t believe that I’m not going to fight her claim for Avery’s property. That I’m relieved to be free of it. So she’s set this velvet-lined trap.

A damned effective one.

Tonight, all I need do is make her understand that she has nothing to fear from me. She can revoke the spell. I’ll give her anything she wants. Willingly.

Anything.

A CHIRP FROM INSIDE BRINGS ME BACK—BACK TO consciousness, back to the computer.

An instant message: HU R U?

I reply: FRIEND OF GLORIA.

Jason’s answer comes scrolling back: WOT FRND?

My fingers tap out: SOME1 TRYING 2 HLP HER.

Jason: PRUV IT.

Me: GLORIA HIRED ME.

Jason: 2 DO?

Me: FIND OUT WHO REALLY KILLED YOUR DAD.

There is a pause here, so long I break it by typing: JASON, R U STILL THERE?

Finally, I get a response: CAN WE MEET?

Me: THE SOONER THE BETTER.

Jason: NOT 2DAY. 2MORO MORN?

Me: WHR & WEN?

Jason: 9 A.M. LESTAT’S? KNO IT?

The character name I know, any Anne Rice fan would. A place with that name? I type: NO.

Jason replies: COFFEE SHOP. ADAM’S AVE.

A coffee shop named Lestat’s? And I’m being invited there? Oh, the irony. I type back: C U @ 9.

I’m ready to log off when one more message comes back: DON’T TELL ANY1.

I have to smile at Jason’s dramatic parting shot. I suppose he doesn’t want his stepmother to know he’s consorting with the enemy. Which begs the question: why is he?

I’ll get the answer tomorrow morning.

My thoughts shift back suddenly to Sandra. Now that I understand she’s the source of this—whatever it is—I have to know how she’s doing it. If it’s not a spell, what? Power of suggestion? Can she tap into my sexual psyche and feel the hunger? At this moment, the image of her in my head is powerful enough to make me tremble. Is there a way to block those message receptors?

Words from the book spring unbidden: How best to protect yourself from werewolves? Stay away from them.

The office phone rings and I glance at the caller ID. Then at my watch. Yikes. I snatch up the receiver, “Sorry, Mom. Time got away from me. I’m on my way.”

She laughs. “Good. We’re giddy with excitement over here. Our lives are about to change. Your life is about to change. Hurry, Anna. We’re waiting for you.”

Giddy with excitement? Change my life? My mother is not one for hyperbole but here she is, sounding for all the world like a spokesperson for Publishers Clearing House. Is there a goofy-looking guy with bad hair and a toothy grin holding balloons and a big cardboard check lurking on our front porch?

“You didn’t enter a sweepstakes, did you?”

Again, the silver lilt of her laughter. “Better. I’m not going to tell you anything else. You need to come home. Now.”

“Okay. On my—”

But she’s already rung off.

Weird. Very weird.

MOM, DAD AND TRISH RUSH OUT OF THE FRONT door and spill down the porch steps like lemmings over a cliff. I’ve barely gotten out of the car before I’m surrounded. They crackle with excitement. I feel it on my skin. Little electric shocks like static from a light switch.

“Whoa.” I hold up both hands. “What’s going on?”

Mom recovers first. She puts an arm around Trish’s shoulders. “Anna, you won’t believe what happened today.”

“A lawyer came,” Trish interjects, hopping around like an eager puppy.

“With news,” my dad adds.

“From France,” Mom says.

“We’re going to live there,” Trish says. “All of us.”

“In a château,” Dad says.

“Oh, Anna,” my mom gushes. “It’s so wonderful. We’ve inherited a winery.”

A winery?

It takes some doing, but I finally get my family corralled and back up the porch steps and into the house. They never stop babbling. All three. All at once. I’ve never seen my parents so animated. Trish? She’s jumping up and down.

I scoot them over to the couch and hold up a hand. “Sit.”

They do, still chattering like agitated squirrels.

“Quiet.”

The prattle dies away, leaving me staring at three glowing faces, bright with expectation and anticipation. They’re waiting for me to ask questions. I hardly know where to begin.

“You said a lawyer came here? Today?”

They look at each other, and then Dad and Trish both look to Mom, making her the official spokesperson. She takes a deep breath and plunges in.

“Yes. He came to see me first yesterday at school. Asked me some questions. Mostly about my grandmother and her side of the family. I told him she died when I was young and my memories are vague. I gave him her maiden name and her place of birth. He wondered about my mother. I told him she died many years ago and as far as I know, we have no relatives left on that side of the family except us. He asked to make an appointment with your father and me this morning. Said he had some details to check, but he was fairly certain he’d have some good news for us when he saw us again.”

She can sit still no longer. She jumps up and starts pacing. “Well, he showed up this morning and presented us with a thick portfolio of documents. He went through the papers one by one. There were birth records and death certificates. A family tree. Photos of my grandmother and her mother taken almost a century ago. In France. There’s a will. The will of a great uncle I didn’t know existed. An uncle who owned a great deal of property in France, including a working winery. An uncle who evidently has no living relatives left to inherit his estate.”