Jeanne Stein - The Watcher

Hey. I hold a hand up to stave off his too obvious enthusiasm. Who said I want to be a cop? I like being my own boss. Working for you would be —I have to fumble for the right word. He is a powerful vampire, after all. Difficult. You and I don’t see eye to eye. On anything.

You mean we don't see eye to eye on your personal conduct. And with good reason, I'd say. His tone becomes even colder. Well, you’ll have time to reconsider.

I don't like the way he says that. The words are uttered in the same tone a judge uses when passing sentence— with finality, offering no recourse. I stare at him, waiting.

His eyes bore into mine. Here's the deal, Anna. Until we know that you will not be exposed as a vampire, you will not go home. You won't go to your office or your parents or anywhere you might be recognized. You will not try to contact David. You will not come to the park or to my office. I don't want to see you or hear from you.

He blows on the tips of his fingers and opens his hand as if dispersing the seeds of a dandelion into the wind. You're going to disappear.

DISAPPEAR? WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?

What do you think?

I don't like his expression or his tone. He's talking to me like a kid being sent to bed without supper. Where would I go? And for how long?

Williams shrugs. Can't say how long. Until we can be sure Sylvie and her father aren't going to cause trouble.

And how will my disappearing help ?

Williams waves a hand. Out of sight, out of mind. If we're lucky, Sylvie and her father will want to put this behind them as quickly as possible. Maybe they'll attribute the way you attacked Alan to adrenaline or fear. But if they start asking questions, especially to the press, you run the risk of being marked as vampire to those who watch for just this sort of story.

And my disappearing won't cause a problem? Won't that look a little suspicious?

Williams shakes his head. Maybe. But it's far less dangerous than if you attract the attention of the media.

I can't believe what I'm hearing. How much worse can my life get? Acid churns in my blood. And just where am I supposed to go?

I've given that some thought.

What he projects is unacceptable. "Not Avery's. I won't even consider it." Speaking it aloud sounds more forceful than projecting it mentally.

"Why not?" He responds in kind. "It's a beautiful house. Secluded. There's a caretaker living there so the neighbors won't be suspicious of lights on in the house at night—"

"Caretaker?" I screech in protest. "Who hired a caretaker?"

"I did. You can't leave a house like that unprotected." He doesn't sound the least bit apologetic. "He's one of our own. And he's discreet."

"And you didn't think to ask me before you hired this caretaker?"

"What would you have said?"

"No, of course. I want that place closed down. I'd burn it to the ground if I thought I could get away with it."

"Then you are even more foolish than I thought."

This time it's me rubbing my hands over my face. "I won't go there."

He accepts the finality of my answer. "Beso de la Muerte, then? Won't have quite the amenities of the house in La Jolla."

The mention of Beso de la Muerte snaps my attention like a rubber band. It also reminds me of what I'd intended to ask Williams this morning. "Who's Belinda Burke?"

Williams looks at me. "Where did you hear that name?" His tone is mildly curious, but his face reflects more than that. I feel his interest pique.

"Yesterday. I saw the poster when we were bringing Guzman in. Who is she?"

"If you saw the poster, you know who she is."

"Okay then, what is she?"

For the first time since I got into the car, Williams' expression is more anxious than put out. He doesn't answer right away. When he finally does, it's with cautious undertones. "She's a very dangerous woman," he says.

"And?"

"And what?"

"I know she's more than a dangerous woman."

He acts reluctant to answer so I add, "Culebra called her a Wiccan."

Williams abandons caution. "Culebra knows her? How?"

I tell him. When I finish the story, he says, "Burke is much more than a witch. She's the most powerful practitioner of the black arts I've ever known."

"You mean she deals in more than love potions and black cats?"

He looks positively grim. "Much more, I'm afraid. If you've seen her, I need to know. We have to find her before midnight tomorrow night."

"Why? What happens tomorrow night?"

"It's October thirty-first."

"October thirty-first? Halloween?" I'd completely forgotten. "So?"

There's an instant when I think Williams isn't going to answer. He seems to be weighing options, but not for long. "It's Samhain, the Celtic New Year," he says. "Do you know anything about Wiccans?"

I shake my head.

"At midnight on October thirty-first, the worlds of the living and dead—human dead—converge. It produces a crack in time that lasts only an instant. But during that instant, a door to the underworld can be opened. Belinda and her coven are preparing to use their magic to bring forth a demon from the underworld. A demon who will do their bidding."

He falls silent.

I stare at him, waiting for the punch line because this has to be a joke.

He stares back. He's serious.

After all that I've experienced, you'd think I would accept what he's telling me. We're two vampires having a conversation about a witch who is about to summon a demon. Another day at the office. Instead, I do the only rational thing a person can do in a situation like this. I laugh. It erupts from my gut like spew from a volcano.

Williams' expression darkens. "You think this is funny? Well, maybe that will change if she succeeds. Demons have an interesting predilection. They like to eat vampires."

I see the seriousness of his expression, hear the concern in his voice, feel the anxiety rippling off his skin. But it doesn't change the image I have in my head of a leathery skinned, horned toad trying to eat me. I can't help it. The more I try to suppress the laughter, the more it takes control until my shoulders are shaking so hard, I almost fall over on the seat.

ENOUGH.

When someone yells in a closed car, it's bad enough. When someone yells in your head, it hurts.

I sit up straighter in the seat, wiping tears off my face. When I can form a coherent thought without hiccoughing, I say, Come on. A crack in time? Demons who eat vampires? Why wouldn't I have heard of this before? And if it's happening tomorrow night, for Christ's sake, why aren't you marshaling the forces to track this Burke woman down?

What makes you think I'm not?

That's a question it gives me pleasure to answer. Because you didn't put me on the case. You didn't even tell me such a thing was happening. You'd want my help.

Williams says nothing. His mind is closed. He doesn't even glance my way.

That's the giveaway.

The muscles at the back of my neck bunch. "You purposely kept me in the dark about Belinda Burke?"

He shifts in the seat, his back straight, his eyes hooded.

"There are a lot of things I don't tell you, Anna. I can never be sure you won't go off half-cocked."

Like today.

He doesn't say it or think it, but it hangs in the air between us.

The implication is like a knife in the gut. "Are you saying you trust me to take care of scum like Fisher but you don't trust me to take part in something as important as finding a witch who may unleash a demon?"

His expression is unapologetic. He offers neither a denial nor an explanation.