Caprice

Chapter 2 - Running-1

Chapter 2 - RunningThe obnoxious, but familiar voice, brought my attention to about one third of the way down Tremayne's side. A much shorter man stood next to the seven foot tall vampire. The flat hat, the voice, and the hands flapping at the shoulders—no arms—could only be one person. “That was a Ba'al demon!” he announced.

“Rick?” I said, realizing why I could not read who was at the door. There are four or five creatures that came in under my radar. Demons, vampires, and leprechauns—because he was magical. This explained why I couldn't read Grandma Rose, who was being impersonated by one of the many demons who could look like humans. And, of course Tremayne, who was a vampire, who I also could not detect. Except for maybe that odd twinge of excitement down low. And Rick was a leprechaun—the most magical creature I knew—simply escaped my detection, because he was magical.

I scanned the room for Bill. But he was nowhere in sight. Gone. I couldn't fathom where he might have gone, or why he disappeared, almost as though afraid to be found here by either of the two men who had come through the door.

“Mommy!” Terra and Jenna cried as they surged out from under the table and clung to Constance's legs.

Constance picked little Jenna up and put one hand protectively on Terra's head.

“Sabrina! What the hell's going on?” Randy asked, accusation in his voice.

“Oh, s**t,” I said low. To Tremayne, I said, “You guys need to do something. Bjorn? Rick?”

“Rick, do your thing,” Tremayne said.

“Not a problem.” Rick snapped his fingers again.

The magic rippled through the air like a strange reverberating electrifying hum. It made my ears pop. I shook my head trying to rid myself of the annoying sensation. When I looked across the room, everyone was looking at one another in confusion. The demon-grandma disappeared—poof—by Rick's magic. I hope they don't remember that she was ever here. Rick should be able to take care of their memories, too, I reminded myself.

Constance settled Jenna onto the floor, straightened to her full height, and sauntered toward Tremayne. She swung her hips in an exaggerated way and pulled out the pins holding up her hair, fluffing it to a wild mane. Giggles escaped her, and she tipped her head way back to look up at the seven foot tall vampire. Constance had no idea he was over one thousand years old, and had crushed whole villages, pillaging and r****g along the way in his former human life oh-so-long-ago as a Viking. She was now under what I would have to say a minor t****l, which would make her hot for him. I say minor because if it were a full-blown one she'd have been doing a pole dance on his leg by now.

Constance gave him a smoldering look and said in a low, sexy voice, “Oh-h, you're a tall drink, aren't you?” I knew it was a combination of the pinot grigio and vampire t****l talking, because she loves my brother and wouldn't think of two-timing him. Especially in front of him.

The men in the room seemed dumbfounded. Eyes glazed over. Ah, yes. Tremayne had put a whammy on them so he wouldn't have to knock them senseless with one fist. I appreciated that. I'd forgotten how Tremayne could multi-task his thralls, depending upon what was going on in the room.

“What the hell are you guys doing all the way out here?” I said, taking in Tremayne's tight faded blue jeans, gray rattlesnake boots, and the large gold belt buckle, inlaid with turquoise, and other semi-precious stones.

“You didn't answer your phone,” Tremayne said, pushing his long blond ponytail back over his shoulder.

“I'm at a Thanksgiving dinner for crying out loud!” I cried, my anger rising. “I was busy!” My hands went out with my exasperation. “You think it's easy to get all this food prepared?” Of course, I'd only emptied a couple cans of cranberry jell into bowls and browned the rolls. Not hard. But then, I wasn't trusted with sharp objects. I guess it was because of when I nearly cut my own foot off with a carving knife, that one year—was that only last year? Cooking was not my expertise either. Other than heating up soup from a can, or simple recipes, I usually made a disaster of things.

“And is it delicious!” Rick vouched, his voice muffled from behind me.

I turned to find the leprechaun seated at the table, eating turkey, a mountain of potatoes with an ocean of gravy in the middle of it. He slathered one of my rolls with butter and bit into it. “Mmmm.” Well, at least someone appreciated my rolls.

Terra and Jenna, who had been frightened to death a few moments ago, now gazed at Rick across the table. Their elbows on the tabletop, chins resting in small fists as they stared with unblinking fascination at the leprechaun. Leprechauns had the ability to enthrall children. They used a fascination spell, was what I understood.

“Salt. Where's the salt?” Rick looked around.

Terra picked up the salt shaker and had to stand up on a chair, one knee on the table in order to set it before him.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Rick said. Then he fluttered his fingers and the salt shaker rose up a little over his plate and shook itself over the turkey and gravy.

The girls oooed at this bit of magic, as their eyes went wide.

“Hey. You don't have any arms!” Brian said, eying Rick's hands, and about three or four inches of wrist that were attached directly to his shoulders because of a birth defect (he never had said what the birth defect was, and I had never asked out of the fact I didn't want to be too nosy). Brian and his brother, Chris, settled in on either side of Rick—but not too close. They planted their elbows on the table, leaning their cheeks into curled fists exactly like the girls. Not quite as fascinated as the girls, but they were gazing at him.

“That's pretty observant of you. And I'll bet you're gonna be a rocket scientist when you grow up, won't you?” Rick said sarcastically, and snorted at his own joke. He stuffed a buttered roll into his mouth, and it was gone.

I licked my lips, envious.

Rick floated the gravy boat over to his plate and it poured brown gravy over the turkey and mashed potatoes. Was he going to slurp it up in a spoon? I was curious, since I'd never actually seen him eat anything more than a cookie. That's when the plate hovered about six inches from the table and Rick managed to work the spoon using the hand with the longer wrist, and expertly managed to get the food to his mouth.

The children chuckled, and clapped.

“Thank ya. Thank ya very much,” Rick did a poor Elvis impersonation.

Turning away from this bit of shenanigans, I asked Tremayne, “How did you know about the demon posing as my grandma?”

“You're a wanted woman,” Rick said through a mouthful, looking back at me. He held a drumstick in his hand.

“This one found you—maybe Ilona had something to do with it, maybe not.” Tremayne pointed toward where the demon-Grandma had landed. A dark smudge covered the area where the body had been. Oh, crap. Constance was going to have a cow over that stain. “It won't be long before others will come hunting and might be more inventive than this one was,” he finished his thought.

“Ilona,” I growled, my anger boiling up. Ilona Tremayne, Eric Tremayne's widow, a.k.a. The b***h From Hell. Now in charge of the western half of the North American Vampire Association—and for all we knew, she probably held all of North America in her palm. She had been after me from the very beginning, once I figured out she had put Nicolas' scion, Toby Hunt, up to murdering Bjorn's life-time mate, her own husband, and others. He had turned himself into a vampire by ingesting vampire blood on three consecutive nights and began his rampage on me and Tremayne, killing his brother, Eric, and injuring Dante. Only recently she had devised a fiendish plot to kill me while I searched for my cousin, Lindee, in a parallel world by sending Steve Pumphry in order to ensnare and drain me (or hope that I would at some point become a vampire's blood and s*x slave in the very least and be stuck on Black Veil). She had also single-handedly brought back hunting humans by vampires on Earth—well at least in America. I really needed to address the problem before it got too far gone. Maybe it already was.

Movement from the next room made me turn to see Aunt Shelly push Constance away from Tremayne, fluff up her hair and then run a hand down her neck suggestively, the other hand reached toward the tall vampire.

Tremayne edged back. Hand up he said, “A-ah-ah. No touching the master.”

Constance giggled and pushed Aunt Shelly harder. My aunt stumbled a few feet and tumbled onto the couch with a startled cry.

“I saw him first!” Constance said and ran her hands down her front in a provocative way, and slid her tongue over her lips.

“Oh, God! Stop that!” I said to Tremayne. “I don't want to see a cat fight over you.”

“I can't help it! It just happens,” he said and shrugged.

“Okay. Just put a chill on them. I'm going to eat before we go. I'm starved… and no demon or vampire, or—” I looked down at Rick who was shoveling peas into his mouth from the large serving spoon. “—leprechaun is going to stop me!”

*

The rain had stopped before I followed Tremayne out of the house and headed toward the last car angled into Randy's gravel drive. The sleek midnight-blue car obviously belonged to Tremayne. It had the classic Mustang look. I was surprised it wasn't black. Yard light bounced off the black racing stripes across its sleek sides. I took in the jaw-like grill and bulging hood. It looked like it was coming alive in the storm's ebbing lightning.

“Nice ride. What is this—a Shelby?” I asked admiring the smooth finish, and the way the rain had beaded up on it. It had a muscular look to it, like it pumped iron. It was more animalish than car.

Tremayne's approach was silent until he used the car remote. Lights blinked on all around the car, making two short beeps of the horn.

“It's a brand new Super Snake Shelby Cobra,” Rick informed.

“My new wheels,” Tremayne said in a low purr. “I've had it six months and haven't had it out until today. Paid a hundred grand for it.”

“Not the best of days to take it out—in a storm,” I chided.

“It's fast,” Rick boasted.

“No doubt.” Although the rain had stopped, thunder rumbled like distant cannons. Lightning shimmered across the car's polished black exterior, as though it were imbuing it with life, like a monster in a laboratory.

“You planning on going to the race track with it or something?” I asked, being flippant.

Rick chuckled. “He could, with this!”

“Get in,” Tremayne said.

I hedged. “What about my car?”

“Leave it,” he said.

“C'mon, sweetheart. It's safe,” Rick assured, chugging around me. “Your Jeep is known to the demons and vampires. You don't want to make it any easier for them find you.”

I watched the shorter, armless leprechaun climb in and disappear into the back.

I looked up at Tremayne, still unsure.

“What about them? My relatives. Are they going to be safe?”

“I readjusted their memories so that Grandma Rose would not be in it,” Rick said. “Or us.” The body of the demon had become ashes, and we used a dust pan to sweep them into the fireplace.

“Are you sure that Aunt Shelly and Uncle Monte and their boys won't remember?” I hoped that Grandma Rose was okay, wherever she was. The demon's decomposition—a sooty smudge on Constance's dining room floor—might be one of those mysterious “accidents” from the meal. Someone would be blamed for knocking over a potted plant, I simply knew it.

“Done,” he said.

“What about my brother, his wife and kids. Demons might come—”

“Relax, toots. I put a premo ward on your brother's house,” Rick assured, poking his head out from between the front seats. “No vampires or demons will be able to get within a half a mile of it.”