Brimstone Blues

Chapter Five

The next morning, Matthias found Taz downstairs in the kitchen, eating breakfast and dressed for the office.

He kissed the back of her neck. “What are you doing, love?”

“Playing poker. What does it look like?”

He sighed. She was in full snark mode. “I mean, why are you dressed like that?”

“I can’t go to the office naked.”

He sat across from her. “Why are you going into the office?”

“If this is going to be one of those, ‘You don’t have to work, baby, I’ll support you,’ talks, forget it, big guy.”

“Taz, it’s only been a few days.”

“I’m going to work. I need to get back into a routine.”

“But—”

She glared at him, her look silencing his protests. “I’ll get dressed,” he said.

She shook her head. “I can drive myself.”

“Taz—”

She glared at him again. Again, he shut up.

Taz softened her tone. “Matthias, I need to do this. I need some semblance of normalcy, a routine. I still have a job to do. I don’t care that I’m going to be Mrs. Hawthorne, I still work for Hawthorne International. I’m not one of these women who can be a stay-at-home wife. I envy those than can. If I don’t work, I climb the walls. I need to work, it’s who I am. You have to accept that.”

“All right.” He reached over and patted her hand. “Just don’t push yourself too hard, please?”

“I won’t. Don’t send anyone after me, either. I don’t need a babysitter.”

After the werewolf-like Other attacked her and trashed her corporate rental home, Robertson moved all their things to Matthias’ house. He’d also had her car brought over, the corporate Lexus.

Taz stood outside the detached garage and looked at the car, hesitating. She could drive—

“Take the Mustang, baby girl. That’s a sweet ride.”

The voice again. She didn’t know why it spoke, unbidden.

Or why it had to sound like Rafe. If it had to sound like a dead man, why couldn’t it imitate her father? He’d been dead long enough for her to be over her crushing grief.

She did want to take the Mustang, her father’s red 1965 Mustang coupe, the one he taught her how to drive in. Matthias bought it before he ever met her, tipped off by Robertson that it was for sale, wanting to keep it for her.

It didn’t have a way to play her MP3 player, but oh well. She wanted to drive it and take the long way to work.

The really long way. A drive would settle her mind and help get her back on track.

She flipped the driver’s seat forward and put her things in the back, then slid behind the wheel and remembered. She closed her eyes and inhaled the smell of the interior, unchanged from that day when she was sixteen. It was one of the few times her father ever picked her up from school, the day he taught her how to drive. Like everything else in her life, she’d picked it up right away.

“My little girl needs to learn how to drive a stick. You learn on a stick, Tazzie, you can drive anything,” he’d said. Eric Proctor was a race-car driver, and she’d inherited his lead foot.

Taz gripped the steering wheel. She imagined his voice, his Dublin brogue sounding so strong in her memories. She remembered his dazzling green eyes. She missed her parents so much. Her father was the only one who ever called her Tazzie.

Had it really been almost twelve years since their death?

Well, presumed death. The small plane they were passengers on en route to Rio disappeared without a trace. She was supposed to go on the trip with them, but at the last minute she cancelled, wanting extra time to study for her college finals. She’d stayed home in LA with Robertson…

No, I won’t think about that. Not today. At least she had Robertson. He was like an adopted dad, working for her family ever since she was a baby.

She put the key in the ignition, right foot on the brake, left on the clutch, and shifted to neutral. Then brake and gas, it fired to life on the first try. Matthias had taken good care of it, keeping it in perfect running order. He gave it to her two days ago, after their return from Yellowstone, hoping it would help cheer her up.

She loved him for it.

She put it in reverse and carefully backed out, circled the driveway to get a feel for the clutch again, then drove down to the highway. She waited for a gap in traffic on Tarpon Springs Road and took a much longer route to get to downtown Tampa, but it allowed her to open up her antique pony on the interstate.

She settled for a FM radio station out of Tampa. She’d need a new radio, but the car ran as good as it ever had. It would have been easy to let the tears flow. Instead, she choked them into submission. She didn’t want to cry, not anymore. There had been enough tears for a while. Mourning Rafe wouldn’t end anytime soon. Tears wouldn’t bring him back, either.

Hawthorne International owned a thirty-story building in south downtown Tampa, overlooking the St. Pete Times Forum complex. When Taz reached the garage, she turned to valet parking. The attendant recognized her, surprised to see her in a different vehicle.

She headed upstairs while fighting a case of nerves in the elevator. Matthias had implemented stringent security measures to prevent a repeat of the attack, but this was a personal demon she had to stare down.

The day they revealed to her she was a vampire.

God, just a couple of weeks ago?

She’d been alone in the executive suites when a strange visitor attacked her. In the nick of time, Matthias and the others rushed in, dispatching the man with a sword.

In disbelief she watched as the man—a daemon pulverem—disappeared in an acrid puff of smoke.

That’s when all hell broke loose, and they were forced to tell her the truth, that they were vampires, and so was she.

Will I ever get used to that little factoid?

The elevator stopped, jarring Taz back to the present. The doors slid open on the top floor, their executive suite. Taz paused before walking past the conference room, then steeled herself and did it. There was no sign of the attack, not that there was much of one to begin with. Albert had disposed of the creature’s knife, and what was left of him after he exploded in a cloud of ash was easily vacuumed up by housekeeping staff.

Taz hadn’t been to the office since.

She’d stormed out after shouting she was quitting, certain they were pulling a horrible prank. Just to be attacked hours later at home by an Other, a beast that made Lon Chaney, Jr.’s Wolf Man look like a Labrador Retriever puppy by comparison.

And rescued, again, by Matthias. Only that time he almost died.

All those events started a downward spiral, circling the proverbial drain, and her self-control dissolved as her powers took over.

The Ice Queen melteth.

No phantom laughter met her thoughts that time.

Taz sat behind her desk and tried to quiet her mind, still feeling nervous and agitated, as if two personalities were at war within her.

Murry strolled in. Taz stiffened, and the cat hesitated.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked.

“You realize I’m not used to talking cats, right?”

He sat, sniffing as if insulted. “I’m not a cat.” He damn sure looked like one, large and black with a white star-shaped mark on his forehead.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He jumped into the chair he usually occupied and glared at her. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Then she realized what he meant. “You went nuts before the daemon attacked me.”

“I tried to warn you, but you weren’t ready to hear me. Lucky for you, Matthias and the others were downstairs and I found them in time.”

She walked over to the cat that claimed he wasn’t and stroked his back. “So what are you?”

“I’m a familiar. Ask Matthias, he can explain it. Long story, very boring.” He paused. “I’m sorry I scared you that day. I tend toward the theatrical, it’s in my nature. If you make a crack about Broadway shows, I’ll pee on your desk.”

She laughed, sitting in the chair next to the cat that wasn’t. “Thank you, Murry. I really appreciate it.”

He butted his head against her hand and purred. “No problem. You’re too cute to let you get skewered.”

There were things to do, messages to answer, and an hour later Taz was absorbed in her work and feeling a little less abnormal. Albert poked his head in her office before lunch.

“Can I buy you a plate of picadillo?” The restaurant downstairs served excellent authentic Cuban food.

“Hi, Albert.”

He stepped inside. “Matthias didn’t send me. Please don’t be upset.”

“I know. I’m not.” Except for when they were at Yellowstone, Albert Thompson—Matthias’ right-hand man—came in to work nearly every day. He was as much a workaholic as she was. “It’s okay.” She glanced at her slowly shrinking to-do list. “You know, I could use lunch.”

“You and I don’t get to eat alone often, Taz.”

“Where is Robertson, anyway?” she asked as they headed downstairs.

Albert’s face briefly clouded. “He’s with Matthias, taking care of some other business.”

Taz had a feeling that was a euphemism for Rafe’s affairs, but she didn’t press. She didn’t want to know. Later, maybe, when she felt steadier emotionally. She’d done well so far.

Lunch was, as always, excellent. Taz sensed Albert wanted to say something, and he finally did. “I know this has been a very difficult couple of weeks for you.”

“You and Robertson are very skilled in understatement.” Albert’s silky, cultured British accent matched his tall, angular, lanky frame. Tim Robertson’s British accent was all rounded and warm, much like him. Both possessed blue eyes of the same eerily clear color.

Albert smiled. “Quite.” He reached out and touched her hand, met her gaze. “Taz, I know you’re hurting. I wish you would open up to us, let us help you.”

Her eyes blurred. She refused to cry. She’d had enough of that over the past several days. More than enough to last her a lifetime, thank you very much. She stroked Rafe’s ring with her thumb. It was a small comfort.

“I appreciate it, Albert. I really do. Right now, the best thing for me is work. I know we’re going to London, but I need to do this to calm my nerves. Besides, it’s Thursday, so it’s a short work week. It’s what I need right now.”

His eyes searched her face, then he released her hand. “Please remember we’re here for you to lean on should you need us. All right?”

“Thank you.” A thought crossed her mind, and she laughed.

“What?”

“Remember out in LA when you hired me, and the girl came in and took my blood and I joked about ‘staff vampires?’”

“Yes?”

“You looked like you saw a ghost.”

“Your comment did startle me until I realized what you meant.”

She smiled. “You also welcomed me to the ‘family.’”

“Yes, I did.”

“I didn’t know you really meant to the family.”

“Well, you technically are of the family, even before you and Matthias finally admitted your feelings for each other. You’re a fellow Clan member.”

A horrifying thought struck her. “Matthias and I aren’t kissing cousins or anything, are we?”

Albert laughed, then toned it down a notch so as not to draw attention. “No, dear. His origins are the Western European Clan, yours were the Eastern. Well, at least your mother was. Even if your father was of the line, the closest you could possibly be are very distant cousins many times removed. Matthias knows his family lineage.”

“I thought he was in charge of North America?”

“He is. Because he came over first, and is the oldest here, he’s head of the Clan here. Rafael was…” Albert let the sentence drift, perhaps fearing her reaction. He collected his thoughts and continued. “It’s simply a label for who is where. Technically, the only ‘true’ members of the North American Clan are those born here. Like yourself, they are all descended from elsewhere. Same with the South American Clan.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

Albert nodded and glanced at his watch. “I don’t wish to cut this short, but I have a conference call I must attend to.”

Before he could stand, she reached for his hand. “Albert,” she softly asked, “when are we having Rafe’s funeral?”

He froze, not wanting to meet her eyes. He quietly replied, “We are still awaiting the return of his ashes. Then you and Matthias can decide.”

“Did he leave any instructions?”

“Not written. Years ago, he told us he wanted to be cremated, but nothing beyond that. Matthias must go to Rafael’s condo and retrieve his effects and paperwork.”

Back in her office, Taz tried to focus. Why had she asked about the funeral? She’d done so well all morning, throwing herself into her work. At least now she knew what happened to Rafe’s body after the Stooges, what she’d dubbed the three-man security team working for Matthias at Yellowstone, recovered him.

A thought occurred to her. She went online and searched, ordering what she wanted after nearly an hour of looking for just the right one. Yes, she should be working, but this was more important. She wasn’t sure what, if anything, Matthias would say about it.

She didn’t care. It was for her, not him.

“That’s sweet, Taz.”

She shivered and looked around, even though she was alone in her office. That voice would drive her mad if it didn’t stop. That, and the feeling of someone constantly looking over her shoulder.

She stroked Rafe’s ring.