Crimson Veil

Chapter 1

The sky was clear for once, though rain was forecast before morning. The moon glimmered, her faint sliver shining down over the cemetery. Soon she would be new, dark and hiding her face. A steady flurry of gusts shook the trees, their boughs shaking like tall sentinels sounding the alarm. It was the perfect night for a funeral. A funeral none of us wanted to be at.

We were gathered at the Seryph Point Cemetery, around the open grave. A small group we were, there to send our friend off to the afterlife. There was me, Menolly, and my wife, Nerissa. My sisters, Camille and Delilah, stood beside us. Derrick Means—my bartender. And Tavah, Digger, and Kendra—all from the Wayfarer. Chase had joined us, as had Mallen. We had asked the guys to stay home and keep watch over the house. As I said, we were a small group, but everyone in attendance had cared. Everyone was there because they wanted to be.

Chrysandra’s casket rested in front of us, over the grave on the device that would lower her into the earth forever-more. Her body would return to the Mother, even as we consigned her soul to the long nights of eternity. At the service—which we’d held in our house—Morio and Shade had worked their magic to seal her body in her grave. Nothing save the most powerful necromancer could ever raise Chrysandra’s remains. She’d be free from the threat of being raised as a zombie. She’d never come back as one of the undead. Her soul was long gone and her body would undergo its natural breakdown, undisturbed from the machinations of sorcery.

We had said our good-byes at the house. We had bade her farewell. Now we were simply here to stand witness to the final act. To the last chapter in our friend’s life. Chrysandra Jones had been a waitress at the Wayfarer since I first came Earthside. She’d stayed on as I moved from bartender to owner. She’d helped me out, done her job and then some. But Chrysandra had been a private person. We still knew nothing of her family. It was like she’d left every trace of her past behind her, put it in a safe box, and buried it somewhere to keep it hidden. Even now, in death, all we had left of her were these—her mortal remains.

I’d gone through her effects, helped Chase clear out her apartment after the fire that had destroyed my bar and the lives of eight people caught in the flames, including Chrysandra. We’d torn the place apart, but there had been nothing to indicate that she’d had any life before she first came to the bar. I was beginning to suspect she’d been in the Witness Protection Program, but if so, they seem to have left her unsupervised. Whatever the case, Chrysandra had died as she had lived—a private person, a loyal employee, and a woman I considered my friend.

As Gage, the funeral tech, lowered the casket into the ground, I closed my eyes. I’d cried myself out. I’d cried when I realized she was dying, in such horrible pain that she couldn’t even scream at the hospital. I’d cried as I sucked the life out of her burned and crisped body, ending that pain. And I’d cried till my bloody tears left irremovable stains on my sheets. Now, the tears were gone, and I just wanted to punish the arsonist responsible for Chrysandra’s death, and the deaths of the others who had perished in the flames.

Gage glanced at me. The tech might as well be nameless and faceless, for all I knew him, though I knew he was a werewolf. He worked for the funeral home where we’d made Chrysandra’s arrangements. We’d limited our transactions with them to buying her casket and paying for her care.

She had told me once she wanted to buried in a simple pine box, unprotected from the elements. She didn’t want her body to outlast time. So we’d ordered a hand-carved coffin that was untreated, that would give her up to the earth as it broke down. We’d arranged for Gage to lower the casket, but we’d taken care of the service ourselves. The funeral director was a Supe, and he understood. He didn’t try to push us into buying an armored casket that would last forever.

Silence hung heavy, like fog soup, as he slowly lowered the casket into the waiting grave. Delilah and Nerissa threw roses on the coffin as it descended into the ground. Derrick stared straight ahead, trying not to let anything crack his gruff demeanor, but I knew the werebadger was taking it hard. He and Chrysandra had gotten on, and I suspected they’d been on their way to a romance.

Tavah and Digger might be vampires, but they had also been her friends, and now they watched the proceedings bleakly. Camille stepped forward and gave me a nod. I took hold of her hand as we recited our prayer for the dead.

“What was life has crumbled. What was form, now falls away. Mortal chains unbind and the soul is lifted free. May you find your way to the ancestors. May you find your path to the gods. May your bravery and courage be remembered in song and story. May your parents be proud, and may your children carry your birthright. Sleep, and wander no more.”

The words echoed in the night, punctuated only by the sound of the casket as it disappeared from sight. We stepped back and formed a circle around the grave, holding hands. And then, as a cloud passed over the face of the moon, Gage pushed the button on the portable stereo, and “Shuffle Your Feet,” by the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, echoed into the night. It was Chrysandra’s favorite song, and it was the last time it would ever play for her in this world.

I recognized the strains of the Stone Temple Pilots echoing out from the crowded club. As much as I’d wanted to hole up with my sisters and wife at home after the funeral, I had an appointment to keep. Roman was waiting for me. With what had gone on this past week, there would be no downtime for any of us—not for the foreseeable future.

As I threaded my way through the room, the scent of blood hung heavy in the air. The Utopia was a new vampire club. Shikra, the owner, managed to keep on the right side of Roman’s rules, albeit by a narrow margin, so all was good. No bloodwhores on the premises, but contracted private pets were allowed, and feeding on them was acceptable. I still was squicked out by the thought, but since the contract was a two-way street and nobody was here against their will, I couldn’t impose my morals on the vamps frequenting the joint.

Hell, I fed on people—although they were the dregs of society. Life was full of gray. Black and white had ceased to exist for me the day Dredge took my life and turned me.

Roman was waiting for me, looking gorgeous as usual. He was wearing black leather pants, a shirt open to the navel, and a burgundy smoking jacket. His long dark hair was pulled back in a smooth ponytail, and his eyes were almost frosted over, he’d been a vampire so long.

The Lord of the Vampire Nation, son of Blood Wyne—the Queen of the Crimson Veil—Roman had chosen me for his official consort. He had also re-sired me, taking over as my sire to break a blood bond of which I had needed to divest myself. So while I was married to Nerissa and my heart belonged to her, I was bound to Roman in an unbreakable fashion. And to be honest, I didn’t mind so much. He was ancient and dangerous, but seductive and passionate, and though I didn’t love him, I was able to fully act myself with him. I was able to play, and not be afraid of hurting someone I loved.

He stood as I approached, holding out one hand. I took his fingers lightly as he guided me to the booth. Every move he made was smooth and deliberate. Roman did nothing lightly, nothing without a reason. He was a man of motives, and plans, and opportunities.

“Menolly, love. Sit.”

There it was again. Love. He used the word casually, but every time it set off an uneasy feeling. I’d warned Roman not to fall in love with me. While I could sleep with him, I knew I could never return his love. I didn’t want to become as calculating as he was. And… the fact was, I was more gay than straight. Nerissa held my heart, and I held hers, and I couldn’t imagine loving someone else the way I loved her.

Roman motioned to the waitress. Only vamps worked at the Utopia; it was too dangerous to have living, breathing staff at a vamp club. But the fang girls and boys were out in droves tonight—FBHs who wanted to walk on the wild side. Full-blood humans here, Earthside, loved vampires as much as they feared us, just like they loved the Fae. We were dangerous and held the promise of sex and passion. Sadly, a lot of people over ES seemed to lack intensity in their lives and so they made up for it vicariously. A very few stepped over the line to actually take the risks.

“Two bottles of your best, warm.” Roman normally disdained bottled blood, but when we were out together, he drank it to appease me. I objected to his bringing members of his stable along on our dates. It wasn’t that the other women bothered me—in fact, I wanted him to focus on other women. It was the whole bloodwhores thing again.

I slid into the booth, leaning my head back and closing my eyes for a moment. The silence of my pulse echoed through my body. I had gotten used to having no breath over the years, but there were times I missed the involuntary sigh, the rush of air flowing out as I let go of the stress. I missed catching my breath at something beautiful.

“Was it so hard?” Roman’s voice brought me back to the present.

I opened my eyes and gazed at him. “Rough enough.”

He gave me a little nod. “I’ve seen so many people die over the centuries, I suppose I’m used to it. But each time a friend vanishes into the past, it still hurts.” With a soft murmur, he reached out and stroked my face, leaning in for a gentle kiss. “Poor Menolly… it has been a harsh week for you.”

I stared at the table. Harsh was an understatement. My bar had burned down and eight people had died in the fire, and we were pretty sure that a daemon had a hand in it. In fact, we were trying to break the white-slavery ring specializing in Supes he was running, but were having a hard time figuring out how to go about it. We’d just met relatives of our mother’s, blood relatives at that, and had no clue how they were going to figure into our lives.

And that wasn’t the half of it. Back in Otherworld, Elqaneve—the Elfin city—had been destroyed by the sorcerers, and we’d been there for the direct hit. Delilah and Camille had struggled to make it out of the war zone. I counted myself lucky that I’d been trapped and rescued without having to run the gauntlet of fire and destruction that the sentient storm had rained down on the city. And now, Queen Asteria was dead, our father was missing and presumed dead, and the spirit seals were in jeopardy.

“Yeah, harsh is the word for it, all right. So did you draw up a list?”

The waitress brought our blood. It was bottled, like beer, only the bottles were red to mask the color for the patrons of bars who might be a tad bit squeamish, and to differentiate it from the alcoholic beverage. Couldn’t chance a mix-up.

I cradled the bottle in my hands, then took a long swig. A wave of thirst ran through me as I tasted the blood. If the thirst gnawed too much, I’d want to go out hunting, and right now, I didn’t have the heart for it. Too much death, too much anger and fear running rampant in my life. So I downed my drink to quench the aching emptiness.

Roman pulled out his tablet. He’d gone high tech when high tech was still a baby and his ease with the computer world confounded me the more I saw it in action. I hadn’t known that little fact about him, not at first, but slowly had begun to realize just how savvy he was.

He tapped an icon, then another, and a document sprang up. As he scooted close to me, my skin tingled. He was old—one of the oldest vampires Earthside. Son of the Queen, his very presence exuded a magnetism hard to ignore. It made me want to run my hands over his chest, to slam him down on the ground and tear into him, fucking his brains out. And that was one thing about being Roman’s consort that made it all worthwhile. My position gave me the outlet I couldn’t have with Nerissa. Roman and I could play rough without hurting each other. In a way, it let me keep my love and passion for my wife safe and secure, keeping her protected from my inner predator.

“Later,” he murmured, feeling it, too. “We’ll play very soon.”

“Count on it.” I gazed into his eyes, the crackle of energy almost palpable between us. But then, bringing myself back to the task at hand, I took the tablet from him and scanned the document.

We really had no clue how many vamps frequented my bar, but there were some known regulars who had taken to hanging out at the Wayfarer since I’d become Roman’s official consort. And that list ran to about forty names. As I looked them over, I recognized a number of them. One thing was for sure: Roman had rushed to pull this together, putting his best men on it.

The names had been highlighted with two colors. Green meant the vampire had been accounted for. Yellow meant they were missing and nobody had been able to get in touch with them. Out of the forty-two names, thirteen were highlighted in yellow. Their last known contact was listed, as well.

I winced. That meant thirteen more potential victims. “Can you sort these out from the others and e-mail them to my phone?” I’d given in and accepted that I needed to break down and get an e-mail address, as much as I hadn’t wanted to go that route. Delilah had embraced her laptop. Camille had embraced her iPhone. I hadn’t fallen in love with either one. Though I had to admit, I loved my iPod, especially since I could plug it into my car.

I handed him the tablet and he tapped away while I sipped the rest of my blood.

“I guess I should track them down.” I toyed with the bottle. The thought of going on a hunt for missing vamps who might already be dead seemed like a colossal time suck. The legwork normally wouldn’t bother me, but we were already facing so much chaos and trouble at home.

“I’ve already got my men on it.” He punched one final button and I heard a little swoosh sound. The next moment, my phone pinged and the list was in my e-mail in-box.

I wiped a smear of water off the table where the condensation from my bottle had formed a ring. “Thanks. By the way, in addition to trying to figure out who burned down the Wayfarer—we’re convinced it’s arson—I have the privilege of having been slapped with a lawsuit. Don’t know if I told you that. Add yet another thing to the week-from-hell list.”

“What are you talking about?” Roman set down his tablet.

“I’m being sued for wrongful death or some such crap. One of the victims’ families wasted no time in snagging a lawyer and slapping me with a lawsuit. Makes me wonder just how much they actually gave a damn about their daughter.” Feeling terribly grumpy, I reached in my purse and pulled out the summons I’d received the night before and tossed it on the table. “Lovely, huh?”

Roman silently opened it, scanned it through—he read incredibly fast; his intelligence was at genius level—then slowly refolded it and set it back on the table, keeping his hand on it.

“Bullshit. I’ll have my lawyer contact you and we’ll put a stop to this nonsense.” He shook his head. “Money-grubbing bastards.”

“Chase said he’d find me a lawyer—”

“Nonsense. I have the best money can buy. You are my consort. No arguments.” When Roman put his fangs down, he put them down. After a moment, he rubbed his chin, then placed one hand over mine. “I want to talk to you about something—two things actually. First, I want to pay for the rebuilding of your establishment.”

Roman, pay for rebuilding the Wayfarer? That didn’t go down too well. I cared about him, yes. I was bound to him, yes. But I still didn’t fully trust him. Camille and Delilah assumed that I’d given myself fully over to his charm. While it was true that, since he was my sire, I had to answer to him, it didn’t stop me from keeping my eyes open and I didn’t have to agree to everything he wanted.

I shook my head. “Thank you, but no. Smoky and Shade have already offered and I’ve accepted. Dragons horde treasure beyond even ancient vamps. They want to do this and I’d like to let them.” It was, I thought, the most tactful way around saying, “Thanks but I don’t want you having a stake in my bar.” Of course, Roman was smart enough to know what I was up to, but decorum had been observed and I knew him well enough to figure he’d accept my wishes.

He just laughed. “I know what you’re pulling. Fine, then. Refuse my help. But if you need it, all you have to do is ask. I truly do not have a hidden agenda in helping you, you know. But Menolly, we’ll find out who did this. I promise you all the help I can give to finding out who torched your bar. And when we do… they’d better pray to whatever gods they follow.”

I wanted to tell him we had a pretty good idea of what was going on. Roman did know that I’d received a letter shortly before the fire, one from an attorney speaking for an anonymous client asking to buy me out. I’d ignored it.

A few days later, I’d received two threatening phone calls, not directly aimed at my bar but hinting that I’d be better off dead, and that I would be sorry I hadn’t listened to “friendly” advice. I got a half-dozen crank calls from hate groups every month and had chalked them up to that. The next thing I knew, the bar was on fire.

“We think we know who’s responsible. I can’t talk about it right now, because seriously—we have to walk cautiously on this one, Roman. I’ll tell you as soon as I know for sure. But that letter I told you about is involved, as well as the crank calls I got after.”

Roman nodded. “I promise to stay out of it until you ask for my help.” His voice was soft, low and curled around me, inviting me in.

I leaned closer to him and he wrapped his arm around me, pressing his lips to mine. I leisurely returned the kiss, melting into his embrace. It was long and slow, without pressure. We both knew that tonight was a no-go and that I needed to head home, so we left it at that. But it stoked my fire, and once I reached home, I’d be dragging Nerissa down to our lair, to fuck her brains out.

Finally, I pulled away. “What’s the other thing you wanted to ask me?”

He cocked his head, the frost of his eyes glittering. “It’s about your daughter, Erin.”

I’d turned exactly one person: Erin Mathews. Former owner of the Scarlet Harlot lingerie boutique, she’d been captured when my former sire came looking for me to finish the job he’d started. Erin was almost dead when we got to her, and I’d given her the option of letting me turn her into a vampire. Otherwise, she would have died. She’d chosen eternal life, and just like that, I’d birthed a middle-aged daughter. Erin was smart, and she was quickly adapting.

“What about her?” Erin had been working as secretary for Vampires Anonymous, a self-help club for newly minted vamps. Run by a friend—Wade Stevens, a vampire and former psychologist who had taken it upon himself to help the newly turned—the VA provided a place where the undead could bridge the gap with their living family and friends, and learn how to coexist without caving to their inner predators.

“I want to take her out of the VA. She’s got the nature I’m looking for. I’d like to train her for my security department. She could rise quickly in the ranks.” The tone of Roman’s voice told me that he wasn’t going to give up on this one.

I thought about the offer. Truthfully, Erin would probably love it. She wanted to be useful and she wasn’t a woman who was happy sitting around. She’d hated the inactivity that Sassy had forced on her when I had left her with the socialite vamp. Sassy Branson had been a dear friend, but her inner predator had finally won out. I’d had to take her out—a promise I’d made when she was still in control of herself.

Erin loved the job she had now, but she’d told me she was itching for more to do. In the end, I decided she had too much talent and know-how to waste.

“I’ll stop on the way home and offer her the opportunity. If she’s up for it, no problem. Might do her a lot of good. If not, then you’ll let her be.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Time for me to head out, then. My sisters will be waiting and we’ve got a lot to do. With the war in Elqaneve, we’re running on nerves and caffeine—well, my sisters are. I’m just… running.”

“All right, love, but the moment you feel comfortable telling me who you think torched your bar, I expect to hear a full report. I’ll take on the world for you, you know that.”

I frowned. Roman might take on the world, but he’d be biting off more than he could chew if he attempted to take on Lowestar and his cronies. That would be all Seattle needed—a corporate war between the daemons and the vampires.

I slugged back the last drops of blood and picked up my purse, but before I could slide out of the booth, Shikra glided up to the table. The owner of the Utopia was silent, like most vamps, and absolutely gorgeous. Her hair was full and thick, shoulder length, and a tawny wheat color that reminded me of my Nerissa. Her eyes were icy blue. She had been a vampire for only five years, if I remembered right, but she had adapted quickly. Wearing a PVC dress, with the zipper pulled down around her navel, she’d had implants before she died. Her breasts were gloriously round, but they looked fake as hell. I wondered how being a vampire affected having implants, but decided to keep my mouth shut for now.

“I trust the service was good? And your drinks?” She gave a little dip, curtseying to Roman and me. Which was smart, considering his status.

He glanced at me and I nodded. Since I was his consort, it was my place to deal with the niceties such as answering questions like this when we were out. In a sense, it was part of my job.

“You have a lovely club. Great service.” I gave her a toothy smile.

“I wondered…” Shikra paused, obviously wanting to ask something but respecting protocol.

“Yes?” Again, I answered. It was also my job to field queries coming at Roman when we were out together unless his bodyguard intervened.

“I need to ask Lord Roman’s advice, if I may. Something has come up and I don’t quite know what to do. I thought about approaching the police, but something just… I’m afraid to.”

She looked so worried that I motioned for her to sit down without consulting Roman to ask if he was willing to listen. But he gestured for her to join us.

“What seems to be the problem?” Roman leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze locking hers. That was one thing that made him so popular—when he turned his attention to someone or something, he gave it total focus with an intensity that was frightening.

Shikra pulled out a letter and put it on the table. “I received this the other day. It was followed by two anonymous phone calls. I think there’s a connection but I can’t prove it. I’ll let you read the letter first.”

The minute I picked up the paper, I recognized the letterhead. From a law firm called Vistar-Tashdey Enterprises, it was an offer to buy the Utopia Club from Shikra. Strongly worded, it was almost a demand. There were no names listed, no signature other than that of the lawyer representing VT Enterprises and a phone number. Same as the letter I’d received.

On edge—the letter was as off-putting and self-important as the one I’d received had been—I held up the paper. “Can I have a copy of this? Do you have a copy machine on the premises?”

She took it. “Yes, I’ll have one made. But as I said, the letter isn’t the only problem. The phone calls are more frightening. Last night, and then about an hour ago, I received two calls, and both times someone threatened to torch my club. No reasoning, no blackmail demands. Just a gruff voice, making a death threat. I have no idea if the caller was male or female—the voice sounded disguised.”

A shiver ran through me. “Roman…”

He seemed to be thinking along the same wavelength. “You’re thinking there may be a connection?”

I nodded. “Could be.” Turning back to Shikra, I asked, “As far as the letter, can you think of some reason anyone would want to buy your club? No offense, but… are you making a ton of money?”

Shikra shook her head. “That puzzles me, too. Oh, I’m getting by—business isn’t bad. But it’s not the best, either. There’s no real reason to buy me out unless they want the land the building is on.”

I thought for a moment. How could I not tell her about my experience? There had to be a link. But I had no clue what was going on, and until we knew, I was hesitant to mention that I’d received the same treatment.

“Be careful. I’m serious—I think this threat may be real. Keep an eye out, and make certain you post security at the doors. If you haven’t got an alarm system, get one tomorrow.”

“You don’t think it’s just a crank?”

“I wish I did think so.” I paused, then shook my head. “Seriously, be cautious. Meanwhile, I want a copy of the letter, please. And by any chance, were you able to record the messages that came through?” It was a long shot, but I asked anyway.

As I thought, she hadn’t.

“No, I took the calls when they came in, and I know it was the same person both times. Their words were muffled. I’m guessing whoever it was, was trying to disguise their voice. And both times the calls were short. I asked questions but they didn’t answer.”

“What did they say exactly?” Roman glanced around the club and I followed his gaze. The Utopia was unlike most vamp clubs, decked out in vivid crimson, green, gold, and black. The setup reminded me of a tropical lounge, with lush ferns and sprawling ivies spilling over the edge of built-in flower boxes. Booths, a muted crimson, were smooth and rounded, curving around dark walnut tables polished to a high sheen. The floor was a tiled linoleum, a black-and-white speckled pattern. There were no overwhelming drapes hanging low, like in some vamp clubs. No highly sexual statues, or macabre images. For the most part, the Utopia could have been any upscale and chic bar.

Shikra squinted. “Let me try to remember the exact words.” After a moment, she shrugged. “He—or she, I have no clue why but I want to say it was a he… he said, ‘Better count your hours, bloodsucker, because I’m going to send you and your fucking club up in flames.’ And then he paused. That’s when I asked what the hell was going on. He hung up.” She shivered, rubbing her arms. Vamps didn’t feel the cold much, but I knew it wasn’t a chill hitting her.

I closed my eyes. That almost mirrored to the exact wording what my caller had said. The only difference had been, “Better count your hours, bloodsucker, because I’m going to take you and your fucking bar down so hard you’ll never get up.”

That was all Shikra could remember. Roman told her to put a recorder on the club phone and see if she could capture the message if the freak called back, and then she left to print out a copy of the letter for me.

As we headed out, I glanced back at the Utopia. “I hope it’s just somebody’s bad idea of a practical joke.” But as I stared at the neon sign, I kept seeing the flames engulfing the Wayfarer. “I hope to hell that’s all it is.”

Roman walked me to my car. I stood by the Jag, staring into the night. “I’ll drop by Erin’s and ask her about the job opportunity. I’ll call or have her call you tomorrow night.”

Roman drew me in for a quick kiss. His bodyguards were in the background, studiously ignoring us as his hands slipped over my body, cupping my butt. I moaned into his mouth, then pulled away.

“Night, doll,” he whispered, ushering me into my car. He shut the door when I was in. As I drove off, he stood there, one hand raised, watching me go.

I stopped by Sassy Branson’s old mansion—which was now the headquarters for both the Seattle Vampire Nexus, and Vampires Anonymous. Located on two acres, the estate was gorgeous, and the mansion spacious. I stopped at the gate to show my ID. When Sassy had been alive, there had been a simple intercom system, but back then, nobody outside the vampire community knew she was a vamp, and she hadn’t been all that nervous. Now there was good reason to post armed guards around the perimeter, given the hate groups that were alive and thriving.

The guards told me that Erin was out for the evening—she was off to a movie with friends—so I left a message for her to call me when she got home, and I pulled out of the driveway.

I glanced at the clock. Ten P.M. It felt odd not to be down at the Wayfarer at this time of night.

I knew I shouldn’t. I told myself not to, but I couldn’t help it. I drove by the ruins of my bar and parked outside the burnt-out shell. After a moment, I got out of the car and picked my way through the rubble, making my way into the hollow husk of the building. The sky had clouded over and the scent of rain hung heavy. It was the perfect night for walking in ruins.

As I stood on the threshold of what had been my bar, my stomach lurched. The Wayfarer was more than a business to me, more than my livelihood. It had given me a sense of purpose. It had become a friend.

And now that friend was as dead as Chrysandra. I started to turn away when I thought I saw something in the corner. I spun around, ready to defend myself. There, in the murky pile of sodden wood and plaster, hovered a faint white light. I could swear a face stared at me from the mist, but then it vanished as the lightning crashed overhead and the rain pounded down in a steady stream.

I gave one last glance in the corner, but there was nothing there. Heading back to my car, I wondered if I’d really seen anything. Was it a trick of the light? Something I expected to see, given the circumstances? Or had it been Chrysandra’s spirit? Was she unable to rest even though we’d done our best to free her spirit? Was she out wandering? Or maybe… maybe it was one of the others who had died. Feeling numb again, and weary, I climbed back in my Jag and headed for home.

The road out to Belles-Faire was slick, the water beading across it as the steady rain became a downpour. My wipers were going full steam and I was doing my best to see between the streams of water racing down my windshield. As I neared the turn that would take me to our house, a blur emerged at top speed from one of the driveways.

Fuck! Another car! And it wasn’t stopping!

I slammed on the brakes and the Jag began to spin. As I drove into the skid, trying to regain control, the other car loomed large and I realized it was headed straight for me. Holy fuck, this was bad—this was so bad. I considered jumping from the car—I could do it and live, but then my Jag would lose all control whatsoever.

So I did what I could. Muscles and reflexes took over as I attempted to gain control of the spinning car and steer it out of the path of the oncoming vehicle. The other car was in front of me now, skidding wildly across the wet asphalt. And then, everything blurred as my Jag spun into a crazy dance, directly into the other car’s embrace.

The crash was surprisingly muffled, but then a loud shriek filled the air as metal slid along metal and my airbag deployed. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer.

As my Jag slowly rolled to a stop, I realized that I was still sitting there, still intact. Instinct took over—and shaking, I forced my hands to unbuckle my seat belt, then struggled to open the door. I half climbed, half fell out of my car, stumbling out of the way. I’d seen too many movies where the cars went up in flames, and while I thought that might be more fiction than fact, I wasn’t taking any chances. Fire could destroy me.

After a pause, in which I struggled to make sense of what happened, I realized there were no flames. No explosion. I patted myself down. I was okay. Jarred but all right, I turned my attention to the other car as I pulled out my cell phone from my pocket and put in a call to 911.

The heel on my boot was broken, so I limped over and yanked open the driver door, which was a mangled mess. My strength allowed me to pry it loose, thank the gods, and with growing relief, I saw that the only passenger in the car seemed to be the driver—a youngish woman. But she looked unconscious, and I could only pray that she wasn’t dead.