Pretty When They Collide (Pretty When She Dies 0.5)(18)

Cassandra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “She cheated on me.”

“Oh! I need to write that down.”

Listening to the scratch of the pen against paper, Cassandra pressed her still tingling hand against her chest and sighed.





Chapter 8: No Safe Havens



The warmth of the sun was slowly becoming an uncomfortable heat against her bare shoulders, but Aimee ignored her discomfort. Pulling another weed, she glanced toward the modern adobe multi-level house to make certain that none of the guards were spying on her. She hated when Frank sent his goons to watch her, especially when she was in the garden. It was the one place in the sprawling West Texas estate that she could claim as her very own. Frank was unable to enter due to the vervain she had planted along the edges. The vampire was under the impression the entire garden had an adverse effect on him and had no idea she had deliberately planted a barrier to keep him out.

The hot desert sun glinted off the mirrored surface of the windows and she adjusted her sunglasses to keep out the glare. The triangular sun shade stretching overhead gave her some respite, but allowed enough light to keep her plants healthy. Sweat trickled down her nose and she twitched it, since rubbing her nose with a grimy glove was not the best idea.

Dressed in her usual attire of a tank top and a flowing skirt, Aimee knelt in the soft earth tending to her plants. Her long trip abroad had allowed the weeds to get a foothold. Even though she had left detailed directions for Frank’s staff, she supposed she should take comfort in the fact they had at least remembered to water it in her absence. Her delicate rosemary plants were tucked along the wall and out of direct sunlight and looked a bit ragged. Rosemary was one of the most important ingredients in her spells and she felt like kicking a few shins every time she looked at the weary plants.

Body aching and still feeling weak after her battle in Vegas, she refrained from using her powers to check on the guards. Frank had poured protein drinks down her throat and a dose of his own blood in the aftermath of her victory over the black witch, but her energy reserves weren’t bouncing back like they once had.

Magic was energy. True witches could control energy and manipulate it to their bidding. Aimee used the energies of plants and other organic material to do her will. The right combination could pack a powerful punch. Yet it was her own energy reserves that she had to use as a catalyst to get the ball rolling. There were rituals she could use to revive herself, but Frank’s tight leash on her via his blood tie kept her from ever being at full power. Vampire blood was false life and it robbed her of the ability to reach her full magic ability. Maybe that was what Frank wanted. She knew he feared that she would one day find a way to break his power over her. At one point he had been arrogant enough to believe that she loved him enough to be loyal, but Aimee was certain he now knew the truth.

If she ever got the chance, she would escape.

An especially vicious little weed refused to give its hold up on the earth and she tugged harder. She respected its tenacity, but she wasn’t about to let it choke the life out of her sage. Digging at the gnarled roots, she couldn’t help but compare the weed to Frank. Frank’s roots were deep in the soil of her life and he was choking the life out of her.

Checking her watch, she saw that her little tracking spell would be ready soon. The dhamphir was Frank’s next target, that much was clear. Aimee didn’t know a lot about dhamphirs, but she had one of Frank’s researchers working on remedying that fact. When the vampire had finally fallen asleep, she had carefully unwound the strands of chestnut colored hair from the clips of the extension and stored them in a small cotton bag. She had straightaway mixed the tracking spell upon returning to the estate.

A long shadow fell over her. Aimee immediately twisted about, and saw Ivan, one of Frank’s most trusted guards, standing over her.

“What is it?” she asked, squinting behind her tinted glasses.

“He’s awake and he wants you.”

Sighing, Aimee set her tools in the bucket caddy beside her. Tugging off her gloves, she tucked them into one of the side pockets. Ivan leaned over and claimed the bucket caddy, and gestured sharply with his head.

“He wants you now. I’ll put this up.”

Frank had to be in a truly bad mood if Ivan was willing to clean up after her. She pulled off her gardening hat and glasses and handed those to Ivan.

“Thanks,” she said, then strode through her garden toward the sliding glass door that glinted in the sunlight.

The door slid open when she drew near and the cool, stale, air-conditioned air flowed out, brushing over her heated skin. With a shiver, she stepped into the dimness beyond the door.

Another guard slid the door shut, cutting off the heat of the day, then slid the heavy thermal curtain over the glass, banishing the daylight. Candles and lamps lit the interior of the house. The wide rooms with high ceilings felt cavernous, but were crammed with antiques. Frank was an avid collector and she was annoyed at how easily he could fill a room with his countless acquisitions. When they had first moved into the much bigger house on the massive estate in West Texas, she had loved the airy feel of the rooms. Now they felt as stale and heavy as their previous home in Louisiana.

Aimee was sweaty and grimy and considered cleaning up before entering Frank’s bedroom, but then thought better of it. If he was demanding to see her immediately, he could put up with her being grungy. She hated when he wakened in the afternoon hours. It was rare for a vampire to be able to do so, and Frank used this rare gift it to his advantage. He loved to wake up early and scheme.