This Side of the Grave (Night Huntress, #5)(92)

The scales had been tipped when Gregor’s death made Marie’s allegiance to ghouls alone, but maybe balance was what Marie intended all along when she forced me to drink her blood, using the one form of threat I could never refuse: Bones’s life. I could only hope that evening the scales for the sake of peace had been her plan . . . and be ready in case it wasn’t.

I inclined my head at her in the same respectful manner, but still kept my finger near my mouth. A slight smile creased her face before Marie turned away. Both our messages were sent and received.

“Come,” Marie said to the surviving ghouls. “We will leave together. You have nothing to fear from them. We are at peace now.”

As one, the ghouls began to follow Marie when she turned to walk out of the cemetery the same way she came in. I wondered if they picked up the warning note in her smooth voice when she said that we were at peace. I had, and once again felt a twinge of hope. If any of them went behind Marie’s back to start with vampires again, they’d find out the wrath of the voodoo queen was just as frightening as what I or any other vampire would do to them.

“She used no spell,” Veritas murmured in surprise.

I gave her a brief, jaded look. “That’s because she doesn’t practice black magic; she is black magic,” I said, repeating Marie’s words from that day.

“Can we trust her?” Veritas asked Mencheres, so low I could barely hear her.

He cast a thoughtful look at where Marie exited the cemetery before bestowing a single glance my way.

“We can trust her not to be foolish,” Mencheres replied at last. “Beyond that, we will have to see.”

I looked at the direction in which the voodoo queen disappeared with my own shrug. Time would tell Marie’s true motives. Until then, we had to pick up the pieces and move on.

Speaking of pieces . . .

I cast a glance around at the remains of the battle. Shriveling limbs, bodies, and blood stained the ground in various dark patches. What a mess. We’d have to burn most of the areas where the battles took place, both to hide the evidence of undead blood and just in case any of Denise’s blood had been spilled. I’d call Tate and have him keep the local cops back once we started the fires. It still felt strange to know Tate was the one I’d be speaking to about containing the scene, instead of hearing Don’s voice on the other line when I phoned in the details.

Even thinking of my uncle seemed to conjure his image out of the corner of my eye; wearing a suit and tie, gray hair impeccably combed, tugging on his eyebrow like he did when he was annoyed or reflective. Several times over the past ten days, a mirage of my uncle would appear in my peripheral vision only to vanish as soon as I turned around. Grief did funny things to people, I supposed, but I didn’t turn yet. I had bullets to dig out of my body and a whole lot of other unpleasant things to do, but just for a few moments, I wanted to pretend that Don was still with me.

“Lucifer’s bloody ball sack, I don’t believe it,” Bones hissed.

I did turn then. As expected, the image of my uncle vanished, but I was surprised to see Bones staring at that same spot behind me, his mouth dropped open like . . .

Like he’d seen a ghost.

“No,” I breathed.

Bones met my gaze, and one look in his eyes told me everything.

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered, my emotions swirling faster than a blender set on high as disbelief gave way to realization. Then I strode toward the area where Bones had been staring.

“Donald Bartholomew Williams,” I called out loudly. “Get your ass back here now!”





Acknowledgments

This might look long-winded but it actually doesn’t scratch the surface to acknowledge all the vital persons involved in the Night Huntress series. For everyone I don’t mention by name, please know it’s not out of lack of appreciation, but simply lack of room instead.

As usual, I have to start off by thanking God for all the amazing opportunities I’ve been given. I remember when all I asked for was a book to be published. Luckily for me, You had much bigger plans.

Thanks so much to my wonderful editor, Erika Tsang, and the rest of the fabulous team at Avon Books. Nancy Yost, my agent, continues to be worth her weight in gold. A big shout-out goes to Tage, Erin, Kimberley, and Carol, for all you ladies do over at Frost Fans. Thanks so much also to the Night Huntress readers for your support of Cat, Bones, and the rest of their “twisted little fang family.” I will never be able to articulate how much I appreciate you spreading the word about the series or contacting me with notes of encouragement. “You rule!” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Thanks to Miriam Struett and Angelika Szakácsi, winners of the Name That Kitty contest. I think Helsing (short for Van Helsing) is the perfect name for Cat’s cat!

And, of course, endless love and thanks go to my husband and family, for more things than I could ever begin to list.





Excerpt from One Grave at a Time

Cat Crawfield . . . Russell,” I introduced myself to the older man after a minuscule pause. Okay, Bones and I weren’t married according to human law, but by vampire standards, we were bound together tighter than a piece of paper could ever make two people.

A wave of pleasure brushed against my subconscious, drifting out from the shields Bones had erected around himself as soon as our helicopter landed. He liked that I’d added the last name he’d been born with to my own. That was all the officiating I needed to decide that I’d be Catherine Crawfield Russell from this day forth.