Wanted: Undead or Alive

Cars Still Have Back Seats

Since the sun was getting low in the sky, we left the forensics teams to finish up their work and went to our respective homes to get dressed. Moose drove the Rubicon. I drove the Lincoln. Mx. Landry swung by and picked up Nick to take him wherever it was he was going to go. Agents from The Organization tailed all of us.

I'd been told to expect busy places with noisy crowds where a commotion might go unnoticed.

It was a date. Not really, of course, but it was supposed to look like a date. What would I wear if I was going on a date with Nick for real?

First thought: My best matching bra and panties.

That reminded me of the lakeshore. What even was that? Not sex. We'd both been fully clothed. Not even a good old-fashioned teenage dry hump. It was... supernatural.

I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my belly. Between my navel and the waistband of my underwear, Nick's handprint glowed with soft blue light as if it were an LED tattoo. When I touched it, it reminded me of gingerly running my fingers over a bad sunburn. Slowly, the tingling spread out from that strange wound to the rest of my body as I thought about his hands on me, the lithe, powerful length of him stretched out beside me, the savage need behind his kisses.

When I met the blue-eyed gaze of my reflection, I silently asked her if a relationship with Nick is what she wanted.

She telepathically replied that relationship was a complicated term.

Of course I wanted Nick.

It's who Nick was. Every female who met him wanted him. Even my grandmother, for cripe's sake. That was his power. One of them, at least.

But I also wanted him months ago when the power of his magical hold over me shifted to something different for a time. And I wanted him that afternoon, even when his magic was bound by the warded shackles.

I wanted him with every fiber of my being.

But did I want a relationship with him?

My parents once had a relationship. It ended up with my father drinking himself into oblivion on the regular and finally wandering off for greener pastures. My mother turned into a bitter hag who blamed everyone in the world, but most especially me, for her problems.

My grandparents had the best and longest-lived relationship of anyone I knew.

I associated their relationship with long talks about everything from life's deepest questions to digestive issues. If what they had was any indication, a relationship could be a safe haven—a harbor where one took refuge from the rest of the world. It could be a friendship that could survive the unexpected twists life took over the course of decades.

I thought of Mandrake, fighting bullies on my behalf on the elementary school playground and rocking me in his arms when my parents, drunk and fighting with each other missed my high school graduation, and waking me gently from a nightmare induced by a nasty encounter with a vampiric fugitive.

Maybe I was already in a relationship and just too stupid to admit it.

On a whim, I picked up the phone and dialed my grandparents' number. I imagined the jangle of the old yellow telephone that hung on their kitchen wall, its long, twisted cord dangling nearly to the floor.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Busia. It's Livvie."

"Tygrysku, I'm glad you called. That nice young man with the dog said I should get on the discophone service and join his gardening forum. Can you help me with that?"