Chapter 20
Laurie
River’s home was… unusual. From the outside it looked like the stock standard lavish celebrity home, coupled with trimmed hedges and a cherry red convertible parked out front. Inside, however, was something else entirely.
Imagine Versailles crash-landing into an antique emporium, then a botanical garden taking over the wreckage—that would get you close.
It was also huge; the home unfolded like a choose-your-own-adventure book, dozens of doorways draped with drooping ferns and random doodads, leading off to God knows where.
I stood awkwardly in the entrance hall, fidgeting with my jacket lapels while River presented the place with unnecessary flair.
“Welcome to my humble abode!” She swept a grandiose hand around the jungle-museum mash-up, then clasped her hands behind her back.
“Don’t mind the clutter. I collect… souvenirs. ”
“Souvenirs,” I repeated faintly, staring at what looked very much like an ancient, cursed artifact sharing shelf space with a bubbling lava lamp.
The furniture was a time-travel traffic jam, and both intricate and ordinary tables and shelves sagged under random treasures.
A shiny beetle trapped in glass, a vintage radio, weird helmets from bygone eras, and even what looked like a hunk of old car engine.
Giant paintings of stern-faced strangers and stranger landscapes stacked on top of each other, frames jammed so tight the corners touched.
Right through the middle of everything ran a shallow indoor moat rippling with koi fish. They flicked around corners and under little wooden bridges, following the stream that stretched out and disappeared down the main hallway.
River stood waiting like she expected further comment and I racked my brain for something nice to say—and promptly short-circuited. A thank you for taking me in was probably in order, but that made me feel like a charity case or some kind of stray animal she’d found in the trash.
So I simply stood there, in silence, shifting my weight from one foot to the other while I tried to assess her expression. She looked relaxed here, in her element, but she still eyed me like I was a ticking time bomb, standing at a respectable distance.
Was she suspicious of me? Was this whole song and dance one elaborate trick to get me to spill my secrets? I couldn’t figure her out—and her hospitality both baffled and bothered me immensely.
River’s brows rose as my eyes narrowed. “Sooo…” she dragged the word out, dropping her gaze and smoothing out her torn evening gown. “Can I interest you in—”
“Where’s my gun?”
She paused, adjusted her expression a fraction, then shrugged. “Somewhere safe. Don’t worry, you’ll get it back tomorrow.”
My fingers curled into fists. I wanted it back now. No way was I going to spend a night in a vampire’s lair without a weapon.
But River was already breezing past the subject.
“Anyway,” I flinched slightly when she strode by, heading toward an archway draped in hanging photos and chattering over her shoulder, “it’s been a long night and I don’t know about you, but I could use a hot cup of coffee to take my mind off that brief brush with death. ”
I stood nailed to the spot. Suspicion, irritation, and reluctant gratitude held an awkward tug-of-war in my gut. Despite my many, many reservations, I was here now, in her home. I had agreed to stay one night. I’d also, technically, killed for her.
That thought sent a slight tremor through my hand, down to the tip of the finger that had pulled the trigger. I masked the residual horror with a barbed glare.
When she realized I wasn’t budging, River paused and glanced over her shoulder. “Coming?”
I folded my arms. The way she matched my tense suspicion with complete ease pissed me off beyond belief and I couldn’t tell you why. “I don’t drink coffee.”
She blinked—one of those long, slow blinks cats give when you have the audacity to tell them what to do. “That’s impossible. Everyone likes coffee.”
My scorn skyrocketed and I pinched my fingers in the air for emphasis. “That’s literally not true. Tons of people don’t like coffee.”
River gripped the bridge of her nose like I’d announced I disliked oxygen and would prefer to suffocate and die please and thank you. “Fine. Tea, then.” She snapped her fingers in an unnecessarily infantilizing come-here motion, all the while shaking her head. “Come along.”
Something in her tone, chiding like an exasperated babysitter, lit my fuse. I planted my shoes on the polished floorboards and folded my arms up tighter.
“What?” River tilted her head to the side. “Why are you glaring at me this time?”
I squinted harder—because that’s how you detect deception, obviously.
“All right,” River tried again, voice gentle in a please-don’t-crash-out-amongst-my-trinkets kind of way.
“I’m not plotting anything except the fastest route to caffeine.
” She swept both hands toward the archway that presumably led to the kitchen.
“I promise you’ll get your gun back tomorrow and I promise not to bite you in the middle of the night—now will you please stop staring daggers at me. ”
I opened my mouth, closed it, then jerked my gaze away. “Just…checking for ulterior motives.”
“Ulterior—?” River dropped her arms at her sides. “It’s chamomile.”
A beat of silence passed, broken only by the occasional swish of fish skimming the surface of the stream. When I risked a glance her way, River snagged my gaze with an open and honest expression to counter my penetrating glare.
My skepticism waned. Maybe it wasn’t a facade at all, maybe she really was just a bit of an oddball with a penchant for discarded trinkets. Maybe, when she looked at me, that’s exactly what she saw. A broken curio, a perfect addition to her unusual collection.
I blew out a breath and smoothed out my scowl to something more akin to a slight sneer. “Fine.” I motioned for her to get moving, windmilling my arm and avoiding her eyes. “Chamomile sounds great.”
River’s whole face lit up, and the smile she flashed nearly sent me tottering backwards into the koi pond. “Excellent.” She spun on her heel, dark hair swirling out in waves, and made for the kitchen while I slammed a steadying palm to my chest.
It took more than a few seconds to come to terms with the abrupt fluttering in my stomach and then a few more to convince myself that it hadn’t happened at all. She was pretty, that was all. Most vampires were. They were literally built that way to lure in their prey.
Clearing my throat, I pretended my heart hadn’t just attempted a handspring and trailed after her into the kitchen.
River was already rummaging in a cluttered cabinet.
I perched on a high stool at the marble island in the center, trying not to gawk while she set a dainty teapot on one burner, slid a chem-lab contraption of glass onto another, and started multitasking with a degree of focus I couldn’t possibly compete with.
I planted my elbows on the counter. Watching her whizz around the kitchen, all of the fatigue I’d been staving off over the course of the night came rushing back at once. I closed my eyes and let my head droop into my hands, let my mind drift…
“Do you always do your snooping solo?”
“What?” I jerked upright again, then let out a strangled squawk when I looked to the left.
“Sorry—wasn’t trying to sneak up on you!
” River was right next to me now and looking appalled at spooking me.
She backed up a step and leaned on the counter.
“But I’m curious. Where did you get the tip-off about the facility and the guy coercing people at bars?
I thought you were trailing the organization on your own. ”
“Not exactly.” I sucked in a slow breath, hunching lower over the countertop. “I have a friend on the police force—he’s been helping me chase some leads.” I paused, biting down on my bottom lip. “He’s just a little more focused on planning and I’m a little more interested in… immediate action.”
River’s response was rather pointed. “You mean running headfirst into danger, consequences be damned?”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Adrenaline makes me productive.”
“Adrenaline makes you reckless.”
I should’ve bristled—I did bristle—but then she set a mug of chamomile in front of me like a well-placed diversion, steam curling gently under my nose. The smell was calming. So was the way she backed up even further, granting space instead of hovering.
I wrapped cold fingers around the warmed porcelain and forced myself to at least attempt to be polite. “Thank you.” It came out through gritted teeth, but at least I said it.
River settled on the opposite end of the island, lifting a steaming cup to her lips. “I’m still trying to understand how a functional adult can despise coffee.”
My brow crept up and I flicked a glance her way. ‘Functional’ was a stretch but I’d take it.
“Easy. It tastes like dirt,” I muttered, blowing over my tea. “Also, I’m literally broke. I can barely afford the water bills, let alone fresh beans. So even if I did enjoy the flavor of mud, I wouldn’t be drinking much of it anyway.”
I meant it as a joke—dark, sure, but a joke. Only I realized it didn’t really land like one when River’s smile slipped, surprise flitting across her face like a cloud over the moon. For a heartbeat I wanted to crawl under the marble island. Great job, Laurie, ruin the vibe.
But River snorted out a laugh. “Damn. Meanwhile, I spend more on ethically sourced Sumatra beans than most people do on rent.” She made a vague gesture with a hand over her shoulder. “And don’t worry about running out of water here, or bathrooms. You’ve got seven available so take your pick.”
“Seven?” I squeaked out the exclamation, setting my cup down a little too hard. “You have seven bathrooms!?”
River nodded through another sip of coffee. “Technically nine, but two are hidden behind a bookcase—” At my incredulous expression she shrugged. “Long story.”
I barked out a laugh despite myself. “I guess it pays to be undead.”
River nodded with complete sincerity. “The immortality certainly contributes to the accumulation of too many things.” She flicked a finger off her cup and pointed at mine. “How’s the chamomile?”
I took another cautious sip. “Suspiciously perfect. Did you hex the teapot?”
“Not at all. Never been very good at spellcasting,” she deadpanned, shooting a glance at the teapot. “I think it’s sentient, though. I swear it moves when I’m not looking.”
A snort escaped before I could strangle it. River’s grin returned—looser, warmer—and suddenly we were just two exhausted women nursing hot drinks in a fancy kitchen.
“So,” she went on, narrowing one eye like a jeweler appraising a flawed diamond, “besides adrenaline and the occasional cup of tea, what exactly powers one Laurie-not-Lorelai to chase down her enemies with reckless abandon?”
“Cheap noodles. Bad decisions. Sheer spite.” I ticked them off on one hand, sipping down chamomile with the other.
“Ah, a balanced diet.” River snickered into her cup. “Spite is my favorite food group.”
“I thought your kind preferred your proteins.” I made a vague attempt at imitating vampire fangs with my free hand.
“Eh, even immortals need a cheat day.” River fluttered her fingers in the air. “Branch out from hemoglobin, try something artisanal—rage-aged grudges, for example.”
I huffed out a laugh, ignoring the absurdity of the conversation. “You’re very strange, even for a vampire, you know that?”
“I’ve been alive a very long time.” She sighed with mock solemnity.
“Eventually, you go a little crazy. Or you start collecting things—artifacts, eccentricities. Then one day you look back and realize you’ve filled an entire building with koi ponds and cursed amulets and enough plants to start your own ecosystem. ”
“Dream big,” I muttered, but the warmth in my chest was real. No interrogations, no pity, just… banter. Normal—if you ignored the events that brought us here.
“Oh, I do.” River’s laughter was light, a lively, lilting sound like honey in my ears. “I already have high hopes that you’ll get over your unreasonable hatred of coffee.”
“Not hate,” I corrected with a finger pointed her way. “Indifferent. Coffee never did anything for me. Chamomile, though… This feels like a hug.”
“That was the idea.”
The silence that followed wasn’t strained. It was soft, warm as the steam curling from our cups. I glanced around the kitchen again: copper pots and pans, plants hanging from the rafters, and dozens and dozens of trinkets on every available surface. “Do all these… treasures have stories?”
“Every last one.” River’s voice turned tender, like every item in her cluttered home was near and dear to her heart.
“Even the lava lamp?” I stifled a sudden yawn, fighting the effects of the herbal brew and the mountain of fatigue pressing down on my shoulders.
“Nice tonsils you got there.” River finished her coffee and set the cup aside, chuckling when I slammed a mortified hand over my mouth. “There’s a guest room three doors down. The door locks from the inside.”
I struggled to clamp down a second yawn, sounding out the words around the sensation. “How do I know you don’t have secret passages hidden behind the tapestries or something?”
“If I do, I have long since forgotten how to find them.”
I let out a snort that turned into an unsteady laugh. “Great. If I vanish tonight, just assume I fell into your forgotten trapdoor to Narnia.”
River’s smile tipped lopsided. “If you stumble on Narnia, bring back the lamppost; it would look magnificent next to the samurai armor.”
I giggled again—a real laugh, not the unhinged hysterical kind that popped out when I was trying to save face.
When the sound faded, I found River watching me, slender arms propped on the island, ochre eyes soft and glowing slightly like two halos around her pupils.
“You’re safe here, Laurie.” Her voice was low, no grand flourish, no polished mystique. Just a simple statement offered like an open door. Something loosened slightly, deep in my chest. It was a minute movement, the tiniest bit of give. But it made the next breath easier.
“Okay,” I murmured, surprised at how steady it came out. “But I’m still going to booby-trap the guest room.”
River’s lips curved up at the corners. “I would expect nothing less.”