Chapter 9. Annette
Annette
I waited until Ronnie disappeared through the door of the B&B, then dragged Jenny out of the van and out of earshot.
Then I dragged her a bit farther, since I had no idea how far a ghost van’s hearing might reach.
“What the hell are you doing? Talking to that punk is one thing, but inviting him into our home?”
“Artemis told me to find him. And I’ll be a lot happier knowing where he is and what he’s doing. Would you rather he keep running around all stabby and unsupervised?”
“I’d rather you talk to us before making a decision like this.”
Jenny started to argue, then caught herself.
She ran a hand through her short, graying mess of hair.
I wished she’d either grow it out or maybe try an undercut, anything to update that old pixie cut.
“That’s fair. I apologize. But hopefully, those dreams of his will help us get ahead of whatever’s coming. Also—”
“You feel sorry for him,” I finished. “Even though you saw what he did to the harvester that threatened his mother.”
“He thought it was going to hurt her. Wouldn’t you have done the same to protect Blake or your grandkids?”
For a woman with divinely enhanced senses, Jenny could be thick. “This isn’t about them. It’s about protecting Temple.”
Jenny went still. “What?”
“You had the same thought I did. I saw it on your face. You’re afraid Ronnie’s dreams mean Temple is going to slip up and break the world.”
She shook her head. “Not if we’re there to watch over him.”
“Maybe.” I didn’t like it either, but we couldn’t run from the facts.
“But Ronnie’s here to save the world and to prove himself, not necessarily in that order.
He’s clearly a slay first, talk later guy.
What happens when he figures out one of the most powerful men on the continent is losing control of that power?
What’s to stop him from sneaking into Temple’s room and cutting his throat in his sleep, thinking he’s saving the whole damn world? ”
Jenny took a step back like I’d punched her on the nose.
Which I also wanted to do. All morning I’d felt like a bubbling meatsack full of barely restrained demonic rage.
When we’d first entered the B&B and CJ was staring at the ugliness of my injuries, I’d been half a second from popping my claws and ripping the eyes from his head.
It wasn’t the physical pain that had me in such a hateful mood. It was pure vanity. Humans were a vain, prideful lot, but they had nothing on succubi. When I’d gotten out of bed this morning and seen myself in the mirror, I’d cried for the first time since my second husband’s death.
I was trapped in scarred, ugly flesh. I knew it was irrational. I knew it was shallow. I even knew, logically, that I was lucky. A human burnt this badly would spend the rest of their life like this. I’d be back to myself within a week.
It didn’t matter. This body, this skin, it was wrong. Every time I saw the yellowed blisters and the reddened flesh and the dark scabs, I had to fight the urge to claw off my own skin.
“Are you all right?” asked Jenny. “I know how hard this is for you.”
People who knew you were so annoying. “I don’t need pity,” I snapped. “I need you to keep Ronnie Kensington out of our house and away from Temple.”
“You really think he could take on Temple Finn?” Jenny asked. “Especially in his own home?”
“Ten years ago? Not a chance. These days, who the hell knows? Ronnie fought a harvester and lived. We don’t know what other tricks he has.”
Jenny nodded slowly. “I won’t let Ronnie hurt anyone. Neither will you. Neither will the house, for that matter. If he tries anything, he’ll find himself falling down the stairs or knocked unconscious by a chunk of ceiling plaster.”
She had a point, but I wasn’t calm enough to admit it quite yet.
“I don’t feel sorry for Ronnie, by the way,” Jenny continued. “But I know the road he’s on and where it leads. All that anger and grief and righteousness and violence . . .”
“You want to save him.” I threw up my hands in disgust. “Of course you do.”
“So do you,” she said, grinning. “You’re just too stubborn and grumpy to admit it.”
I flipped her off, but before I could say anything more, my phone rang, making us both jump.
I yanked the damn thing from my purse. The phone was on silent, but I’d set a handful of people to bypass that so I wouldn’t miss emergency calls.
I checked the screen, and my chest constricted as I answered. “Ava? What’s wrong?”
Jenny’s mouth tightened. She knew my grandkids well enough to worry. Their generation could text a hundred words a minute, and they’d rather be burned at the stake than make an actual telephone call.
“Grandma?” There was no anger or bitterness or cynicism in her voice. She spoke the word like a child frightened by a bad dream. “You were a detective, right?”
“I was a private investigator. It’s not the same thing.” I spotted Ronnie emerging from the B&B, a bulging canvas duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “What’s wrong, hon?”
“I think my friend Sage is in trouble.”
I caught Jenny’s attention and jerked my head toward Ronnie. She nodded that she’d seen him. We both started walking toward the van.
“What makes you think that, Ava?” I asked.
“He was acting really weird the last time I saw him. And his parents called, asking if I’d seen him. They say he ran away last night or this morning.”
“Have they called the police?”
“Ugh. That’s what Dad said. ‘It’s probably nothing. The police will handle it. Don’t bother your grandmother.’” Her imitation was dead on. “Everyone knows you can’t trust cops.”
“I’ve worked with some excellent police detectives,” I said.
“If something happened to me or Morgan, would you trust the cops to handle it, or would you search for us yourself?”
Dammit. On a different day, I wouldn’t have hesitated to drive over to comfort her, but I had a potential world-ending crisis on its way, not to mention tracking down the amateur demon-hunters from last night. “I know you’re worried, but right now I’m dealing with—”
Jenny plucked the phone from my hand. “Hi, Ava. It’s Aunt Jenny. Hold on a sec.” She tapped mute, and her tone switched from chipper to stern. “I’ve got things here, Annette. Go.”
“Were you listening to my conversation?” Those damn Hunter senses. Usually, she at least pretended to respect people’s privacy.
“Yes. Why did you buy Blake his house in Salem?”
“You know why,” I snapped. “Because after the divorce, he didn’t have the money to—”
“Why did you buy him a house in Salem?”
Jenny and I had been friends for too long. I knew exactly how the rest of this argument was going to go, and to my great annoyance, I knew she was going to win. I answered out of politeness. “I hoped it would give me a chance to reconnect with him and to spend time with my grandchildren.”
“And the whole reason you needed to reconnect was because . . .”
“Fuck you.” There was no ire in my words, only resignation.
Like a student reciting a lesson for an overbearing teacher, I said, “Because I spent too much time focused on work and not enough time with my son. You realize if I’d been a man, people would say I was a hard worker and a good provider, but because I’m a mom—”
“Nobody’s saying you should have stayed home barefoot in the kitchen every day, but you told me how bad you felt about avoiding being a parent. I’m telling you not to make that mistake as a grandparent.”
“I see them every weekend,” I said.
“Your granddaughter—the granddaughter who’s spent months cocooned in angst and isolation—is reaching out to you for help. The world isn’t ending today. I can handle Ronnie Kensington. Go, Annette.”
“You can be such a bossy asshole.”
“I love you, too.” She handed the phone back.
I waited for her to walk away, then unmuted the phone. “Aunt Jenny says she’ll take care of the thing I was working on. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you, Grandma.”
I hung up and walked to my BMW. I did a quick check around the car before getting in, making sure nobody was lurking with holy-water squirt guns or worse.
I hated walking away from a case, and this one had too many loose ends I needed to track down. But as I started the car, I kept remembering the relief and gratitude in Ava’s Thank you, Grandma.
I hated when Jenny was right.
· · ·
This would be the seventh time I’d visited Blake’s house since he moved to Salem. He still hadn’t forgiven me for buying it for him.
I’d set them up in a white Cape Cod with a wooden fence protecting the front yard. The reddish foliage of a dogwood tree peeked around the east side of the house.
I parked on the street. In the house across the road, a pair of corgis appeared in the living room window and barked their disapproval.
Morgan met me at the front door with a gentle hug. His brown eyes grew wide. “Whoa. What happened to you?”
Thanks, kid. For a minute there, I’d almost managed to forget how nasty I looked. “Nothing,” I said. What was the excuse Jenny had used? “I had a cooking accident with the double boiler. Fudge-related explosion. Don’t worry, it looks worse than it is.”
“Good thing you heal fast.” He stepped back to let me inside. “Dad’s upstairs yelling at Ava. Do you know what’s going on?”
Before I could answer, Blake called down, “If that’s your grandmother, tell her I’ll be right down.”
Morgan rolled his eyes, then turned to me with a plastered-on smile. “My father says he’ll be right down.”
I ruffled his hair. “Thanks, smartass.”
The living room was much as it had been during my last visit, back on Christmas.
The tree and decorations were gone, but the mismatched furniture and the tufts of cat fur on the carpet were just as I remembered.
A photo of Blake and the kids hung over the couch.
A half-folded basket of laundry sat next to the old coffee table.