“We’ll have to wait and see,” I said. “There’s no point in worrying yourself sick about it now.”
“We’ll talk about this later.” Gwen’s tone made the words sound like a threat.
I held open the door as she carried the coffee tray into the dining room. She’d forgotten the tiramisu. But it didn’t matter. The evening was over. Not even Kane could pull Gwen back from whatever dark place she’d gone in her worries about Maria, in her anger and hurt that Maria had chosen to talk to me—not Gwen—about what she was going through. Within fifteen minutes, we were saying good night.
4
“THAT WENT PRETTY WELL,” I SAID AS WE PULLED OUT OF Gwen’s driveway and headed back to Boston.
“Are you kidding? If that had been a trial, and the jury was starting its deliberations—like your sister and her husband are doing in their living room right now—do you know what I’d be doing? I’d be pacing the hallways, chewing my nails until they bled and trying to figure out how to tell my client we were going to lose.”
“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad. Okay, there were a couple of tense moments. But Gwen likes you. She gave me the secret signal.”
He scowled like he thought I was teasing him. “I wish you’d told me not to mention your aunt.”
“I should have. I’m sorry about that.”
But even if I hadn’t been distracted on the drive out here, I might have neglected to bring up the issue. In my mind, Mab’s household and Gwen’s family existed in such completely separate spheres that I probably wouldn’t have thought to warn Kane. Of course, without that warning from me, he’d think bringing up family would be a natural icebreaker. He’d probably expected that saying he liked Mab would win him points with my sister, not send him three giant steps back.
“What happened between them?” he asked.
“I don’t know, exactly.” The animosity had started nearly twenty years ago. “When Gwen was thirteen, she went to Wales for her first summer of demon-fighter training. Or that’s what was supposed to happen—she was home within a month. When I asked her why she came back, she burst into tears and told me to leave her alone. She never said what went wrong. But whenever anyone mentioned Mab’s name, Gwen would shout, ‘I hate her,’ and run out of the room.”
Gwen’s rejection of Mab had changed our family. No more Christmas visits to Maenllyd, Mab’s manor house in north Wales. Gwen flat-out refused to go. And all those summers I spent in Wales, Gwen never once asked about Mab or acknowledged that I’d been away. She hadn’t invited Mab to her wedding; she hadn’t sent announcements when her children were born. Because of Gwen, Mab hadn’t attended my father’s funeral.
“Do you think the training was too tough for Gwen? Your aunt isn’t exactly a softie.”
I shook my head. “It was more than that. Mab wouldn’t speak of the incident, either.” I’d asked her about it when I began my apprenticeship. “She told me it was none of my business. That I was there to focus on my own training. She said so in a way that made me think it would be a bad idea to ask a second time.” Mab never said she hated Gwen; she never talked about her at all. Whatever had happened, it erased each of them from the other’s world.
“Families can get so complicated,” Kane said. “It’s easier being a lone wolf.”
“Oh, yes? Should I stay at my place tonight, then, and let you do your lone-wolf thing at yours?”
He gave me a sidelong look, and then made a sharp right into the empty parking lot of a closed mini-mall. He stopped, turned to me, put his hands behind my head, and pulled me to him for a kiss. All the tension, all the pent-up frustration of the evening, was transformed into the urgent pressure of his lips against mine. A thrill went through me. The kiss deepened, making my heart pound. Then Kane sighed and rested his forehead against mine, his hand stroking the back of my neck.
“I said easier, not better.”
Whichever. Right now it all felt pretty damn good. I tilted up my face to kiss him again when his cell phone rang.
He groaned. He pulled out his phone and checked the number. “Damn. I’m sorry, Vicky. I should take this call.” He ran a finger along my lips as he pressed a button and put the phone to his ear. “Alexander Kane.” He listened for a couple of seconds. His finger stopped moving on my mouth. “Hold on.” He muted the phone and turned to me.
“It’s about Juliet. She’s in Goon Squad custody.”
My heart lurched. The Goons had Juliet? At least she was safe from the Old Ones. But she was being held by the cops who police Deadtown—and that wasn’t good news.
The Old Ones weren’t the only ones looking for Juliet. She was also wanted for questioning in connection with that Supreme Court justice’s murder, the one that had derailed Kane’s paranormal rights case. Witnesses had seen Juliet in Washington on the night Justice Frederickson was killed. But what the cops didn’t know—or wouldn’t believe—was that the Old Ones had been there, too. Kane had seen them. Three Old Ones had tried to prevent him from reaching his werewolf retreat that night, the first night of a full moon, and force him to change in the middle of the city. They’d almost succeeded, too.
When Justice Frederickson’s body was found, her throat ripped out, Kane was initially the prime suspect. But the D.C. cops hadn’t been able to charge him because of his airtight alibi: Just before moonrise, he’d made it to a werewolf safe room at the National Zoo, where he remained locked in until dawn. Kane was convinced the Old Ones had murdered Frederickson and tried to frame him for it—and that Juliet was somehow involved.
Had Juliet admitted her involvement? Was that the reason for this phone call? I couldn’t believe it.
I listened, but I couldn’t make much sense of Kane’s onesided conversation. When he ended the call, I asked what was going on. “When did the Goons pick up Juliet? Where?”
“They didn’t. She turned herself in three days ago. Said she needed protective custody.”
The Old Ones. They must have been closing in on her.
“But why did the Goons call you?” Unlike humans, paranormals had no right to legal counsel. We weren’t guaranteed a phone call, either. The cops could legally hold Juliet indefinitely, without ever telling anyone she was in custody. There had to be a reason they were calling now.
“Juliet says she’ll cooperate fully if she can talk to a lawyer first. She asked for me.” He turned in his seat and put a hand on my arm. I didn’t like the look in his eyes. “You realize it’s impossible for me to represent her.”
“What do you mean? Of course you have to.”
“Vicky, somebody murdered a Supreme Court justice and tried to pin it on me. Juliet was involved. I can’t imagine a bigger conflict of interest.”
“She didn’t frame you. I know she didn’t.”
“You can’t say that. I know she’s your friend, but you haven’t even heard from her in, what, six weeks or longer.”
I hadn’t told anyone about Juliet’s postcards, not even Kane. It was like she was confiding in me, and they were too secret and too urgent to share.
“So you’re just abandoning her to the mercy of the norms? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“That’s not like me.” His glance reproved me for thinking otherwise. “Did you hear me mention Betsy Blythe? That was a referral. Betsy is a terrific defense lawyer. She’s a human who has a decent track record in paranormal cases. In fact, let me give her a call now.”
He placed the call, waited several seconds, and glanced at me. “Voice mail,” he said. At the beep, he said, “Hi, Betsy. It’s Kane. I gave your name to the JHP”—JHP was short for Joint Human-Paranormal Task Force, the Goon Squad’s official designation—“as a referral for a vampire they’re holding. Her name is Juliet Capulet, and she’s wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of Justice Frederickson down in D.C. She says she’ll cooperate after she’s spoken to a lawyer, so they’re allowing her access. She asked for me, but for obvious reasons I can’t take her on as a client. Of course, I immediately thought of you. If you could meet with her, I’d really appreciate it. I’ll touch base with you in the morning, but call any time if you have questions. Thanks, Betsy.”
He put his phone away and took my hand. “All right? Betsy’s top-notch, Vicky. Juliet will have competent counsel. I promise.”
“She asked for you.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
I pulled my hand away. It sat in my lap, clenched into a fist. When I spoke, my voice sounded tight. “You won’t help her, even for my sake?”
“It’s not a matter of ‘won’t.’ It’s ‘can’t.’ I cannot represent Juliet when there’s a cloud over our relationship.” He put a finger under my chin and turned my face toward him. His gray eyes were sincere. “If I did, it wouldn’t be fair to her.”
He was right, damn it. But that didn’t mean I had to like it. I jerked my head away and stared out the side window.
Kane laid a hand on my shoulder. He pressed my arm. I didn’t turn. After a moment, he sighed and started the car. We pulled out of the parking lot and back onto Route 9.
My chest felt tight as I watched the wood-framed houses of Newton go by. Most of them were dark, their norm inhabitants asleep. Maybe they were having flying dreams. Maybe they dreamed they were being chased by monsters like the two who drove silently past in a late-model BMW. Whatever. They were lucky. They weren’t sitting alone in some Goon Squad cell waiting for a lawyer who wasn’t coming. I turned in my seat. “I want to see her, Kane.”
“All right.” He nodded. “I’ll tell Betsy to try to get you on the list of approved visitors.”
“No, I want to see her now. Tonight. I want you to drop me off at the Goon Squad’s holding facility.”
