Night's Master
Page 10

“I'm sure Rick's right and there's nothing to worry about,” I said, hoping to calm Susie's fears, but in the back of my mind, I found myself thinking, what if she was right? What if the Werewolves and the Vampires no longer considered this neutral territory? If they turned this into a war zone, no one would be safe.
Susie stayed another half hour or so and then left to run some errands before she had to pick her kids up from school.
I went back to unloading the box of books—books no one would probably buy—but I couldn't stop thinking about what Susie had said. I knew there were at least fourteen Vampires in town, maybe more. Had fourteen Werewolves showed up to keep things even? Had they had some kind of scuffle last night? Was it time to pack up and leave town? I shook my head. If this remote little burg wasn't safe, no place was. As for the conflict between the Vampires and the Werewolves, I knew someone who could tell me what was going on. Unfortunately, I didn't know how to get in touch with him. And it was just as well. Being able to call him was a temptation I didn't need.
While I was shelving the books, I remembered a conversation I'd had with Raphael. I had been surprised to learn that he lived in Oak Hollow, and he had replied that someone had to stay and make sure that everyone followed the rules. At the time, it hadn't occurred to me to ask if that meant there was a full-time Werewolf in residence as well. But now that I thought about it, it seemed like a logical assumption.
To my surprise, just before noon, several moms trooped into the shop, their children in tow. They all nodded in my direction or murmured hello as they headed toward the far corner of the store where I kept the children's books.
After a few minutes, I went back to see if I could help, and the next thing I knew, I was chatting with the women as if we were all old friends. Two of the mothers asked me to order books for their kids, a third ordered several romantic suspense novels for herself, another asked about a murder mystery for her husband.
Some time later, after the kids had all chosen books, a couple of the moms wandered through the shop, picking up a new book here, a used book there.
It turned out to be quite a profitable day. By the time the women left the store, it was almost two, and my stomach was growling. I debated closing the shop and running out for a sandwich, but since I'd be closing up at six, I snacked on a candy bar instead and promised myself a healthy dinner later.
A few more customers trickled into the shop throughout the afternoon.
At six sharp, I closed the store. Standing on the sidewalk, my keys in hand, I decided dinner at the café sounded a lot better than going home and cooking a solitary meal.
I slipped my keys into my pocket and strolled down the street toward Carrie's Café, hoping that nothing would happen to change the ambience of this quaint little town. I loved it that the movie theater still played a double feature on Friday and Saturday nights, and that the barber shop still had a red-and-white-striped pole out front, and that the soda shop still served malts in the same shiny stainless steel containers they were made in. I liked it that the stores didn't all look like cement blocks with windows, and that each one was unique. I liked it that the first few pages of the newspaper reported on what was happening in Oak Hollow—Daisy Parker delivered a healthy, seven-pound baby boy on Sunday; Jeffrey Madden pitched a no-hitter at the high school softball game Saturday night; Emma Watson's strawberry preserves won first prize at the River's Edge Country Fair; Ed Stefan and Laura Peterson were engaged.
Crossing the street toward Carrie's Café, I nodded at an elderly couple I recognized from church, although I didn't know their names.
Carrie Watts, who owned the café, smiled at me as I walked in the door. She was a tall, middle-aged woman with curly brown hair, gray eyes, and the biggest dimples I had ever seen. I smiled back at her, then found a small table near the window. A waitress brought me a menu, and after a moment, I decided on a small salad, a cheese-burger, curly fries, and a chocolate malt. So much for my decision to have a healthy dinner.
I had only been there a few minutes when Cagin slid into the chair across from mine.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
“A little late to be asking, isn't it?”
He grinned. “I was afraid if I asked first, you'd tell me to get lost.”
“You'd have been right.”
“Hey, I'm sorry if I came on a little too strong the other day.”
“You lied to me.”
His brows shot up. “When?”
“I asked you if you were a Werewolf and you said no.”
“I'm not.”
“Don't split hairs with me. You're a Were-tiger, aren't you?”
“But not a Werewolf,” he said with an easy grin. “How'd you find out, anyway?”
I didn't tell him that I had sensed he wasn't human. In the first place, I still wasn't sure how I knew; in the second place, something told me I'd be better off if no one else knew about it.
While I was trying to decide how best to answer, he muttered, “Cordova told you, didn't he?”
“Maybe.”
“What are you doing hanging around with a dead man?”
A dead man? Raphael Cordova was the most vibrantly alive man I had ever met. And since he had never died, “dead man” was hardly an accurate description. I didn't see any need to mention that, either, because if there was one thing I was certain of, it was that I couldn't trust the man sitting across from me.
“Hi, Cagin,” the waitress said, returning to my table. “Can I get you anything?”
“Hey, Pam. How about a steak sandwich, rare, and a cup of black coffee?”
“You've got it, you handsome devil.”
Cagin licked his lips as he watched Pam walk away. “Cute kid.”
“Uh-huh.” I had a mental image of Pam as Little Red Riding Hood, and even though Cagin wasn't a Werewolf, I had a mental image of him lying in wait for her, only this time there would be no heroic woodsman to save her from the big bad wolf, or big bad tiger, as the case may be.
“Kathy?”
Startled from my reverie, I realized he had asked me a question. “What?”
“I asked if you were busy Friday night. I thought maybe we could try again.”
“I don't think so.”
“Come on, give a guy a break.”
“You aren't a ‘guy.'”
“You're not holding what I am against me, are you?”
“Not exactly, it's just that I'm still recovering from a bad breakup. I'm really not ready to start seeing anyone again on a regular basis.”
“Except for Cordova.”
I stared at him, searching for a reply, relieved when the waitress brought my salad and our drinks. The fact that Cagin knew I had gone out with Raphael bothered me, although I wasn't sure why. I mean, I wasn't trying to keep it a secret or anything. Lots of people had seen us together. I guess someone could have mentioned it to Cagin.
I waited until Pam moved away from the table before saying, “What I do, and who I see, are none of your business.”
With a shrug, he added two packets of sugar to his coffee and took a drink.
Pam returned with the rest of our order a few minutes later.
Cagin picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Red juice dripped down the corners of his mouth. It looked very much like blood. I knew Raphael drank blood, but he didn't eat his prey.
We said little during the rest of the meal. Cagin ate quickly, then leaned back in his chair, lazily studying me with his amber eyes. As the seconds went by, it made me increasingly uncomfortable. Raphael had gazed at me just as intently from time to time, but it had never made me feel as if I were a piece of meat.
I folded my napkin and laid it beside my plate, placed my fork on top of it, and pushed away from the table. “I'm going home.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I reached into my purse and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “That should cover my dinner.”
He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”
“I think I'm leaving. Good night.”
“Sit down,” he said curtly. “You're not going anywhere.”
I was about to tell him to go to hell when a voice spoke from behind me.
“Are you ready to go home, Kathy?”
Relief poured through me when I looked up and saw Raphael. “Yes, I am.”
Cagin's eyes narrowed to ominous yellow slits. “What the hell are you doing here, Cordova?”
“Rescuing my fair lady from the dragon,” Raphael replied. He offered me his hand. “Shall we go?”
Cagin sprang to his feet, his eyes blazing with anger.
I clung to Raphael's hand, my heart pounding. Surely they wouldn't fight here, in the restaurant. A quick look around confirmed that everyone in the café was staring avidly in our direction, no doubt waiting to see who would throw the first blow.
“This isn't the time or the place,” Raphael said quietly. “Sit down and cool off.”
“This isn't over.” Cagin spat the words.
“Just tell me where and when,” Raphael said. Still holding my hand tightly in his, he walked me out of the restaurant. His car was parked in a red zone at the curb. He opened the door for me, and then closed it with a little more force than necessary.
Still feeling shaky, I watched him walk around the front of the car to the driver's side. Opening the door, he slid behind the wheel.
As Raphael pulled away from the curb, I glanced out the side window to see Cagin standing on the sidewalk.
Raphael drove in silence for several minutes. Tension radiated off of him like heat from a blast furnace. I couldn't tell if his anger was directed toward Cagin or toward me, or if it was even anger I was sensing.
My apprehension kicked up a notch when he pulled up in front of a large two-story house located at the end of a long dirt road lined with cypress trees. The house was made of faded red brick and had a tile roof. Four steps led to a covered veranda that spanned the front of the house. I only saw one window. It was on the first floor, and barred.