Page 50 of Wake the Dream

They pulled up in front of a lodge-type cabin with large wooden planks forming a porch out front. The perfect sort of place to list on a rental site, rather than house a bunch of bloodthirsty monsters. He knew from past experiences outer appearances could be deceiving.

“Listen—”

But as usual, Illaria refused. She was already out of the car and heading toward the front door before he had a chance to finish.

Shit.

Kieran struggled to catch up, then circled back to pop the trunk and grab the standard vamp bag detectives were required to carry. Garlic, stakes, holy water, the usual. Standard procedure. He’d be a fool not to have it close. He hoped he wouldn’t need it, but he hadn’t lied to Illaria. They played it safe—or at least safer—by going for interrogation in the middle of the day. High noon. Still, he refused to put her safety on the line.

He threw the pack over his shoulder and struggled to catch her before she made an entrance without him. She’d already gotten halfway to the door.

“You stay behind me,” he told her, bending to speak next to her ear and slowing his steps. “Do you understand? Whatever happens, you stay behind me and let me do the talking. The daylight caretakers will be the ones at the door and you and I have to keep our cover.”

She finished looping her hair in an intricate braid over her shoulder. Tucking loose strands behind her ears. “How do you want to play this? You’re not going to flash your cop badge and muscle your way inside?”

“Just follow my lead.”

He came up with the plan on the spot, not wanting to go inside with guns blazing. They needed to be discrete.

Catching his breath, Kieran reached out and pounded his fist against the front door, but not before dropping his pack in the bushes and out of eyesight. A precaution. He didn’t want to play his cards too soon.

The woman who answered the door looked like she could be the wife of the local priest. Her button-up shirt reached directly below her chin, tucked into the waistband of her slacks, and her graying hair was swept away from a peach-shaped face, with two butterfly pins securing the strands.

“May I help you?” she asked, peering around the door with a caution born from habit.

Something Kieran understood. Although he’d never quite gotten the concept ofwillinglybecoming a blood slave. It made his skin prickle just thinking about it.

“Hi there, ma’am.” Although he wasn't the best at accents, Kieran adopted the one that came naturally. Think Minnesota. Cheese curds. Flying by the seat of his pants with something familiar. “The wife and I are in the market for a house and we sure do like the look of this one. Thinking about moving to Hedgehill Marsh permanently.”

He didn’t need to glance at Illaria to feel her amusement.God, please let her keep a straight face on this one.

She linked her hand through his and slid into a similar persona. His girl. “We sure do. This place is just perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

The woman at the door blinked at them, her thin smile still in place. “I’m not sure I understand...”

Kieran and Illaria shared a look. “Sorry, honey, I guess we didn’t think how rude this might be.” He returned his attention to the stranger guarding the front entrance. A matronly Cerberus. “We just wanted to talk to you to see what the taxes were like here. And schools, and property values. Maybe even to see if you might consider selling this place. The wife sure does like this house. Loves the little flower boxes underneath the windows.”

The woman fluffed like a little roosting hen. “I planted those myself.”

“Of course you did!” Illaria exclaimed. “They have a real personal touch. Anyway, we know this is short notice and an awful imposition, but do you think we could come inside and have a chat? About the neighborhood and the schools and all? Gosh, I just love everything about this house. And those flower boxes are just adream...”

She trailed off on a sigh, but the ruse worked.

“Only for a moment. You two look sweet. Newly married, you said?” The woman stared at their fingers for rings. Kieran made sure to stick his opposite hand out for an introduction.

“Hal Smith, lovely to meet you. My wife, Martha. We left our wedding rings at home because, you know.” He leaned in closer. “Thieves.”

The woman at the door seemed to understand. She gave a curt not and not a hair moved out of place. “Come in, we can speak in the parlor. My...the homeowners are not to be disturbed but I think it’s safe to have a spot of tea.”

“The homeowners?” Kieran asked lightly. He took in everything, every detail of the opening foyer leading into a large living room. The power of observation, he knew, was an essential tool in his arsenal.

“Yes. I tend the house. The owners work during the evening so they are asleep for most of the daylight hours. Mrs. Macy, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She did not hold out a hand for an introduction.

The door closed and darkness immediately enveloped them. The silence of the house became deafening. Kieran heard his pulse echo in his ears.

“They work nights,” Mrs. Macy continued, “and trust me to care for the house during the day. Please, have a seat. I'll put some tea on. Are you two fans of Earl Grey?”

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