Page 80 of The Mermaid's Bubble Lounge
“Jerk,” I muttered.
“You have such an interesting relationship with the vampires,” he said. “They are a very formal lot with a love of hierarchy, but you they allow to break norms and behave as you wish.”
“Clive says since I’m not a vampire, I don’t have to follow their rules.”
Bracken shook his head as I directed him where to go. “I’ve known other humans in contact with vampires. They were treated lower than the lowest vampires. They treat you like a beloved little sister. It’s quite fascinating.”
“Okay, first of all, I’m not human. And there are plenty of vampires who hate my guts. Granted, most of them are dead now, but still. I’m a werewolf-wicche mix, and the wicche is a necromancer. Do you know what vampires are?”
Bracken glanced at me and then back on the road. “Undead humanoids who survive on blood?”
“The undead part being the most important in this case.” I had him turn again.
He looked at me twice in quick succession. “Do you have power over vampires?” He was having a hard time tamping down his excitement.
“No. And you can never write that in your notes or put it in a book. If that were known, even suspected, I’d be hunted by just about every vampire out there.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
We drove in silence for a while, with me only telling him which turns to take. Eventually, when we were close to home, he said, “I think it only fair, given what you have hinted at, to share a secret of mine with you.” He glanced over to check my response.
I nodded.
“I, too, am not just a wicche. I’m a bit of a black sheep in the Corey family, though most have no idea why. Only my mother was a Corey, you see. My father is fae. Like your cousin Arwyn, the fae blood makes our magic much stronger than other pureblood wicches.”
“Ah, the pureblood thing,” I groused. “My Aunt Abigail hunted my mother and me most of my life because my werewolf blood was sullying the Corey bloodline. I’m an abomination, apparently.”
He patted my knee. “She was a bad egg.”
“It’s up here on the right.” I pointed. “That one.” Our house was a gorgeous modern Tudor design. Clive had purchased the apartment house that stood here and had it torn down to the studs and rebuilt into a house for us. He chose this location because it was across the green from the steps to The Slaughtered Lamb. My morning commute was about a minute and a half, and we had amazing views of the ocean.
“The garage door is on the side, so turn here. I’ll jump out and alter the ward so you can enter.”
Bracken was staring up at the house and when he turned the corner, one side of his SUV lifted like he’d driven over the curb. “Sorry,” he said. “I hadn’t realized I was cutting that so close.”
He pulled into the driveway and I stepped out, glancing around for any animals too interested in us. Seeing nothing, I went to the garage door, pulled on my magic, and placed my hand on the doorframe.
Allow Bracken and his vehicle to enter our home. I typed in the long security code and the door slid up. If I hadn’t altered the ward, he wouldn’t have been able to enter, even if the door was up.
As he started down the drive, I jogged ahead so I could show him where to park. At the bottom of the hill, the garage opened to the right into a huge showroom of luxury cars. I pointed to the left, so he could get out easily.
“My goodness,” he said, grabbing an overnight case from his back seat. “You weren’t kidding. This collection is extraordinary.” He started to follow me to the elevator but then stopped in his tracks. “Is that the 1965 Aston Martin DB5?”
He dropped his bag and went to the little silver roadster, staring at it in wonder. He glanced back at me, eyes glowing. “This is James Bond’s car.”
I laughed. “That sounds about right. Clive is terribly posh.”
“My word. Do you think he’d ever let me drive it?” His expression was so bright, I’d never have guessed he was in his late sixties. Which then made me realize that Clive might be right about the glamour.
“We can ask,” I told him. “He’s very generous, but also pretty careful with his cars.” I picked up his bag for him. “Little secret, though: If I ask him, he’ll say yes.” I hit the elevator button.
Bracken took the bag from me. “Because he’s hopelessly in love with you.”
I grinned. “Yeah. There’s that.”
The doors opened and we stepped in. They re-opened a moment later into the den. Fergus stretched his long body on the couch and rose above us. Bracken stopped, his fingers twitching at his side.
Fergus stepped off the cushions and leaned into me. His head was between my waist and my arm, so he could nuzzle me while checking out our visitor.
