Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic (Dowser Series) by Meghan Ciana Doidge

Author:Meghan Ciana Doidge [Doidge, Meghan Ciana]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Old Man in the CrossWalk Productions
Published: 2014-01-08T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Was that your sister?” Kett asked as the taxi pulled into midafternoon traffic on West Fourth Avenue.

“Foster, technically.”

“Ah. A witch?”

“Half, yes. You couldn’t tell?”

“Not through the wards. They are … impressive.”

“My grandmother’s.”

“Hmm, not entirely.”

I didn’t argue with him. I had, of course, contributed private spells and reinforcements to the defensive wards on my apartment under my Gran’s instruction. However, the impressive part was her alone.

“Southwest corner of Vancouver General Hospital, please. Laurel and West Tenth Avenue, I believe.” Kett leaned back from speaking to the taxi driver, who took a quick right onto Vine Street to loop back east toward the hospital. The morgue, specifically. I imagined all hospitals had morgues, but this was the first time I’d thought about it. Actually, I’d never even been to the emergency room at Vancouver General, not once in twenty-three years.

I realized I was subconsciously leaning as far away from the vampire as I could, and therefore cramming my left shoulder into the car door. Though he’d shown up at my apartment looking almost human, I was still riding in the back seat of a taxi with a vampire who was stronger, faster, and far more deadly than I. The fact that his skin looked almost pink-tinged didn’t thrill me either. I imagined that meant he’d recently fed.

“So … the morgue,” I said. “We breaking in?”

The vampire — Kett, I had to keep reminding myself — turned his icy eyes from the road and looked at me. I didn’t meet his gaze. Everything he did had this deliberate quality to it, as if he thought about moving and then moved. Which was just fine, as I really didn’t want to see any more provoked movements on his part. My memory of the chunks of bridge cement in his hands was still fresh, and it was a little freaky if I watched him too closely.

“No,” he answered. Well, that was informative. He was in a chatty mood.

“Sienna tells me that vamp … your people don’t like being around the truly dead.” I slanted my eyes toward him. It looked like he was staring at my chest, but it was my necklace that had his attention — again. A girl could develop a complex around him. I’d only wound it around my neck twice this afternoon, and currently had the fingers of my left hand twined through a few of the rings — an unconscious mimicry of the vampire’s grasp in the club bathroom. I had my other hand resting on the invisible knife sheath at my hip. When had I become this wary, cautious person? Overnight, it seemed.

“Myth,” the vampire finally answered. I’d almost forgotten my question. He turned his gaze out the side window and I tried to not shudder my relief.

I’m not sure I could ever get used to this. I fought off the urge to call or text someone, anyone, as I turned to look out my window.

It was raining again. Big surprise.

∞

The taxi ride took twelve minutes that felt like hours.

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