Poison Fruit

  I paused. “You’ve known others?”

  “Yes.” Stefan’s voice went flat. “But I would prefer not to have that discussion tonight.”

  Ohh-kay. I guess my oh-so-winsome ways hadn’t entirely tamed the big bad monster. I filed that topic away for another day.

  “I might ask you the same question,” Stefan added in a lighter tone. “Why are you here with me tonight, Daisy?”

  “Because you scare me in a way that excites me,” I said honestly. “You’re right—you and me together is an unknown. But it’s one I can’t help being curious about.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “So it’s not because I’m . . . hawt?”

  Oh, God. I’d forgotten about Jen’s damned text. Feeling my face flush, I held my ground. “Okay, fine. Yeah, that, too.”

  Stefan hoisted his wineglass and smiled at me. “To the unknown.”

  “To the unknown,” I echoed, touching the rim of my glass to his.

  Thirty-four

  Despite an uneven start, dinner was a reasonable success.

  I’ll say one thing—you’ll never run out of topics of conversation with someone who’s lived the equivalent of seven or eight mortal life spans. There were tons of questions I was dying to ask Stefan, but for the most part I managed to restrain myself and let him steer the conversation.

  The one exception was the topic of Janek Król. I couldn’t help it—I wanted to know more about the man whose existence I’d ended, and the role he’d played in Stefan’s life. To his credit, Stefan didn’t balk at discussing him. I heard the story of their friendship from start to . . . well, I knew how it finished.

  One of the more intriguing things I learned was that Janek’s abiding interest in the Jewish notion of tikkun olam, repairing the world, had set Stefan on his current course.

  “Why not try it in Wieliczka?” At that point, we were lingering over after-dinner drinks—port for Stefan, single malt for me—and the name of the Polish town fell trippingly from my tongue.

  “I wished to start anew,” Stefan said. “Somewhere I was not known, somewhere I had no history.”

  “And Pemkowet seemed small enough to be manageable,” I said. “That’s what you told me last summer.”

  “Yes.”

  I took a sip of scotch, letting it linger on my palate. “So that’s what this whole business of banishing the meth trade in favor of alleviating grief at the old folks’ home is about. Tikkun olam?”

  Stefan cupped his snifter of port in his hands. “It is about seeking to find meaning in the existence of the Outcast.”

  “Have you?” I asked.

  He gave me a half smile. “I am striving, Daisy. It has been a long time since I made such an effort.”

  How long? I wondered. As long as it had been since the last time he’d dated a woman? Longer? I decided not to ask, taking a different tack instead. “Do you believe Janek was right about God’s forgiveness?”

  “Yes,” Stefan said. “In Janek’s case, I do.” A distant look touched his features. “I believe that my old friend Janek is in heaven bargaining with God and His angels on behalf of the Outcast.”

  “I hope so,” I said. “Although I don’t think you can bargain with God. I mean . . . that’s sort of the point of God, isn’t it?”

  “Abraham bargains with God in the Old Testament,” Stefan said. “He begs the Lord not to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, and the Lord agrees to spare the cities if fifty righteous people can be found there. Abraham bargained him down to ten.”

  “And look how well that turned out,” I observed. “Why did God agree to bargain with him in the first place?”

  “Ah, well, the Lord had great plans for Abraham,” Stefan admitted. “He was to become the father of many nations.” He sipped his port. “And it has come to pass, as the faith of Abraham and his descendants has risen to prominence.”

  “So in other words, Abraham had leverage,” I said, finishing my scotch.

  Stefan laughed softly. “I would not have thought to phrase it thusly, but yes, I suppose you’re right. Perhaps I should not have used the word bargain. Perhaps it is enough that Janek reminds God of our existence and pleads on our behalf.”

  “Do you think God has forgotten about the Outcast?” I asked with genuine curiosity.

  “I do not know.” He drained the last of his port. “It may be that a thousand years may pass in the blink of an eye for the divine. It may be that each of us has a lesson yet to learn. Or it may simply be that God can no longer intervene from beyond the Inviolate Wall, and must use other hands as His tools.”

  I looked at my hands. “You know, I’m really not comfortable with that whole idea.”

  “I know.” Stefan’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Forgive me. I did not intend to trouble you.”

  “No, it’s my fault,” I said. “I brought it up. Will you excuse me for a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  I didn’t really need to visit the restroom, but I wanted to collect my thoughts. And I don’t know how the evening would have ended if I hadn’t encountered Daniel freakin’ Dufreyne on my way.

  The reek of wrongness hit me as I was passing the bar, where Dufreyne was paying his tab. I stopped dead in my tracks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Hello, cousin.” Dufreyne bared his white teeth in his sharklike grin, winding his cashmere scarf around his throat. “What a happy coincidence. I was just passing through and taking in a bit of local color. That’s an interesting date you’ve got there.”

  My skin crawled. “What’s it to you?”

  “Nothing.” Dufreyne shrugged into his expensive coat. “But if I were you, I’d want to know a lot more about his history with our kind before I sealed the deal.” He fished his gloves from his coat pocket. “Take care.”

  Son of a bitch.

  I stared after Dufreyne as he made his exit, then ducked into the ladies’ room to wash my hands and splash water on my face before returning to the table. “We should probably be going,” I said to Stefan.

  He rose to retrieve my coat. “As you will.”

  Based on what I knew of Daniel Dufreyne, I was ninety-nine percent sure he was just seizing the opportunity to mess with me, which really sucked, because it had been a relief to spend a whole evening not worrying about that damned lawsuit or my nightmares about destroying the world. I did my best to put his words out of my head and enjoy the chivalry thing. Back at my apartment building, Stefan got out of the Lexus to walk me to the door. On the doorstep, chivalry gave way to something else, something filled with sexual tension and unspoken possibilities. That fluttery feeling was back in my stomach, along with the molten stirrings of desire.

  I wanted him.

  I wanted to do this, to embrace the danger. I wanted to lose myself in simple lust, in the deadly knife-edge play of emotion between us. And thanks to the bond between us, Stefan knew it. I could see it in the swift dilation of his pupils, in the quickening of his breath in the cold night air.

  “Daisy.” Stefan said my name in a husky whisper, drew me against him and kissed me. It wasn’t as explosive as the last time he’d kissed me, before he’d left for Poland, but it was a kiss that meant business. It was a kiss that was the start of something serious, intense enough to weaken my knees and leave me no doubt of his intentions.

  And yet, this time I was the one to end it. Ninety-nine percent wasn’t a hundred. I needed to know more before this went further.

  I didn’t pull away or raise my shield, but I broke off the kiss. “Thank you.” My voice sounded as unsteady as I felt. “It was a lovely evening.”

  Lifting one hand, Stefan brushed my lower lip with his thumb. “You’re not going to invite me inside?”

  “No.” With an effort, I let go of the lapels of his coat. Huh. I didn’t remember clutching them. “Not tonight. It’s too easy for me to abandon myself with you, Stefan. I need to take this slowly. I need to know I’ve got some measure of self-control. And I want to get past the cry
ptic eldritch crap,” I added. “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning wondering why I went to bed with you after you shut down any conversation about your history with hell-spawns.”

  “I see.” Stefan’s pupils glittered at me. “Then I will court you, Daisy. Slowly and deliberately, until you beg me for release.”

  A shiver ran down the length of my spine, and my tail twitched reflexively. “And the cryptic eldritch crap?” I challenged him.

  Stefan dialed it down a notch, his expression easing into a wry smile. “I will endeavor to answer your questions with candor. Perhaps our next outing should be dedicated to such a conversation.”

  “I’d like that,” I said. “Very much.”

  He inclined his head. “Next Saturday, then. I’ll call for you at eleven o’clock in the morning and take you to brunch.”

  Like condominium, brunch was one of those words that sounded incongruous coming from Stefan, and it made me smile. “It’s a plan. And, um, thank you for understanding.”

  “Anything worth pursuing is worth waiting for.” Stefan dusted a few snowflakes from the collar of my new coat, then leaned over to kiss me again, his lips lingering on mine. “You looked very beautiful tonight.”

  Okay, I had to make my escape before I changed my mind. “I’ll see you then,” I promised, backing away from him and fishing my keys out of my messenger bag. With that, I turned tail—no pun intended—and fled into the stairwell and the subsequent safety of my apartment.

  All in all, Dufreyne’s insidious insinuation notwithstanding, I thought that had gone well.

  Unsurprisingly, the news of my date with Stefan traveled fast. On Sunday morning, I got a phone call from an indignant Jen demanding to know why I hadn’t told her about it, and insisting on details.

  “I can’t believe I had to hear about this secondhand,” she said. “I’m the one who set this thing in motion, girlfriend!”

  I winced. “I know, I know!”

  “So?”

  “It was nice,” I said. “But it was weird, too. He bought throw pillows, Jen. Ninety-dollar ones.”

  “Why is that weird?” she asked. “Do you think it means he’s gay or something?”

  “No, definitely not.” Apparently, I couldn’t communicate why I found the notion of Stefan purchasing throw pillows so disconcerting. I didn’t tell her about Dufreyne’s warning. That could wait until I knew more.

  “Did you hook up?” Jen asked.

  “No,” I said. “We’re taking things slowly.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” she said. “Are you going to see him again?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “We’re having brunch next Saturday.”

  “Brunch?”

  “Yep.”

  “Something about the idea of Stefan the hot ghoul doing brunch just seems . . . wrong,” Jen commented.

  “I know, right?” I said. “That’s what I’m trying to say about the throw pillows.”

  “Okay, well, I want a full report next Sunday,” she said. “Sinclair said to let you know that the coven’s working on the charm. He has something else he wants to talk to you about, but they need to do more research.”

  “Okay.”

  On Monday, I was called in to the station to cover the front desk for Patty Rogan, who was out with the flu. Chief Bryant gave me a long, appraising look, the expression on his face unreadable.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Daisy,” he said to me.

  Most of the time I appreciated the paternal interest the chief took in me, but today it rubbed me the wrong way. “Duly noted, sir.”

  He gave me a slow nod of acknowledgment and didn’t push the issue, for which I was grateful.

  Other than my debut with Stefan as Pemkowet’s premier eldritch power couple, the pending lawsuit was still the main topic of conversation in town. The big news was that the tri-community boards had voted to accept Lurine’s offer, and her high-priced celebrity lawyer, Robert Diaz, was coming to town to consult with the defendants and their lawyers. Since Diaz wasn’t licensed to practice in Michigan, he couldn’t actually represent us, but he would be providing counsel every step of the way, starting with a formal request that the judge replace Dufreyne due to conflict of interest.

  Under normal circumstances, I thought, that seemed like a no-brainer. But these weren’t normal circumstances.

  I had an hour to go on my shift when Cody entered the station, bringing the scent of snow and pine trees with him. Without a word, he tossed a folded sheet of thick stationery, battered and dirt-smudged and sealed with a blot of red wax, on the desk in front of me.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “I was supposed to give this to you a week ago.” Cody’s tone was flat. “Open it.”

  I broke the seal and opened the paper to find an official invitation to attend a gathering of the Fairfax clan on Sunday, January 19, in my capacity as Hel’s liaison. It was signed by Cody’s uncle Elijah, who was officially the head of the clan.

  It wasn’t quite a punch to the gut, but it hurt. “I see.” I folded the invitation. “Why did you wait so long?”

  Cody shrugged. “Guess I had mixed feelings about the whole thing. But now I hear you’ve moved on.”

  Okay, that was a low blow. “Not by choice,” I reminded him.

  His upper lip curled, revealing eyeteeth that were a bit too long. “You could have chosen anyone but Ludovic!”

  My temper stirred. “Don’t go there,” I said to Cody. “Just . . . don’t. You have no right.”

  “I can’t help—” He cut off his sentence as Chief Bryant poked his head out from his office.

  “Everything all right?” the chief asked, glancing back and forth between us.

  “Fine, sir,” Cody said stiffly. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

  “I see.” The chief’s gaze was shrewd. I had a feeling Cody and I had just blown our cover, but the chief didn’t pursue it. “Don’t forget to swing by the Chandlers’ place,” he said to Cody. “They’re in the Bahamas this week and I promised we’d keep an eye on it. They had a break-in when they were on vacation last year.”

  “Right.” Cody nodded. “Will do.”

  Chief Bryant waited for Cody to leave, then ambled over to my desk. “This business with you and Ludovic,” he said, without looking directly at me. “Does it have anything to do with Officer Fairfax?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk. “These are difficult times. Try not to make them harder, all right? We really can’t afford distractions that affect morale in the department.”

  I wanted to say that it wasn’t my fault; that Cody had made his choice and he had to live with it. But I figured it probably wasn’t a good idea to openly admit that we’d had a relationship, sort of. “Understood, sir.”

  The chief clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Glad to hear it.”

  Thirty-five

  The following Saturday, Stefan and I had our second date.

  As promised, he took me to brunch—a fancy, upscale buffet brunch at the Brookdale Country Club.

  I’d only ever driven past the place. If the weather had held, the snow-covered grounds would have been picturesque, but the cold snap had broken, and the golf course was a vast expanse of sodden, patchy turf.

  As before, our appearance was greeted with excitement and consternation, gray-haired patrons whispering as Stefan and I were seated. The Brookdale Country Club definitely catered to an older demographic.

  At least they put on a good spread. And yes, the sight of Stefan standing in line at the buffet and meticulously placing smoked salmon, paper-thin slices of red onion, and capers on blini with a schmeer of herbed cream cheese was . . . bizarre.

  “You know, you don’t have to do this,” I said to him when we returned to our table.

  He raised his eyebrows at me. “I gave you my word, Daisy.”

  “I mean the food thing.” I gestured at his plate. “You don’t actua
lly derive pleasure from it, do you?”

  Stefan paused. “Not exactly, no. But I enjoy the ritual of dining and the sense of communion it evokes.” Wielding his utensils European-style, he cut his blini in quarters. “So.” He speared a piece with his upside-down fork. “I promised you candor. You wish to know my history with others of your kind. Is there more?”

  I sliced into my own first course, a thick slab of prime rib that was just shy of medium rare. And yes, I realize it wasn’t even noon yet, but, hey, it was offered at the carving station. “Well, that’s the big one. But of course, there’s more.”

  “Such as?” he inquired politely.

  Chewing a succulent bite of prime rib, I studied Stefan. The overcast daylight filtering through the windows alleviated the impact of his unnatural pallor, making him look almost mortal. Twenty-nine. I’d been sure he was older; but then, I suppose twenty-nine in the fifteenth century was a more mature age than it was in the twenty-first. Still, I could see it now that I was looking.

  “The thing is, I’m not sure where to draw the line between getting to know you and prying into painful topics,” I said. “I mean, there are the obvious questions.”

  “Of course.” He gave a faint, wistful smile. “You wonder if I had a wife and children.”

  Actually, I wondered if there had been multiple wives and children over the centuries. “Did you?”

  “A wife, yes.” Stefan reached for the bottle of champagne in the freestanding ice bucket beside the table and topped off our glasses. “No children. She miscarried twice, and the third was stillborn.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “At the time, it was cause for great sorrow. Since then . . .” Stefan shrugged. “I do not know. It may have been worse to become anathema to my own flesh and blood, to watch them age and die at a distance, while I endured.”

  I took another bite. “Did you ever marry again?”