Bloodfever by Karen Marie Moning Page B

hadn’t killed instead of the sixteen I had. “Leave me alone. I can’t be your friend,” I said bluntly.
    â€œThat’s way too intriguing to pass up. What’s your story, beautiful girl?”
    â€œI don’t have a story. I have a life. And you don’t fit in it.”
    â€œBoyfriend?”
    â€œDozens.”
    â€œTruth?”
    â€œIs.”
    â€œCome on, don’t dis me.”
    â€œConsider yourself dissed. Fuck off,” I said coolly.
    He held up both hands, “All right. I get it,” and stopped.
    I pounded down the sidewalk away from him and didn’t look back. I wanted to cry.
    â€œI’ll be around,” he called. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
    Right. Ancient Languages Department at Trinity. I made a mental note never to go there.

    â€œI think they know me,” I said when I pushed through the front door of the bookstore. Barrons was behind the counter, not Fiona. That was weird. He was actually ringing up a purchase, like a real person doing a job. He cut me a look of warning—mute it, Ms. Lane—and jerked his head toward the customer.
    â€œFlip the sign,” he said when the patron left. He slapped a cardboard placard on the counter and began writing on it. “Who do you think knows you?”
    â€œThe Shades. They get … I don’t know, agitated when they see me coming. Like they recognize me and I piss them off. I think they’re more sentient than you know.”
    â€œI think you have an overactive imagination, Ms. Lane. Did you turn the sign over yet?”
    I flipped over the sign. That was Barrons, autocratic down to his steel-booted toes. “Why? Wrapping up early?”
    He finished writing, walked over, and handed me a placard to hang on the door next to the sign.
    I read it. “For how long?” I was surprised. The bookstore was our cover and now he was closing it?
    â€œAt least a few weeks. Unless you want to start running the cash register, Ms. Lane.”
    â€œWhere’s Fiona?”
    â€œFiona turned off all the lights and left a window open last night.”
    I staggered—physically stumbled backward—and nearly fell from the impact of that mental blow. I caught myself on a display table, toppling a few baubles and stacks of the latest best-sellers. “Fiona tried to
kill
me?” I knew she didn’t like me, but come on. Talk about excessive!
    â€œShe claimed she was only trying to frighten you off. She wanted you to go home. I was beginning to think she’d succeeded. Where were you all day?”
    I was too busy reeling from Fiona’s viciousness to answer him. It was bad enough that I had to watch my back with all the known nasties. I wasn’t well versed enough in feminine wiles to see the subtler nasties coming. “God, what did she do?” I breathed. “Sneak back in late last night? How did she get out herself?”
    â€œSame way you did, I imagine. Flashlights. I must admit, Ms. Lane, I’m impressed with how well you cleared the place. There must have been Shades everywhere.”
    â€œThere were, and I didn’t. I only cleared part of it. V’lane did the rest,” I said absently. How ironic that I’d been so doggedly trying to save her from the very monsters she’d turned loose on me.
    There was a moment of frozen silence, then Barrons exploded, “What? V’lane was here? In my store?” His fingers banded around my upper arm.
    â€œOw, Barrons, you’re hurting me,” I snapped.
    He released me instantly.
    Barrons is dangerously strong. I think he has to maintain constant awareness of what he’s touching, or he’d end up breaking bones. I rubbed my arm. I would be bruised tomorrow. Again.
    â€œMy apologies, Ms. Lane. So?”
    â€œNo, of course he wasn’t in the store; you have it warded, don’t you? Speaking of which, why didn’t your