up in the part of her mind containing memories. Her sweet-scented mother had died on Kelsie’s tenth birthday. A car accident while on an errand, or so she had been told. Was that a lie?
Maybe not an accident? Kelsie thought with a frightening snap of perception. God. Had her mother been a Slayer, and died in some other way? Perhaps at the hand of a vampire?
Kelsie couldn’t make herself ask the question. Her hands were visibly shaking. Her face felt numb. If her mother had been a Slayer…and if her mother had met her death at the hand of a vampire…had that vampire been a Flynn?
Like mother, like daughter. The phrase rang in her ears.
"She…she was one?"
Gran nodded, keeping her focus on Kelsie.
"You encouraged me to go away," Kelsie said, recovering enough to speak. "Was that to protect me?"
Her grandmother nodded again.
"So," Kelsie began, almost inaudibly, "Connors have a blood feud with the Flynns? That’s real? If there are vampires and werewolves in the world…" her tone sounded slightly hysterical "…why not Slayers?"
She wished with all her heart that her grandmother would admit that none of it was true, and nothing more 56
Vampire Lover
than a good bit of Blarney. No such luck was to be had, though. The seriousness of her grandmother’s expression struck terror into Kelsie’s soul.
"My mother hunted them? Is it what the title has to mean? Fighting and killing? The Flynn I met seemed so sure."
Her grandmother spoke at last. "I hoped, since the Flynns were gone, that you would never need to know about your family’s history. How was I to know what you might become, or that the remaining Flynn had left for far-off shores that would turn out to be the same as yours? I perceived no danger for you if you left here, Kelsie. Please forgive me for not explaining sooner. I’d thought to save you from this. Keep you from this." Gran’s voice rang with heartfelt emotion.
"How did you find him?"
Her grandmother had said him, not it. She knew this Flynn wasn’t one of the undead, that he was a living vampire. The distinction was clear. Kelsie held the sickness down, her energy draining with the effort.
"In a nightclub," she said.
Her grandmother’s eyes went to Kelsie’s neck.
"Lord. He didn’t—?"
"No." She knew what Gran was asking, and also that she could not mention how their physicality had gone way beyond a damned bite. Or that now she dreamed of him inside of her. How his closeness remained a nagging heat despite the distance and the terrible information she’d just gleaned.
"The ability isn’t handed down?" she asked, at length.
"No. Connor men have sought women through the Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
57
ages with this special ability."
"Why?"
"I’ve come to imagine it was to keep the damage local. To keep Ireland from being torn apart by creatures unlike ourselves by marrying women who could face the creatures down."
After that, her grandmother sat silently for a while, her gaze on the window, her only movement the tap of arthritic fingers on the arm of her chair. It was several minutes before she spoke again.
"Will this Flynn come home to destroy the last young Connor, is the question in need of answering,"
she finally said.
"If I’m a Slayer, am I his enemy, Gran?"
"Yes."
"Do I have to be?" She was afraid to meet her grandmother’s gaze, fearing her grandmother would see other things—such as how Kelsie had run her hands over the vampire’s body, and opened herself to him.
Instead of addressing or answering her last question, though, the old woman got up from her chair.
Taking a cane from against the wall, she said, "I don’t want to be the only Clare Connor left on God’s green earth. Come on then, child. We have work to do before he arrives."
But as Kelsie got to her feet, she couldn’t dislodge the lump in her throat or the tears flooding her eyes when she imagined the fate that might have actually overtaken her mother.
Like mother, like daughter.
Katherine
Maybe not an accident? Kelsie thought with a frightening snap of perception. God. Had her mother been a Slayer, and died in some other way? Perhaps at the hand of a vampire?
Kelsie couldn’t make herself ask the question. Her hands were visibly shaking. Her face felt numb. If her mother had been a Slayer…and if her mother had met her death at the hand of a vampire…had that vampire been a Flynn?
Like mother, like daughter. The phrase rang in her ears.
"She…she was one?"
Gran nodded, keeping her focus on Kelsie.
"You encouraged me to go away," Kelsie said, recovering enough to speak. "Was that to protect me?"
Her grandmother nodded again.
"So," Kelsie began, almost inaudibly, "Connors have a blood feud with the Flynns? That’s real? If there are vampires and werewolves in the world…" her tone sounded slightly hysterical "…why not Slayers?"
She wished with all her heart that her grandmother would admit that none of it was true, and nothing more 56
Vampire Lover
than a good bit of Blarney. No such luck was to be had, though. The seriousness of her grandmother’s expression struck terror into Kelsie’s soul.
"My mother hunted them? Is it what the title has to mean? Fighting and killing? The Flynn I met seemed so sure."
Her grandmother spoke at last. "I hoped, since the Flynns were gone, that you would never need to know about your family’s history. How was I to know what you might become, or that the remaining Flynn had left for far-off shores that would turn out to be the same as yours? I perceived no danger for you if you left here, Kelsie. Please forgive me for not explaining sooner. I’d thought to save you from this. Keep you from this." Gran’s voice rang with heartfelt emotion.
"How did you find him?"
Her grandmother had said him, not it. She knew this Flynn wasn’t one of the undead, that he was a living vampire. The distinction was clear. Kelsie held the sickness down, her energy draining with the effort.
"In a nightclub," she said.
Her grandmother’s eyes went to Kelsie’s neck.
"Lord. He didn’t—?"
"No." She knew what Gran was asking, and also that she could not mention how their physicality had gone way beyond a damned bite. Or that now she dreamed of him inside of her. How his closeness remained a nagging heat despite the distance and the terrible information she’d just gleaned.
"The ability isn’t handed down?" she asked, at length.
"No. Connor men have sought women through the Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
57
ages with this special ability."
"Why?"
"I’ve come to imagine it was to keep the damage local. To keep Ireland from being torn apart by creatures unlike ourselves by marrying women who could face the creatures down."
After that, her grandmother sat silently for a while, her gaze on the window, her only movement the tap of arthritic fingers on the arm of her chair. It was several minutes before she spoke again.
"Will this Flynn come home to destroy the last young Connor, is the question in need of answering,"
she finally said.
"If I’m a Slayer, am I his enemy, Gran?"
"Yes."
"Do I have to be?" She was afraid to meet her grandmother’s gaze, fearing her grandmother would see other things—such as how Kelsie had run her hands over the vampire’s body, and opened herself to him.
Instead of addressing or answering her last question, though, the old woman got up from her chair.
Taking a cane from against the wall, she said, "I don’t want to be the only Clare Connor left on God’s green earth. Come on then, child. We have work to do before he arrives."
But as Kelsie got to her feet, she couldn’t dislodge the lump in her throat or the tears flooding her eyes when she imagined the fate that might have actually overtaken her mother.
Like mother, like daughter.
Katherine
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