that thing was strong? And obnoxious? And might have friends?”
“I did. I won’t be going alone.”
Chaz slowly swivelled his gaze to Justin, then back to Val. “Look, I know he’s in good hands training with you and Elly, but isn’t it a little soon to be taking Justin out on real Hunts? Putting him up against things that actually want to kill him? On purpose?”
“Hey,” said Justin. “I did okay.”
Val patted his hand. “You did. But Chaz is right.”
“I am?” You could see the realization dawning, as he traded one argument for another, the
go easy on the kid
scowl for the one that read
oh come on, him?
“I’m calling Cavale,” she said, her words clipped to cut off argument. “Justin, you did a good job. You got Chaz out of there and I’m proud of you. But I’m out of practice. If we go back in and get attacked, I don’t want to make a mistake that gets you hurt because
my
instincts are rusty.”
They both looked pouty, but there wasn’t much she could do about it just now.
She had to change out of her pajamas first.
* * *
C AVALE WAS ALMOST glad to get Val’s call. The casserole . . . thing . . . had turned out all right, at least as far as he could tell. Nothing had burnt, the meat was cooked through, and the kitchen had even smelled pretty good while he made it. He hadn’t died when he ate a slice of it himself, and the plateful had done wonders getting the aftertaste of grave dirt out of his mouth. The rest he’d covered in tinfoil and put in the fridge with a note for Elly:
Look! It’s not poison!
But he didn’t want to be there when she got home, didn’t want to see whether she’d make excuses so she wouldn’t have to heat up a slab. Or whether she’d take it out of the fridge and, dutifully yet dubiously, give it a try. For him. To make him happy.
It was nearly five when he pulled into Val’s driveway. The Mustang was there, which meant Chaz was around. The front curtain twitched and there was his angular face, peering out. Cavale gave him a wave, got a halfhearted one in return as Chaz let the curtain go and turned to say something to whoever stood near him. A moment later, the front door opened and Val stepped out, a battered duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
Oh, thank the gods.
Much as he probably ought to have gone inside and asked Chaz and Justin to recap what they’d seen, he hadn’t wanted the face-to-face with Chaz just yet. He might have asked awkward questions about the dinner-that-wasn’t, and the rest of the night had been too weird for Cavale to want to deal with Chaz being smug.
Val flung herself into the front seat, her kit rattling as she set it down. Her long red hair was pulled back into a hasty ponytail. She wore faded jeans and a grey sweatshirt with the bookstore’s owl logo on its breast. He was almost certain the black boots peeking out from beneath her hems were army-issue; Elly would be jealous. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “Justin’s likely right. Whatever it was probably isn’t coming back, but I didn’t want to take the risk. He’s too green.”
Cavale nodded. “It’s fine. I sort of needed to get out of the house anyway. Weird night.”
She studied him as he backed out of the driveway and pointed the car toward the Clearwaters’. Her scrutiny could be unnerving sometimes, the weight of experience in her eyes as she tried to suss out what you were feeling. Most days it was easy to forget that Val was seventy years old. Some vampires wore the era of their birth like a cloak, letting it show in their word choice, their mannerisms, their style. Val did the opposite, keeping up with the times as though she were a Gen-Xer rather than a baby boomer. “Seems to be a running theme,” she said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Elly had a run-in with a ghost yesterday afternoon. Kid who lives a couple doors down came by and asked her to get rid of it.”
Val frowned. “Did you guys hang out a shingle
“I did. I won’t be going alone.”
Chaz slowly swivelled his gaze to Justin, then back to Val. “Look, I know he’s in good hands training with you and Elly, but isn’t it a little soon to be taking Justin out on real Hunts? Putting him up against things that actually want to kill him? On purpose?”
“Hey,” said Justin. “I did okay.”
Val patted his hand. “You did. But Chaz is right.”
“I am?” You could see the realization dawning, as he traded one argument for another, the
go easy on the kid
scowl for the one that read
oh come on, him?
“I’m calling Cavale,” she said, her words clipped to cut off argument. “Justin, you did a good job. You got Chaz out of there and I’m proud of you. But I’m out of practice. If we go back in and get attacked, I don’t want to make a mistake that gets you hurt because
my
instincts are rusty.”
They both looked pouty, but there wasn’t much she could do about it just now.
She had to change out of her pajamas first.
* * *
C AVALE WAS ALMOST glad to get Val’s call. The casserole . . . thing . . . had turned out all right, at least as far as he could tell. Nothing had burnt, the meat was cooked through, and the kitchen had even smelled pretty good while he made it. He hadn’t died when he ate a slice of it himself, and the plateful had done wonders getting the aftertaste of grave dirt out of his mouth. The rest he’d covered in tinfoil and put in the fridge with a note for Elly:
Look! It’s not poison!
But he didn’t want to be there when she got home, didn’t want to see whether she’d make excuses so she wouldn’t have to heat up a slab. Or whether she’d take it out of the fridge and, dutifully yet dubiously, give it a try. For him. To make him happy.
It was nearly five when he pulled into Val’s driveway. The Mustang was there, which meant Chaz was around. The front curtain twitched and there was his angular face, peering out. Cavale gave him a wave, got a halfhearted one in return as Chaz let the curtain go and turned to say something to whoever stood near him. A moment later, the front door opened and Val stepped out, a battered duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
Oh, thank the gods.
Much as he probably ought to have gone inside and asked Chaz and Justin to recap what they’d seen, he hadn’t wanted the face-to-face with Chaz just yet. He might have asked awkward questions about the dinner-that-wasn’t, and the rest of the night had been too weird for Cavale to want to deal with Chaz being smug.
Val flung herself into the front seat, her kit rattling as she set it down. Her long red hair was pulled back into a hasty ponytail. She wore faded jeans and a grey sweatshirt with the bookstore’s owl logo on its breast. He was almost certain the black boots peeking out from beneath her hems were army-issue; Elly would be jealous. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “Justin’s likely right. Whatever it was probably isn’t coming back, but I didn’t want to take the risk. He’s too green.”
Cavale nodded. “It’s fine. I sort of needed to get out of the house anyway. Weird night.”
She studied him as he backed out of the driveway and pointed the car toward the Clearwaters’. Her scrutiny could be unnerving sometimes, the weight of experience in her eyes as she tried to suss out what you were feeling. Most days it was easy to forget that Val was seventy years old. Some vampires wore the era of their birth like a cloak, letting it show in their word choice, their mannerisms, their style. Val did the opposite, keeping up with the times as though she were a Gen-Xer rather than a baby boomer. “Seems to be a running theme,” she said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Elly had a run-in with a ghost yesterday afternoon. Kid who lives a couple doors down came by and asked her to get rid of it.”
Val frowned. “Did you guys hang out a shingle
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