Intangible by J. Meyers Page B

family in either world. You never crossed them twice—you never got the chance.
    And of course it was Fey. Or her father. Or her siblings. Uncles, aunts, cousins, it didn’t matter. It could have been any of them. He still would have been in exactly the same position he was in now.
    Screwed.
    “They had to live somewhere,” Fey said, interrupting his thoughts. “And they are not the threat the Prophecy says they could be. I know them, Jonas. I’ve known them their whole lives and that’s not who they are. So I won’t let you or your kind get to them. Nor will my people.”
    “Is that a threat, Feyth?” He spoke each word slowly.
    “It is if it needs to be.”
    “She changed Meghan. You saw that. You’ve seen what she can do. She is a threat to me, to mine.” He swept one arm out to encompass the area. This city was his, its vampires were his to control and take care of. He took that responsibility with deadly seriousness.
    “She didn’t know, Jonas. She had no control over it.”
    “If she can’t control it, then she’s even more dangerous.”
    “She can’t control what she doesn’t know,” she said, and Jonas saw a few green sparks fly out of her long fingers. The magick in the night air was filling her. “She’s growing into it, and when she knows more, then she’ll be able to direct it to do what she wants.”
    “Is that supposed to convince me? What if she wants to change us?”
    “She won’t.”
    “You can’t know that.”
    “I can. I do.” Hands on hips, Fey stared at him.
    Sera hadn’t known what she’d done to Meghan. That was obvious to him now. He glanced back over at Sera again, still by the house. The grey sweater she wore made her eyes glow silver under the silk of her dark hair. The look on her face was a mixture of mistrust, wariness, and fascination.
    He’d seen that same look on someone’s face a long time ago. When he’d been human. He tried to remember where—his human memories had faded some. But there was something—he didn’t know what—about her.
    He was not going to be able to take care of this the way of the Old Ones. He was not going to be able to just kill them—he would not harm innocents. He shook his head at Fey, briefly closed his eyes. There was nothing left for him to say at the moment.
    Well, maybe there was one thing. “Lilith cannot find out.”
    Fey actually went pale at the mention of her name.
    “Lilith,” she whispered. “Great Hills. Lilith.”

TWELVE

    W armth seeped into Marc’s hands from his immense mug of coffee—practically a bowl of coffee, truth be told. Muddy Waters, he decided, might actually be his favorite coffee shop. And he’d frequented many on his quest to find the twins. But after a week of tailing Luke and Sera, and all the coffee that had afforded him here, he was certain it was the best. Though perhaps it was just the bias of his newly warmed hands.
    A line of mostly college students ran half the length of the shop, and passed right by his table. The place was filled with people working on computers, scribbling notes, or simply listening to the slightly-too-loud New Age music.
    He took a careful sip of his steaming, dark brew, felt the warmth spread into his chest as he looked around the dimly lit room. The counter stood at the far back wall under chalkboard menus listing a variety of the usual and unusual concoctions of coffees, teas, and hot chocolates. There was something called “steamed maple milk.” Surely, Marc thought, that had to be a Vermont thing.
    The tables scattered about were thick slabs of stained wood surrounded by small curved-back chairs. Walls of wide strips of well-worn wood were interspersed with sections of brick and stone. A long dark bench, likely an old church pew, stood along one wall underneath a couple of framed photographs. Huge wooden support posts connected to wide wooden beams under the exposed air ducts on the ceiling.
    There was a rough rawness to the place, smoothed slightly by