Low Midnight (Kitty Norville 13)

I have good reason to believe that the eruption of Vesuvius that buried Pompeii was instigated by magic, the man had written before. Oh, Cormac just bet he did.

Tell him this, Amelia said.

Cormac typed out, “My name is Amelia Parker. Let’s do meet.” And hit SEND.

She was crazy. He never should have let her do that, but the words were already gone. On the other hand … They wanted to stop Roman—this was the best chance anyone had had to do it. Meet the guy, put a nice solid stake in his chest before he even knew what was happening. Done and done.

But I have so many questions.…

No. We stake this guy on sight, no hesitation.

Amelia didn’t argue.

“Very good to meet you, Amelia Parker. I’ll be in touch,” the man called Roman replied. And that was that. Cormac didn’t have anything to say after that.

He didn’t know if Kitty was going to be happy about this, or kill him.

* * *

“YOU ENJOY it. The hunt, the anticipation,” Amelia said.

“Not sure enjoy is the right word.” It was a rush, a thrill. An addiction. Possibly the only thing he was good at.

She wore a thin smile, immensely satisfied at the work they’d done. Even the curveball at the end couldn’t dull her enthusiasm. It was another mystery to chase, more knowledge to be won.

The meadow was sunny today. High summer, a haze hanging in the air, insects flitting above the creek. Nice contrast to the winter chill in the waking world. He could tip his face up, feel the sun, and never get a sunburn. They sat on their pair of rocks, close enough to touch if he wanted to.

“This could get us killed,” he said. It was what he’d been thinking about. “Roman’s seen me, he knows what I look like and who I am. If we really set up a meeting and go through with it, he’ll know something’s wrong. He won’t give us a chance to say anything. It’ll be another one of your gunfights at high noon.”

“Or midnight, rather, considering what he is. You don’t think we can win against him in a face-to-face meeting.”

“He’s two thousand years old and he’s spent all that time getting more dangerous. I think we have a chance. Just not a very good one. I just want to make sure you’re okay with that.”

“You think because I so assiduously avoided death once, I’m loathe to face it again?” She pulled her knees up, tucked under her long skirt, and her gaze was downcast. “Of course I’d rather not face it again. I’m well aware that when you die, I likely will as well. I don’t believe the fabric of my soul can survive that trial a second time. And it’s your life, Cormac. It’s your decision to make.”

But it wasn’t. Not entirely, not anymore. What a weird thought.

Amelia was watching him, studying him. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“For being here. Your life would be very different, if not for me. I would hate to think that I’ve damaged you in some way. Altered what you would have been without me.”

Good odds that what he would have been was dead. Or back in prison, or back to hunting and damn the consequences. He gave a wry smile. “You didn’t much care about damaging me at the start.”

“A lot’s happened since then.”

Yes, it had. What hadn’t changed: even without the guns, he kept getting in trouble and someday, somehow he was likely to get himself killed. It didn’t scare him.

He said, “You being here means that whenever I die, however it happens, if it’s going up against Roman or something else that gets us—I won’t be alone.”

He held out his hand to her, and she took it.