Despite Andre's objections, I followed him in my car rather than letting him drive me. Aside from being safer, when we were done, I could drive straight home instead of waiting for him to drive me back out to Uncle Mike's.
He was right, it might have been useful to talk and come up with a game plan-if I had trusted him a little more or if I hadn't had to go to work in the morning. Bills don't wait just because my friend was cut to hamburger and the vampire's mistress wants me to find a sorcerer who has killed more than forty people.
I took a tighter grip on the wheel and tried not to look at the broken dash, where Stefan, calm, quiet Stefan, had put his fist. What had made him so angry? That the sorcerer had beaten him?
What had Stefan said? That he knew there was something wrong with his memories because he hadn't remembered me. That I was not unimportant to him.
Stefan was a vampire, I reminded myself. Vampires are evil.
I reached out and touched the dash. He did it because I had been hurt, I thought.
He wasn't unimportant to me either-I didn't want him to be gone forever.
Stefan's house was in the hills in Kennewick, in one of the newer subdivisions on the west side of Highway 395. It was a big, sprawling brick house on a large lot with a circular drive, the kind of house that should have generations of children growing up in it. Surrounded by buildings with fake columns and two-story-high windows, it should have looked out of place. Instead it looked content with what it was. I could see Stefan in this house.
"You'd better knock on the door," Andre said as I got out of my car. "They've already refused to admit me once tonight-with every justification. Stefan might forgive me Daniel, but his flock will remember." He sounded mildly regretful, about on the level of a child who'd thrown a baseball through a window.
Despite the late hour, there were lights on all over the house. When I thought about it, it made sense that a vampire's people kept late hours.
Coming here had sounded logical when Marsilia had directed us here. I hadn't really thought about what it would mean.
I hesitated before I knocked. I didn't want to meet Stefan's people, didn't want to know that he kept them the way a farmer keeps a herd of cattle. I liked Stefan, and I wanted to keep it that way.
The curtain in the window next to the door moved a little. They already knew we were here.
I rang the doorbell.
I heard a scramble behind the door as if a lot of people were moving around, but when it opened, there was only one person in the entryway.
She looked to be a few years older than me, in her mid- to late thirties. She wore her dark, curly hair cut to shoulder length. She was dressed conservatively in a tailored shirt and slacks; she looked like a business woman.
I think she might have been attractive, but her eyes and nose were swollen and red, her face too pale. She stood back in silent invitation. I walked in, but Andre came to an abrupt halt just outside the threshold.
"You'll have to invite me in again, Naomi," he said.
She drew in a shaky breath. "No. Not until he returns." She looked at me. "Who are you and what do you want?"
"My name is Mercedes Thompson," I told her. "I'm trying to find out what happened to Stefan."
She nodded her head and, without another word to Andre, shut the door in his face.
"Mercedes Thompson," she said. "Stefan liked you, I know. You stood up for him before the other vampires, and when you believed he was in trouble, you called us." She glanced back at the door. "Stefan revoked Andre's entry into the house, but I wasn't certain that it still worked with Stefan... missing." She looked at the door a moment, then turned to me with a visible effort at composure. Control sat more comfortably on her face than fear.
"What can I do to help you, Ms. Thompson?"
"You don't sound like the kind of person who would..." There was doubtlessly a polite term for someone who willingly feeds a vampire, but I didn't know it.
"What did you expect?" she asked tartly. "Pale children covered with tattoos and bite marks?"
" Mmm," I said. "I met Daniel."
Her expressive eyes clouded. "Ah, Daniel. Yes. And we have a couple more like him. So, the stereotype is present here, but not all encompassing. If you went to another vampire's flock you might find it more like you expected. Stefan is seldom typical of anything." She took a deep breath. "Why don't you come into the kitchen and I'll pour you some tea while you ask your questions?"
There were at least ten people besides Stefan living in the house: I could smell them. They kept out of sight while Naomi led me to the kitchen, but I could hear someone whispering nearby. Politely, I didn't stick my head into the room the whispers were coming from.
A butcher-block table that wouldn't have fit in most of the rooms in my trailer held sway in the center of the kitchen. Naomi pulled out a tall stool and sat down, motioning for me to take a seat as well. As she did, her hair fell away from the unblemished skin of her neck.
She saw my glance and pulled her hair back, so I could see that there were no red marks. "Satisfied?" she asked.
I took a deep breath. She wanted me uncomfortable, but the adrenaline rush from Uncle Mike's was gone and I was just tired.
I pushed back my own hair and turned so she could see the bite marks on my neck. They were mostly healed, so I'd quit wearing a bandage, but the skin was still red and shiny. I'd probably have a scar.
She sucked in her breath and leaned forward to touch my neck. "Stefan never did that," she said, but with rather less conviction in her tone of voice than in her words.
"Why do you say that?" I asked.