Cold Light Of Day
Terri was amazing at the game with Caroline and the amazingness continues here. Go, Terri!--Maer
Monday, 01 Aug 2011
Magnolia Grill, Natchez Under The Hill
1030hrs, local time
Irina parked her rental up the slope of Silver Street and walked the remaining three blocks downhill despite the heat. She wanted to think. She and Caroline were the two lone humans tangled in the web of deceit called the Masquerade and given what Renny had told her, maybe discussing it in a public venue was a bad idea. If she and Caroline were ghouls, it just stood to reason that they weren’t the only ones. If they weren’t the only ones, then that meant anyone walking in the daylight could be a ghoul. If anyone could be a ghoul, then anyone could be a spy for a vampire inimical to their agenda. And that, as Irina had good reason to know, could be deadly. For her and for Caroline. She wondered if the other woman realized it yet.
Oh come on, DiSanti. As if a woman like Caroline would discuss something so touchy in public. And as for clique politics? With her upbringing? Get real. She’ll be fine. The mouth to watch is yours.
Irina stepped onto the boardwalk and looked for the willowy blonde in front of the restaurant. It was a touch early yet for the lunch crowd but the tourist season was in full swing and the streets were filling up.
Caroline was hastening up the hill from the other direction glancing at a delicate gold watch on her wrist as she hurried. A golden retriever paced her at her left knee wearing the vest of a working dog and a leash. "Blast," she muttered. "We're late, Maggie. Why didn't you warn me?" The dog simply gave a doggie grin and continued to jog next to her.
As they rounded the post onto the boardwalk, the cafe stood just to her right on the street end. Caroline didn't see Irina the... oh! There she was! A smile graced her lips and the sandy-blonde slowed to a walk to approach the other woman. "I'm sorry, Irina," she drawled lightly. "I'm afraid I got a bit carried away workin' on my book. I hope we didn't keep you waitin'."
"Not a problem. I'd just walked up." Irina smiled at both woman and dog. Noting the vest on the animal, she privately thought it was wonderful idea for a woman living alone. Irina couldn't say exactly when she realized Caroline was deaf, but over the past week of their association it had sunk in and Irina made a point to look directly at her when she asked, "Lovely dog. Can I pet her or is she working right now?"
Caroline grinned. "Wait til we sit, then pet all you like. She's an attention whore." It sounded so dirty in her oh-so-polite drawl. She gestured toward the cafe's French doors. "I generally prefer to sit outside with Maggie, if you don't mind?" she asked.
"Not at all," Irina said, wondering if they’d have a problem allowing a dog inside the premises. Caroline wasn't blind, after all. Luckily there was an opening in the wait line and they fell right into it and the hostess was able to seat them immediately when they requested a table outside. Irina caught a tiny relieved drop of the woman's shoulders. An argument over Maggie was the last thing the hostess wanted.
She led them left across the tiny vestibule to the French doors leading to the terrace. Three steps put them on a covered deck holding tables in two long rows stretching to the rear of the building. A landscaped walkway in gravel and paving stones bordered by lush plantings lay just beyond the railing. Flowers lent their bright color to the greenery and Irina could see bees hovering amongst them. The hostess led them to a deuce in the front corner, the better to watch the world passing by on the boardwalk.
"Your waitress will be with you in a moment. May I get you ladies anything to drink?"
Caroline watched the hostess and smiled serenely. Service dogs were allowed in any public space, and she'd rarely had to argue about it. Anytime it did become an issue.... well, it was truly amazing what being Cecilia Hardin's granddaughter and Mary Alice Thibideaux's daughter could do for a body.
As they took a seat in the corner of the patio, Caroline smiled at the hostess. "This is just perfect, darlin’, thank you so much. Tea will suit me just fine. And do take your time." Tea in Mississippi was served ultra sweet and cold. And considering the humidity outside, which was already stifling in spite of the time of morning, it was no wonder. She waited politely for Irina give her order, picking up a menu from the cradle in the condiment holder to set in front of her. Her serene facade finally cracked just a little. "Did you get any sleep?" she asked gently, worry showing in her gaze.
"I'll have a Coke, thanks," Irina said and opened her menu. The offerings were extensive and Irina swept them once and then closed the menu at Caroline’s query. Irina's sleep had been broken by nightmares. Memories of the basement and the vampire court made for a potent mix. Irina had jerked awake repeatedly, her heart pounding, before calling it quits and booting up her laptop. She'd worked on the case file until breakfast, going down only to fetch a tray of food back up. Which she'd subsequently ignored as she fell back into her work. Her watch went off at ten and she'd zipped through her dressing routine, realizing only then that she'd gone downstairs in her pajamas in full view of everyone.
Maybe Marcus is right. Insanity is catching. Aloud, she said, "Not much, actually. You?"
"None," Caroline admitted with a weary sigh. She slumped back into her seat -- a feat, because she never slumped. And almost immediately she sat back upright. "I didn't even try." A rueful shrug. "But I got about 40 pages of my book written. I suppose that could be considered a win. Not sure how usable those pages are," she added self-deprecatingly, "but I'll worry about that tomorrow."
Irina thought about the files she'd completed and nodded. "So you're a writer? What do you write?" Caroline looked haunted and Irina wanted to put her at ease before she broached the subject that had brought them here.
Well, now that was a question she'd been expecting at some point. "Romantic suspense," Caroline admitted with a cheeky smile marred only by shared horrors shadowing her eyes. She went quiet as their drinks were brought and the waitress asked for their orders. She didn't even have to look down. "I would love one of your chocolate croissants and a fruit plate please," she tells the girl without opening the menu, then glances to Irina. "For newcomers, beignets are a must. They are similar to the fried dough that you might find at a state fair only ever so much more delectable."
"Then I'll order the beignets and a fruit plate,” Irina said to their waitress. “Thank you."
Irina waited until they were alone again before continuing. "Romantic suspense. Like Nora Roberts? I managed to read a few of her titles some months ago." She didn't mention it was during a week when the migraines came and went so frequently she couldn't truly work. "Angels Fall, Blue Smoke—found that one amusing—and Northern Lights. Of the three, I think I liked the last best." The main character had been a Lower 48 Sheriff transplanted in a quirky Alaskan town, battling his inner demons even as he tackled a cold murder case that had suddenly gone hot. She took a sip of her Coke and looked at Caroline with a grin. "I recall you saying you write under a nom de plume so your momma won't find out."
Caroline laughed. She waited for the young woman taking the orders to go on about her business and then leaned forward. "More like... Suzanne Brockmann and Tara Janzen," she admitted. "Mercenary men. I do love an ex-soldier still fighting the good fight. And I suspect that Mama knows exactly what I do but we're both too polite to discuss the fact that I write," Caroline lowered her voice and whispered, "scandalously detailed sex on the page." She leaned back and grinned wickedly. "I write under Jeanne Hardy." It's a name that does mean something to anyone who pays the slightest bit of attention to the New York Times Best Sellers list. She was number six on it last week for the release of her most recent hardcover.
"Congratulations, Caroline," Irina said, meaning it. Writing was hard work and she didn't begrudge the woman her success. As a cop and later as an investigator, writing and paperwork was a necessary evil Irina battled daily and while she was proficient at it, it wasn't something she did for the sheer love of it. Not as a successful author loved it. "I'll have to pick up one of your books, then. Which one should I start with? I dislike starting in the middle of a series by mistake. It messes up the continuity. I have to rework my mental white board when that happens. Drives me bats."
Flattered that Irina would want to pick up her books, Caroline gave her the title of the first in the series. "The one that just came out is my fourth. My publisher wants me to do a second series, but... I don't think I can handle two at once. We shall have to see."
Irina committed the title to memory and pulled up her mental map of Natchez. The main library was two blocks east of the Sheriff’s office on South Commerce Street. It would be closed on Mondays, as she’d found out the previous week. It originally attracted her attention because it advertised it had newspapers on microfilm going as far back as the 1800s. At the time, she’d been hoping to research the town’s general history. Given more recent events, she had a reason to narrow her search a bit. Aloud, she said, “I had no idea you’d written a series. And as for your possible second series, hmm…. Urban paranormal has a wide readership these days. Adding the element of romantic suspense would make it stand out.” She lowered her voice so it wouldn’t carry and smiled as she leaned in. Everything about her telegraphed girly-girl confidences though there was nothing girly in her tone. “Are you familiar with what Mark Twain said? ‘It’s no surprise that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense.’ I think this weekend certainly qualifies.”
Caroline was quiet as Irina spoke of Twain's words, and she considered the idea. Then she smirked faintly. "Well, I suppose I might have to consider the idea of urban paranormal romance," she agreed. "Lord knows I'll have enough experience soon enough, don't you think?" she asks, trying to keep some semblance of a sense of humor in spite of witnessing murder.
Keeping her voice low, Irina thought it bitterly ironic that the one person who actually needed to hear her words, couldn't and those who could, shouldn't. Nevertheless, she made sure her voice didn't carry beyond the table and that Caroline could see her face.
"Caroline, you'll get through this. You're valuable. They want you." Based on what she'd gleaned from the undercurrents at Court, the events following it, plus along with what Renny had been able to tell her so far, she was pretty certain Caroline had been chosen by the third most powerful vampire in the room. Furthermore, the foremost vampire of Natchez had all but put his stamp of approval on Caroline. Dubious honor, considering what prompted the approval, but still it had bought Caroline some time. Irina, on the other hand, was merely a ghoul of a newly-arrived vampire--one who seemed to think he wasn't a vampire at that--and therefore of little account. If she'd read the situation right, seniority was damned near everything here. Given that, Irina was less than sanguine about her own chances. Huh. Ironic descriptor there, DiSanti. Freakin' ironic. Aloud, she said, "They are not without honor. They have a code. I haven't mapped it out yet, but they've got one. They're a society and that means customs and rules and honoring them."
"Yes. Apparently for breeding." Caroline's tone is absolutely frigid with disapproval. She hasn't worked out the logistics of this situation as yet. She goes silent as drinks and breakfast appear in front of them. And only once the server is gone does she look at Irina again. "And worse yet, my cousin is one of them and clearly saw me last night. I have no idea just how big a problem that might become." She sighed.
Irina speared a cantaloupe chunk on her fork and nibbled on it, thinking. At base, Caroline would have to bear a child for the vampires. Apparently her consent or even wedlock weren’t required, only her compliance. It may be the 21st century, but the shame of having a baby under those conditions is just killing her. Irina’s years as a cop had exposed her to the opposite sentiment as often as not and she frowned, wondering at what point her empathy had eroded so far that she actually had to remind herself that this was mortifying for Caroline. When had she gotten so hard? You need to get your head out of your ass, DiSanti. The game has changed and right now, you’ve got a shit-ton of damage control in front of you. So deal with it. Whine about your feelings later.
“Addressing the last first, if you’re worried about your cousin telling your family you’re consorting with vampires, I think it’s highly unlikely. After all, he didn’t tell them about his membership in this little secret club, so that part of your secret is safe. As to the first … Caroline, I hate to say this but do you have a man, preferably one that’s tall and handsome and wearing a uniform, who you can marry?” One who wouldn’t mind handing over his child to a bunch of bloodsucking vampires, she thought but didn’t say. She was sure Caroline had already considered that eventuality and Irina herself thought it hideous in the extreme. Her career might have inured her to a lot of things, but children still had the power to move her. She swallowed hard, the fruit going down like lead. One thing at a time. We’ll have nine months, minimum, to figure a way out of this. “Have you discussed this with … your patron?”
"Dear God, no. I only just found out last night that I even have a patron," Caroline hissed. "And I don't even remember the night that happened, thankyouverymuch." Which annoyed her to no end. "I dislike being treated like property. And I shall have to be ever so careful how to raise this with Evangeline, according to Zadie."
"I'm sorry, Caroline," Irina said. She reached out and gripped Caroline's hand in sympathy. "I wish there were more I could do, but it looks like you and I are well and truly stuck. It beats the hell out of the alternatives, though."
Caroline's eyes slipped away from Irina's and she considers that with a heavy sigh. "I'm sure you're right," she says finally. And then she extricates her hand to set about eating quietly. "It's a whole new world out there, Irina DiSanti." She glances up and smiles faintly. "I never thought I'd say 'welcome to Natchez' with so little enthusiasm."
It occurred to Irina that Caroline had a distinct advantage over her if the other woman could but see it: whereas Irina was now property of a vampire who steadfastly refused to acknowledge his state and the strictures it imposed on him and his, Caroline's patron had no such handicap and would know how to take care of Caroline and keep her safe, guide her through the minefield of the Masquerade. It was cold comfort and Irina wasn't entirely certain that Caroline would welcome it.
"I think," Irina said slowly and pushed the food around on her plate. "I think we should arrange to get everyone together and discuss what we're going to do, short- and long term. We must all hang together, for if we do not, we will most assuredly all hang separately."
The rueful twist to Caroline's lips was her only answer to that. We've all already hung, haven't you noticed, dear?
Irina narrowed her gaze and lifted her chin. Her meaning was clear: I’m still kicking. Then she gentled her expression and tucked into her lunch and finished her meal in companionable silence.
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