Page 6 of The Vampire in the Potting Shed

A shadowy lump that exhaled a low groan and set my spine tingling.

“I have a werewolf, and I’m not afraid to use it.” I stuck my arm through the gap, flipped the light switch, then leapt back. But the man curled on his side, blood pooling underneath him, didn’t so much as twitch in my direction. “Who are you?” I doubted he could answer. “What are you doing in my potting shed?”

Sure enough, the guy just laid there and bled out, offering no useful information.

“Please don’t make me regret this.” I scooted in and knelt beside him. “I need to figure out what you are so I can help.” I waited for him to stir, but he remained still. I gripped his wrist, searching for a pulse, and jerked at his cold skin. “For your sake, I hope you’re a vampire.”

Cedar, vetiver, and warm spices flooded my nose, and the scent of him brought a flush to my cheeks.

The touch roused him enough to crack open an eye, but I only saw white. They must have rolled back in his head. He only managed one blink before tumbling back into unconsciousness. That was when I noticed the hoodie twisted halfway under his head and the sweatpants torn down one thigh where his wound must be, and I gained a fresh perspective on the break-in. Too bad it left me more confused than ever.

Had one of the sentinels gotten ahold of him? And why come here? To get his dog? Was Myrtle his dog?

“Ana?” Sloane must have gotten tired of waiting. “You still out here?”

“Be right there,” I yelled, shoving to my feet, already reaching for my phone.

Nearly out the door, a wide palm wrapped my ankle, and I stumbled into the wall to catch my balance.

“I’m going to call for help,” I promised him. “Hang in there, okay?”

“Just…you…” He exhaled the words on a pained sigh. “Just…”

“Ana?” Sloane let the screen door slam behind her. “What are you doing back there?”

“A bird got trapped in the potting shed,” I lied through my teeth. “I’ve almost got him.”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I shouldn’t be covering for this guy, but I was still furious over how fast Bowie shut me down, and Dad rushing to my rescue as an excuse to lecture me—again—on why I ought to give up and go home had stoked my temper until making a bad decision was looking good.

“Oh.” Her crunching footsteps slowed far too close. “Need any help?”

“I got it.” I made a fist and thumped it against my forehead. “Just another minute.”

Another minute to change my mind before I committed an act of treason.

“Okay.” Her voice grew more distant. “I’ll go finish bleaching the mops.”

As soon as I heard the door shut behind her, I shook off the man shackling my leg and crouched over him.

“Give me one good reason not to make a call and let you become someone else’s problem.”

Nose crinkling, he lifted his upper lip to expose a long, white, very sharp fang.

“I can see you care about your oral health.” I sat back on my haunches. “Some of you guys are old and ill-informed, so I’m going to ask. You do realize vampires and wargs aren’t sworn enemies anymore? You’re going to have to give me more than a canine—pun intended—to win my silence.”

“Rían…” his inhalation whistled through his teeth, “…Walsh.”

“Oh crap.” I shot to my feet. “You’rethe Walsh situation.”

And I was so totally screwed.

four

To haveany semblance of privacy, say, when I slept over at a boyfriend’s house but didn’t want sentinels reporting the lurid details to my dad, I had learned how to take extreme measures to cover my tracks. As a matter of fact, I learned the trick from Mercer, who frequented a cupcake shop on Langhorne Street to purchase charms crafted by the Fabian coven. Activated by a drop of blood from whoever wore it, magic hid the owner’s scent from even warg noses.

If Dad ever learned I bought one off a sympathetic witch, when only his inner circle was allowed to possess them, what he would do to me would make Rapunzel’s tower resemble a five-star luxury hotel.

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