Chapter Seven

Two kittens had an argument; it was a cat-astrophe.

Oliver sensed her waking up before she opened her eyes. Her breathing lightened, and she no longer took the slow, deep breaths that had punctuated the last hour or so.

Thank the gods, hethought as she shifted slightly in her sleep. It hadn't taken long to search the tiny house which, speaking from experience, contained more books than any one person could read in several lifetimes, let alone a single mortal one. Amid the books, he found crystals and knickknacks imbued with warm, earthy vibes. Eva's home was what his friend Malthazar would call "boho witch style."

The thought produced a rabbit hole he wasn't prepared to go down tonight. He'd instinctively called Malthazar a friend. Were they friends? Neither of them really worked for the other; they weren't forced together, so any time they spent together was by choice, even if it wasn't too often. Similar interests had brought them together and, over the years, those interests had meant they could easily count on the other to have their back. It seemed like a friendship to him, even if it had started out more business-focused. He would have to ask Malth if they were friends, even if the man found such a question amusing, and surely Malth would. The answer might be interesting.

Oliver immediately removed himself from his seat on the only place to sit in the room, the bed; it didn't take a genius to know waking up with a strange man on your bed would not be a way to win friends and influence people without vampire coercion that might or might not actually work. He did so without spilling any of the red wine he'd liberated from her wine rack while searching the house. Good thing she was waking up; he was out of wine, a nice, apparently local vintage. Already an email had been sent to his assistant to have a case of the Buckeye Red sent to his home from the Ohio winery.

"Good doggie," Eva murmured before stretching her arms, one of which could only move a few inches. Oliver watched as she tested the range of movement again for her arms and then her legs before even opening her eyes. He could see when recognition for her current situation emerged.

"Eva," he began softly, friendly even, he hoped, while also once again attempting to push a bit of coercion into his request. "You can open your eyes. I know you won't believe this, but I'm not planning to hurt you. I just need you still, so you'll listen and answer a few questions."

Letting out a slow, deep breath, her reply was quiet but clear. "Exactly what someone would say who has someone tied to a bed in a, ugh, bath towel." As she assessed the situation, her heart rate remained fairly steady. Although it had sped up a bit as she awoke, it wasn't so fast that she was panicking. Her free hand pulled the blanket up tighter around her, as if that could protect her from the childhood bogeyman.

"What were you dreaming about?" He was genuinely curious; he didn't dream and dreaming about a dog seemed sort of interesting. Oliver had asked Delta the same before, and she'd always laughed and said her dreams weren't rated for his ears.

Eva's brown eyes did pop open at this, making his own breathing hitch for a beat as the pupils dilated in response to the lit-up room. They were just as pretty as he recalled; he'd nearly convinced himself that the speckles of gold in there were his imagination. Fire flamed from those gold-and-brown eyes, and he ordered his fangs to remain inert. However, this time his lower extremities throbbed, unaffected by his mental order. Keeping his face a mask of calmness, he didn't feel, Oliver tilted his head to hear her response.

"You stalked me, broke into my house, sneezed all over me, and tied me up to . . . what? Ask me about my dreams?" She shook her head in exasperation, making him grin a little as though they were friends joking about such a silly thing. "If you must know, I was dreaming about a talking dog in a tuxedo. His name was Thor, and he was annoying . . . a woman, because he kept talking so much."

Her face wrinkled in confusion as she contemplated this. "Although he may not have been a dog; maybe he was a coyote or wolf or maybe just a husky. I don't know." She waved her free hand as she spoke, letting loose another hint of vanilla and lavender. "Anyway, the woman was so annoyed about him talking. You'd think that a talking dog or animal would be interesting enough that you'd want to hear what he has to say, wouldn't you? I would want to hear it anyway. But she kept shutting him down." Cocking her head, considering, Eva added with an easy shrug, "Although she did call him ‘asshole' enough times that that might be his name instead of Thor."

Eva's shrug released a thin shoulder that once again precariously crept free from the blanket, and her towel was sneaking dangerously low as well. Oliver decided not to tell her. Of course, if it continued on its journey, he would tell her or at the very least avert his eyes. No one could claim he wasn't a gentleman.

"Sooo, now that we've covered that I have weird dreams, you want to set me free and get out of here? Or heck, you can even leave me here and take off. Allergy meds are in the bathroom, if that's helpful. Whatever works for you."

He had, in fact, noted Benadryl early during his perusal of her home. Ignoring her proposed options and hoping his nose had stopped running on its own, Oliver gruffly moved forward with his traditional line of questioning.

"Are you a witch?" He still sensed no magic directly from her, but it oozed from her the same as it did from the house. If he tasted her, surely he would feel the sharp, acrid bite of magic in her blood, perhaps along with that sweet vanilla and lavender combo whose scent had slowly overtaken the acidic, blurry garlic and mustard deterrent from outside.

"Nope." Adamantly shaking her head, she simultaneously screwed her face up in confusion. Uncertain if his random line of questioning was serious or not, she still ascertained, "Absolutely no witches here, sir."

Oh yes, he recalled, confusion and uncertainty. Another weapon in the list Ravyn had rambled off years ago. Apparently, he'd inadvertently managed to utilize these weapons with muscle memory—or so he told himself.

"Does a witch live here?" he pressed. Despite her previous answer, deception and omission were a weapon common among women. No, not women. Witches.

"Nope, and FYI, if you plan to keep asking about them, witches really aren't real. So the answer is going to forever be no, although my gram liked to pretend with me when I was a kid. And before you ask, nope, I don't believe she was a witch either, and we covered the fact earlier that she doesn't live here and hasn't for a decade."

She shifted her free arm in an attempt to pull her towel tighter around her and ended up once again simply pulling the blanket higher up on her neck. Turning her head to look at him straight, another scowl crossed her face. "Are you high? Is this what this is about? Are you on a trip? We can get you help. I have a bit of cash I can get you."

The relaxed look on Oliver's face was replaced with a scowl of his own. Affronted, he snapped, "No, I am not high nor intoxicated. I can't even . . . Why would you even ask such a thing?" For a moment, he felt a flash of guilt over her now empty bottle of wine, but that hadn't even allowed him to relax.

Waving a hand over her face, she responded, "Because you're kind of a mess. Like, red eyes, and a little teary, runny nose, and all that stuff. I know sometimes some drugs cause bloodshot eyes. Not that I'm an expert or anything, but you sound crazy, and your face is all kinds of messed up." Eyes wide, she amended, "Not that it's a bad thing, you're not really that bad. I'm just . . . concerned for you. And when I say drugs, I mean medicine."

By the gods, this was awkward. Oliver admitted, "I'm having a reaction to some of the herbs growing here. Namely the garlic and mustard." He watched her for a reaction, seeing if the revelation meant anything to her.

"I have those allergy meds in my bathroom," she reminded him with a wave toward the doorway. "Help yourself and then take off." Noticing the empty wine bottle next to her bed, her sympathy then turned to indignation. "Please don't tell me you drank my last bottle. I thought you said you weren't intoxicated."

"It's quite good," he admitted and then grumbled, "I can replace it. But we are way, way, off course. Medicine won't help. It'll be fine later." Oliver hadn't realized the herbs had such an effect on his face, but obviously in the past, he'd simply avoided the annoying little plants. His hand twitched, begging to touch his tight face and see if it were as "messed up" as she claimed.

"First, yes, witches are very real. And you live in enough magic that it should be obvious, and I'm not sure why it's not. Second, I want to know what you know about Ravyn Sinclair."

Eva's face wrinkled in confusion again. "Who? Ravyn Sinclair the actress? I don't know her, know her. I mean, I know she's an actress. I guess she lives in Hollywood, if I were to guess, and she acts in movies and maybe . . . TV shows? If you're trying to stalk her, you're way, way off base. I mean, you're, like, two-thirds of the country away from her."

Oliver sighed. "This is ridiculous."

Eva nodded eagerly in agreement. Maybe they were coming to an understanding of minds. Slowly, he watched her face deflate in her belief that they were on the same page. "I'm not stalking anyone. I already know Ravyn. I work for—with—her," he amended before barreling forward. "Someone or something is stalking Ravyn. Could that someone be you? I'm simply here to determine if it's you or perhaps someone powerful you may know."

Sitting completely still, he watched her carefully for any signs a magical attack might be forthcoming. A single zip tie would be no match for a powerful witch and, in fact, some might attack just for the insult, but he liked to think he was giving her the option to not feel he was a real threat. Yet. Even his explanation for being there could be considered insulting and childlike to a paranormal the strength of whom lived in this house, like explaining basic addition to a mathematician. But on the other hand, he felt no magic signature directly from her at all, and that in itself kept him from laying all of his cards on the table. His stomach twisted in knots, reminding him yet again that he sat on the edge of his control, and that he needed to remain calm and in control.

Eva responded just as slowly to Oliver, "O-kay. But I'm guessing first, that tons of famous people have stalkers or whatever, but they don't normally go searching for them thousands of miles away in the Midwest cornfields. Disclaimer: I'm no stalker or again not classified as an expert, but I would assume they have some sort of proximity they try to stay in to actually stalk people. And I'm not the one with zip ties at the ready." A constrained hand wiggled at him, admittedly giving her argument more merit.

Growling lowly, Oliver ran a hand through his hair again, and then began smoothing it back down. At this rate, he would be bald by the end of the week. When Eva's eyes went wide, it hit him that his display mimicked every insane stalker shown on every television show. A part of him wanted to shout that he wasn't a crazed stalker, but without his coercion, how could he convince her of this? And more importantly, why did he want to?

"Argh"—he ripped through his hair again—"how are humans so frustrating?"

"You know, um, sir, humans . . . like to be dressed when they're talking, especially to people they don't know. It makes humans more comfortable and more likely to listen."

Oliver wasn't certain he appreciated her tone, and even he recognized a placating tone. God knew Ravyn had used the same one often enough on him over the years.

Maybe that tone is the reason we don't travel together anymore, he mused. But Eva did make sense. Allowing her to get dressed might open her mind up to listening, understanding, and more importantly, answering some questions about her connection to Ravyn.

Opening a few random drawers while ignoring Eva's sighs of indignation, he pulled out a bra and panty set from the top drawer. He tossed it at her without looking, trying to ignore the feeling of the satin and lace between his fingers. The next drawer contained some tees and leggings and with no concern for color tossed another set at her, followed by a pair of well-worn tennis shoes found near the doorway. Proof he could be as reasonable as anyone.

Gesturing toward the pile of A. Scriver books he'd brought into the room, he noted, "Thought you said you hadn't read them. Seems like someone who has all the series in every cover made, as well as a few international translations, might just be a big fan." He didn't expect an answer. Clearly, she was obsessed with the books and most likely shared an obsession of Ravyn with the author. All signs were pointing straight toward this cozy little witch house in this quiet little town. Now he just had to figure out who Eva was protecting.

"I'm going to release you, so you can dress and we can talk things out like reasonable people," Oliver monotoned, ignoring her snort and releasing the zip tie with a twist and snap. "It goes without saying, don't try to run, escape, or whatever. It"s a waste of time. Blah, blah, blah. I'm much faster." The art of interrogation; give a little freedom or comfort, and they'll return it tenfold as they grow complacent. Here was a chance to show he was reasonable, as well as prove to himself that he had more skills than just compulsion in his arsenal.

"Yet, you still said it," Eva grunted as she contorted herself under the blanket, quickly maneuvering each article of clothing into place while not taking her eyes off him. Sliding out from under the protection of the blanket and towel, she slipped her shoes on quickly, fearing he might change his mind and leave her barefoot.

Remaining quiet for a blessed moment, she sat up, letting her now clothed legs hang over the side of the bed. Mesmerized by the pumping artery running up the length of her pale neck, he remained close enough that if she stood up, they would be crammed together in the small space between her bed and the dresser. Casually, he continued where she'd left off. Regardless of what she said or thought, Eva wasn't completely lacking in information. "You said your grandmother was a witch?"

"No. I said she claimed to be one," Eva corrected, craning her neck to look up at him and causing more of her delicious scent to float up toward him.

Semantics, however delusional. Either she truly had no idea, or she was a consummate liar.

Either way, Oliver needed to gain her trust by either pretending to believe her or telling her the truth about the world she lived in. He hated trying to explain the real world to those with blinders on. The same arguments, the same shock of disbelief, and finally, at some point, acceptance. He knew it so well he could recite both parts, and it was such a waste of time and energy. Tilting his head while looking down at her, he realized he could see straight down the soft tee he'd tossed her. Suddenly, standing over her wasn't the intimidation factor he'd planned. Ignore, ignore! The rational part of his brain took over, and he dragged his eyes up from the soft, inviting curve and swell of her breasts and looked into her eyes.

"What I hear you saying is that you lived with a witch and had no idea she was one. Wait! No, you didn't believe her, which is, in fact, worse. She was actually completely honest with who she was to you, and you didn't believe her." Oliver stated this in a bit of shock himself as he watched Eva open and close her mouth, trying to make sense of his words.

Her heart fluttered and sputtered a bit as confusion strummed across her face. She truly hadn't known or believed her grandmother was a witch.

How to convince someone that the entire world they believed in wasn't the real world?

Of course, being brought back from the dead as a vampire made it difficult to hide from that. Not that he would turn her just to prove that supernatural creatures existed. "We really don't have time to go through this entire futile exercise." He intoned flatly, "The world you think exists is just a small part of the entire world. A blanket, so to speak, and under that blanket hides all the things that go bump in the night. Some are good, some are bad, but all fall under the category of ‘paranormal.' You know witches, werewolves, fae, vampires, spirits even. Demons of various types, but of course, if you believe in God you know about angels and demons, so you're already halfway there. Just a little hop, skip, and jump to accepting the rest."

Nodding firmly, he hoped that perhaps this proclamation could simply lay things to rest, but he also knew that telling someone that the world they lived in was a lie . . . Well, not so easy to reset the brain to reality. Sort of like The Matrix . . . Hmm, maybe he could use The Matrix's Real-World analogy to start explaining the paranormal world to others. Not that he planned on ever having this conversation again. It was going about as well as the last three times he'd explained it; thankfully, without the typical screaming and tears that had accompanied past conversations.

Eva stared blankly at him, turning even paler, if that were possible. Sighing, Oliver sat down on the bed, half turning to face her, bumping her knees as his lanky body struggled to fit in the tight room.

"I'm messing this all up, trying to hurry, but I don't have all night. Well, I do, I just don't want to be here all night doing this." The thought rose unbidden that he could, in fact, think of several things he would rather be doing in that room all night. Think of Ravyn! Focus. Grandmother! Surely, talking about her grandmother will kill any elicit thoughts!

"Did your grandmother ever lie to you about anything? And not the little stuff like Santa Claus or that Tooth Fairy thing. But the important stuff?"

"No," she whispered. "Words have power, and she wasn't one to misspeak."

"Then why would you think she would lie about the essence of who she truly was?"

With a bit more firmness to her tone, she replied, "Because literally, witches don't—can't—exist. Besides, I think I would've noticed if I had a broom-mate." She shut her mouth firmly in a tight line, as if trying to keep any more stray thoughts from escaping or in an attempt to end the conversation.

"But you didn't. And says who? You're living in a house seeping with magic. Hell, it may have been created with magic. You've never wondered why your stove and refrigerator still work? Why your roof never leaks, and why you've never had to paint, or update the windows?" Oliver worked with a few assumptions, but the look on Eva's face showed he'd hit the mark. Maybe he wasn't so out of practice with field work and conjectures after all.

Again she opened her mouth to interject, but he pushed forward. "Don't say its craftsmanship or things used to be built to last." See, he could use sarcasm too. "No matter how well made, it's impossible for appliances to last fifty years—or more, by the looks of some of that stuff—with no maintenance or repair. And I'm guessing you don't weed or even water that jungle of a garden out there either, yet it thrives. And again, that's not how gardening works. Even I know that." Oliver knew that very well, his childhood having been spent weeding his mother's garden; backbreaking work at times and never by chance or without intervention.

Oliver paused, looking at her to see some sign of acceptance or argument, but Eva stared blankly at the dresser, hopefully beginning to process. "She was a witch and by the laws of genetics, you should be too." Oliver stopped, quite pleased with this argument; maybe he should have been a lawyer. Maybe he still would be. He had years ahead of him and studying for the bar might pass some time.

"Except she's not my biological gram," Eva whispered so softly that he wouldn't have heard her if he wasn't a vampire. "Her son adopted me after he met my mom."

Oliver gave this some thought. "Does her son visit here or stay here often?" He had no sense of another person on the property, male or otherwise. All of his senses convinced him she lived here alone with an apparent untapped arsenal of magic at her fingertips. Depending on the lineage, males rarely inherited this level of power. Not likely, but also not impossible. And to be honest, it seemed likely that Ravyn's stalker was a man. The gifts and messages were almost like a man courting her for attention.

Eva gave a sardonic laugh that nearly broke into a cry. "He and my mother died years ago, even before Gram, so yeah, not a lot of hanging out has been happening unless it's the case of those spirits you were talking about earlier."

"No, there are definitely no spirits hanging around," he solemnly promised her in case she needed reassurance. "Did she have any other children? Did your . . . father?"

Eva shook her head no.

Oliver gave this new information some thought, typed out a quick text on the cell phone he pulled from his pocket, and hit Send. They sat silently watching his phone until the soft ding announced a response after several minutes.

"My source says that she must have been from a powerful lineage and imbued the house with her magic and possibly her ancestral magic as well." Letting out a soft sigh, he went on, "I'm sorry to ask this, but where did she pass?"

"Here." Eva nodded, her voice growing misty at the memory. "Here."

Oliver could understand loss; after living for so long, it was inevitable. In the past, at times he'd pulled away from mankind and others to prevent himself from having to deal with the loss year in and year out. It only protected his heart a bit; even vampires weren't meant to be solitary creatures. It was a lesson Ravyn had shared with him long ago, but she'd also admitted that he needed to experience most of life's lessons to truly learn from them. He supposed that was why this decade she surrounded herself with work, parties, admirers, and fans instead of his morose ass. Being alone took a different toll on the soul; loss could fade, but it never left.

"Thus she is here." He gruffly tapped the wall behind him. "I know this is tough to understand, but I really am trying to track Ravyn's stalker. This stalker doesn't follow typical rules, because he or she"—he glanced at her, not really believing anymore that she was the stalker—"he or she is a paranormal, and all the regular rules don't apply."

"So you didn't say witch; you said paranormal. What paranormals? Werewolves? Vampires or fae, whatever fae are? And who exactly are you? Some paranormal police officer? A witch? Something else?"

Acceptance had moved in quickly, or she simply planned to placate him into complacency and mount an escape. Either idea was acceptable, and one option was definitely more exciting than the other.

"Yes. I don't know yet. A friend and private security. No, no, and yes." Oliver watched Eva match his responses to the questions that had poured out of her. A new twist; now she was asking the questions and he was answering, but maybe unconventional would track down whatever crazed creature was stalking Ravyn.

"What private security company? How do I know you're who you say you are? Not that I even know who you are. And most investigators would have simply asked a few questions, not broken into someone"s home and tied them up. You make it a little hard to trust you."

Oliver considered this. "I don't have a card. Anyone in the business knows who I am and what I do. If they don't, then I'm not the one they need. My name is Oliver Patrick, and I run a personal security business with an emphasis on cyber security." A full introduction this time and a reminder of his name.

"Oliver." Eva nodded in greeting, as if they were still sitting in the coffee shop, before all the awkwardness. "I'm Eva Nance, but I guess you knew that."

He nodded. "You told me." He didn't mention that it had been under a brief moment of coercion that she'd managed to push off anyway. Seeing that she appeared more receptive to the idea of life being different than she'd known, he continued to question her. "Do you know anyone else who might have been a witch or a part of your grandmother's coven?"

"No. She had friends around town she would see. I never heard her use the word ‘coven.' It seemed like just normal friend things they did. She did have a friend near Chicago whom she always called sister. This just doesn't seem possible. Gram was just normal, so normal."

"The literary agent?" he asked, connecting some dots, thinking of the elderly witch he'd visited in the human care facility, surrounded by the books she loved.

"Yes," Eva agreed, then realization and fear flashed through her eyes. Wrinkling her forehead, she quietly asked, "Is Imogene okay? You didn't . . . Well, you didn't do anything to her?"

"Imogene is fine"—he waved off her concern for the older woman—"sleeping things off after telling me to come here to find Josephine Nance. A long-passed Posy, who would, in fact, have known about my world, but gone too long to be writing and publishing the stories now."

"Good. She doesn't deserve bad, anything bad," Eva amended. "She has been a good friend to me." Hesitating a beat, she asked, "What other paranormals are we talking about?" She examined him as if she could decipher his DNA despite the fact that she'd ignored all proof that she'd been surrounded by magic her entire life.

Warmth flowed through him. Oliver knew his blue eyes flecked red at interest, and she jumped in surprise. "Are you sure you"re ready for this? Once you know, you may never un-know. It's much easier to give knowledge than to take it away." Regardless of her answer, she needed to know the obvious, but by asking her, he gave her a sense of power. At the same time, she gave up the chance to later blame him for her blinders being removed and to knowing the world around her.

Eva nodded shortly and quickly, as if not completely sure that she was ready to accept this new knowledge, but not wanting to give herself a chance to reject it.

Oliver took the moment to lean in closer to her and inhale her sweet vanilla and lavender scent, while focusing on the now frantic beat of her heart as it attempted to escape her chest. His fangs quickly dropped at her scent, and his vision blurred as the red in his eyes deepened. Instinctively, his tongue ran along the tips of his teeth, enjoying the sharpness and freedom.

A gasp flew from Eva as she leaned back from him, nearly as fast as the bunny he called her. After the initial shock, she peered closer at him, and he curled up his lips, baring his fangs to allow a closer look for a few quiet moments.

His vision returned to normal as he retracted his fangs, the thirst reined back in where it belonged. "Vampire, in case you're lacking that basic knowledge," he drawled, fighting to control his own urge to catch the prey he saw in her.

"So have you caught up?" he demanded, then checked off, "Grandma was a witch. Vampires exist—as well as a plethora of other supernaturals. You live in a house of magic, and something in this town is stalking my friend, another vamp, and all signs point toward . . . you, little bunny."

"Are there vampire squirrels too? Or a creature that moves with the shadows and feels like it wants to rip your soul from your body?" Eva rattled out immediately considering that the early threat might not just be in her mind.

"Vampire squirrels?" Confused, Oliver shook his head contemplating her words, before immediately going on guard, "Was this creature controlling the shadows and moving toward you?"

Before Eva could formulate a coherent thought, let alone an answer, a massive thump rattled and heaved through the house from top to bottom, strumming through the both of them, as if a giant was attempting to punch a hole through the roof.

Oliver steadied himself by reaching out to the dresser, while Eva knocked into him. Instinctively he reached out to keep her from falling to the floor.

Guilt, unfamiliar but unmistakable guilt flashed. "By the gods," he cursed, "I may have cracked open your barrier just a tad, leaving things a bit vulnerable." He hated to confess his sloppy actions as the house trembled again. "I mean, the magic had faded in a spot, and I just helped it along." Clearly, he should have known the barrier protected the home and its occupants, and that by expanding the weakness, he left it open to be exploited by others.

"Dude, Oliver, I don't even know what that means, but I really don't like the sound of whatever that is. Did that squirrel find me again"

The house trembled again as it took yet another hit. Pictures on the wall fell from the impact, crashing and shattering the glass. The few knickknacks on the dresser jumped and scooted, threatening to also dive to the ground. The foundation below the house seemed to creak and heave against the onslaught.

"No, whatever it is, it is much bigger than a shadow creature. That creature was being used to locate you, a scout of sorts. This creature is being sent to hunt you. It can't fit through the protection spells; yet. Sounds like it"s trying to jackhammer its way through."

"What protection spells?" Eva shrieked at him as he pulled her to her feet. "A protection against rough and rumble?"

"The protection spells your grandmother and quite possibly your ancestors put on this place. Imagine a literal dome placed over the top of the house, sealing everything in, protecting it as it stands unchanged but also out of sight. It's a powerful spell and if she hadn't passed, I don't think it would have lasted as long as it has," Oliver quickly explained as he attempted to look through the well-worn lace that framed the small bedroom window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the attacker.

Another crash, harder this time, pulsated through the walls and rattled the windows. More pictures crashed from the walls in the front room and realizing she was clinging to him, Eva used the iron headboard to pull herself to a standing position.

Oliver turned away from the window. "Eva, you have no reason to trust me, and every reason to run. But I need you to trust me so we can make it out of here. The barrier isn't going to hold much longer, and if we stick together, I'll do everything in my power to protect you until we can both get all of our questions answered." Looking into her eyes, he willed her to trust him. He didn't care if she did it under faith or compulsion, but if she ran all bets were off. While he didn't know what manner of creature was out there, he did know it was enormous as well as powerful. Alone, Eva wouldn't have a chance, and Oliver really did want to learn more about her.