Eternal by V. Forrest (primary phonics books .TXT) 📕

the basement of his mother’s row house, he invited her. Conveniently, it was in the direction of her parked car.

There was a shortcut to his place. There always was. When she stopped him in the alley, grabbed the lapel of his leather coat, and pulled him against her, he swayed drunkenly.

“Want me, don’t you babe?” he muttered, slobbering on her cheek as he tried to find her mouth.

She wasn’t in the mood for small talk tonight. She grabbed him from behind by a hank of his pink hair, tilted his head back, and before he could say “mommy,” she sank her canines into his throat. As he fainted in her arms, she lapped up the oozing blood.

Fia expected that hot rush of excitement, the trembling in her knees, the ripples of pleasure. She got none of it. It was if she were drinking lukewarm bathwater. Annoyed, she let him slip unceremoniously to the ground. Stepping over him, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She thought it was the first time she’d ever not enjoyed human blood.

Maybe it was the bad aftertaste of the cheap vodka he drank. Or guilt. She didn’t know which one tasted worse.

Chapter 15

All week, Fia’s finger itched to punch Glen’s phone number into her cell. But she couldn’t come up with a good reason to call him, no matter how much negotiating she did with herself. Nothing had come back on the crime-scene evidence, and there were no unusual findings in the wet autopsy report. The impalement hadn’t killed him, but mostly because he was then beheaded.

Fia did e-mail Glen to let him know he should have received a copy of the report as well, but he hadn’t responded. She’d kind of hoped he’d write back, but when he didn’t, she couldn’t decide why. She knew it wasn’t her imagination; they’d definitely made a connection last week. But he was engaged. Maybe he wasn’t interested in connections. Or maybe she was reading entirely too much into his lack of response. He had, after all, warned her that he wasn’t good at e-mail.

Thursday evening, Fia was surprised to hear from Sorcha. She called to invite Fia for a “girls’ night” Saturday at her place. She also made mention of a matter they needed to discuss, but wouldn’t give any details, promising she would explain when Fia arrived.

Fia surprised herself by agreeing to go. Maybe she was intrigued by the matter Sorcha referred to. Maybe she just wanted to get out of Philly and away from Joseph. Or maybe she was beginning to realize how homesick she was. Clare Point wasn’t all bad; the people weren’t all that bad. And Sorcha was right; they had been good friends. Fia thought maybe she missed her more than she realized.

Fia showed up at Sorcha’s little duplex house on the beach Saturday night, just as the sun was setting, with a bottle of vodka and a tray of good sushi she’d picked up at a gourmet deli near her apartment.

“You came!” Sorcha met Fia on the front porch with a big hug. “Come on in. We’re making martinis, then I thought we’d sit out here. The weather’s so divine.” She grinned, seeming tickled with herself as well as with Fia.

Fia caught a snippet of Sorcha’s thoughts. Something about Fia having the guts to come. Fia wondered what she meant, but didn’t want to know the answer badly enough to ask.

“Last renters for the season left this morning,” Sorcha bubbled, waving Fia inside. “I’ve got the place all to myself until April!”

Fia followed Sorcha into the large eat-in kitchen that had recently been remodeled. “This is great,” she said, feeling a little awkward. She didn’t socialize much in Philadelphia beyond bar stools and grocery shopping with Betty, who was too hard of hearing to expect much in the way of conversation.

“I’ll be damned.” Eva, who was standing at the granite counter pouring liquor into a martini shaker, pointed to Sorcha. “I owe you five bucks.” She looked to Fia. “I bet Sorcha you wouldn’t come.”

“I said I was coming,” Fia protested, laughing as she set down her hostess gifts.

“I still bet you weren’t coming.” Eva picked up the bottle of vodka Fia had brought. “But Belvedere? Glad you did.”

“Hey, there.” Shannon came out of the powder room. “I thought that was your voice I heard.” She surprised Fia by throwing her arms around her and giving her a big hug. “Glad you could come.”

“You are?”

Shannon made a face as she slid onto one of the stools on the far side of the breakfast bar. “You bet. I’m going into the woods tonight after midnight, believe me, holy Saint Mary, I want an FBI agent with me.”

“We’re going into the woods?”

“I didn’t tell her.” Sorcha pretended to whisper a secret to the other two women.

“You didn’t tell her?” Eva put the lid on the antique glass-and-chrome martini shaker and began to shake it.

“Didn’t tell me what?”

Shannon peeled back the plastic wrap on the tray of sushi and chose a piece of tuna and seaweed. “You gotta tell her.”

“And I’m going to.” Sorcha carried four martini glasses to the counter.

“I think maybe I’ll pass on the martinis.” Fia raised her hand to stop Eva from pouring her one. After her behavior at the party last weekend, Fia was thinking that “no alcohol beyond Tavia’s ale” was a good rule of thumb.

“Come on, you have to have a martini,” Sorcha protested. “How can you come to girls’ martini night and not have a martini?”

“You’re going to want a drink before you hear this one.” Eva elbowed Fia. “Shannon thinks that Kaleigh and some of the other girls are practicing some kind of witchcraft on the game preserve.”

Fia reached for a glass. “Maybe just a small one.”

“So do you really think there’s such a thing as witches?” Shannon whispered in the dark, only a stride behind Fia.

The four women had retired to Sorcha’s front porch