Peace, Blood, and Understanding Read online

  “But what was Luke doing in the building after the ghoul incident?”

  Dick shrugged. “Chloe asked him to come double-check the security systems. I would imagine she was trying to arrange for him to be seen in the office to throw some doubt his way, but he doesn’t seem to know anything. So he wasn’t responsible for nearly getting us ousted from the Council and potentially murdered. But he did read your text messages and invade your privacy, which is not cool.”

  “He did what?” Weston cried.

  “Compared to Chloe’s bashing my head against a cave floor, it seems pretty minor,” I said. “And maybe one day I will talk to him about it, but today is not that day.”

  “I still feel that I owe you an apology, Mr. Cheney,” Weston said, extending his hand. “I held a grudge against you for years, and I came into this investigation with a skewed perspective. That isn’t right, and it isn’t ethical. I’m sorry.”

  Dick eyed Weston’s hand for a moment and then shook it. “I understand. If it were my father figure, I would want justice. And if you want to make it up to us, take that ‘skew’ into consideration when submitting your final report.”

  Weston’s face fell into guilty lines. “I couldn’t lie. That would only make things worse, especially after I’ve already submitted two reports.”

  “No one is asking you to lie,” I said. “We’re just asking you to find some gray.”

  He nodded. “I think I can do that.”

  14

  You cannot pretend that negative emotions like anger and resentment do not exist. They are natural and normal. It would be like pretending that gravity or plastic don’t exist.

  —Peace, Blood, and Understanding: A Living Guide for Vampires Embracing Pacifism

  After seeing what festering anger had done to “Cloris,” I decided to purge some of the unhealthy feelings in my own system. I did not want to end up getting dusted in some random cavern, trying to achieve some sort of kill list… It was an oddly specific goal, but it seemed reasonable given recent circumstances.

  So I sat down and wrote a letter to my parents telling them everything I’d ever wanted to say about their “side business” and how it affected me, about how their actions led to me being turned. I told them that the fact that I didn’t hate life as a vampire didn’t excuse their actions. I told them that the things that made our family unhealthy when I was human made us an unhealthy family now. I told them that while I appreciated their providing for me as a child, I just didn’t see us ever having a relationship now. My life was better, calmer, happier without them in it. And then I handed the letter to Jane, who contacted the Council’s legal department, and many scary documents were written and signed.

  I called the number Mr. Bollinger listed on his card, which also smelled of maple syrup, oddly enough. He agreed to meet me at the shop, all unctuous eagerness. I was blending a special tea when he walked in, just as sallow as ever. I smiled, which seemed to make him suspicious as he approached. I supposed I couldn’t blame him. I’d literally never been happy to see him.

  “Ms. Somerfield, I hope that you’ve come to a more reasonable decision about your family. Your parents are very eager to see you again.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Bollinger, I’m afraid that I’m going to continue to be very unreasonable,” I said, handing him an envelope. “This is a letter that I would like you to give to the Somerfields. They should consider this the last communication I will ever have with them.”

  “Aw, Ms. Somerfield.” He groaned.

  Undeterred, I handed him a very thick manila envelope. “This is a collection of paperwork written by some very aggressive vampire lawyers, who have a vested interest in fellow undead citizens remaining unharassed by the living. You’re going to find a cease and desist order, plus a stunning array of affidavits and paperwork documenting the Somerfields’ criminal activities. Bank statements, receipts for the chemicals they’ve purchased over the years, and other things that prosecutors like to call Exhibit A. If they don’t, well, cease and desist immediately, I will turn these documents over to the state police.”

  Mr. Bollinger stared at me for a long moment. “You mean it, don’t you? You would really turn your own parents in to the police.”

  “I don’t have parents, Mr. Bollinger. Elizabeth Somerfield died years ago,” I said, handing him a sealed Everlasting Health tea pouch. “I will tell you this. You have no idea who you’re working for. You have no idea the kind of people the Somerfields are connected to. Trust me when I say the best thing you could do is lose their contact information. Don’t bill them. Just send them these envelopes and forget that you ever met them.”

  “And what’s this?” he asked, waggling the pouch.

  “A low-caffeine tea with rose hips to increase your vitamin intake. I don’t know exactly what is going on with you, medically speaking, because I’m getting way too many cues to narrow it down. But please, go have a physical soon.”

  He frowned. “You’re a little bit of a smartass, aren’t you, Ms. Somerfield?”

  “Not just a little bit,” I told him.

  * * *

  I felt lighter after I wrote to my parents, like all that baggage I’d been carrying around over the years had been unloaded and put back on the pretentious brass luggage rack my mother had insisted we use back at the horse farm. I was fully Meadow Schwartz now. Meadow Schwartz didn’t have selfish criminal parents. Meadow Schwartz had a family she had chosen on her own, a family that was currently loitering around Specialty Books, casually pretending that they weren’t hovering around me like I was going to crumble into nothing at any moment.

  While members of this little cluster were put in mortal danger with a frequency you wouldn’t expect in such a small town, that didn’t make it any less scary. Miranda was standing in the folklore section, pretending to read a book on South American shifter cultures, while glancing over the cover at me every few minutes. Collin was doing the same from Jane’s history section. Dick’s several-times-great-granddaughter, Nola, was quizzing me on the properties of various teas and responding, “Interesting!” to every answer, in her funny Boston-meets-Irish accent. Gigi was sitting very close at the bar, definitely not watching me while I was blending Soul Center tea. And Nik was sitting next to her, definitely not stressed out in any way by his girlfriend being in such distress. Libby, from book club, was there, and she was completely unable to hide her hovering, standing behind the counter, cleaning cups, and reaching out to pat my shoulder every few minutes. Cal and Iris showed up, pretending that they just happened to drop by the shop to sign copies of Bitten Botanicals for Jane’s displays. (I was doing everything possible not to fangirl.) Dick, Jane, Gabriel, and Andrea were present, of course. They were going about their business, and while they were appearing more natural than certain other parties, they were still looking over to check on me pretty often.

  It was tea-tasting night, something we hadn’t been able to hold properly since… well, not since Weston came into town. There was a strange sort of symmetry to it, picking up again where I’d left off, returning to normal without Weston in my life anymore. And I couldn’t help but find it a little sad.

  I mean, my life was very full. I had my family. I had a job I loved and my shop and my friends. Clearly, I didn’t have Luke in my life anymore, but that was OK. We’d met, at the Council office, for closure’s sake. I apologized for suspecting him of being a criminal who put me in harm’s way for the sake of revenge. He apologized for logging in to my accounts to spy on me. We agreed that those were the kind of apologies that didn’t belong in a healthy relationship—with benefits or otherwise—and we should take some time apart for a while. For vampires, “a while” could be several decades.

  But still, there was an empty spot inside me, a blank space where something important had been written and then erased before I was ready to give it up. I didn’t know where Weston was. He hadn’t been back to the apartment building since that night with Chloe. It had looked, for a moment,
like we might have hope, and then he’d just disappeared.

  His space at the Council office remained empty. Jane couldn’t give me a lot of detail, but she said he’d had to “report back” to whoever was in charge of such things. She could not and would not say whether he would be back or when. I could only assume I would never see him again. He’d made it very clear that he hated almost everything about Half-Moon Hollow, and what little he did like—me? Possibly?—was not enough to keep him there for one minute longer than necessary.

  I tried not to let that hurt me, and not just in my usual “anger leads to the dark side” way. For all my general irritation with him, I wanted Weston to be happy. If leaving Half-Moon Hollow made him happy, that’s what I wanted for him.

  I set the teapot down on the counter with a little more force than was needed. But would it have killed the guy to give me the courtesy of a good-bye?

  “No, he’s a vampire; nothing would kill him,” I muttered.

  “What was that, Meadow?” Andrea asked.

  “Oh, just thinking out loud,” I said.

  “But not murder-y thoughts, right?” Gigi asked. “Because it sounded a little murder-y.”

  “I promise, I have had enough of mayhem for the time being,” I said, raising my right hand.

  “Somehow, I don’t believe you…” Gigi said, her eyes narrowing at me.

  “Are we ready?” Jane asked. “People should start showing up any minute.”

  The bell over the door jangled. A teasing hint of a familiar scent crept into the room.

  “See?” Jane chirped, turning to the door just in time to see Weston walk through it. He was dressed more casually than I’d ever seen before, wearing a dark blue T-shirt and jeans. The shirt certainly didn’t have any of Dick’s sarcastic witticisms on it, but it was shocking enough to see him in something made of denim. I was actually stunned into silence for a moment.

  Jane looked up to the ceiling and muttered, “OK, now the universe is laughing at me. Stupid universe.”

  “Hello,” Weston said, approaching the counter like I was some sort of dangerous, wounded animal. He had a large manila envelope in his hands. I certainly hoped that he wasn’t there to serve a cease and desist on me.

  “What brings you back here?” I asked. “It’s been weeks without a word.”

  Jane made a discomfited face and raised her hand. “I’m so sorry. He’s been back for a few days, but I wasn’t supposed to say anything because he was handling Council business. It’s one of those ‘my civic responsibilities outweighed my personal relationships’ things.”

  “Her personal integrity means she takes it very seriously,” Gabriel told me. “And I hate it.”

  I nodded. “I understand. But you’re not allowed to take breaks in my office anymore.”

  “That is harsh but fair.” Jane cleared her throat. “Um, why don’t you two go back to my office to talk?”

  Weston raised an eyebrow. “Your office?”

  “Well, the alternative would be all of us going back to my office to give you privacy, and that seems a lot less natural,” Jane deadpanned, gesturing to the rest of the group.

  Nik snickered but covered it by clearing his throat.

  “Thank you, Jane,” I said, leading Weston back to her office. It was a neat little space, much like Jane’s office at the Council, painted a pleasant lilac purple and lined with framed photos of Jane’s family. I was pleased to find there was a picture of me in there, a shot of me and Andrea practically falling off the couch laughing during one of Jane’s Tommy Nights.

  But the room was smaller than I’d like, and brought me closer to Weston than I wanted. I suddenly wished Jane had corralled all of the others into her office, as uncomfortable as it would have been.

  I sat in Jane’s chair, motioning to the less comfortable chair across the desk. It wasn’t that sitting in the better chair made me feel more powerful—which, OK, it did—but having the desk between us made me feel like I had some measure of control. I couldn’t grab him and rub my face against his shirt to soak in the scent I’d been craving like an addict denied their favorite fix.

  “So, you wanted to talk,” I said. “Talk.”

  I sat back and awaited a carefully prepared list of ways I was being unreasonable, complete with statistics to back up his statements.

  “I was wrong,” Weston said. “I should have taken into consideration how much this place means to you before I started naming off its many faults.”

  I damn near fell out of my chair. “Really?”

  “Yes.” He sighed. “I mean, I should learn to see the value in the things that you love about Half-Moon Hollow. And instead of trying to talk you out of loving it, I should appreciate that this is your home and it has given you peace and comfort. I should be grateful that you’re happy here, and love the town for giving you that gift.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. These were not Weston’s words. They sounded suspiciously like my words. And I only started talking like this after Leona made me…

  “Oh, my God, what books did Jane make you read?”

  He shook his head. “So many. She emptied the self-help section into my hotel room.”

  “Which I’m sure wasn’t up to your standards,” I retorted.

  “No, the Lucky Clover is definitely not five-star,” he muttered. “But I’m trying to put less stock in that sort of thing. I stayed in that room because I was working with Jane, on Council matters and on her extensive reading list.”

  “Good thing you’re a speed reader,” I noted.

  “It wasn’t enough,” he said. “I know we haven’t talked about long-term. I’m willing to try for right now and see if it becomes long-term. I am willing to live here because you are here. I can’t promise I’ll be totally content, but I’ll try, because you’re content here.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” I told him. “You would resent me for making you live away from the things you love.”

  “The things in the big cities? I like them. I love you,” he said.

  The world seemed to tilt a bit, and if I’d needed to breathe, it would have been a hesitant, shaky thing. I braced my hands against the desk and closed my eyes to try to find my way back to being centered.

  Weston sprang to his feet and knelt beside my chair. “What’s happening? Are you having a stroke? I don’t think we can have strokes, right?”

  I smiled. “Sorry, it’s just, the first time you hear that, it’s kind of a disorienting moment.”

  He grinned and leaned forward to take my mouth. I laughed against his lips, threading my fingers through his hair.

  “And maybe I’m willing to spend weekends and vacations in some of those more sophisticated places,” I said, pulling away from him. “I have to admit that spending August somewhere other than the humidity capital of the world has some appeal. I won’t ever want to live in a big crowded metropolis full-time, but I’m willing to compromise, Weston.”

  “Thank you. I hear you, and I’m grateful.”

  “The self-help book talk is killing you, isn’t it?” I asked, tilting my head.

  “Slowly, word by word,” he said, nodding. “But if it helps me find a way to communicate without you hating me, I’m willing to do it.”

  “Thank you,” I said, slipping my hand into his. “And you can stop now. I would hate for you to completely lose your personality to pithy sound bites.”

  “Thank you.” He sagged against my chair and kissed my wrist. “But I also have this.”

  He took out his envelope and showed me the piece of paper inside. It looked like a blueprint, but printed in colorful patches.

  “What is this?”

  “That is part of what I was working on with Jane. It is a proposal for the Capitol lot, approved by Jane and Dick and the county commission. With some, er, privately donated funding, the Council is going to build the Leona Schwartz Memorial Community Garden. I based the design on the sketch in your notebook. There’s a whole section for roses
, just like in your sketch. And one of the conditions of funding the garden is exclusive rights to the rose hips. You’ll have all of the rose hips you’ll need.”

  I laughed. “This is probably the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received. Most men just stop at a dozen roses. They don’t give a whole garden.”

  “Well, I’m not most men.”

  “What was the other thing you were working on with Jane?” I asked. “Or is that one of those Council secrecy things I’m not allowed to ask about?”

  “No, we can go talk to Jane about it now if you want,” he said, pulling me out of my chair.

  “Still not eager to talk to Dick, huh?

  “It’s going to take time,” he said.

  We walked out to find pretty much everybody standing outside of Jane’s office, trying to act like they weren’t listening at the door.

  “Oh, come on, guys.” I sighed.

  No one apologized.

  “These are the people you chose, huh?” Weston asked.

  “I chose you, too, didn’t I?” I shot back.

  “Point taken. Jane, would you like to tell Meadow what we’ve spent the last few days discussing?” he said.

  “Yes.” Jane sighed. “Despite my better judgment, Erik Weston will be working out of our Council office full-time, heading up a newly formed Office of Accountability. He will be responsible for reviewing financial records, designing new security procedures, and generally making sure that our office and other offices in the region are performing in a fashion that won’t embarrass the Council or create financial havoc. Basically, he’ll be doing the same work he’s always done, we just get him full-time.”

  “What?” Dick scoffed. “We don’t need that!”

  Jane patted his shoulder gently. “Actually, a good number of the problems we’ve had over the last few years would have been prevented if we’d had someone auditing Council reps’ behavior: Iris being held hostage not once, but twice. Gigi being poisoned and turned. Ben and Meagan being turned, probably…”