“No, it’s fine,” I said. “I just, uh, think I’ll eat outside today,” I told her casually. And walked out, past a very surprised-looking acolyte.
Chapter Nine
The main outdoor terrace of the suite branched off the salon and was truly huge, with part of it having been reclaimed from the old living room. It had a forest of plants, a curving glass solarium-style roof, a large pool, some lounge chairs, and a table with a happy-looking blue and white umbrella over it. The sun was shining, and some of the smaller girls were splashing around in the pool wearing water wings.
A swimsuit-clad Tami was sitting on the side, watching them with eagle eyes. She spotted me as soon as I emerged from the hallway with all the bedrooms, and waved me over. But some of the girls were coloring at the umbrella table, and I didn’t want to disturb them. I opted for the big, sand-colored sectional and coffee table in the salon instead.
And finally got to enjoy my cassoulet. It was warm and filling and the definition of comfort food. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I took the cover off and that fragrance hit my nose again. I ended up eating two portions, along with some fresh baked bread and a hoppy beer that my waistline didn’t need but that went perfectly with the meal—until I noticed that I had an observer.
A small dark-haired girl had sidled up to the sofa unnoticed in my food haze. She jumped a little when my eyes focused on her, dropped something, and fled. I picked it up.
It was a picture of a tall woman with flowing blond hair, a goddess-type dress, and hands that appeared to be doing something, but I couldn’t tell what, because the artist didn’t really do hands. More like circles with lines in them. But the circles appeared to be conjuring something up. There was a lot of golden light being thrown around anyway, or golden something.
The yellow crayon was probably a nub by now.
I looked up at Fred, my shortest, portliest, and most food-obsessed bodyguard, who had also sidled over, in order to steal the rest of my bread. He had slathered it with butter and was currently making little orgasmic noises while he stuffed it in, which would have been creepy except that I did the same thing when eating Tami’s bread. Everybody did. You want magic? That stuff was magic.
“Ha!” Fred said, sitting down and pulling my tray over so he could get better access.
“Ha, what?” I asked, and stole back the end piece of the bread.
“That’s the best part,” he protested, around a mouthful of stolen food.
“I know.” I buttered it up and savored the way the crust crackled on my tongue. Just yum. “It’s still warm,” I informed him.
“You’re evil. She should have used black.”
“What?”
“Black vibes, like black magic, you know?” He nodded at the picture.
I picked it up again. “This isn’t me.”
Fred frowned around some of my cassoulet. His little fangs were out, probably to help him strip the flesh off one of the tiny chicken legs. Tami used small chickens, because she said the sauce penetrated better, and they were more tender.
Couldn’t argue with that.
“Of course it’s you,” Fred said. “Who else would it be?”
I looked at it again. “I don’t know, but I’m not that tall.”
“You are if the artist is five,” he pointed out.
“And that’s not my hair.”
Fred considered it for a minute. “You got a point there. She’s got better hair.”
He could talk, Mr. What-Comb-Over-I-Don’t-Have-a-Comb-Over. As a master vamp, he could have easily looked however he wanted to other people. Yet he continued to be the pudgy guy in the button-up shirts that strained slightly across the middle, showing a gap filled with white undershirt. And ties, when he remembered to wear them, that invariably ended up under one ear. And ill-fitting, off-the-rack suits, when even newbies to the family wore Armani.
Yet Fred was probably the easiest to relate to of all my guards. Except for right now. “I don’t look like that.”
“The kid’s five,” he repeated. “What do you expect?”
I didn’t know, but that wasn’t me. That woman was tall and strong and glowed with power. Circle hands and lopsided eyes and all, she was someone who looked forceful and imposing, surrounded by a halo of golden light. She looked like a goddess.
I put the picture down, and some of the warm feeling from lunch faded.
Fred was eyeing me up while scarfing down the rest of my meal. “It’s like Picasso, you know?”