She looked around the room for any sign of a ghost. She didn’t see shit, but it didn’t mean shit wasn’t there. “Are you my aunt?” Her words seemed to rise up and hang above her in a small cloud of mist.
Della pulled the covers up to her neck, then spotted the diary beside her and picked it up to read. She found the spot she’d stopped reading earlier. Some of the dates didn’t have the year, but Della could tell the inscriptions were written several years back when Natasha was still in high school.
Wanting to know if there was anything about being turned, she flipped to the back of the book to see the date. Written on the last page were the words: Good-bye, diary. But the date on top was October thirteenth of last year.
Which would mean that reading her diary wasn’t going to offer any help, it was just an invasion of privacy. Boring privacy, but an invasion all the same. She closed the book and went to put it away, but it suddenly flipped open.
Looking around, still feeling the chill, she closed the book again. This time, when it popped open, Della got the feeling she was supposed to read. Just like she’d been supposed to find the picture in Chan’s casket.
“Fine. But how is this going to help find her? It’s normal everyday stuff.” Which Della had just referred to as boring, but truthfully, normal sounded nice. What would it feel like if your biggest problem was that the guy you liked didn’t know you existed? She used to have that life, Della thought. And so did Natasha, she realized. Her life had gone to hell, too.
Della looked down at the page dated January 10. She started to read.
Mom called me into her room today. I knew what she was going to tell me. I felt it coming. She’s going to marry Tom.
Della let go of a sigh. So Natasha’s life wasn’t so perfect. Della recalled the picture of the part-Asian man on Natasha’s bedside table. That must have been her real dad. Had he died, or had her parents divorced? Then she recalled the man standing outside looking up at the window. That must have been Tom.
She went back to reading.
I did the right thing. I told her I was happy for her. But it was hard. It’s also hard to realize how selfish I am. I want her to myself. I don’t want to share her. But I don’t plan to live at home forever. I’ll graduate in less than a year. And then she’ll be alone. She doesn’t deserve that.
It’s not as if I don’t like Tom. Well, maybe I don’t like him, but I don’t dislike him. And I don’t think he’s bad. I can tell he loves my mom. And he’s nice to me. But he’s not my dad. And I feel as if he’s trying to fill his shoes. I don’t want Tom as a dad.
And having him around reminds me that I lost the one I did have. It’s insane how you can miss someone after all these years. Miss them like crazy, but time also makes you forget. Like his voice. I used to think I would always remember it. The way he would call me honeybun—but it’s faded away. But it has been seven years since he died. I still look at his picture almost every night and try to see me in him. And I do a little, but not enough. I wish I had his nose.
Della stared at the page and realized how much she had in common with Natasha. How many times had she looked in the mirror and wondered why she didn’t look more like her dad, more like his family and the culture he was so proud of? Maybe being of mixed race just sent you down that path—a path where you felt as if you didn’t belong to one group or the other.
Della read on, but the diary went back to mundane stuff. An argument she had with Tom, picking out her prom dress. She read them all, and was a few pages from the end. This entry was longer than the others.
One week until I turn eighteen. Today, Mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I knew she’d ask, she always does. She’s good like that, wants to get you what you want and not just something she likes. But this year, I looked her right in the eye and decided not to lie. I want the truth, I told her. Her expression almost made me cry. It reminded me of how she looked when the police showed up at our door and told her that my father had died in the plant explosion. I think she’s afraid she’ll lose me. She won’t lose me, but I am going to be angry if what I believe is true. She should have told me years ago.
Curious, Della turned the page to read on, but there wasn’t more. What was Natasha talking about? What lie had her mother told her? Della closed the book, her feelings toward her father’s lies stinging while she felt Natasha’s pain.
Della put the diary down on her bedside table and watched it fly off and hit the wall. And the cold in the room grew more intense.
“Why are you unhappy?” Della looked up and saw white crystals of ice cascading from the ceiling. It was freaking snowing in her bedroom.
“Enough of the cold crap,” she said and sat up. “Why can’t we just talk? Tell me where Natasha is and I’ll save her. Tell me how you two are connected.”
Her words caused more wisps of steam to billow up. It hung a few inches from her lips. “Tell me … tell me who killed you. And I swear to God, if you say my father, I’ll know you’re a liar.”
Della held her breath. Her heart took her back to the father-daughter time she’d spent with her dad in his office. The laughter they’d shared. The love they’d shared. Her father might not have died like Natasha’s, but she missed him just the same.
“Talk to me,” she said again. No answer came. And that pissed Della off. “Fine! If you’re not going to talk, then get your icy ass out of here.” She dropped back onto her pillow.
Footsteps sounded in the cabin. Her door swung open. Kylie stood there. “You okay?”
“I have no patience for ghosts,” Della said with a tight voice and batted a snowflake from her lashes.
“Want me to sleep with you?”
“I’m not scared, just pissed.” Her heart did an abnormal jolt. If Kylie was in vamp mode she would have heard it. Della didn’t check. She was too tired to lift her head.
Kylie crawled into bed with her. Even tired, Della found the strength to tell Kylie about her day. From the vision in the closet, Chase taking the diary, to the fight at the park behind the pond. Her frustration that time was running out for Natasha and Liam.
“You can only do so much,” Kylie said, but in her voice Della heard it. She, like Holiday, still held doubts that Natasha and Liam were really alive. Della refused to believe it.
Eventually, the room’s temperature went back to normal. With a protector at her side, Della pulled her covers up to her chin—not to hide from the cold, but to keep away thoughts of murder, ghosts, and two people trapped somewhere and running out of time.
Della was almost asleep when Kylie asked one last question. “Did you do what Miranda told you to?”
“What?” Della murmured.
“Did you open your heart enough to Chase to know if he was a prince or a toad?”
“I think he’s both,” Della said, and she recalled how his hands had felt on her br**sts when she’d come out of the vision. How it felt to touch him. She suddenly felt too warm and wished the ghost would come back and make it snow again.
* * *
Wednesday morning, the ring of her phone jarred Della awake. She sat up and recalled hearing Kylie getting out of her bed and listening to her and Miranda getting dressed for school. Glancing at the window, she saw the sun pouring in.
“Crap!” She must have fallen back to sleep. If she started sleeping in and missing school, Burnett would probably start curtailing her time working.
She grabbed her phone. Her heart did a jolt when she considered it might be Steve. Looking at the number, she closed her eyes, dropped back on the bed, and berated herself for even wanting it to be Steve.
Then she begrudgingly answered the call. “What do you want?”
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“Go to hell.”
Chase laughed.
His laugh went through her like warm syrup. Damn him! That’s when she remembered what she’d told Kylie. Both prince and toad.
She heard him shift, almost as if he was still in bed himself. “You know, the only thing better than hearing your raspy morning voice, would be waking up beside you. Your hair kind of messy, the sunshine streaming into the window shining off your soft skin. I’ll bet you’re sexy as hell.”
She ran a hand through her hair and looked down and realized she was wearing her Smurf PJs.
“You’d lose that bet.”
“Don’t tell me. You’re wearing the Smurf pajamas, aren’t you?”
She bit her lip to keep from giving him directions to hell. She refrained, not because she wasn’t aggravated, but because he’d know he was right.
“Do you have matching underwear?” he asked, no doubt baiting her.
“You really are a panty perv!” she said.
“A what?”
“A panty pervert!”
He laughed. “Nah, I’m just a Della perv,” he said and sounded sincere. “You okay?”
“Of course I am. Why?”
“You’re sleeping late. Did you stay awake thinking about me?”
She started to say a big hell no, but it would have come off as a lie. “The ghost came to see me,” she said the truth, instead of answering his question. “What’s your excuse?” Had he been thinking about her? No wait, she didn’t want to know.
“My excuse for what?” he asked.
She couldn’t find a way to blow off the question, so she just put it out there. “It sounds like you’re still in bed, too. Or wasn’t that the mattress I heard sigh?”
“I am. Do you want to know what I’m wearing?”
“No!” But an image formed in her mind. Her face heated and she remembered being in that closet and fondling his butt.
“I was up working on the case until almost four.” He paused. “And maybe thinking about you.” She heard him roll over again.
She closed her eyes and didn’t know what to say to that. So she didn’t say anything.
“What did she say?” he asked.
“What did who say?” she countered, her mind racing, her face still warm.
“The ghost?” he asked.
Good, she needed a change of subject. “That’s the problem, she didn’t say anything. Just made it snow.”
“Snow?”
“Yes and in my bedroom!”
He paused. “Do you know who she is?”
“I’m not completely sure,” she answered.
“Who do you think she is?” he asked.
Maybe this subject wasn’t any better than the last. “What time is it?” she asked, hoping to derail the conversation.
“Eight thirty.”
“If I hurry, I can still make my first class. I should go.”
“So you don’t want to know what I found out about our guy Damian Bond?”
Oh, hell, she was slipping. Of course she wanted to know. “What did you find?” She sat up.
Chapter Twenty-nine
“Who do you think the ghost is?” Chase asked, as if only willing to share if she would.
“I’m not a hundred percent sure.” Della spoke the truth.
“So, who do you think it is?” he asked for the second time.
“Aren’t you the one who said she was my ghost?” she countered and sat up on the side of her bed.
“Aren’t you the one who said we had joint custody?” he shot back as if frustrated. “If it will help us find—”
“If it would help us, I’d tell you, but right now I’m just confused. So cut the crap and tell me what you have on Damian Bond.”
He let her suffer for a few seconds before he started talking. “The most important thing is that he’s in California right now, and has been for the last three days. So it wasn’t him you got a trace of last night.”
“How … how do you know this?”
“The FRU aren’t the only ones who have databases. I had the Vampire Council do a rundown on him. When I was heading home last night, they got back with me. We’ve got him on a watch list. At one time, he belonged to a gang that targeted vampires. Supposedly, he’s dropped out, but we have an address on him. I paid a visit to his home. His girlfriend told me he was in L.A. He does some stunt work for a few movies. But he’s flying home on Friday night. I think we should meet him at baggage claim, don’t you?”
Della’s mind spun. “Yeah.” But she couldn’t deny feeling disappointed that Damian wasn’t the one at Uck’s Burgers whose trace she’d picked up. Especially when that was the trace the ghost had given her when she’d been watching the interview. How did this all fit together?
Exhaling, she stared down at her bare toes. “Have you told Burnett this yet?”
“Not yet. I thought I’d tell my partner first.”
Something in how he said “partner” made her stomach flutter. And it was a good flutter—as if she was part of something … or someone … that mattered.
She brushed her hair from her face and looked back at her bedroom door when she heard footsteps running up her cabin’s front porch. One deep breath and she recognized the witch’s scent.
“Here comes Miranda,” Della said into the phone. “I gotta go. Call Burnett and fill him in. If you don’t, he’s going to be pissed.”
“Isn’t that his regular state of being?”
“Just do it.” She hung up as her bedroom door swung open and Miranda rushed in.
“What’s wrong?” Della asked.
The witch took a deep breath as if she’d been running. “Kylie told me Shawn was stabbed,” she said, sounding a bit panicked. “Is he okay?” She still had her fork in her hand as if she’d gotten the news during breakfast and forgot to leave it behind.