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  While I was at my parents’ house, I planned to do more than eat turkey and pumpkin pie. Dad was a Templar Librarian and had some of the most rare and detailed books on the supernatural right in his own personal library. These deaths might be natural causes, or they might be vampires, but if they were something else, then my father and his books were the best chance I had of figuring out the “who” in this potential whodunit.

  Chapter 7

  My mother wasn’t thrilled that I’d brought a guest home for the holiday. No, Dario was still in Baltimore. My “guest” this Thanksgiving was of the four legged variety.

  Gaia was fine alone in my row house for what wouldn’t be much more than twenty-four hours. She had a litter box, and I just put out a few extra bowls of food and water. Fulk would have lost his mind solo in the house for that long. I would have returned to shredded furnishings, poop everywhere, and a very anxious canine who’d thought I’d left him forever.

  Boarding was expensive and probably completely booked up for the holiday, and none of my friends were available to stay in my house over Thanksgiving to dog-sit Fulk, so I’d loaded him in the car along with an overnight bag, and headed down the road.

  Fulk quickly climbed up to ride shotgun, panting happily as he slobbered all over my seats and made nose-prints on the windows. I pulled into the drive about ten o’clock and he immediately began to bark excitedly at everything—the barn, the trees, the front door.

  “Do not pee or poop in the house,” I warned him once I could get a word in edgewise. “One wrong move and Mom will have you locked in a horse stall in the barn for the night.”

  I can’t say Fulk was the perfect gentleman, but his excited wiggles didn’t escalate to jumping up on my parents. Roman’s boys were thrilled that I’d bucked the rules and brought a dog into the house. Jet coo’ed at the “puppy”.

  And Mom glared. Fulk came to sit before her in solemn attention.

  “I don’t like pets in the house, Solaria,” she told me.

  “That’s no way to speak to your grand-dog,” I teased. “This is the closest thing you’re going to get to a baby from me, so you should probably make the best of it.”

  She ignored me and reached down to pat Fulk’s head. “He’s a handsome boy, but if he chews anything or relieves himself in the house, he’s going out to the barn.”

  “See?” I told Fulk. “Told you so.”

  “Well?” She stood and scowled at my dog, who was actually behaving himself for once and not racing around the room, or humping her leg. “Introduce us to our grand-dog.”

  I stepped to the side, gesturing toward the bull terrier as if I were Vanna White showcasing a brand new luxury car. “Everyone, this is Fulk.”

  Roman’s boys giggled, and were quickly shushed. My mother stiffened.

  “Solaria. We did not raise you to use such vulgar language, especially here in our home. And what possessed you to name your dog such a thing?”

  “Fulk, Mom. F. U. L. K. Fulk the Fifth? You know, after the Count of Anjou who was King of Jerusalem from 1131 to 1143.”

  “Isn’t he the dude whose first wife ditched him to marry the King of France?” Ajax asked.

  “Yeah, and then he married Baldwin the Second’s daughter to become King of Jerusalem after Baldwin’s death.” Bors waved his hand. “But his first wife had died by then, so he wasn’t a bigamist like she was.”

  “Bertrade,” Hilda informed her boys. “His first wife was Bertrade. And Melisende was to succeed Baldwin with Fulk as co-ruler, but he basically cut her out until she got fed up with his nonsense and took charge in a coup.”

  Mom shook her head, ignoring the history lesson going on in the background. “Why Fulk, Aria? If you wanted to honor that particular Templar, you could call this dog Count.”

  “Count’s a good name,” Ajax chimed in.

  “Like Dracula? Chocula? The guy on Sesame Street?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m dating a vampire. Don’t you think it’s a little weird to have a vampire boyfriend and a dog named Count?”

  Mom’s eyebrows shot up at that, and I realized that I’d never told any of my family that my relationship with Dario had taken a turn to the romantic. I hadn’t wanted to break it to them this way, but the cat, or vampire boyfriend, was out of the bag now. I guessed this would be one more thing for them to lecture me about over the next twenty-four hours.

  “You could call him Anjou,” Bors suggested.

  His brother swatted him in the arm. “Dummy. She’s not going to name her dog after a country.”

  “It’s not a country,” Bors shot back. “It’s a principality, or a duchy or something, isn’t it, Mom?”

  “How about King?” Athena asked. “Or name him Baldwin. He was the better ruler and military strategist, in my opinion.”

  “His name is Fulk,” I informed them all. “I’m not changing it.”

  “Fine.” Mom folded her arms across her chest, glaring down at the dog. “We’ll call him Fulk. But if he pees on anything—”

  “He goes out to the barn,” I finished for her. Then I picked up my bag, whistled to my dog, and headed upstairs to my bedroom.

  Once inside the Pepto-pink bedroom I’d occupied since my childhood, I examined the contents of my closet while Fulk explored the room with his nose. When I’d moved to Baltimore, I’d left all my formal outfits behind since I couldn’t see myself needing them living solo in a ratty apartment while working part time as a barista. Now, I was considering hauling one or two back with me. Christmas and New Year’s were coming, and I had some vague hopes of maybe being invited to a formal event somewhere. Plus Dario was the head of his Balaj. I assumed that might mean a formal occasion sometime in the future once he sorted everything out and the Balaj was on more of a stable footing. Plus I was eyeing anything I might be able to use as a dress for this medieval reenactment thing I’d somehow found myself a queen-elect of. The last event I’d attended, I’d just worn my armor and borrowed a dress from someone for the dinner. I really couldn’t keep doing that, but didn’t have the funds to be buying or renting costumes. Could I attend dances in armor? Be coronated while wearing my armor? I was going to push for yes on the latter, but I couldn’t see myself getting away with plate mail during a fancy Twelfth Night celebration, even if I was the regent monarch.

  In the end I selected a black and a red dress, and grabbed two bridesmaid things from the very back of my closet to hopefully retrofit into something reasonably medievalesque. Then I unpacked my bag with the clothes for tomorrow. Thanksgiving in our family wasn’t as formal as Christmas or our family weekend dinners, but jeans and a t-shirt would be heavily frowned upon. I’d grabbed my trusty blue dress and figured I’d jazz it up a bit with pearls from the jewelry box I’d also left behind when I’d moved.

  Just as there was no need for formal gowns in my Baltimore life, there was no need for pearls and diamonds. Besides, I had been worried someone would have broken into my apartment and stolen them. A few of these pieces were heirlooms, and I would have been gutted to see them lost from the family. But just as I was hauling a few gowns home, I now looked at my jewelry box with renewed interest.

  No. This was ridiculous. I felt weird enough bringing formal dresses back to Baltimore with me. I wasn’t about to bring expensive jewelry that I’d probably only wear once a year.

  That decided, I turned to Fulk. I wasn’t sure how the dog would feel about being left alone in what for him was a strange room while I went downstairs. On the other hand, I’d pushed things pretty far by bringing him into the house, I didn’t know how my parents would feel about the dog trailing around after me. I weighed the two alternatives and decided that having a howling dog tearing up my bedroom was worse than having him hopefully sitting quietly beside my chair. Maybe I’d get lucky and my nephews would take him outside to play fetch.

  I lucked out. Ajax and Bors were downstairs, and clearly bored to death with sitting politely while the adults talked about unexciting stuff and got into the booze. They
were more than happy to take Fulk outside to play for the next couple of hours until bedtime. Yes, it was dark, but this was the one of the benefits of growing up in a wealthy family with a historic mansion on hundreds of acres of land—the only danger the boys would encounter would be tripping over something in the dark and landing face-first in the soft, manicured grass. There was no poison ivy, no poisonous snakes, no monsters lurking in the dark. Everything that could possibly harm a young child knew better than to be within a mile of a Templar home. And if not, I completely trusted Fulk, as goofy and friendly as he normally was, to take care of any possible menace and protect the children.

  With my dog happily in the company of my nephews, I made my way back into the sitting room where all the adults were gathered around in leather chairs, sipping whisky, or port, or sherry. I paused on the threshold, overcome for a moment with nostalgia.

  My parents, looking much the same as they did when I was a child, albeit with silver hair and a few lines in their faces. My brother and sister, only now with their spouses. The chairs, the paintings on the wall, the antique rugs, the wallpaper were all the same as when I’d grown up. How many times had I come down before bed to sit beside my parents with a glass of warm milk while they had their more adult nightcaps?

  Mom or Dad would read us bedtime stories, or tell tales of their adventures, glossing over the scary parts so we wouldn’t have nightmares. The story I’d always wanted to hear, though, was the one about when my parents had met. Mom attending the private college that ensured Templars had all the knowledge and skills they needed before taking their vows. Dad a professor teaching Beasts of Myth and Legend. She’d thought him a pompous ass with all knowledge and no sword. He’d thought her a brash, overconfident woman who was probably going to get herself killed rushing into her first fight without an adequate understanding of what she was up against.

  How wrong they’d both been. They’d fallen desperately in love when they realized that their strengths complimented each other, and that together they were an unstoppable team.

  Standing there at the entrance of the room, I saw the way Dad looked at Mom, the way she reached out to take his hand. All these years and they were still an unstoppable team. I loved them so, and I hoped one day I’d have what they did.

  Would that be with Dario? In spite of the obvious hurdles a long-term relationship between a Templar and a vampire would face, I could see a glimmer of this future ahead of us—a possibility, if we could somehow manage to trust each other fully and work together, to be partners. If we could manage that, then maybe one day the pair of us would be sitting like my parents were right now, only in Dario’s Federal Hill home, me with silver in my hair and Dario looking exactly the same as he did now—the same as he had for hundreds of years.

  But I knew he still kept things from me about the Balaj, and I couldn’t commit to unconditionally supporting him because I knew his loyalties were first to his family—and the actions he might take to safeguard them and their territory might force him to do what I couldn’t support or even accept.

  We weren’t there yet, and I wasn’t sure we would ever be.

  Roman turned to me and smiled, holding up a whisky decanter in one hand and a decanter of port in the other, his eyebrows raised in query.

  I hated sherry. But was this a whisky night or a port night?

  “Port, please,” I told Roman. Then I walked over and gave my father a hug. He hadn’t been in the foyer when I’d arrived and I’d yet to greet him.

  “I hear you brought a dog.” His voice held a note of humor, and I knew that he’d gotten an earful of my mother’s complaints.

  “Your grand-dog, Fulk.”

  He chuckled. “Interesting choice of names, Solaria. Sit. Tell us about your new house. I hear from Athena that you’ve moved.”

  It was then I noticed that one member of our family wasn’t in attendance. “Where’s Gran?”

  I’ll admit a brief moment of panic. My great-grandmother was probably close to one hundred and twenty-five years old as far as anyone knew. She was spry, and didn’t look a day over eighty, but I still worried about her.

  Dad waved his hand toward the doorway. “She went up to change. Claimed her outfit smelled of horses and dogs, so I’m assuming she was out in the barn this afternoon. She’ll be down soon.”

  I didn’t like the way Dad had said that and glanced with worry toward the doorway. Gran was…odd. My great-grandfather Tarquin Ainsworth had brought home his Hungarian bride to the consternation of Templars everywhere—especially Templar women who’d considered him the catch of the century and longed to combine their genetic pool with his. Essie was a witch, although the exact nature of her magic had never been explained. She was eccentric, vulgar, and I loved her with all my heart. I hoped she was okay. I hoped she outlived me.

  Roman handed me a glass of port and I took a seat, sipping and listening to Athena and my mother debating the best way to introduce little Jet to the art of swordsmanship. I’d had foam and flexible plastic weapons since before I could walk, and I agreed with Mom that it was never too early for a young Templar to start.

  Just as we were moving on to gossip over who was potentially next in line for an Elder opening, Essie entered the room. Much to my relief, she seemed as hardy and strong as ever. Her eyes sharp and clear and her step sure, but when I got up to kiss her on the cheek, she seemed warmer than usual—as if she were running a low-grade fever.

  “You feeling okay, Gran?” I asked her.

  “Soon as someone gets me a whisky I’ll be okay. And don’t you dare water it down, Solomon,” she shouted to my father who’d gotten up to fetch her the beverage.

  “Tell us about your new home, Aria,” Essie commanded as soon as she’d gotten herself seated and taken a sip of the whisky to assure herself it hadn’t been diluted. “Your father has been worried sick that it’s in a bad neighborhood, or that it’s got rats or bats or mildew or something. I told him if a Templar can’t manage to live with a little mildew, then she’s not a real Templar.”

  I grimaced, thankful that my new place didn’t have mildew or rats or bats. And although it was in a sketchy neighborhood, I wasn’t about to tell my family that fact.

  “Well, it’s a block west of MLK, so farther from the water than my apartment, which is a bit of a bummer. But it’s much larger with two bedrooms and something that might be a bedroom or could be a study or studio. It’s a row house with a little yard out back for Fulk to play. And it’s got lots of privacy since the house next door is boarded up and vacant.”

  Neither my parents nor my siblings seemed too thrilled about my description so far, but Essie at least didn’t appear to be put off by my little slum rental.

  “The best part is that there’s a permanent ritual space in the basement next to the furnace,” I continued. “A circle, acid etched into the concrete with interlocking rings and pentacles of cemented rock salt, silver, and gold.”

  That was met with an uneasy silence.

  “Solaria,” Mom scolded. “Please tell me you’re not summoning demons again. I would have thought you would have learned your lesson the last time.”

  Yes, I’d summoned what was supposed to be a Goetic demon and gotten something far worse instead and ended up marked, but that hadn’t been my fault. And with the help of friends, I’d managed to rid myself of both the demon and the mark.

  “I’m not summoning demons,” I told my mother, neglecting to add the word “yet”. I was sure there might come a time when I’d need to do that, but I was trying to make sure that time was far in the future when I’d developed more skill as a mage and maybe had an entire group to back me up in case things went sideways.

  “I’m sure such a space would be useful in creating charms and illusions,” Dad chimed in.

  “Or sex magic,” Essie added. “Get that vampire of yours down there and make shit happen. Although you’d get more done with a virgin, and I doubt that sexy bloodsucker is a virgin. Men who look like that nev
er are.”

  “I’ve been using it for things like detection spells and such,” I assured them, ignoring my great-grandmother’s suggestion. I was always up for sex with Dario, but doing it on a cold basement floor wasn’t exactly erotic, no matter what the magical boost might be.

  “Your new place sounds lovely,” Athena said with a wince. “I can’t wait to visit.”

  That would require me to actually get a bed in the spare bedroom that was now empty except for a few boxes. Maybe I could get a futon or cheap bedroom set off Craigslist with my overtime money. It would be nice to have my parents come up for a weekend, or Roman or Athena. Before I could suggest appealing touristy things to entice them to visit, Bors and Ajax returned with a panting, but still energetic, Fulk beside them.

  The dog made the rounds, greeting everyone with a subdued politeness I hadn’t thought possible, then came to sit between me and Essie. We said goodnight to the boys and Jet, and my siblings and their spouses headed upstairs to put their children to bed, leaving me with my parents and Gran, and Fulk.

  “Did you know Solaria is now referring to that vampire as her boyfriend,” Mom informed Dad in a tone that practically frosted the windows.

  Gran snorted. “Like that’s any surprise. Let the girl have her fun, Mavia. If he turns out to be a dick, she can just run him through with her sword.”

  “We just worry about you,” Dad told me. “His loyalties aren’t your loyalties. And then there’s the whole blood thing.”

  “I’m well aware of the issues, but we’re trying to make this work. Let’s talk about something else instead.”

  “When are you going to take your Oath?” Mom asked.

  That hadn’t been the choice in topic I’d envisioned. “I don’t know. Maybe never. What should I get Jet for Christmas? The boys are so easy to shop for, but what would a toddler want?”