“Why would you do that?” Gretchen demanded, punching the thick arm that had been pressed to her face. “Did you forget that I’m the only one here who doesn’t like blood?”

“I didn’t forget.” Maximus bent down until they were eye level. His gaze wasn’t lit up with vampire green, but Gretchen stared at him as if he’d mesmerized her. “But you’re wrong. Leila’s safety isn’t my only priority. I also care about you.”

The confusion in her expression said she didn’t understand. I did, and I wished I’d thought of it myself. With vampire blood in her system, Gretchen would be stronger, faster, and heal more easily. She also now had a “Get Out of Dead Free” card. If a human died right after drinking vampire blood, they could be raised as a ghoul. That would be our very last resort, but I was relieved to have the option, if the worst happened.

“Thank you,” I said to Maximus. When Gretchen swung an amazed look my way, I said, “I’ll tell you later.”

I waited until the guys backed away enough to merge with the woods. Then Gretchen and I followed Leotie inside the house. When the door closed behind us, it seemed to shut with a finality that silenced everything beyond it.

Chapter 22

The inside was much nicer than the outside, as if I’d needed more confirmation that things weren’t what they seemed with Leotie Shayne. The interior might be small but it was very clean, and the furniture had the faded look of age, yet it was also homey and welcoming.

“Tea?” Leotie asked, as if this was a social call.

I remembered Ian’s warning about side effects of magical drinks. “No thank you.”

“Love some,” Gretchen said, her glare daring me to argue.

My lips compressed, stopping the words that tried to fly out. Why couldn’t she follow my lead for once? Now, if I didn’t let her drink it, I’d be causing a scene that would escalate the already strangling tension. Worse, Leotie smiled as if amused by this battle of sisterly wills.

“Which were you first, a witch or a vampire?” Gretchen went on, startling me with her blunt question.

“A witch,” Leotie replied, thankfully unruffled. “From a long line of them, in fact.”

“Which line?” I asked, making the question sound casual.

She gave me a look as she set a kettle on an old-fashioned stove. “Don’t be coy. You know which or you wouldn’t be here.”

I wasn’t about to give her information if she were just fishing. “I want to hear you say it,” I replied, my glare telling Gretchen, Don’t you dare fill it in for her!

Leotie lit the gas under the kettle and turned the flame up. Then she gestured to a faded blue couch adorned with brightly colored crocheted pillows. “Won’t you sit?”

Gretchen did. I continued to stand. I’d have better range of motion that way if I had to manifest my whip, and if that happened, I didn’t want Gretchen in my immediate vicinity.

“Well?” I asked, masking my impatience. “Which line?”

“You look more like your father than your mother” was what Leotie replied, casting an almost disparaging glance at Gretchen next. “You too. Blue-eyed pale faces, the both of you.”

“It’s what’s inside that counts,” I said at once. “And I’ve got more than a few interesting things from my Cherokee blood.”

Leotie grunted. “Very true. Without it, there would be nothing exceptional about you, Leila Dalton.”

If she thought to insult me, she failed. I used my powers because I had to, not because I wanted to get into what Vlad had once called a supernatural dick-measuring contest.

“Another one,” Gretchen muttered.

Leotie’s black gaze gleamed. “One what?”

“‘Normal’ basher,” Gretchen stated. “Dealt with it my whole life. News flash: being normal isn’t a cakewalk. You try slogging through this life with nothing special about you when you’re surrounded by people who are exceptional.”

Her words sidetracked me. “But you are special,” I began.

She gave me a look. “Don’t patronize me. I’m fine with what I am. I’m just sick of hearing other people say that ‘normal’ isn’t good enough for them.”

Yes, I had gotten a lot of attention as a kid because of my gymnastic abilities, and yes, the horrible power line accident and its aftermath had only increased the focus on me, but I hadn’t wanted it to. I’d ached for the normal she described.

Until now, I hadn’t looked past my own pain enough to realize that perhaps Gretchen had ached, too. The squeaky wheel got the grease; everyone knew that. Well, I hadn’t just squeaked—I’d been laden with trophies and accolades until the power line accident had left me literally sparking. Where had that left Gretchen? Perhaps feeling as if she didn’t matter as much, which wasn’t true at all.

We needed to have a long, long talk, but now wasn’t the time. The irony that her needs once again had to wait because mine took priority wasn’t lost on me. Soon, I promised silently. We’d talk right after everyone’s lives weren’t in danger.

The kettle began to make a hissing sound. Leotie shut off the flame and poured the hot water into one of those teapot-leaf-strainer combo things. “The leaves need to steep,” she told Gretchen, as if that was the most important topic of the day.

“What Cherokee clan are you from?” I said, not giving up. “And did Ashael warn you that we’d be coming? No more small talk, Leotie. You promised us answers if we met your terms.”