Death A La Mode Read online

  I wasn’t angry at Lucas for what had happened at Carruthers. I knew it wasn’t his fault; he’d been upset that Cathryn had suggested that I take part in the ritual at all, but they’d needed a sixth person, and truth to tell, I’d been flattered that she’d included me. I liked Rafe and Nell, and I tolerated Cathryn, but when Lucas and I hung out with them, I definitely felt . . . less. They had all these cool abilities, gifts, and I had nothing, unless you counted the ability to make a damned good soufflé. That was a gift, for sure, but not precisely a supernatural one. So the chance to be part of something they were all doing was exciting.

  And there wasn’t anything Lucas could’ve done to prevent Delia from possessing me. It happened before any of them had realized it, while the group was distracted by the appearance of Joss, who had not been called or expected. By the time Rafe had noticed me collapsed on the sofa next to him, Delia had already taken control of my body.

  I knew Lucas was furious with Cathryn for letting it happen. The first thing I heard when I began to come around was him yelling at her, irate that all of her so-called precautions hadn’t protected me, the weakest link. Cathryn had apologized, both to Lucas and to me, but I got the sense that she was puzzled at how upset everyone was. I guessed a simple possession was just another day on the job for the ice princess.

  Still, she had insisted that I talk to Zoe. Or more accurately, that I allow Zoe to talk to me. The diminutive and colorful woman who provided counseling and therapy to the agents of Carruthers Initiative Institute had questioned me for hours about every aspect of the time Delia had held the reins in my head.

  “Could you hear what was happening when Delia was in charge?”

  I shook my head. “No. I felt as though I was falling—passing out, maybe—and then there was nothing. Just darkness. Silence. I wasn’t even really aware.”

  “And then when she left? What happened?”

  Sitting in Zoe’s tranquil, peaceful little office, safe in Harper Creek, the headquarters of Carruthers, I gripped the arms of my chair and pushed the memory away. I couldn’t deal with it, couldn’t think about it, or I’d run shrieking out of Zoe’s office and curl up in some corner, rocking. “Nothing happened. I came back, and I was fine. Lucas was shouting at Cathryn. They were trying to talk to Joss, I guess, about what Delia had told her. That was it.”

  Zoe didn’t speak for a moment, but one fine eyebrow rose. I stayed silent.

  “Cathryn told me that you were nearly hysterical after you awoke. She said you cried so hard, she thought they might have to sedate you.”

  I lifted one shoulder. “I was freaked out, yeah. Wouldn’t you be?” Before she could answer, I continued. “Oh, no, I forgot, all of you are used to crap like this. Well, if this was my initiation, I guess I failed. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Zoe’s tone was crisp without a drop of pity. Apparently she wasn’t the coddling type. “It wasn’t a test of any sort, and you didn’t fail. Something unexpected happened during a relatively risky operation, and everyone feels bad that you were the one caught in the middle.”

  I snorted. “Yeah. ‘Relatively risky operation.’ Cathryn told us we’d be safe.”

  “And she thought you would be, but she was also upfront with you about what was going to happen. What the goal was. There wasn’t anything else that could’ve been done to protect you.” When I didn’t reply, Zoe sighed. “All right, we’ll agree to disagree. Tell me how you’ve been the last two days. Have you been sleeping all right?”

  I avoided her eyes. “I’ve been fine.”

  “You’re not answering my question.” Zoe smiled. “And of course there’s nothing I can do to force your hand. You don’t work for Carruthers, so I can’t threaten to put you on a mental health hold, can I?”

  This time it was me raising my eyebrows as though daring her to try it.

  “Jackie, whether you realize it or not, I’m trying to help you. You went through a traumatic experience, and Cathryn wants to make sure every possible option is available to you for anything you might need. This is a safe place for you to tell me anything that’s troubling you, knowing it doesn’t go any further. I’m here for you, now and even after you’ve returned home.” She opened a drawer and dug around for a few minutes, until she found an envelope, which she pushed across the desk toward me. “This is a natural sleep remedy. It won’t hurt you, it won’t make you sluggish the next day, and there’s nothing narcotic in it. Two tablespoons to one cup of boiling water—brew it like a tea. If you can’t sleep, promise me you’ll at least try it.”

  I palmed the white square and slid it into my handbag. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  Now, lying in my warm bed at home, with a snoring pup pushed up against my side, I remembered her suggestion. That envelope was still in my purse, and the fact that I hadn’t had more than a few hours of real sleep all week was beginning to wear on me. The temptation to give Zoe’s remedy a try was strong, but in the end, my stubbornness was greater. Instead of brewing her tea, I climbed out of bed, stalked to the kitchen and poured myself a generous glass of white wine.

  The wine didn’t help as much as I’d hoped. It was nearly dawn by the time I fell into an uneasy sleep, only to be awakened by Mrs. Mac banging on my kitchen door, since I was late for our weekly breakfast.

  I managed to throw on clothes and drag myself to the diner, where I guzzled two mugs of high-test coffee while my friend caught me on neighborhood gossip. It was the same-old, same-old: who was carrying on not-so-secret affairs with others in our small community, who was suspected of cheating at the weekly canasta game and whose gardens were being neglected. The nice thing was that all I had to do was nod and insert an occasional “Oh!” or “No way!”

  After breakfast, I dropped Mrs. Mac at her house and headed out to the grocery store for extra flour, butter, eggs and vanilla and then to the farmers’ market to buy pecans. Sleep deprivation or not, it was time to kick operation “Beat Bitsy” into high gear.

  Over my years of cooking, both for my own pleasure and for my job as the cookbook columnist for Food International, I’d come up with an outline for developing new recipes. Following the advice of my favorite chef—that’d be my dad, who owned our family restaurant back in New York—I always began with the basics. So today, I focused on making a pared-down, no-frills pecan pie, using my aunt Tina’s recipe along with my Nana’s no-fail crust.

  I’d just slid the pie into the oven and closed the door when my kitchen door opened. “Something smells amazing. Please tell me it’s for dessert tonight.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. I might’ve still been struggling with post-traumatic possession syndrome, but keeping Lucas at arm’s length, especially when what had happened wasn’t his fault, was impossible for me.

  “It’s my first foray into the pie contest trials. You arrived just in time to help with the garlic sauce I’m making for the top.”

  He recoiled in horror, and I laughed. He really was so predictable.

  “Aww, stop that. It’s not nice to make fun of your cooking-impaired boyfriend. And garlic is never a laughing matter.” His faux-mad face softened into a smirk as he snagged my hand and pulled me against him. “Hey, c’mere.”

  For the first time since that afternoon with Delia, I let myself truly lean into Lucas, burying my head in the strength of his chest. He smelled familiar and comforting, a mix of masculine soap and some other elusive fragrance I could never pinpoint. His hands rubbed gentle circles on my back, and I sagged against him.

  “You know I love you, right?” His voice was muffled as he buried his lips in my hair.

  “Uh huh.” I spoke against his shoulder. “I do. I love you, too.”

  “And you know I’d never let anything happen to you. Nothing that I could stop, if it was in my power to do it.”

  “I know that. I’m not mad at you. I’m not really mad at anyone. I’m just . . .” I pushed back a little so that I could see his face. “I’m a little scared, I think. O
r maybe shaken up is a better way to say it. It feels like everything in the world is just slightly askew. Like I can’t quite get my footing.”

  “I can understand that. You had a traumatic experience. Anyone would be off-kilter.” He brushed the hair off my face. “I’m glad you don’t blame me, but maybe you should. I keep thinking that if it weren’t for me, you’d still be living a normal life. No death brokering, no vampires, no possession. No end of the world panic.”

  I reached up and touched his mouth with my fingertip. “No boyfriend, no love, no adventure. Lots of loneliness.” I kissed his chin, loving the feel of his whiskers against my lips. “I don’t like what happened this week, but I guess I wouldn’t give you up in exchange for a little blissful ignorance.”

  Lucas raised his eyebrows. “You guess?”

  “Be happy I’m talking to you, buddy. A lot of girls wouldn’t be.” I wriggled away from him and stuck out my tongue. “I’m just more mature and evolved.”

  “Sure you are.” He swatted my behind as I passed. “So enough with the serious talk. Tell me about this pecan pie deal. Why pecans? What goes on at the festival? And when can I taste the pie?”

  I leaned a hip against the counter. “Ah, well, those are complicated questions, my young friend. First, it’s a pecan festival because General Casey, the founder of Palm Dunes, was a pecan farmer from Georgia. He came down here with his wife to build a winter home, and he wanted to establish a new market for his nuts.” I pinned Lucas with a stern look when he started to laugh. He wisely turned it into a cough. “So he started up the Perfect Pecan Pie Festival, to get people more excited about his nu—his crop.”

  “Okay. So it’s just pie?”

  I feigned shocked disapproval. “No! Oh, no. It’s much more. It’s music and dancing and contests . . .”

  “Music? Oh, please don’t tell me that means Mr. Jaegar and his barbershop quartet.”

  “No, smartass. It used to be a mixture of different bands, but now it’s all folk music. As a matter of fact, if you must know, the Triple P Fest is one of the premier folk music events in Florida.”

  “Huh.” Lucas looked suitably impressed. “I’ve been known to enjoy some folk music.”

  “Imagine that.” I shook my head. “Actually, I’m excited because one of my favorites is going to be headlining this year. Her name’s Crissy Darwin. Have you heard of her?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I shrugged. “Well, she’s just starting out. She sang at the festival the first time when she was sixteen, and she just blew me away. Now I’ve heard rumors that she’s been offered a contract in Nashville. So I’m glad she was coming this year. Might be the last time we can see her without paying the big bucks.”

  “Is she local?” Lucas pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down.

  “Kind of. Not to Palm Dunes, exactly. She’s from Seminole Falls, about fifteen minutes south.”

  “Is she a fan of the pecans?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure she is. More importantly, she has a lot of fans who come to the Triple P Fest. Including me.”

  “Okay.” Lucas bent down from his seat and peered into the oven. “So how long does this pie need before we can eat it?”

  I glanced at the timer. “About another twenty-five minutes until it’s out of the oven, and then it’ll need to cool, or else you’ll burn the shit out of your mouth.”

  “Twenty-five minutes?” He stood up and slid his arms around my waist. “What in the world could we do to occupy ourselves for that long?” Dropping his lips to mine, he kissed me, at first with gentle persuasion and then with more intensity as his tongue teased my mouth to open.

  But the minute it did, as soon as he deepened the kiss, panic gripped me. For a dizzying second, I couldn’t breathe, and I pushed him away, wrapping my arms around my ribs and gasping.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Lucas tried to touch my back, but I shied away.

  “Nothing. I don’t know. I just . . . I can’t. Not yet.” My hands shook, and I clenched them into fists, gripping the cloth of my shirt. “I’m sorry. I felt . . . invaded. Again.”

  “By me?” The hurt and shock in Lucas’ tone stabbed my heart. “Jackie, I don’t—I thought you were okay. What’s going on?”

  “I told you, I’m not ready. I can’t have someone else in my body. Not again.” I forced my arms to relax and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m sorry, Lucas. It’s not you. Like you said before, I’m still traumatized. I need a few more days.”

  He studied me, not speaking at first, and I couldn’t read his expression. “Okay. I understand. I think I do, anyway.” He leaned his back against the front of the stove. “Do you want me to leave?”

  I shook my head. “Not unless you want to.”

  “I don’t.” He sat down across from me again. “Do you think you should talk to Zoe some more?”

  “No.” I answered him quickly. “Talking to Zoe didn’t help me. And it’s not going to change anything now. I need some time. That’s all.” Unbidden, the same horrifying sensory memory of Delia being ripped away flooded my mind. I screwed shut my eyes and pushed it away.

  “Are you all right?” Lucas dropped to his knees in front of me. “You just went white.” He caught my hands in his and squeezed. “And your hands are like ice.”

  “Yeah.” I held onto the warmth in his fingers like a lifeline. “I don’t know, I got dizzy all of a sudden.”

  “Come on.” He pulled me to my feet and wrapped an arm around me. “Come lay down on the sofa.” When I shot him a look, he frowned. “I’m not trying to start anything. I just want to make you feel better. I promise, no funny business.”

  “This particular sofa has some pretty hot memories.” I let him lead me into the living room, where I curled up on the couch. Lucas sat down and lifted my head onto his lap.

  “It does. And don’t think I don’t remember. But I’m capable of being a gentleman and practicing something we men like to call ‘self-control’.” He smoothed one hand over my hair, and my shoulders began to relax.

  “If I nod off, listen for the timer on the stove. I don’t want to burn my pie.” My words sounded slurred even to my own ears.

  “No worries, love. I got this. Just rest.”

  For the first time in days, I let myself slide into real sleep.

  “WHO KNEW PECAN pie was the perfect breakfast food?” Lucas polished off his last bite and chugged some milk. “Eggs, sugar, nuts and flour—it’s got all the food groups.”

  I shook my head at him, smiling. “I don’t think your idea of the food pyramid jives with the one the FDA follows, but whatever you say. So you liked it?”

  “What’s not to like?” He stole a piece of crumb from my plate. “I think you’ve got a winner here.”

  “Ha!” I moved my plate out of his reach. “This is just the opening salvo, my friend. It’s a very basic version, and I’m using it to see what I need to add to make it better. Tastier. Irresistible. Even—dare I say it—perfect.”

  “What’re you going to change?” Lucas narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. “The crust? I hope not, because that’s delicious. So is the inside. I think it’s perfect as it is.”

  “But it’s not. It’s an adequate pie for dessert at the diner. I’d serve it after a family dinner. But nothing about it screams perfect pecan pie.”

  “So what’re you going to add? Or change?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. I need to play with it a little.”

  Lucas stretched his legs under the table. “Well, it’s your lucky day. I don’t have any plans today, so I can sit here and be your taste-tester.”

  I rose and picked up our plates, carrying them to the sink. “Didn’t you tell me, right before we left for Carruthers last week, that you got the first round of edits back on your book? Shouldn’t you be working on those?”

  Some of the enthusiasm left his face, and he shifted in his chair. “That doesn’t sound as fun as being a pie taster. I’m wait
ing for a delivery, too, and I can’t really concentrate until I get it.”

  I rinsed off my plate. “I knew Nichelle was coming by. She’s bringing the baby for a visit. And coincidentally, she offered to help me work on the new recipe, too.”

  “But I’m your boyfriend. Shouldn’t I get dibs on the job?”

  “Nichelle has a very well-developed palate and is an excellent amateur chef. Also, she’s my friend, and she named her kid after me.”

  “Ah, but can she give you a kid?” Lucas came up behind me, sliding his arms just below my breasts, making my heart beat a little faster. Although the idea of having sex still made me panic a little, his touch made me want to melt, even as the words he’d spoken sent both a chill and a pang of regret into my chest.

  “We don’t know that you can.” I covered his hands with mine to soften my words. “And you don’t know that you want that, anyway.”

  He didn’t move for a few seconds. “If I did, it wouldn’t be with anyone but you. But until we know more about what I am, I can’t risk passing on some fucked-up genetic material. Would you saddle a kid with my life? Especially in light of what happened last week? I can’t even keep you safe. Why would we toss an innocent baby into the mix?”

  “I know. I understand all that.” I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “By the time we figure it out, it could be too late for me.” Forcing a smile I didn’t quite feel, I turned in his arms. “Until you came along, I’d begun to think I’d be alone forever. I’m not worried about that anymore. So I’m not going to complain. I’m going to be grateful for what I do have and not mourn what I don’t.”

  “I hate that it has to be a choice.” His voice was gruff. “If I could do it, Jackie, I’d give you everything in the world. Everything you’d ever dreamed of having. I’d give you a big white wedding and a house full of squalling babies.” He wound a lock of my hair around his finger. “And so much normal, you’d be sick of it. No death, no blood-drinking, no end-of-the-world mess.”