It’s clear from the slouch of Prendergast’s shoulders that he hadn’t thought it through completely. Taking pot shots at a young woman from a safe distance is one thing, facing a vampire is something else.

Sophie has been sitting quietly, not fighting against my restraining hand. I can’t fathom why she spun the tale, but I plan to find out. I stand up, dragging Sophie with me.

“She’ll have to take a rain check on dinner.”

Prendergast opens his mouth to object, but one look into my face—into vampire’s face—and he cowers away.

Sophie and I are almost at the door when we pass the bartender on his way to our table, plates in hand. He looks at Sophie in confusion but when he looks at me, confusion is replaced by something else. He backs out of the way and lets us pass without a word.

We’re in the hotel, in Sophie’s room. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed. I’m pacing, trying to quell the rising storm of anger brewing in my gut. Finally, I stop in front of her. It takes a great deal of effort to force myself to speak calmly and still, my voice sounds strained.

“Where’s Jonathan?”

Sophie touches a hand to the center of her chest. “Here.”

“Why isn’t he communicating with me?”

“He’s asleep.”

“Asleep?”

She looks up at me then, a smile as brittle and transient as frost touching the corners of her mouth. “I learned how to make him go away. Not permanently yet. But maybe soon.”

There’s such emptiness in her eyes, so much hopelessness in the slump of her shoulders that my own senses ache with her desperation. But that empathy passes quickly.

“Sophie, what have you done?”

“Nothing.” She twists a strand of hair around her fingers. “I’ve been studying. Learning.”

I sink down on the bed beside her. “About what?”

“Possession. Exorcisms.”

Once more, a chill touches the nape of my neck. “Exorcisms? Jonathan isn’t a demon.”

“He’s a vampire.”

Her tone implies, “same thing.”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this from a woman who took three damaged vampires into her home to help them only a few months ago. A terrible thought strikes me. “How are the young women you took with you to Denver? Are they doing well?”

“I don’t know. Justin Turnbull took them. He thought it best they be with they’re own kind.”

Relief washes over me. Turnbull is a very old, very powerful vampire who lives in Denver, too. I’m glad they’re with him. Something is going on with Sophie and obviously Turnbull saw it. I wish he’d warned me.

“Why did you tell Prendergast Jonathan’s story was mine?”

She fires her answer at me like a bullet. “You can take care of yourself.”

“But you knew it was a lie. He’ll know it, too, when he starts asking questions I can’t answer.”

“Jonathan will help. He’ll be with us soon.”

Her tone implies she is sick at the thought. The lines of her face droop with weariness. I’m suddenly afraid to leave her alone. When Jonathan comes back, he’ll be angry. I need to talk to him before she banishes him again.

“I’m going to sleep in your room tonight,” I tell her. “We’ll need to decide what to do about Prendergast. He can’t be allowed to go on thinking I’m the vampire he’s been seeking. Only Jonathan will be able to help with that.”

“But I don’t want Jonathan to come back. I want to be myself again. I can’t stand what he’s doing to me. I can’t stand what I’m becoming.”

“Jonathan didn’t do this to you, Sophie,” I remind her quietly. “You did this to him.”

Her face is a blank slate, devoid of emotion, of comprehension, as if a switch had been thrown and her personality extinguished.

Jonathan returns with a roar.

What the fuck did she do to me?

Jonathan’s anger is like a laser flare burning so hot even I feel scorched by it.

Sophie is more desperate than you realized, I tell him. She wants to rid herself of you for good.

Impossible. If she gets rid of me, she goes, too. Doesn’t she realize that?

I press the palms of my hands against my eyes. How do I describe Sophie’s anguish? I don’t think she cares. She’s suffering.

Suffering? The anger flares again. How the hell is she suffering? I’ve brought adventure into her life. I’ve opened doors for her. I’ve given her a home and a fortune. I’ve given her everything she wished for when she was an old, used up witch. What more does she want from me?

She wants her freedom.

The simple truth spoken in a whisper is met with silence. Jonathan’s rage dissipates. I feel the hollowness it leaves in his mind the same way I felt the heat of his rage moments before.

I’m not sure which is more disturbing.

Sophie stirs. “Jonathan is here, isn’t he?”

You bet your ass, sweet cheeks. Jonathan’s bitterness is caustic as acid. What did you do while I was under? Something stupid, I’ll bet. You want to tell me or should I ask Anna?

Sophie looks up at me and I think she’s asking me to tell the story but instead she says, “I told Prendergast the book was Anna’s idea. That it was her story.”

I expect an eruption. Instead, Jonathan’s reaction is uncharacteristically calm. Why did you do that?

“Because I wanted Prendergast to go after someone else.”

So you sent him after our friend?

“Friend?” Sophie’s face darkens with anger. “She’s not my friend. She killed my sister after I begged her not to. Belinda was sick. She couldn’t protect herself. She was no threat to anyone.”

You have no idea--

I know what Jonathan is about to say. He knew the truth about Belinda’s vow to kill the sister she thought had betrayed her. I stop him before he goes any farther.

“I’m sorry, Sophie. I did what I thought was right at the time. If you can’t forgive me, at least try to understand. None of this is Jonathan’s fault.”

Sophie’s expression remains fixed, unmoved by what I’ve said. I wait a heartbeat before moving on to what must be resolved before this night is over.

“What do we do about Prendergast? I think he originally planned to try to kill the vampire he blames for turning his grandmother. Since this is the first time face to face with a real vampire, though, he may be rethinking that plan.”

Jonathan interjects. Sophie, what did you and Prendergast talk about after you got rid of me?

His emphasis on the last words makes it clear that was a subject he’d be revisiting. In the meantime, though, I look to Sophie for the answer to a question I would have asked myself.

She draws a breath. “After I told him the story was Anna’s, he wanted more details. Details I couldn’t give him but promised Anna would.”

“But you knew that was impossible. I haven’t even read the stupid book.”

Stupid book?

You know what I mean, Jonathan. Out loud. “How did you think it would go when he started questioning me?”

Sophie finally allows a bit of confidence to break through the gloom. “I knew it wouldn’t get that far. Anna would show her true nature and Prendergast would back down. Which he did. I also knew you’d get me out of there at the first opportunity. Prendergast is probably on his way out of town as we speak.”

She had thought it through. A flicker of admiration blooms. Briefly. “If you’re right, and Prendergast decides it’s better to leave and let the family legend fade on its own, your plan worked. If not—”

Sophie rises from the bed. “Well, we’ll know tomorrow, won’t we?”

An obvious signal that it’s time for me to leave. I reach out to Jonathan.  Go easy on her.

No reply. I release a breath and wave a weary hand. “Good night, Sophie. Sleep well.”

Even as I say it, I know that’s unlikely. She seems aware of it, too, and I wonder if Jonathan has already begun haranguing her.