CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IF LUCY FELL

Three days had gone by, and three nights, and the badass brownshoe of Bourbon Street still hadn’t called her. No, Val hadn’t contacted her at all after they’d made love, and while Lucy wanted to get in his face and yell at him, honesty made her curb her temper. After all, she’d been the one at fault. She should have trusted him. She should have listened to him at the very least, in spite of her very incriminating eyewitness evidence of his cheating.

Lucy morosely poured herself a glass of bourbon in a shot glass. Her show was finished for the night, and she was depressed—so depressed that she was sitting in the coffee room at the WPBS television station feeling sorry for herself. Logically Lucy knew that Val had said their making love was a mistake, but Lucy had hoped that after Val reflected he would realize he was wrong. She hadn’t expected hearts and flowers, but she had hoped for a call to see how she was doing. Surely he missed her just a little bit.

So, she had been wrong once. So what? Lots of people in life made mistakes. Val should forgive her mistake, because make no mistake, Lucy would never make that mistake again. Not even if she saw him in bed with three vampiresses. She would now believe anything he said, even if he told her they were all just trying out a new mattress. Never again would she accuse the vampire she loved of being unfaithful or untrustworthy, if only the stiff-necked neck-sucking stiff would believe her. She had to get another chance!

He had called her “mon coeur” when he was making love to her. But if she was his heart and he was hers, how could they not be together? His comment “Love is not enough” was pure blasphemy. Love was always enough, presuming one partner wasn’t being pigheaded. Lucy had to make Val see that the past was the past, and that the future could still be theirs.

Ricki the makeup artist came in, interrupting Lucy’s pity party and switching channels on the television set. Glancing up, Lucy caught sight of Val on the screen. “Turn it up,” she urged, surprised to see a reporter interviewing him.

Apparently, last night the New Orleans Paranormal Task Force had released information about the incubus. Tonight Val was telling what was being done to track down the monster. Lucy listened intently to Val’s interview, frowning when he began to criticize the incubus, calling the creature’s methods messy and unrefined, and hinting that the only way the incubus could “get it up” was to rape, terrorize, and age women. A little death really meant a lot of death with him. Val’s condemnations were so harsh that any vampire would find them offensive, since vampires, even the subspecies, were concerned with prestige and power. And Ka incubi were even worse.

Val hadn’t pulled any punches in his criticism of the incubus, which Lucy knew was totally out of character. He could be silent as a corpse when he chose to be.

Ricki shook her head. “What your detective just did is like sticking a hot iron up the ol’ wazoo of that DeLeon.”

“He’s not my detective,” Lucy answered, wishing that he were. Besides, Lucy recognized what Val was doing. He was making DeLeon madder than a snake in hopes that the youth-sucking creature would make a mistake.

“But you wish he was,” Ricki remarked, knowing her too well. She tapped her long red nails on the tabletop.

Lucy grumbled. “I never should have told you about us.” Yesterday, Ricki had caught her crying into her café au lait, and had poked and prodded her until Lucy had caved in and spilled the beans about everything.

“But you did tell me,” Ricki crowed. “Finally! And a good thing, too. Broken hearts are too bad to be kept to one’s little old self. We all need a shoulder to cry on. Although preferably a big strong male one.”

Lucy shook her head. “Been there, done that. Crying, I mean. I about flooded West Texas with my tears last time,” Lucy admitted. A gleam came into her eye. “This time, I think I’ll try something different.”

Noticing the sudden twinkle, Ricki laughed. “Hmm…whatever you are going to do to that handsome Cajun detective, count me in.”

Lucy nodded. “All right. Let’s go,” she said, and she picked up her purse.

“Where to?”

“I’m going to do a little old fashioned wooing,” Lucy replied mysteriously. “At Val’s house.”

“Oooh! Sounds romantic! This could be fun!”

Two hours later, Ricki took back her words. “This isn’t fun at all. I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she complained.

“Oh, hush,” Lucy said, dusting off her Levis. “I said I was sorry you tore your pants. But you should have climbed up that tree and over the fence like I did, not climb the fence with those iron spikes on the top.”

“Well, why does your detective have to lock his fence? Hell, why is his property even fenced? He lives twenty minutes from town. Who’d come all the way out here to rob him? Besides, he’s a vampire! A crook would have to be crazy to jack a vampire. And how the hell should I know how to climb over fences? I’m a hair and makeup artist, not a two-story man. And what’s with that ‘Remember the Alamo’ stuff?”

“Texas tradition.”

Ricki shook her head in exasperation. “Thank God I’m from California. In fact, I don’t even like the country. I don’t like the bayous or the swamp.”

Lucy had to smile. “This isn’t exactly the swamp.”

Ricki sniffed and pointed out the large cypress and oak trees lining the front of Val’s house, which was settled back deep in shadow, only slightly lit by the half-moon. The trees were covered in gray-black pieces of moss, which swung like long feathered boas in the night wind. “That’s moss, isn’t it, and I can smell the bayou. It stinks.”

“You’re smelling humidity and lots of vegetation. There’s some magnolia with night-blooming jasmine thrown in,” Lucy volunteered. The scent was strong but earthy, combined as it was with the rich scent of decay. To her right, a huge magnolia tree stood, branches dark like shadows, silvery-looking flowers peeking from the darkness. The magnolia blossoms themselves, a rich pungent smell of sweetness, reminded her of warm southern nights and Southern Comfort in a glass. The South in a nutshell.

“So good to know that I’m keeping company with a botanist,” Ricki said, stomping toward the largest oak tree near the veranda. Her flashlight bobbed up and down, the beam cutting through the shadows. “Let’s just get this whole thing over with.”

Lucy hurried to catch up with her friend, tugging her bag of ribbons with her. Reaching the oak, she pulled out the long yellow one.

Ricki had set her flashlight to the left of the massive oak, lighting the tree so that they could do their work. Within minutes, they had a long chain of yellow ribbon winding around the trees.

“Well,” Ricki admitted, getting into the spirit of things, “this is kind of romantic, and maybe just a little bit of fun. Imagine his face when he sees his trees covered in yellow ribbon. Just like that song!”

“Yeah, I hope it works,” Lucy agreed. “I really miss him. I really need him.” She sighed. “I may not deserve him, but I want him back. Because life without Val is an empty bowl—without cherries, without pits…Empty.”

Ricki threaded the ribbon higher up the tree, but just then it began to rain. Large fat drops. “I spoke too soon,” she said. “This is not romantic. This is not fun. I want to go home.”

“Come on, Ricki,” Lucy coaxed. “We’ve only got two more trees to do. What’s a little water between friends?” She smiled, hurrying over to the next oak, and the salty smell of the rain filled her nostrils.

Ricki didn’t answer. Before she could, something loomed up in the darkness behind her. Lucy screamed out a warning, swinging her flashlight around, highlighting the scene of horror. Ricki glanced back in time to see the Ka incubus start toward her, hands outstretched, long, sharp clawlike fingernails gleaming in the moonlight.

“Run, Ricki, run!”

But Lucy’s warning came too late. Before Ricki could move, Lucy saw her grabbed by the monstrous DeLeon. A slash of lightning leaped across the sky.

Her heart crashed against her ribs in anticipation and sheer terror. A brave person would go help her friend. Strange, Lucy thought, she’d rather be a coward and run screaming into the night. But as she took a step backward, longing to run and needing to scream, her throat was too dry and she realized she wasn’t thinking clearly. Where was the cavalry when a person needed them?

Ricki screamed for Lucy to help as the incubus bent his head toward her, and he caught her scream in his foul mouth. Soon Ricki was giving awful little noises. Those shrieks were what finally mobilized Lucy. She might be stupid at times. She might be accident-prone. She might not be the most trusting of girlfriends, but she would not be a coward and let her California friend end in retirement in the swamps of Louisana. No, she would go down fighting.

“I love you, Val—and remember the Alamo!” she yelled. And with that she charged, a yellow ribbon trailing behind her.

She tripped, which probably saved her life. Instead of charging directly into DeLeon’s back, she ended up clipping him in the knees, knocking the incubus, Ricki, and herself to the ground. There they proceeded to roll around in the mud, name-calling, hissing, fangs flashing and so on, until DeLeon finally gained purchase on the slippery ground. Grabbing Lucy by her neck, he quickly flipped her over on her back and threw himself on top of her.

Ricki was frozen in terror, whimpering on the ground. Lucy discerned the words “gray hair” and “plastic surgery.”

Staring up into the incubus’s empty eyes, Lucy felt her future doing a flashdance before her eyes. She was going to be wearing support hose and dentures—if she was lucky. If not, tonight was her last night on earth, and Val hadn’t come back to her. Dang him! She briefly wanted to take a stake and stick him where the sun didn’t shine.

Yes, it was his stubbornness that had led to her coming here to surprise him. Well, she hoped he would cry over her grave, the stubborn dirt ball. If he had called her, she wouldn’t be stuck mud-wrestling with this incubus. No, she would never forgive the fickle Frenchman for putting her in this life-threatening danger. Not unless he saved her with some sort of miracle.

Unbeknownst to Lucy, Val’s house was being watched. It was all part of the plan to capture DeLeon, the plan where Val had given the interview on television, insulting the incubus in hopes that he could make DeLeon strike back at him. Now, as Lucy was contemplating all the mean things she was going to yell at him, Val and Christine were sneaking up around the back of his home. Val had gotten a call earlier that someone had climbed over his fence.

What greeted his eyes when he and Christine rounded the corner made him curse in French. Lucy and her dimwit friend! They were tangled up with the incubus, covered in mud from head to foot. Still, it made things easier, now that his prey was preoccupied.

Taking aim, Val shot the incubus with a stun gun designed especially for supernatural creatures of DeLeon’s kind. In the background he could hear police sirens shrieking, closing in fast.

The dart punched into DeLeon’s cheek. The incubus howled in anger, then a second later fell over sideways as the potent garlic and silver nitrate drug took effect.

Ricki was babbling hysterically. “I’m never listening to another idea of yours again—not as long as I live, Lucy Campbell.”

“You’ll probably live longer,” Lucy agreed, her face as pale as that of a vampiress, her teeth chattering in shock. She shoved DeLeon’s leg off, finally managing to stand on her own two shaky feet. “You saved me,” she said to Val.

She was a muddy mess, with grass sticking to her in clumps, and a yellow ribbon dangling from her wrist. But Val suddenly thought she had never looked lovelier. He wanted to kiss her and strangle her all at the same time. He opted for something safer. “So sue me,” he said.

Lucy’s mouth popped open, and Christine knelt down by Ricki. The vampiress folded the distraught young woman into her arms.

“What the hell where you doing out at my place this time of night?” Val asked. His anger began to grow as he thought about the situation. Lucy, in her cavalier, chaos-ridden characteristic way, had managed to get herself almost killed by involving herself. “How did you know about the operation?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” She was filthy and she had scraped her elbows. Longingly Lucy looked at Val, willing him with her eyes to hold her in his arms and take away the weight of the world. The big ol’ undead dufus wasn’t cooperating. Didn’t he know that she was one step away from hysteria?

“Why are you here at my house? Why did you climb over my fence in the middle of the night?”

“I climbed over the tree. Ricki climbed over the fence,” Lucy corrected automatically. Why wasn’t he walking toward her? “Why are you scowling at me? I…I could have been killed proving my love for you,” she defended. That would be against everything you read in books. However, see if she ever decorated his stupid trees again!

Val was not convinced. “What? Love? Why are you here?” he demanded, his voice rising to an almost shout. Definitely unvampirelike, Lucy thought.

“I put ribbons on your trees.” She pointed to the massive oak by the front door.

Val glanced at the tree, then turned back to her, his expression unreadable.

“Yellow ribbons,” Lucy added, her heart in her eyes and her throat. She prayed he would understand. She had risked death and sacrificed her pride to show him that she loved him. “I’ll always want you. I’ll always love you,” she said.

Val began cursing in French. He pointed a finger at the oak tree and said, “If that isn’t the stupidest stunt you’ve pulled off yet.”

Glancing at him in stunned disbelief, Lucy opened her mouth to tell him to just shut up when she suddenly felt dizzy and light-headed. She would think that she was going to faint, but Campbell women never fainted, not even in the days when it had been considered ladylike.

The last sound Lucy heard was Val’s “Merde.”

“Oh, speak English,” she mumbled. Then the ground rose to meet her.