Even when she couldn't see them, she could feel their gazes following her.
Of course, there were some benefits, she acknowledged as she entered the kitchen to discover a vegetable casserole waiting for her in the oven and a large bowl of fresh fruit already set on the table.
After filling her plate, she took her place at the table and prepared to enjoy the delicious dinner.
She had barely settled in her chair, however, when a wave of dizziness swept through her and she nearly tumbled to the floor.
What the heck?
Her hands lifted to press against her temple. Along with the dizziness there was the strangest sense of deja vu that was stabbing through her brain.
It made no sense. It was as if there was a memory trying to surface, but someone else's memory, not her own.
Trying not to panic at the uncomfortable sensations, Darcy sucked in a deep breath and battled to make some sense of the images.
There was something ... Levet, yes. The gargoyle was standing in the kitchen holding an envelope in his hands. And she was reaching for it...
What was in the envelope?
Pictures.
Pictures of herself. And someone else.
Her head throbbed, and then, with a sharp motion she was on her feet.
"That son of a bitch," she hissed with trembling fury.
Styx knew something was wrong the moment he approached the secluded estate.
He could feel the vibrating tension of his Ravens as he drove through the high, iron gate.
After pulling the Jag to a squealing halt before the door of the mansion, Styx shot out of the car and charged into the house.
The first thing that hit him was the unmistakable stench of smoke.
Holy freaking hell.
There had been a fire. And very recently. Perhaps not a shocking scent in most Chicago homes in winter. Humans quite often burned logs to ward off the northern chill. But a vampire would rarely allow an open blaze anywhere near. Especially not within his lair.
Without slowing his charge, Styx passed through the darkened foyer and into the living room, where he discovered DeAngelo and two other Ravens speaking in low voices.
At his entrance they turned to regard him with troubled expressions. His heart squeezed with sudden unease.
For a vampire to look troubled meant that there was something terribly, horribly wrong.
"What has happened?"
"Master." DeAngelo offered a deep bow. "I fear we have failed you."
The unease became an unbearable howling fear. "Darcy? Has she been harmed?"
"No, my lord, but she has . . . escaped," the vampire revealed with obvious self-disgust.
For a blinding moment Styx could feel nothing but overwhelming relief. Darcy wasn't hurt.
He could bear anything but that.
Styx ignored the Ravens, who studied him with stoic apology. It was taking a staggering amount of effort to compose his normally cool and logical mind.
At last he managed to latch onto a few coherent thoughts.
The first being the unpleasant realization that there had been some urgent need for Darcy to have escaped.
He didn't believe for a moment that she had simply awakened and decided to escape his "evil" clutches. After all, she had been with him for days and had never made an effort to flee.
His effort to wipe her memories had clearly been unsuccessful.
The thought twisted his stomach with dread.
Dammit, he should have taken into consideration that she wasn't entirely human. After all, there were any number of demons capable of withstanding the enthrallment of a vampire.
If she had managed to remember, then she not only was missing, but more than likely was already searching out Salvatore.
Bloody, bloody hell.
"How?" he abruptly demanded, his sharp tone making the waiting vampires flinch.
"She started a fire in the kitchen, and while we were distracted she used the tunnels to make her way out of the house," DeAngelo confessed.
So that explained the smoke.
"Clever of her," he grudgingly admitted. "She managed to comprehend the one certain means of distracting a house filled with vampires."
DeAngelo flashed his fangs in annoyance. "It was not so clever that we should have been fooled. I have no excuse."
Styx waved aside the dark words. His only thought was following Darcy and bringing her back where she belonged.
"How long has she been gone?"
"Less than two hours."
"Two hours?"
"The fire was started shortly after midnight, but we didn't notice Lady Darcy missing until a few moments ago."
A cold fear sliced through his heart. Two hours? It was too long. "Damn. She could be anywhere by now."
"Will you go in search of her?"
Styx briefly wondered if his second in command had lost his mind. Not even all the demons in hell could stop him from tracking down Darcy Smith.
Of course, you will have to lake care, a warning voice whispered in the back of his mind.
He didn't doubt for a minute the estate was being constantly watched by the Weres. But if Darcy had managed to leave without them seeing her, he certainly didn't want to alert them to the truth.
With any luck at all he might be able to track down the aggravating woman and have her back before she could discover a means to contact Salvatore.
Luck.
He squashed the urge to howl in frustration.
He was a vampire who depended on cool logic and perfectly executed plans. He did not trust his fate to fickle luck.
Not until tonight.
May the gods have mercy on him.
The taxi dropped Darcy off at a run-down warehouse in a run-down industrial park.
It wasn't the nicest neighborhood. Actually, it was dark, dirty, and unnervingly isolated. But with the meter ticking away she didn't have a lot of options. Her small amount of cash wasn't going to take her far.
Still, the warehouse south of Marengo wasn't a bad place to wait for CIA to arrive with her belongings.
It was hardly the first spot anyone would look for her, and since it had been nearly gutted by a fire about three months before, she had a vague hope that the herd of vampires who were no doubt on her trail would fail to catch her scent among the lingering odor.
Not the best of plans, but it wasn't as if she had a dozen better ones to choose from.
She had known she would have one chance, and one chance alone, to escape from Styx. There had been no time for complicated schemes and failproof plots. She had set the fire, said a prayer, and taken off through the tunnels as fast as she could.
The mere fact that she had managed to flag down a taxi and travel this far was nothing short of amazing.
Wrapping her arms about her waist to ward off the sharp chill, Darcy stomped her feet and peered into the thick darkness.
After what seemed an eternity she heard the unmistakable sound of Gina's piece of junk car and she hurried to the side door where she had told her friend to meet her.
Within moments CIA was hurrying toward the door, excitement crackling about her with a near tangible force.
"Darcy? Holy guacamole, it's you."
Darcy gave a nervous glance around the empty lot before pulling CIA into the warehouse. "Of course it's me. Who did you think it would be?"
CIA shrugged. "I thought you were dead."
Darcy blinked in astonishment. "Why on earth did you think I was dead?"
The slender woman dropped the heavy bag she was carrying onto the floor.
"Well, duh. You disappeared from work without a trace, you didn't answer your cell, you weren't at your apartment, and the pizza joint you deliver for said you hadn't shown up for any of your shifts. What was I supposed to think?"
"Oh." Darcy had never actually considered the thought that anyone would think she had died. Cripes. What about her jobs? Her apartment? If she found herself on the streets again she really was going to stake that damn vampire. "Did you call the police?"
CIA appeared startled by the question. "No."
"Even though you thought I was dead?"
"Dead is dead." CIA shrugged. "It's not as though the police can bring you back or anything."
"I suppose you have a point," Darcy ruefully acknowledged. She couldn't really blame her friend. CIA did many things to make ends meet, not all of them legal. "Did you manage to get the money for me?"
"Yeah, it was hidden in your locker just like you said." CIA kneeled by the leather bag and opened the zipper. "You know, I would never have thought to hide it in a tampon box."
Darcy chuckled as CIA handed her the fifty-dollar bill she always kept hidden in one spot or another.
"Even the most determined thief seems allergic to feminine hygiene products." She slipped the money into her pocket. "What about the coat?"
"I brought it, although I can't imagine you wearing the nasty thing." CIA pulled out the frayed army jacket that belonged to one of the bouncers. She grimaced as she handed it to Darcy. "It smells just like Bart. Ugh."
"It's definitely a distinctive aroma," Darcy agreed as she reluctantly forced herself to pull on the heavy coat. It reeked of cigarette smoke, beer, and things she didn't want to think about. A perfect means to disguise her own scent. And smelly or not, it was warm.
