“No.” I blew out a breath. Besides being my attorney and CPA, Ilya and Natasha were friends and had done a great deal to help me maintain my claim on The Jumble during the trouble this past summer. Now they needed me to step up to this particular line. “It may be different among the Sanguinati, but when human youngsters leave their house to visit friends, they tell an adult where they are going and who they are going to see. Otherwise, adults worry.”
What was that saying about asking for forgiveness rather than permission? I had a feeling the young Sanguinati were operating on that principle.
“An important tip,” I said as the outer porch door opened. “You should never stand between a human and the coffeepot first thing in the morning.”
Three adult humans opened the kitchen door and stared at four Sanguinati youngsters before the Sanguinati stepped out of the way with a politely murmured good morning.
“Help yourself to breakfast,” I said, waving toward the partially prepared offerings. I looked at Viktor, who appeared to be the oldest teenager. He gave me an amused smile and nodded to indicate message received.
No snacking on the guests.
I hurried to my office, figuring this needed to be a private conversation. I unlocked the office door, stepped inside, then called Silence Lodge.
“What?” The male Sanguinati who answered the phone snarled at me, and I flinched. It was an ingrained response to male aggression that I was working to overcome. At least I hadn’t slid into a full-blown anxiety attack, so that was progress.
Reminding myself that he wasn’t mad at me—yet—and that he was on the other side of the lake, I braced one hand on my desk. “This is Vicki. They’re here and they’re fine.”
A beat of silence. Then . . .
Maybe the Sanguinati don’t have their own swearwords. Or maybe they’ve decided that human swearwords are more . . . fulfilling. Either way, it was like listening to someone play building blocks with short, pithy words while my anxiety kicked in and rose toward meltdown.
Then the male voice disappeared and a female voice that sounded slightly calmer said, “Ms. DeVine? Our fosterlings are with you?”
I let out a shaky breath. “They came over for a visit and forgot to leave a note for the grown-ups.”
“One moment, please.”
While I waited for whatever she was doing on her end, it occurred to me that the youngsters could have used terra indigene communication to tell the adults at Silence Lodge about their destination. They could have received communication telling them to come home.
Of course, if you don’t answer, no one can prove you heard.
“Ms. DeVine? If it would not inconvenience you, could the youngsters stay with you this morning?”
“I’m not sure what they’ll find of interest to do over here, but they can stay.” A thought occurred to me. “One of my guests is doing the donkey-cart tour of The Jumble this morning. Could they do that too?”
Another pause, probably for discussion. Either the adults at Silence Lodge didn’t remember their youth or they did remember their youth and that was why they were all panicking now.
“The older ones could do that if they choose,” she said, addressing me again. “The younger female needs . . . firmer authority . . . and should not be on her own for long.”
Firmer authority would be me? Were they joking?
Apparently not, since she thanked me and hung up.
Back in the kitchen, breakfast was going on in full swing, with Jenna McKay showing Lara and Kira how to use the small melon scoop to make jam balls for individual servings, while Michael and Ian Stern chatted with Viktor and Karol about Trickster Night. The men’s eyes strayed toward Kira, who really was gorgeous, but they kept their distance from the girls, which indicated they had a healthy survival instinct.
Someone had scrambled some eggs for general consumption. Someone had located the leftover pizza and warmed up a couple of pieces in the wave-cooker before slicing them into smaller pieces.
Everyone stopped talking when I entered the kitchen.
“You have permission to stay and visit,” I told the Sanguinati. I waved a hand to indicate Kira, Viktor, and Karol. “You three may join the donkey-cart tour if you would like to do that.”
“But we want—” Lara began.
“To stay and help Miss Victoria,” Kira finished.
She exchanged a glance with Viktor. Something about that look struck me as conspiratorial and gave my anxiety a twitch. Since I couldn’t figure out what two teenage Sanguinati would conspire about that involved me, I put that anxiety down to leftover emotion caused by the snarling vampire on the phone.
“Yes,” Viktor said. “We are here to visit Miss Victoria today.”
Okeydokey.
I was making the third pot of coffee and wondering where I was going to put all the little bowls of jam balls—because everyone had to have a turn at making at least one ball—when more of my guests wandered into the kitchen, looking for food.
The Cornleys, who had been watching the tricksters arrive in their “costumes,” looked at the Sanguinati and had the sudden understanding that not all the costumes had been costumes. And the Sanguinati, probably picking up accelerated breathing and heartbeat and whatever other signals prey gives off before being eaten, suddenly looked like the young predators they were. A stillness in all four of them. A focused look in the dark eyes.
Ian Stern clapped his hands loudly and said, “Is there any toast?”
The tableau broken, Kira turned away from the Cornleys and said, “I can make it. I have seen how the toaster machine works.” She looked at Michael and Ian. “Two pieces?”
They nodded. Suddenly everyone was in motion, except the Cornleys, who were impersonating frozen bunnies. I guess they hadn’t expected to get an up-close-and-personal look at the Others—or have the Others look at them. Which made me wonder if they’d understood the nature of The Jumble or had just seen it as a place where they could go for a rustic getaway.
I sidled over to them and suggested they go into the dining room, which was a quiet spot in the morning, and I would bring them something to eat.
As I put together a tray for my skittish guests, Jenna McKay showed Viktor how to make scrambled eggs. Once they were cooked, she plated some of the eggs for herself, then gave another plate to the youngsters so they could all have a taste. Lara and Karol clearly didn’t like the eggs but knew enough not to spit out the food. Viktor’s and Kira’s expressions were carefully neutral.
Then Bobcat walked into the kitchen and spotted what was left of the Sanguinati’s share of scrambled eggs.
“Use a spoon, please,” I said in time to stop him from using a digity paw to scoop butter curls out of the bowl. After he’d spooned up a couple of jam balls as well, I handed him a fork.