Twenty-One
New York City, July 18, 2009
SAM ROSE WAS in a really lousy mood, until she saw the memo on her desk. “Party tonight at seven at Rupert Hemmer’s. Bring stilettos and wear red.”
She slowly smiled. Great, she shot back in an e-mail to her boss. I haven’t been to a good party in ages.
It was three in the afternoon and she had just come into work, but she wasn’t late. Evil played at night, which meant she worked at night, because her job was hunting down the bad guys and doing them in. In fact, she’d been hunting evil since she was twelve years old—since the day her mother had been murdered.
It was ancient history now. Sam could think about Laura as she’d last seen her, even recalling her pale lifeless face, without a pang of sorrow or sadness. She’d learned long ago how to turn off any impending compassion. No Slayer could get the job done if he or she started feeling sorry for evil’s victims. Laura’s death had been Fate. Every Rose woman had a destiny, and hers was to be a Slayer.
That day, the need to vanquish evil had been branded into her soul. Now Sam looked forward to the night. Others feared the shadows—as they should; she thrilled when the moon rose. Others feared the sound of heavy breathing behind them; she relished evil daring to pursue her. Let it try! She hunted with a vengeance—literally.
Nick Forrester had recruited her into the Historical Crimes Unit at CDA almost a year ago, ending her years of cruising as a vigilante. The Center for Demonic Activity was a clandestine government agency founded by Thomas Jefferson, who’d established the agency shortly after his presidency had begun. He’d believed then, as was believed now, that the public couldn’t handle the truth.
Sam agreed. If the public ever knew that evil was a race ruled by the great Satan and intent on destroying humanity, chaos would ensue. It was hard enough saving the day as it was, without everyone running around in a state of abject fear and mass hysteria. It was definitely better that the public thought crime was simply out of control and society in a state of impending anarchy. Sometimes, listening to the news anchors and the accompanying social commentary, Sam would laugh at their politically correct theories.
Now, thinking about her boss’s memo, Sam was thoughtful. Rupert Hemmer was a middle-aged developer who was on his fourth or fifth trophy wife; he was the city’s most notorious billionaire. She recalled reading or hearing something about a big bash for his wife’s birthday. But Nick didn’t travel in those circles, and he did not do parties. This was not a social occasion. And that meant Hemmer’s party had bad vibes attached to it. Hemmer, as rich and powerful as he was, might even be one of the bad guys. In any case, he was not your ordinary guy and his guests wouldn’t be ordinary, either. Sam was gleeful. Tonight promised to be fun.
Sam made the mistake of glancing at the tear-off calendar on her desk and all glee vanished. She smiled grimly at the date. In four more days, it would be her birthday.
Last year, they’d all been together. This year, her sister, Tabby, and her cousin, Brie, were gone.
Abruptly, Sam brought her PC out of sleep mode. She refused to acknowledge the pang that went through her. Of course she missed Tabby and Brie. She missed their best friend, Allie, too. Allie was a Healer and Tabby was a witch, and Brie had her own gifts. They’d fought to protect and defend civilians together for years, because that was what Rose women had been doing for generations. Now she worked alone. And that was just fine. Brie and Tabby had met their destiny in the past, as had Allie. In truth, as smart as Brie had been, she’d been a bit of a klutz, and Tabby’s spells had been erratic. Sam had always had to keep one eye on them while fighting off their enemies, especially after Allie had left them. Now, she could focus on evil and the Innocent. It was so much simpler.
The bottom line was that a Slayer was meant to live alone, fight alone, and eventually, die alone. And that was as it should be.
So she’d spend her birthday alone. Who cared? She’d pick up a hottie and before she even knew it, the day would have passed. Sam flipped the calendar over and Tabby’s photograph faced her. It was Sam’s favorite picture of her sister. Tabby wore her pearls, reminding her of how gentle and classic her sister had been.
Tabby remained gentle and classic, she reminded herself—just in another time.
She turned the photo over and started to do a search within HCU’s immense database on Rupert Hemmer. As she did, someone rapped on her open door. Sam felt his power without seeing who it was and was annoyed as she looked up.
MacGregor grinned. “What happened to you last night? Only one kill and two escapes?”
“Get lost,” she said. He’d brought down five full demons last night.
“Boy toy must have worn you out.”
“He sure did,” she lied. Everyone knew she was a very liberated woman. She used men the way a playboy used women, and why not? She liked and needed sex. Except, she’d been off her game for a few months now. Her sex drive had been lacking. She was almost ready to wonder about it. “And you can’t stand it, can you?”
“You’ll come around,” MacGregor said with his usual arrogance. He’d been coming on to her ever since she’d begun working at HCU. “Sooner or later, you’ll figure out what you’re missing, Sam.”
“You’re too old for me.” She shrugged. He was probably thirty to her almost twenty-eight.
He laughed and walked away as a young, dark-haired woman poked her head into her office. “Got a moment?”
Sam leaned back in her desk chair. “Sure.” She considered Kit Mars somewhat of a friend, now that Tabby, Allie and Brie were gone. Kit was her own age, and as fervent about the war on evil as she was. She’d been recruited out of the NYPD Vice Unit, and even though she was still officially a rookie at the agency, she was tough and sharp and good to have around in the middle of the night. Once in a while, they even had a drink together.
Kit sauntered in, a newspaper in her hand. As usual, she didn’t wear any makeup. She really didn’t have to—she had striking, handsome features. She slapped the New York Times down on Sam’s desk, then glanced at the downturned calendar and photograph. Sam felt as if she’d been caught red-handed in a crime.
Kit hesitated. “It’s okay to miss your sister.”
Sam grimaced and put the photo back in its proper position and place. “What are you, a mind reader now?” She spoke calmly.
“I don’t have to read your mind to know how hard it is to lose a sibling.”
“I didn’t lose a sibling. Tabby’s alive and well, somewhere in medieval Scotland, making magic with her Highlander.” The moment Sam spoke, she was sorry for her sharp words. Kit’s twin sister had died in her arms in Jerusalem when they were only eighteen.
“Yes, she is,” Kit said seriously. “But she’s not here, is she?”
Sam stiffened. “Do you really
