Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply(38)

“Shower. Clothes. Breakfast.” He plucked the teacup from my grasp, then stood up and offered a half bow. He glanced at me, that damnable gleam back in his gaze. “And then, my lady, your pyramid awaits.”

“Does it really?” I asked.

“Not yet. But it should appear at your South Sudan dig site soon.”

The bedside clock informed me that it was just after eight p.m. That meant it was just after three a.m. in Egypt. “Shouldn’t it have arrived already?”

“There is time yet.”

“But you don’t know if it will appear.”

“We’re good guessers.” He stretched out his hand. “C’mon, Moira. It’s a brand-new night.”

• • •

Vampires awaited us in the kitchen of the Three Sisters Bed-and-Breakfast.

A pretty brunette and a younger version of an undead Pierce Brosnan sat in the kitchen, eating scones and drinking coffee.

Dove sat across from them, her own plate full of pastry. Apparently, she had no qualms about eating the food around here. Actually, I didn’t either because despite the witch’s propensity to drug food like she was entertaining Hansel and Gretel, she was a damned fine cook.

“If you’re wondering,” Dove said as she swallowed a mouthful of pastry, “a fairy wish allows all the undead people to eat anything they want within the borders of Broken Heart.”

Obviously, I needed the CliffsNotes version of Theodora’s books. I hadn’t considered the idea that vampires usually only drank blood, but here they were, eating pastries and drinking coffee like normal people. Or so I assumed. I didn’t have a good gauge for what passed as “normal.”

“Also, Theodora Monroe is the mother of Libby, who is a dragon. And she’s married to a vampire. Well, now he’s a half dragon, and alive-ish. But still . . . Theodora Monroe’s books are officially not bullshit.” She sent me a triumphant look.

I narrowed my eyes. “How many of those scones have you eaten?”

“One,” said Liar McLiarPants.

“I’m Eva,” said the brunette, offering me a kind smile. “This is my husband, Lorcan.”

Lorcan offered me a formal nod. “Good evening.”

“We’ll see,” I said.

He grinned.

“I’m Moira. I see you’ve met Dove. And her appetite.”

“Bad waker-uppers suffer breakfast penalties,” said Dove, primly blotting her lips with a napkin.

“Let’s get this party started, then,” said Patsy as she toddled inside with her husband close behind. They sat down and started loading up their plates.

Not wanting to be left out of breakfast, and slightly worried that Dove would eat all the damned scones before I could have one, I sat down and filled my own plate.

Eva waited until I’d finished coffee and two scones before asking, “Are you ready to get your memories back?”

“I have no idea,” I said.

She smiled. Then she rose and rounded the table. I turned my chair to face her. She put her fingertips to my temples and looked deeply into my gaze.

I saw her eyes go red, and then it was if a door had been opened. All the memories acquired in the desert tumbled into my consciousness.

I couldn’t decide if I was amazed or pissed off at Eva’s ability to lock my experiences away. Getting a download like that was somewhat disconcerting at first, but eventually the rush of images and attached emotions settled.

Eva turned to Dove and did the same un-glamour move.

I watched my friend’s eyes widen, and when it was over, she heaved a shocked breath. Then Dove looked at me. “We had a busy night.”

“No kidding.”

“Well, I can check that off my to-do list,” said Patsy.

I rubbed my temples. “Why on earth would Karn risk public exposure by confronting me at the college gala? The asshole nearly poked my eye out with a knife! He couldn’t have known I’d been glamoured. What if I had screamed or punched him when he introduced himself?”

“He understands the protocols of the Consortium,” said Patsy. “We don’t keep our policies secret. Unfortunately, the man’s not a dipshit. The odds were in his favor that your memories were wiped.”

This was scone-worthy news. I picked up another one from the serving plate and slathered it with clotted cream and blueberry jam. Eating my frustrations away was no doubt something a therapist would add to my “Reasons Moira Is Fucked-Up” list, but whatever. It was better than babbling incoherently while stabbing people with my butter knife.

Drake pushed another scone onto my plate, and I turned, giving him a questioning glance.

“I like watching you eat,” he said. He had that look in his eyes—the one that made me tingle and think naked thoughts.