Destined for an Early Grave(22)
“No.” I advanced and held out a hand. “I’m just Cat. Nice to meet you.”
Marie shook my hand. Her fingers tightened on mine for an instant but not painfully.
She released me, a tilt of her head indicating the seat next to hers. “Sit, please.”
“Thanks.”
The small room was bare of any decoration. Its walls were concrete, dry at least, and the only things in it were our two chairs. It reminded me of a prison cell. Stark and bleak.
“Should I just jump right in and say Gregor’s full of shit, or do you want to chat first?”
Meaningless banter didn’t seem like a productive use of time. Besides, if I could do small talk, I wouldn’t have pissed off the vast number of people that I had. Certain talents were beyond me. Okay, many talents.
“What do you want?” Marie asked.
Her matching bluntness made me smile. “You haven’t slept with Bones, and you don’t beat around the bush. If you weren’t considering backing Gregor against Bones, I’d like you tremendously.”
She shrugged, resuming her knitting. “Whether I like people or not has little to do with deciding to kill them. It’s either necessary, or it isn’t.”
That caused a grunt to escape me. “You sound like Vlad.”
A knitting needle paused. “Another reason to wonder about you. Vlad the Impaler doesn’t make friends easily. Nor is the Dreamsnatcher usually so enamored of someone. You have an impressive list of conquests, Reaper.”
My brow arched. “When you conquer something, it means you fought for it. I don’t know Gregor, Vlad’s just a friend, and Bones is the only man I care about, dominatingly speaking.”
A throaty laugh came from her. “Either you’re a very good actor…or very naïve. Gregor wants you back, and he’s amassing support for his claim of a blood-binding with you. Vlad Tepesh has named you as a friend. And Bones, who was notorious for his promiscuity, married you and started two wars over you.”
“Two? I’m only aware of one.”
“Gregor is understandably angry about Mencheres’s imprisoning him for over a decade, but he offered not to retaliate if you were returned to him. Bones refused, and as his co-ruler, that means he spoke for Mencheres as well. Technically, that makes them at war with Gregor.”
Great. Bones had neglected to mention that.
“If Gregor hadn’t been invading my dreams, I wouldn’t know him if I hit him with my car,” was my even response. “I remember cutting my hand and swearing by my blood that Bones was my husband, in front of hundreds of witnesses. Where are Gregor’s witnesses? Or evidence? If he’d really taken the trouble to marry me, you’d think he would’ve kept a souvenir.”
“You could find out the truth for yourself,” Marie stated. “I wonder why you haven’t.”
I sat up straighter. “Mencheres told me my memories can’t be retrieved.”
“Did he? In those exact words?”
My nails drummed against the edge of the chair. “Kind of.”
“Mencheres can’t return your memories, but Gregor can,” Marie flatly pronounced. “Mencheres knows that. As does Bones.”
I didn’t say anything for a minute. She stared at me, absorbing my reaction, then she smiled.
“You didn’t know. How interesting.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said, covering my obvious surprise. “I don’t know Gregor, but he doesn’t sound like the type who would come over to return my memories, then leave with a cheery wave when he was proven wrong.”
“What if he wasn’t proven wrong?”
Be careful. Very careful. “Like I said, why are all his claims hinging on my memory? It could easily be a ploy to get me within snatching range, then it would be may the fastest man win.”
Marie set her knitting down. Guess that meant we were getting serious. “Right now, I believe you don’t truly know if you bound yourself to Gregor. If it’s proven, however, that you are his wife instead of Bones’s, I will ally myself with Gregor according to our laws. That’s my answer in this matter.”
“You asked me before what I wanted, Marie. I want to go home with Bones and be left alone by everyone for about ten years. I don’t remember Gregor, but even if I did, it wouldn’t change how I feel about Bones. If it’s a fight Gregor or you wants by trying to force me to be with him, you’ll get it.”
Marie’s face had an unusual ageless quality about it. She could have been twenty when she was changed into a ghoul. Or fifty.
“I was married once,” she remarked. “His name was Jacques. One night, Jacques beat me, and I knew he liked it. The next morning, I gave him a poisoned tonic, then I buried him underneath my porch. Now every time I take a lover, I call him Jacques, to remind me that if I have to, I’ll kill him.”