That was when Max saw the hand that had lifted from Macey’s inert body and now grasped Flora by the front of her shirt.
“You didn’t mean to kill me,” Macey said, lifting her head from the ground. “And you didn’t. But now, at long last, I’m going to kill you, Flora. I’m sorry…and I pray you’ll somehow be at peace…but it’s over.”
“Are you really going to do it…this time?” Flora whispered. Max saw a tear fall from her and plop onto Macey’s face.
“Yes. I really am.” Her voice was soft and rough.
“I loved you.”
“I loved you too.”
“Do it fast, Macey.”
Macey’s other arm shifted sharply, and Max saw Flora jolt from behind…freeze…and then explode into a silvery cloud of dust.
And then everything was quiet and still.
He looked around. Grady, who was holding Flora’s gun, as well as a stake that he’d likely put to use, was helping Savina to her feet—she was bloody, but standing on her own—and she was holding a stake as well. She looked over at Max, and when their gazes connected, he felt a rush of relief shuttle through him so violently he visibly shook. She was alive.
He was damned well going to marry her, too.
Macey was pulling herself slowly to her feet, shaky and grim-faced, holding up a hand to ward off Woodmore when he tried to help. A tear trickled down her cheek and she turned away to wipe it, her shoulders shaking, her head bent.
Woodmore glanced at Max, then went over to the table on which Rekk’s Pyramid sat, innocent and quiet in its evil.
Max hesitated for the breadth of a second, then he went to Macey and, before she could move away or protest, he pulled her into an embrace.
A long-overdue embrace.
“How did you do it?” he said. “You’re not even bleeding. I saw the bullet hit you.”
“The one and only asset I took from my time with Al Capone—a special bulletproof corset.”
He closed his eyes, ignoring the way they burned, and squeezed her tighter. Maybe he owed Alphonse another visit. This time, as a thank you.
Macey heaved a long sigh, then exhaled, sinking deeper into his arms, trembling as she wrapped her arms around him and hung on for dear life.
And for the first time in thirteen years, Max felt like a father again.
+ + +
“Are you going to do it here, Woodmore?” Max asked after a moment.
His arms were still tight around Macey—so tight she could hardly breathe—but she didn’t care. She hadn’t been held by her daddy in a long time, and she discovered she needed it.
“I’m not sure,” Chas replied. “There are…considerations.”
Macey pulled away to see what they were talking about, and her attention couldn’t help but skim over Grady. He seemed unhurt, and was standing next to Chas, who appeared to be ready to apply the curved-tongue blade to Rekk’s Pyramid.
It struck her sharply then that this was it. Their work here was done—Grady’s work for Max—and it was over.
It was really, truly over. Her eyes burned again and she swallowed hard.
No sooner had Macey released herself from her father’s hug than Savina was there, rushing into his arms, heedless of the blood staining the front of her pretty pink suit. The embrace Max gave her was markedly different than the one he’d given Macey, and she turned away, fighting both tears and a smile.
“What sort of considerations?” she asked Chas, forcing herself to keep her emotions under control. She would not look at Grady. She simply would not.
Of course he’d heard everything Flora had said during her ranting—about him being the most important thing to Macey—and she wasn’t certain what he believed or how he felt about it. She hoped he’d just…forget about it.
And return to his regular life.
When Max no longer has need of me, it’ll be just as you intended.
Macey drew in a deep, shaky breath. Maybe she’d go back to Rome with Max and Savina, and see the Consilium. There was no longer any real purpose for her in Chicago, and Chas could stay and keep an eye on things.
“Temple’s notes said to penetrate the pyramid with the ruby-eyed skull’s crooked tongue by a man—”
“A man?” Macey asked.
Chas shrugged. “I’m just repeating what Temple wrote, lulu.”
“All right, then. By what sort of man…?”
“By a man clear of heart.” He paused and looked around, a sardonic smile on his face. “That wouldn’t be me.”
She looked up at him, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing. “You’ve never stopped loving Narcise Moldavi—for more than a century. I’d say that means you’re clear of heart.”
He blinked rapidly and looked down at the knife in his hand. “Perhaps. But…” He shrugged. “I suppose it can’t hurt for me to try.”
“I can’t help but notice you didn’t suggest I try it,” Max said drily. Macey looked at him in shock, then saw that he was grinning, his arm tight around Savina’s waist, his face relaxed and handsome.
She laughed with the others.
They gathered around, Max and Savina fairly glued to each other’s side and her father’s arm slung around Macey’s shoulders.
Chas took a long in-breath and rested the point of the dagger at the pyramid’s point. He gripped the hilt in two hands, preparing to force the weapon straight down into the stone, when it began to slide in…all on its own.
They gave a soft, collective gasp of surprise as the blade penetrated the center of the pyramid—as easily as if it had been soft butter. And then, the onyx split, falling apart into two pieces…and then shattered, exploding into dust—just as Lilith the Dark, its creator, had done a hundred years earlier.
Macey looked up at Chas. His eyes were bright and shining. Clearer than she’d ever seen them.
She whispered, “Clear of heart.”
TWENTY-SIX
~ In Which the Lady Photographer’s Secret is Revealed ~
With Rekk’s Pyramid nothing but tiny flakes of shiny black onyx, and the undead put to rest—for the time being—the five of them agreed there was no reason to linger in the old house.
Yet Macey lingered.
She stood there, staring at the place Flora had been turned to dust. Her eyes stung with tears as she remembered those last moments: opening her eyes after the shock of the bullet’s impact to find Flora bending over her.
The glow had gone from the vampire gaze, and her blue eyes were filled with tears and pain.
Macey had looked up at her, tears clouding her own vision, and pulled the stake from her pocket. This time, she had no hesitation, no uncertainty, and she grabbed her friend’s blouse.
Are you really going to do it this time?
Yes. I really am.
I loved you.
I loved you too.
Do it fast, Macey.
She said a prayer, asking for forgiveness—for the hurt she’d caused Flora, for some chance that her friend might in some way be redeemed—and rammed the stake up into her heart.
Flora’s eyes bolted wide at the force, and she stilled. Then she smiled, as if released from some great pain…and she was gone.
Now it was time to leave, and Macey wiped her eyes once more, sniffling like a child, wishing for a handkerchief.
Suddenly, someone was there, offering her one.
Macey recognized his hand: Grady. Her body gave a little tremor and she took the offering, then quickly wiped her eyes and nose—all the while hiding her expression from him and avoiding the fury in his eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, stuffing it into her pocket, and looked around the room one last time—as if to make certain she wasn’t forgetting anything—then started for the door. Escape. That was all she wanted now: escape.
“Macey?” Max’s voice penetrated the murky pool of her emotions. “Are you ready?” His voice was unusually gentle.
“I’m coming,” she said, crumpling the handkerchief in a fist and starting toward her father. She was startled to realize she wanted another hug from him.
Grady slipped ahead with Chas, and Macey, Max, and Savina followed as they made their way back the way they’d come—through the makeshift door cut in the wall, the dynamite-blasted entrance, and the subterranean creek-path.
When they emerged from the old railway station, they discovered it was well into the night. Wispy clouds covered the moon and stars, and in the distance a trio of colored spotlights scored the dark sky.
The five piled into Grady’s car: Chas in front, Max and the two women in the back. Macey chose to sit directly behind Grady so she wouldn’t be tempted to try and see his profile. The sooner she got away from him, the sooner she could begin to rebuild her life—and her heart.
“You did do that on purpose, right, lulu?” Chas asked from the front seat. “Goaded her into shooting you?”
“Of course,” Macey replied. “Flora was an excellent markswoman, and she also was smart enough not to give me a good target for the stake. I just didn’t expect the force to be such that it would knock me on my behind!”
“You did that purposely? You made her shoot you on purpose?” Max’s voice was tight. “What if she’d aimed for your bloody head? What if the bulletproof corset hadn’t worked? Did it ever occur to you—”
Macey interrupted, patting his hand. “She wasn’t going to shoot me in the head—it’s a smaller target, and besides, she hadn’t shot either Temple nor Dr. Sevin in the head. Only in the chest. I thought my chances were pretty damned good.”