The Angel Wore Fangs(87)

Andrea perked up at that news.

An update was given on the story, accompanied by pictures of the Circle of Light Ranch, a seemingly peaceful setting that had housed more than fifty of the terrorists and dozens of new recruits. A number of the militants were shown being led off in handcuffs. Some of them were Arab-looking but a number of them were other nationalities, including Americans. Then there were deliberately blurred images of a few recruits who had been rescued, although some were protesting that they were there willingly, not victims.

None of them was Celie.

The field reporter also said there were sightings of an odd slime in various places around the ranch that was yet to be identified. Samples had been sent off to the FBI crime labs.

Cnut had said Celie was safe, but . . .

Andrea wasn’t sure where to start. Celie or Cnut?

She could call her parents’ home to see if they’d heard from Celie, but they would be on their cruise. Maybe they had cell phone coverage. Otherwise Andrea would have to look for the paper her father had given her with the ship’s contact information.

To other people, her father’s carefree attitude, going on a vacation when he had a daughter in peril, might seem unsympathetic, but Andrea knew better. This latest ISIS debacle was just one in a long series of Celie mishaps. Most of them proved to be harmless. Unfortunately, like the boy who cried, “Wolf!” too often, this time Celie really was in trouble and no one was listening. Except Andrea.

Just then, she heard the shower turn off in the bathroom connected to her bedroom. Cnut? Was it possible he had come through, too? That Zeb! What a teaser!

But it wasn’t Cnut, Andrea soon found out.

She rushed into the bedroom, just as Celie was coming out of the bathroom. Totally nude and drying her hair with a towel. “Andy,” she exclaimed, rushing forward and hugging her tightly. “Oh my God! Where have you been?”

“Me? Where have you been, Celie?” she asked, handing her a short robe hanging on the back of the door.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it! That Kahlil turned into a total dirtbag.” She pulled on the robe and tied it at the waist. Then she took a comb off the dresser and began combing through her long hair, which was its usual blonde color now.

“C’mon, let’s have a cup of tea. You can tell me about it.”

They walked toward the kitchen—Andrea in her emerald gown and Celie padding barefooted over the hardwood floors.

“What’s with the gown, Andy? You been to a Renaissance fair, or something?”

“Something like that.”

While Celie sat on a high stool at the counter and Andrea began brewing some ginger chai (last time she’d made it had been right here, for Cnut, a lifetime ago), Andrea asked, “What happened to the black hair? You had dark eyebrows on that picture you sent to Dad.”

“Yes, and it was so ugly. Kahlil insisted that I dye it, and he wouldn’t even let me shave my legs or underarms. What a chauvinist!”

“I would think chauvinism is the least of his faults.”

“Tell me about it. Do you know what he . . . well, he and some of his pals . . . did to a woman who refused to cover her hair when we went to the grocery store? They stoned her.” Tears filled Celie’s eyes.

Andrea was appalled that people did that kind of thing today, and that Celie had witnessed it. “Did she die?”

“No. They didn’t use big rocks. Just gravel from the driveway, but everyone was forced to throw a handful of stones at her. Even me,” she admitted. “Even so, some of the men threw really hard, and she was bleeding, and no one was allowed to help her.”

At least Celie hadn’t been forced to lop off any heads, Andrea thought with macabre humor. That might have come later.

“Anyhow,” Celie went on, running her fingers through her wet hair, “first thing back here, I made an appointment at Mimi’s Salon and had the works. Hair and eyebrows dyed back to my natural color, waxing, mani and pedi, massage.”

That had to have cost at least three hundred dollars, and Celie was usually short of cash. Andrea assumed Celie had billed it to their father. “Have you talked to Dad?”

“Uh-huh,” Celie said as she sipped at her tea. “They’re on a cruise, y’know?”

“I know.”

“Darla said you went to the ranch in Montana to rescue me,” Celie said, dubiously.

Andrea could understand Celie’s skepticism. The old Andrea would have been afraid to enter such a fray. Not that she’d had any clue what kind of fray there would actually be, as in, vampires of both the angelic and demonic persuasions. “I did.”

“Oh my God! Is that where you’ve been all this time?”