Golden Anidae (A Blushing Death Novel) by Suzanne M. Sabol Page B

by me toward Raiden.
    The Paiute Indian was older, I would’ve guessed in his sixties and at least fifteen years older than Raiden. His features seemed worn and haggard but sincerity lingered at the corners of his mouth as he tried to hide a smile. His long, silver hair streamed down his back, free in the wind and flowing over his broad shoulders. He appeared experienced, with kindness in his fathomless black eyes as he shook Raiden’s hand. “What have you brought me?”
    “A guest,” Raiden said, turning the old Paiute to face me. “Georgie, this is Ms. Dahlia Sabin,” he said, ushering me forward.
    “Georgie?” I asked.
    “You expected something else?” he asked, his soft tenor jovial and light.
    “Yeah, I suppose I did,” I answered. He took my outstretched hand in a firm grasp and shook like I was the first outsider he’d seen in years.
    “Vampire servants were trailing her and I thought it safer to bring her here tonight. The wards surrounding the reservation will keep them out,” Raiden said, holding the front door for the old man.
    “I imagine Marabelle’s servants would be up in arms if The Blushing Death was in town. I expect nothing less from her or Jarvis,” Georgie said as he patted Raiden on the shoulder and strode into the house.
    Raiden waited with the door open, patient and non-assuming.
    I hesitated. No weapons, no backup, and no one to miss me for a few days. Everyone seemed to know who and what I was. The safety I thought I had was gone.
    “Come on then, we won’t bite,” Raiden said with a hint of laughter in the quiet of the darkness.
    I stepped inside Georgie’s house and, evidently, back in time. I glanced down. Nope. No bell-bottoms here. I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t look good in bell-bottoms.
    Georgie’s living room was brown. The long shag carpet was shit brown. The furniture was a hard bristled fabric that appeared as if it would be painful to sit on in a shade of golden brown I hadn’t seen since Old Yeller . The walls were covered in dark wood paneling, making the room collapse in on itself. I chomped at the bit to get the hell out of the claustrophobic cell. On the wall, a gold starburst clock with surrounding starbursts connected together by gold chains was the only decoration.
    Oh. My. God. Wow.
    “Would you care for something to drink?” Georgie asked, striding down the hallway, away from the brown room.
    Raiden and I followed him into the kitchen where the shag carpeting from the living room and hall continued.
    Jesus!
    I sat down at the kitchen table next to Raiden. The thick white plastic with bright naval orange cushions was like a time capsule to the 70’s. The padding on the chairs had lost its bounce years ago and I sunk into the support beneath as the metal rails dug into my thighs.
    “No, thank you,” I said.
    The old man opened the ancient fridge from the 1950’s and got out two beers. “Suit yourself,” he quipped with a shrug. He sat down at the four-person table across from me.
    Georgie’s eyes were dark, rich and deep, focusing completely on me. I kept waiting for him to say something profound but he sat, didn’t move, didn’t even take a drink of his beer which bothered me more than anything else. Why open the beer if you weren’t going to drink it? He watched me with an unrelenting focus that was uncomfortable. I glanced between the beer and him, expectation thumping against my rib cage.
    I cleared my throat and met Raiden’s eyes. “So,” I said in a voice that echoed in the empty silent house. “When can I go back?”
    “Are you in a rush?” Georgie asked, finally bringing the sweating bottle of beer to his lips. He took a long drink. Somehow, that one swig made me feel so much better, making him seem more relaxed and me feel less on edge.
    “Well, yeah,” I said. Enza was back home by now and was probably worried sick. There wasn’t anyone she could call, and once we’d crossed the desert into the reservation, my cell