And there it was, Chapter 17: What To Do When the Newborn Doesn’t Breathe. He saw the pictures clearly and his hands followed the illustrations in his mind. Words jumped out as he visualized the pages.

  Lay the infant flat on a hard surface. Broadbent had yet to cut the cord, knowing it might be the baby’s only lifeline for the next few minutes. He saw the teapot and cups, grabbed the large tray beneath and ignored the crash of china and tea as it tumbled to the floor.

  Cloth beneath the shoulders. Head tilted back. Airway clear. Cover the nose and mouth with your mouth. Breathe for the child. Don’t overfill the tiny lungs.

  Broadbent pointed to the baby in Canaan’s arms. “Count her breaths aloud,” he ordered and bent to the task of breathing life into the child before him.

  Canaan didn’t question. Holding his daughter with one hand and Grace’s hand in the other, he began to count each tiny breath. “One. Two. Three. Four...”

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  Broadbent felt the child’s chest rise and fall with each puff of his air, heard Grace’s soft sobbing behind him, tasted the child beneath his lips, and smelled its newborn sweetness.

  Live. Live. Live. Live.

  His head was spinning from his own shortness of breath.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  “Three minutes,” Hope’s soft voice called out.

  To Broadbent, it felt like a lifetime.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  And then he felt the child’s body jerk beneath his hand and felt the air sucked from his mouth as the child took its first breath unaided. A tiny fist slapped Broadbent’s chin and the child started to wail.

  A cheer rose up and filled the room, startling both babe and Broadbent. The entire House had arrived in time to see the drama unfold. He hadn’t heard them enter.

  “Maybe you should go sit down. You’re looking a little wobbly. I can handle it from here.”

  Hope’s hand at his back made him realize he was trembling, resting on his hand, still bent over the child, staring at this second and third miracle of the day. Broadbent straightened and turned to Canaan, touching his chin where the child had struck him.

  “Your son, my Lord, packs quite a punch.”

  Tears coursing down his cheeks, Canaan nodded sharply. “Thanks to you, Guardian. Thanks to you.”

  ~*~

  The others were headed downstairs to celebrate, so Pinkie was surprised when, after nodding his quiet acceptance of the House’s praise, Broadbent took her hand and all but dragged her up the stairs to their rooms.

  “Pookie, we should go with them. They want to celebrate.”

  “As do I.”

  He closed the door behind them and pushed her up against it. His mouth closed over hers and he drove his tongue into her before she could question or argue. His shaking hands pulled at her blouse, yanking it from her skirt and tearing it up over her breasts. And then his hand was over her breast, kneading the soft flesh through the cloth of her bra.

  “Not enough,” he growled against her lips, before he pulled the blouse over her head and threw it to the floor.

  His fingers fumbled with the front clasp of her bra. He swore, stood back and stared at it. “Like a lock,” he said.

  Pinkie felt a tingle against her skin and the clasp of her bra fell open. “How did you do that?”

  “Tonight, I can do anything,” he laughed. “Tonight I am King of the World and all things bend to my will.”

  One arm bent behind him and one bent before, Broadbent offered her a courtly bow. Then both arms were wrapped beneath her ass and he was lifting her up until her breasts were at the level of his mouth. He tasted one and then tasted the other. His eyes rolled heavenward.

  “God is good,” he pronounced. He met Pinkie’s eyes. “And you, are beautiful.”

  Pinkie, who’d been a little surprised by his initial passionate attack, now laughed with him. She clung to his shoulders as he whirled them in a circle and returned his passionate kiss when he stopped.

  She laughed a little breathlessly when they broke apart. “You, I think, are a little crazy.”

  He carried her to the bed and laid her down, never taking his eyes from her face as he slid her skirt and panties over her hips and down her legs. He shed his own clothes the same way and then crawled up over her.

  “That I may be,” he laughed and then quoted, “Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.”

  It was the quote from the night of the storm, the night they’d met.

  “Hamlet, starring Mel Gibson. 1996. Polonius is played by Ian... Whoa!” Her back arched to meet the mouth at her breast. “I...oh, my...looked it up.”

  He kissed, he licked, he suckled, he drew her in until she thought he would swallow her whole. He buried his face between them and groaned with pleasure as pressed them to his cheeks. He worshiped her breasts and when she would have done some worshipping of her own, he lifted away from her and shook his head no.

  “My kingdom, my feast,” he said before he dipped his head again.

  His tongue and lips danced tingling circles across her ribs and stomach. He nipped her hips and outer thighs and tickled the backs of her knees with his tongue as he spread her legs and lifted them over his shoulders. Her body was already hot and needy by the time his tongue began its delightful and tormenting march up her inner thighs. She was panting in anticipation before his mouth reached its ultimate goal.

  “Oh, my god,” she squealed and felt him laugh against her.

  “Not god, but king,” he whispered.

  Again he suckled, kissed and licked and held her in place as she squirmed beneath him. She squealed and laughed and then began to call him names as he drove her higher and higher. His fingers joined his tongue, plunging rhythmically inside of her, searching for the sweet spot that would finally propel her over the edge into that moment of ecstasy.

  Electric shivers ran through every nerve in her body. Her heels dug into his back. Her hands clutched his shoulders as she curled up into him and called his name. Eyes locked with hers, he watched the orgasm roll through her, leaving her panting and breathless.

  And then he was turning her, turning her and raising her hips, and driving himself into her. She drove her hips back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Her hands clutched at the sheets and his hands covered hers. His chest created a delicious friction against her back. Pinkie felt the intensity of his emotion, a fierceness in his thrusts that was more than sex and pleasure.

  He was sharing something glorious in this wild ride and he wanted to take her with him on the journey. She was surrounded by him, engulfed by his power and when one of his hands slipped beneath her to tantalize her clit again, she felt his whole body harden against her. She’d seen this change before, but never before had she felt it so completely. This was no man at her back, but a Paenitentia Guardian, a protector, a warrior angel. When she felt the gentle scrape of a fang along her neck, she exploded and buried her face in covers to stifle her cry.

  Broadbent kept pounding. Once, twice and on the third, he held her hips to him and poured himself into her. She felt his body shudder and then he relaxed against her, supporting his weight on his arm, ever careful of her smaller size. He rested his head next to hers and kissed her ear.

  Breath still heaving, she turned her head to find his lips. “Wow, I think you just earned your kingship. Talk about an adrenaline rush.”

  He rolled with her until she was flat on her back, surprisingly gentle for his exuberant mood, and leaned over her, again supporting himself on his arm. He brought his face down to hers. “It isn’t adrenaline. I have felt the rush every time I have faced a demon and it is nothing like this feeling coursing through my body. I have fought demons. Tonight, I fought death.”

  “And you won.” Pinkie held his face in her hands and hoped he could see everything she couldn’t say.

  “I won,” he nodded, “And I have never felt so terrified in my life, nor have I ever felt so alive. And all I could think of when it was done was that I wanted to share this feeling with you.”

  Chapter 20

  Andi watched out the window of the old black Cadillac, courtesy of the old man whose house they now lived in. She told Abyar she was going out to scout for new furniture. People loved to brag to their friends and neighbors about where they were going and how long they’d be gone. Hang around the aisles of the right grocery stores and you could pick up all kinds of news. All they’d need was a van and two uniforms.

  “What do you think, Poynter? How about Eveready Furniture Removal? It’ll be fun. If nosy neighbors stop by we can tell them we’re a repo company. The occupants haven’t made their payments, so we’re taking the furniture back. Won’t that be an extra kick in the ass?”

  Poynter shrugged.

  “It’ll be fun,” she insisted when he refused to answer. “And damn it to hell, I could use a little fun. He’s been making me bring them over two at a time and most of them are coming the old way. Triangles, pentagrams, pentacles, circles,” she complained, “And let’s not forget all the bullshit of bowing and scraping to the four corners. Yada, yada, yada. Bring them over for an interview.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head at the ridiculousness of it. “What’s there to ask? Can you rape, rob and kill without getting caught? Can you keep a human form and look intelligent at the same time? I think he’s doing it just to wear me out. You have no idea how much energy it takes.” She harumphed and sat back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. “And to top it all off, he sends the best and brightest back. I’m telling you, this time he really has gone over the edge.”

  Poynter nodded as he usually did after one of her rants. She needed his acknowledgement, so he gave it to her. But her harangue wasn’t over. He thought about ramming her side of the car into a telephone pole. He’d survive, but then he’d have to answer to Abyar and where would that leave him?

  “Blood magic would be so much easier. I don’t know why he’s suddenly taken it into his head to feed the hired help, but he could at least give me first dibs. I think he’s doing it just to be mean,” Andi confided.

  Poynter grunted and slowed the car. “There,” he said and poked his chin at the big house on the left. “That’s it. They entered at the back but I couldn’t follow them down the alley without attracting notice. It looked like there might be a garage below ground. I don’t see any parked cars.”

  “You’re good, Poynter, observant. Abyar doesn’t know what a find you are. If I was him, you’d be my second in command.”

  The house in question was a plain grey box, three stories tall with five white framed windows across the second and third floors. The door was plain and solid and looked better suited to a business than a house. There were no flowers or shrubs adorning its walkway, though the walkway itself looked newly poured and the windows looked new. All and all, it reminded Andi of a house that was trying to hide.

  “Hmph.” She craned her neck to look over the front seat as they passed the house. “Well, they’re not living in a six room bungalow with knotty pine paneling in the kitchen and turquoise tile in the bath,” she huffed nastily, comparing the place to their own digs, “but that’s about all you can say for it.

  It looks big enough, I suppose. But if I were going to live here, I’d want the one next door.”

  The mid-Victorian next door was a beauty with gabled roofs, tall arched windows and a turret at one corner. It took up the whole lot. It wasn’t the best looking house in the neighborhood. There were others that looked like they’d been recently rehabbed, including the house next to it on the side opposite the grey one. But it was the classiest. The shrubbery around it looked new and there were huge iron planters to either side of the massive front door. It was the kind of house Andi had always dreamed of and the kind of house a two-bit witch’s daughter hadn’t a hope in hell of living in.

  “Let’s drive around the block. I want to see it again,” Andi directed.

  Poynter frowned. “This isn’t exactly a safe neighborhood.”

  “For who?” Andi giggled. She flapped her hand at him. “Don’t be such a big baby. We’re in the car and the windows are up. What’s to smell? What’s to see? I need to get a good look at the neighborhood. Who knows when Abyar will let us out again? I can only complain about you being my guard dog just so much before he gets suspicious and thinks you’re fucking me.”

  “I’m not fucking you,” Poynter said, though that would change when this was over.

  “Tell that to Abyar. He thinks I’m looking for a new man.”

  “I don’t want you going out unchaperoned, my dear,” Abyar had told her with that I-know-what-you’re-thinking smile on his face. “One never knows who you’ll encounter. There are so many naughty men out there in their fancy cars and there’s always the possibility you might get lost. I’d miss you so, and we wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?”

  Translation: After all his talk about Superwitch, he thought Andi might get the idea that she could run, too. He wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to do it, but if she did, he’d track her down and make her pay.

  “Are you looking for a new man?” Poynter asked.

  Andi smiled at him and winked. “Looking for new? Yes, but definitely not a man. And once we get our hands on the bitchy witch, I’ll make sure the wait was worth it.”

  Poynter gave her a rare smile of his own. His teeth were a little too pointed and sharp to be human. Once Superwitch was under her control, she’d take care of that, too.

  When they turned onto Hayden Avenue again, she put her hand on his arm. “Slow down, Poynter, I want to get a better look.”

  The house they were looking at wasn’t one of the houses on Andi’s vacation robbery list. It was the house Poynter had followed the bitchy witch and her butch friend to.

  “We need to hire humans, Poynter. We need this place watched and the hired help can’t do it. You’re right about that. Our kind wouldn’t be welcome in this neighborhood.” She laughed. “But we will be. You mark my words.”

  ~*~

  Nardo raised his eyebrows at Broadbent and tilted his head toward the woman lounging against a streetlamp.

  She was short and plump and might have been pretty, but at the end of a long night, it was hard to tell. Her heavy make-up reminded Broadbent of a burning candle that had burned too long. It was sagging and discolored. The smear of lipstick that ringed her mouth pulled up into a false grin.

  “Hey there, boys, lookin’ for somethin’?” She thrust out a chest encased in a yellow vinyl vest. Four of the black clasps were open to expose a pair of enormous breasts.

  “It’s getting late, honey. Not much action left. You ought to go home and get some sleep.” Nardo gave her a friendly wink.

  “You could make that happen, handsome. I’ll give you and your buddy there a discount and we can all go home and sleep happy.”

  “Not tonight, gorgeous. We’ve got other business, the kind where you can’t say no.”

  ”Tell me about it. I come home short, there’s gonna be hell to pay. Landlord’s got no sympathy for me or my kids. Another fifty and I can call it quits,” she hinted, but when she got no response, she shrugged and went back to watching the street.

  Broadbent pulled out his money clip and handed her two bills. “Go home, my dear. This is no place for a lady like yourself to be hanging about at this hour of the night.”

  The woman eyed the money suspiciously and then looked around to see who might be watching. “This a joke or somethin’?”

  “I assure you, madam, it is not.”

  The woman snatched the money from his outstretched hand as if he might snatch it back. She looked at the pictures on the bills and back at Broadbent. Her short curls bobbed with her astonishment. “Are you nuts?”

  “As my friend here will verify, I am judged to be compos mentis.”

  “He means all there.” Nardo tapped his head with a finger and laughed.

  One bill disappeared into the glittery purse she carried. The other disappeared up her short skirt. “Thank you,” she said, looking as if she still didn’t believe it was true. “Thank you,” she said again as she hurried away and then she hurried back. “Look, mister, your friend here looks like he can take care of himself, but you, well, don’t be flashing that money around, okay? You never know who might be watchin’.”

  “I have no idea why people assume my incompetence,” Broadbent groused when the woman was gone. He brushed his hand over the shoulder of his tweed jacket and straightened his bow tie.

  “I don’t know, man, beats me.” Nardo flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “What was that all about anyway?”

  “Good Deed,” Broadbent said without explaining.

  Nardo shrugged and nodded.

  The two Guardians continued their stroll along the street. Neither appeared to be in any particular hurry. They weren’t alone, though most of the others on the street walked with a quicker step. The bars, restaurants, and theaters were closed. Their patrons had long since gone home of their own accord, or been thrown out after last call. But the night wasn’t over for the people who worked behind the counters and in the kitchens. There was order to be restored and preparations to be made for the following day. These were the people who now walked along the street.

  Some lived nearby and thought nothing of walking alone in the wee hours of the morning. Others parked their cars on quiet side streets a few blocks away. Still others chose to pay to park their vehicles in lots watched over by sleeping security guards slumped over in the tiny wooden shacks. All these workers were the most vulnerable to the things that go bump in the night. It was a Guardian’s job to make sure that bump never occurred.

  In companionable silence, they covered the rest of their route, crossed Main Street, and began to circle back, weaving in and out of the side streets and alleys on the other side.

 

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