Dead and Gone

raised them to me and Tray, and took his leave smiling.
    “Good God Almighty,” Tray said. “That who I think it is?”
    I nodded and took a seat opposite him.
    “Explains all the sightings,” he said. “Well, listen, you got him out there and me in here. That okay with you?”
    “Yes. I guess you’ve talked to Alcide?”
    “Yeah. I’m not trying to get in your business, but it would have been better to hear all this from you directly. Especially since you talked to Amelia about this guy Drake, and Amelia’s all upset because apparently she’s been blabbing to the enemy. If we’d known about your troubles, she would have kept her mouth shut. I would have killed him when he first introduced himself. Saved all of us a lot of trouble. You think about that?”
    Bluntness was the way to go with Tray. “I think you are kind of getting in my business, Tray. When you’re here as my friend and Amelia’s boyfriend, I tell you what I think I can without endangering you or Amelia. It never occurred to me that Niall’s enemies would think of getting information through my roommate. And it was news to me that you couldn’t tell a fairy from a human.” Tray winced. “You may not want to be responsible for guarding me, with the personal complication of having your girlfriend under the same roof as the woman you’re supposed to protect. Is this too big a conflict of interest for you?”
    Tray regarded me steadily. “No, I want the job,” he said, and even though he was a Were, I could tell that his real goal was keeping Amelia safe. Since she lived with me, he could kill two birds with one stone by getting paid for protecting me. “For one thing, I owe that Drake payback. I never knew he was a fairy, and I don’t know how he managed that. I got a good nose.”
    Tray’s pride had been bruised. I could understand that. “Drake’s dad can mask his smell, even from vampires. Maybe Drake can, too. Also, he’s not completely fae. He’s half-human, and his real name is Dermot.”
    Tray absorbed this, nodded. I could tell he felt a little better. I was trying to figure out if I did.
    I had misgivings about the arrangement. I thought of calling Alcide and explaining why Tray might be a less than perfect bodyguard, but I decided against it. Tray Dawson was a great fighter and would do his best for me . . . up to the point where he had to make a choice between Amelia and me.
    “So?” he said, and I realized I’d been quiet for too long.
    “The vampire can take the nights and you can take the days,” I said. “I should be okay while I’m at the bar.” I pushed back my chair and left the kitchen without saying anything else. I had to admit that instead of feeling relieved, I was even more worried. I’d thought I’d been so clever asking for an extra layer of protection; instead, now I was going to worry about the safety of the men providing that layer.
    I got ready for bed slowly, finally admitting to myself that I was hoping Eric would put in an appearance. I’d love to have his brand of relaxation therapy to help me sleep. I expected to lie awake anticipating the next attack. As it turned out, I was so tired from the night before that I drifted off to sleep very quickly.
    Instead of my usual boring dreams (customers calling me constantly while I hurried to catch up, mold growing in my bathroom), that night I dreamed of Eric. In my dream, he was human and we walked together under the sun. Oddly enough, he sold real estate.
    When I looked at the clock the next morning, it was very early, at least for me: not quite eight o’clock. I woke up with a feeling of alarm. I wondered if I’d had another dream, one I didn’t remember. I wondered if my telepathic sense had caught something even while I slept, something wrong, something askew.
    I took a moment to scan my own house, not my favorite way to start the day. Amelia was gone, but Tray was here and in trouble.
    I put on a bathrobe and slippers and stepped out into the hall. The moment I opened my door, I could hear him being sick in the hall bathroom.
    There are some moments that should be completely private, and the moments when you’re throwing up are at the top of that list. But werewolves are normally completely healthy, and this was the guy who’d been sent to guard me, and he was obviously (excuse me) sick as a dog.
    I waited until a lull in the sound. I called, “Tray, is there anything I can do for you?”
    “I’ve been poisoned,” he said,