Immortals After Dark 05 - Dark Needs at Nights Edge

spot. He was eight feet tall.
    Though the risk in being here was great, Conrad was prepared. His hand was nearly regenerated. The drugs had all but worn off. And he was holding strong mentally.
    Bullshit.
    He was addicted to Néomi. I’m addicted to a ghost. Conrad couldn’t feel her presence, couldn’t smell her scent. And it was killing him.
    Behind his sunglasses, his eyes darted. Only his own survival mattered, he told himself again and again. She didn’t matter to him. Damn it, she doesn’t!
    Yet over the last three days, as his anger abated, he’d come to realize that she hadn’t withheld his freedom for malicious, or even selfish, purposes. Her expression had been tormented when she’d handed the key to him. As long as he lived, he’d never forget how she’d looked in the rain, the glitter of electricity all around her lovely face.
    With each hour, he remembered more of his enraged tirade. He’d accused her of keeping him in danger from his enemies. Yet she’d been watching over him like a sentinel whenever he’d slept. If anyone had attacked Conrad at Elancourt, he didn’t doubt she’d have put them on the ceiling.
    And he’d questioned whether she would’ve let him starve when the blood supply ran out, demanding to know if she gave a damn about that at all—when in fact, it was Néomi who’d coaxed him to start drinking the bagged blood anyway. Every sunset she’d brought him a cup filled to the rim, though she detested the sight of it. “I just can’t see it without remembering,” she’d said. “When I died, I was bathed in it, in Louis’s... .”
    Conrad had known that—he’d seen it spilling out over her floor the night of her dance. Exasperated, he’d said, “Then why do you keep bringing it?”
    She’d blinked at him. “Because you need it.”
    Why would Néomi let a self-professed murderer loose? She’d been tortured by one.
    Go back for her, his mind whispered. And do what with her? He’d never soothed the hurt feelings of a female. He wasn’t smooth with words like Murdoch.
    Why would she want to have anything to do with him after the things he’d said? He’d been so damned hard on her. He remembered telling her to rot in hell—she’d whispered that she already was.
    He grasped his forehead. What is wrong with me?
    She’d endured eighty years of that hell, only to have a vampire destroying her home, punching her walls. And even before those years, Néomi had suffered. The bastard who killed her had made sure of it. Robicheaux hadn’t plunged the knife and then looked on in horror at what he’d done. He’d taken hold of that blade and sadistically twisted it.
    And Conrad couldn’t even torture and slaughter the one who had done this to her.
    His eyes widened. But he could desecrate the bastard’s grave for her! Now I’m thinking. And of course Néomi would want to know about Conrad’s gesture because it would please her. He would have to return, if just to tell her.
    The idea heartened him, made being here a fraction more bearable.

    When her mirror bulged out, somehow becoming pliable, Néomi gasped. A briefcase flew out of the glass, landing with a thud on her studio floor.
    Then came hands, parting the mirror like a curtain.
    From the opening, a comely redhead crawled out, her face alight with a smile. Following her was an eerily pretty black-haired woman with arresting golden eyes—and pointed ears. The glass closed seamlessly behind them.
    “I’m Mari MacRieve,” the redhead said. She hiked a thumb at her friend. “This is Nïx the Ever-Knowing. She’s a Valkyrie.”
    Shaking off her astonishment, Néomi said, “It’s such a pleasure to meet both of you.” Turning to the black-haired woman, she said, “Nïx? I know some people who are searching for you.”
    “They always are, dearling,” Nïx sighed, then fogged and buffed her nails, which looked more like small, elegant claws. She asked Mari, “How are you doing with all these mirrors?”
    Mari let out a breath. “Hanging in there.”
    “She’s a captromancer,” Nïx explained. “She uses mirrors for her spells and for travel.”
    “But,” Mari said, “I’ve got this foreign greedy power inside me that makes me get all entranced in mirrors if I’m not careful. So I can’t live with ’em, can’t live without them.” Mari turned in circles. “Wow, what a place!”
    Néomi noticed that she had a piece of paper taped on her back that read, I Do Ghouls.
    “Oh, dear,” Néomi