Home > Gypsy Freak (All The Pretty Monsters #2)(9)

Gypsy Freak (All The Pretty Monsters #2)(9)
Author: Kristy Cunning

Something thumps overhead, and I bounce to my feet as my heartbeat thuds in my chest. I didn’t lock those windows yet.

Batting away my tears, I silently chant the salt dance song as the remains of Anna skitter across the floor, slipping into the metallic red urn she picked out.

All the while, I carefully slip up the stairs, reaching for the shotgun I have there. When my fingers just brush the wall over and over, I finally dart a glance over, finding my shotgun gone.

A door swings open from the second floor, and I look up to see a familiar face and a knowing, unimpressed look.

“I’ve spent the day patching that hole in the roof, and decided to retire the shotgun, since your idea of handling that situation was to duct-tape a sheet of plastic over it.”

“It kept out the snow,” I say as if on autopilot, blinking at my father standing before me like it’s perfectly normal and we see each other daily.

He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head in disapproval. “Your house was like a block of ice. It took me hours just to get through the snow in town, or I’d have been here last night. Are you staying in a hotel or something?”

I blink again, still trying to process.

“No. I was…at a friend’s house for most of the evening. I’m sorry, but did I know you were coming?” I ask him, confused.

“No, but I figured I’d come inspect your new home, since you missed yesterday’s call. Then realized I needed to patch the hole before inspecting the home,” he goes on. “That wall in the bedroom is going to take me a day or two to fully repair, and then I’ll have to paint the room. Did it come like that?”

I think that’s more words than he’s used in our past three conversations combined.

“Hi, Dad,” I finally say, laughing under my breath.

His look softens, and he clears his throat. “Hey, kid. You don’t look so hot.”

“A friend of mine just sort of…left town,” I tell him, smiling tightly.

He nods like he gets it, and we both just stand awkwardly.

“So…I see you’re still trying to make your own clothes,” he finally says, and I glance down, reminded I’m inconveniently wearing my walk-of-shame outfit in front of my father—who’ve I’ve not seen in at least eight months—and am in desperate need of a post-sex shower. “Shouldn’t you have worn a jacket?” he adds.

“I left it in the car,” I answer without missing a beat. “Do you want tea?” I go on, making this even more awkward.

Normally, I’d love to have a visit from my father. Any other single day of the year.

This day? Not so much.

“Tea works,” he tells me, and I turn and start back down the stairs in Vance Van Helsing’s sheet-turned-terrible-toga to make my father tea.

I hope he doesn’t know I’ve been naked in a bed with two men today, one of whom I’ve mauled, and well…two of whom I’ve mauled in different ways. I can currently only really remember the one because a vampire alpha made me forget…

I blame Anna for this.

Now my heart hurts, and I can’t cry in front of him, so I keep my back turned to focus on the tea and try my best not to think about all my shit-storm gypsy stuff when we reach the kitchen.

“Smells like you’ve been brewing more than tea in here,” he states with a hint of dissatisfaction.

“I was trying to help out a friend,” I tell him.

“Why’d you miss Tuesday’s call?”

“What day is it?” Trying to talk to him and remember what I’m doing is getting a little hard to do, since my mind isn’t fully here as it is.

“Wednesday,” he says slowly, as if he’s worried about me.

I feel like I’ve missed a day. Maybe two?

“You called about that gypsy song, but I reminded you about Tuesday’s call because I was busy. Why’d you ask about the song?”

“What song?” I ask, really confused right now.

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Never mind. Do you need help with the tea?”

“No, I’ve got—”

“I’ll be back in a second. I have a call to take,” he says, looking down at his phone before he abruptly walks off.

Annnnd now it feels normal again. Fortunately, I really need normal right now, because a second alone would be great.

Tugging the toga tighter into place, I abandon the tea and pull on my boots over my cold, damp feet. Then I stalk right to Damien’s beautiful vehicle, swing open the doors, grab the keys, and glare.

Anna wanted me to do something just for me? To hell with everyone else and the consequences? Right now, I could seriously use some me-time in a really satisfying way.

Chapter 7


“You were the one who baited me into being seduced by her,” I argue, gesturing at him.

“Are we still talking about Violet or about another girl?” Vance drawls, pretending to ‘trip’ over a stool that he actually punts into the only remaining mirror in my bedroom.

“These mirrors provided a spectacular view earlier. She either once saw me and is now faking it, since she’s clearly a crafty gypsy, or Arion has someone who has the ability to make people see through my illusions. Which sounds more likely?” I reasonably point out.

“She will hear you,” he says in a chastising tone.

“For fuck’s sake, she stole my car ages ago.”

He glances out the window, his lips twitching as he looks down.

“Well, that means she’s racing home to lock her windows and doors, possibly nail the things shut,” he quips.

I hesitate, wondering if I should end this maddening argument when I’m so close to winning, or if I should hurry over there before it’s too late to save myself a window or two.

I point a finger at him. “This isn’t over,” I warn as I start walking out. “I’m right. You’re the one who fucked up this time, and I’m not the one in the wrong. For once in our fucking lives, I’m right and you’re positively wrong, and there’s no real argument to the contrary.”

He narrows his eyes. “If you think she’s deliberately fucking with us, why are you in a hurry to get over there?”

I grin. “Because I positively love that in a woman.”

I turn and hurry out, and I decide to steal one of his cars—but the damn horns start blaring, and alarms start wailing, so I end up cursing and flipping him off when I see his silhouette above.

“Get the fuck out of my house before I get back, or you’ll be in breach of contract,” I call up to him.

Then I drape myself in illusion and sprint to Violet’s. My run turns into a slow jog, as I eye the work truck in her driveway with the Louisiana plate.

My brow furrows when I glance over at my vehicle, and I groan when I see all the streaks of paint missing down the sides of it. She keyed my fucking car?

I’m not entirely sure why I didn’t anticipate that.

Scrubbing a hand over my jaw, I turn and walk toward one window, and pause when I see a short, stocky, slightly balding, middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard to match the color of what very little hair he has left.

Violet is sitting across from him, still—for whatever reason—wearing Vance’s sheet, and drinking what appears to be tea.


It…makes no sense at all.

Sighing, I turn and start climbing up the side of her house, wondering if she’s thought about the attic’s non-working bathroom window, but find an easier-to-access unlocked window on the second floor.

However, when I reach my hand in, it feels like a jolt of electricity shocks me. Wrenching my hand back, I barely bloody stop myself from falling, and I stare in disbelief at the perplexing enigma. Nothing seems to be the cause of whatever that was.

Deciding it was a fluke, I shove my hand into the window again, only to be zapped even harder.

Pain is usually easy to tolerate, but the jolt of this has me reflexively leaping back, and I…fall. Flat on my damn back.

A burst of air is forced out of my lungs, and I groan for a second as the back door opens in front of where I’ve landed.

Toga Violet just stares down at me like she’s not even surprised to find me wallowing on the cold snow outside her door.

“Now is really, really not a good—”

“Violet, who’s here?” the man asks from somewhere behind her.

“Someone picking up a vehicle I borrowed, Dad,” she says with a straight face, arching an eyebrow as if to challenge me.

“Your dad is here? I always wondered what kind of man bedded a fireball, bitter little thing like Marta. Can I meet him?” I ask with a grin. “Invite me in. Introduce—”

She slams the door in my face, and my smile falls. That was rude. Maybe the comment about her mom was a bit too much.

I knock on the door, and she immediately opens it, stepping out and pushing me back, while shutting the door behind her.

“What will it take to make you go away right now?” she hisses, shivering in the cold with nothing on but her toga and some ugly shoes.

Pulling off my jacket, I answer her. “We never had our lunch,” I remind her with a smile, while also putting my jacket over her shoulders.

She may hate me a little, but she’s smart enough to take warmth in all forms.

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