Free Bare Bones by Debra Dunbar Page B

a mouth. Not Jet.
    I threw open the door and stared mute with panic at my mother.
    She didn’t look sad, she looked stern. And that sent a wave of relief through me that nearly brought me to my knees. I was used to stern Mom. Heck, that’s about all I’d gotten from her since I’d refused to take my Oath. She wasn’t here to tell me of a loved one’s death, she was here to pester me about something, and when Mom had that look on her face, she was hard to resist.
    I was one of the few who ever successfully resisted, stubborn intractable child that I was.
    Moving aside to let Mom in, I suddenly realized how absolutely unprepared I was for visitors. Trusty took up the majority of my kitchen counter. The sink was full of dirty dishes—most of them coffee cups. Clothing lay across the back of my sofa, hooked on chairs, puddled on the floor. It looked like I had a habit of disrobing as I walked about my apartment and just leaving my clothing where they dropped—which actually was the truth. I lived alone, and modesty wasn’t my thing. I twisted my T-shirt in my hands, suddenly regretting I’d chosen to wear the one with giant red lips emblazoned across the front.
    Mom looked down at my T-shirt and I swear I saw a smirk before she carefully schooled her face into one of cool determination. “This is a nice little apartment, Solaria. You’ve made it quite homey.”
    By which she meant it was just like the mess I’d kept of my room back home. Oh well. One of the advantages of being an adult was being able to have a week’s worth of dirty coffee cups in the sink and throwing your clothes all over the place.
    “I’d have cleaned a bit if I knew you were coming.” I moved a few piles of books off the sofa. “Sit. Can I get you something to drink? I can make a pot of coffee. Or wine?”
    I didn’t normally have wine, but knowing Dario was going to be out of town for a while had driven me to an impulsive purchase of Chianti. I envisioned myself pouring a glass each night, an hour after sunset, as a sort of nod to whatever the heck we had going on. And they say I’m not romantic.
    My mother sat on the sofa, looking over the research books I had on the coffee table. “I’ll have some wine.”
    Ugh. That Chianti had cost me a fortune, way more than I’d usually spend for wine. Outside of Emergency Beer, I didn’t buy the pricey stuff. My wine usually came in boxes—the cheaper the better.
    I went into the kitchen, trying to turn my reluctance to share my wine into a proper sense of hostesslike graciousness. I’d scolded Tremelay for not sharing the cookies. I should be willing to let my own mother have a glass of Chianti.
    In all honesty I was broke. I needed to face the fact that I couldn’t make it here in Baltimore on a part-time barista’s salary. The vampire money was down to a few hundred and I needed that for next month’s rent, not expensive wine. Sadly being Baltimore’s Templar didn’t come with donations from the city, and Tremelay had never offered any kind of payment for my supernatural advisory experience. Not that he could probably get that sort of thing past the city accounting office anyway.
    I should just take the stipend money my parents deposited into a checking account for me. Heck, there had to be over ten grand in there by now since I hadn’t touched it in seven months. I hated sponging off my parents like that but I was doing Templar stuff here—just not stuff that any other Templar had done for hundreds of years.
    Which is why I hadn’t taken my Oath. Oath equated to Knighthood which equated to a generous allowance commiserate with level. Sounded great until I read the fine print and realized that I’d be at the beck and call of the Elders, researching what they wanted me to research, guarding the Temple when they said so, going to retrieve artifacts with only a moment’s notice. I’d be owned, and I wasn’t about to be owned.
    “Here you go.” I handed Mom a glass of wine and