All of this was beginning to make her head hurt, although she supposed the mild headache that had begun to pulse behind her temples might have more to do with the crappy night’s sleep she’d had the evening before at the DePauw Inn. There wasn’t anything really wrong with the bed, but stewing over whether you were some half-demon’s bastard daughter was enough to screw with anyone’s sleep.
In less than fifteen minutes, Will was pulling his big muscle car into the driveway of her mother’s Craftsman house in Sierra Madre. The day had stayed cloudy, although there didn’t seem to be any rain in the offing, and the house looked almost brooding under those gray skies, although Rosemary generally thought of it as a cheerful kind of place.
Then again, her current mood was probably the real reason
