A Very Vampy Christmas

by Kerrelyn Sparks

“The plan?” Ian growled.

  “Well, there’s no need to get all huffy.” Tootsie gave him an injured look. “We simply wanted to make Bootsie like us.”

  “Like a vampire?” Ian asked.

  “No.” Don Orlando glared at his makers. “They wanted to make me just like them. They took my comatose body back to the wine cellar and put me in a damned dress.”

  Tootsie scoffed. “You needn’t growl at us. You said you’ve forgiven us.”

  “And it was a very nice dress,” Scarlett added. “An ivory silk gown with extensive beadwork on the bodice.”

  “It was a freaking dress,” Don Orlando growled. “I woke up the next night to find out I was undead and wearing a dress!”

  Maggie covered her mouth to hide a smile.

  “It wasn’t funny,” Don Orlando grumbled.

  “I’m sure you looked very nice.” Maggie wrapped her arms around his middle, and he forgot all about being angry.

  “So.” Ian gave the two male Vamps a disapproving frown. “Yer plan was to take a mortal with no memory, transform him, and convince him that he was a gay transvestite?”

  Tootsie huffed. “You needn’t make us sound so Machiavellian. We gave him our best gown.”

  “A Vera Wang,” Scarlett added. “And the big brute ripped it when he tore it off.”

  Ian arched an eyebrow at Don Orlando. “I take it their little experiment dinna work?”

  “No. Even without a memory, I knew I was straight.”

  Ian’s gaze lifted to the balcony and his mouth fell open. Don Orlando wasn’t surprised. Giselle usually had that effect on men. She was standing on the balcony, dressed in a shimmering white gown, her white-blond hair cascading down her back. In her arms was a bundle of clothes.

  “Bonsoir.” She smiled as she floated down to the ground floor. “I have located Bootsie’s old clothes.” She sauntered past them to a small seating area.

  Two Louis XVI chairs and a gold satin settee surrounded a scarred coffee table. Giselle dumped the clothes on the table, then perched on one of the chairs. Scarlett and Tootsie rushed over and sat together on the settee. Maggie and Ian followed them. Don Orlando gathered his duffel bag and Maggie’s tote bag and set them on the floor next to the vacant chair.

  “Thank ye for finding the clothes.” Ian smiled and extended a hand to Giselle. “I’m Ian MacPhie from New York.”

  “Enchantée.” She removed her hand from his grip before he could kiss it.

  With a sigh, Ian turned to examine the clothes on the table.

  Scarlett lifted a plaid Western shirt between his thumb and forefinger and shuddered. “How horrid.”

  Don Orlando picked up the boots. They were worn and scruffy. Had he really been a cowboy?

  “This is interesting.” Ian removed a belt from the pile and studied the buckle.

  “It’s huge.” Maggie moved closer to Ian to get a better look. “What’s that embossed on front? A wild horse?”

  “A bronco.” Don Orlando blinked when he realized the word had escaped without forethought. He must really be a cowboy.

  Ian turned the buckle over. “There’s an inscription. FORT WORTH LIVESTOCK SHOW AND RODEO 1999. This could be useful.” He turned to Giselle. “Is there a computer here I can use?”

  “Yes, on the second floor.” She rose. “I’ll take you.”

  “Thank you.” Ian followed Giselle to the balcony, then they levitated to the second floor. Scarlett and Tootsie dashed over at vampire speed to get a glimpse under Ian’s kilt.

  Don Orlando cleared his throat. They gave him sheepish looks.

  Ian glanced down from the balcony. “Ye four should keep working. The clues are there, if ye think hard enough.” He followed Giselle into the upstairs room and shut the door.

  “What clues?” Tootsie’s shoes jingled as he and Scarlett trudged back to the settee.

  “I’ve always wondered how I got amnesia.” Don Orlando sat in one of the antique chairs.

  “His mind was a complete blank when you found him?” Maggie asked Tootsie and Scarlett. They nodded.

  “Then the amnesia must have happened that night,” Don Orlando concluded.

  “Exactly,” Maggie agreed. “It must have just happened or you would have had a little memory. And it must have happened very close to where you were found.”

  “Somewhere in the French Quarter?” Tootsie offered.

  Maggie turned to the male Vamps on the settee. “Did Don Orlando have a head injury of any kind?”

  “No, he was perfect.” Scarlett grimaced. “I always suspected it had something to do with”—he lowered his voice to an ominous whisper—“the Dark Arts.”

  Tootsie gasped and pressed a hand to his chest. “Don’t make me swoon.”

  Don Orlando sat back as a feeling of dread seeped into his pores.

  “You mean magic?” Maggie asked. “Or witches?”

  Scarlett and Tootsie exchanged a worried look and shuddered.

  “They mean voodoo,” Don Orlando whispered.

  “Is that real?” Maggie asked.

  “It’s real if you believe in it,” Tootsie whispered.

  Maggie glanced at Don Orlando. “Do you believe in it?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

  “Well.” Maggie lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid. And it stands to reason that if the amnesia is the result of some kind of spell, then there must be another spell that can undo it. We should locate the local practitioner and see what he can do.”

  Scarlett’s mouth fell open. “You’re not getting me to see a voodoo priestess.”

  Maggie gave him a stern look. “Not even for Bootsie?”

  Tootsie grabbed Scarlett’s hand and held tight. “We can take you to the French Quarter where the local shops are, but we don’t want to go inside.”

  “Very well.” Maggie stood. “Let’s go.”

  Don Orlando smiled. What a fierce little fighter she was. He couldn’t imagine living through eternity or even a single night without her. His smile faded as he realized the full impact of his feelings. He was in love with Maggie O’Brian.

  She gave him a worried look. “Are you all right?”

  “Never been better.” He took her hand. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 4

  “Sweet Mary, my feet hurt.” Maggie leaned against an old streetlamp. It must be after three in the morning, and they’d been to one shop after another. Scarlett and Tootsie had abandoned them on Bourbon Street when they spotted a club with scantily clothed gentlemen dancing on the bar.

  Don Orlando’s gaze ran over her short black skirt, her legs encased in black hose, and her black high-heeled shoes. “You could cause a traffic accident with those legs.”

  She scoffed. “I’m too short.”

  “You’re beautiful.” His gaze locked onto her pink sweater.

  The cad. Maggie was still surprised that he’d never had a girlfriend during his stay in New Orleans. Tootsie and Scarlett had confirmed that. She also understood why he’d run off to New York with Corky. The poor guy had simply wanted a life and an identity other than Bootsie, the failed social experiment.

  Sweet Mary, she liked him. More than liked him. He was sweet and caring. Strong, yet vulnerable. And most of all, he thought she was special. Beautiful and kindhearted.

  With a sigh, she glanced down the street. A recent rain had left puddles in the uneven pavement. The air was warm and thick against her skin. She was worried now. Worried that she was hopelessly in love with Don Orlando. What if they found out he was married?

  “I think we did all the shops on this street,” she murmured. They’d been simple tourist shops, selling T-shirts, feather boas, beads, and masks. She pushed away from the streetlamp. “Where’s a voodoo priestess when you need one?”

  “Don’t know.” Don Orlando took her hand. “Let’s find Tootsie and Scarlett.” He led her down the sidewalk.

  “Are we going the right way?” They’d ventured up and down so many streets, Ma
ggie was all turned around.

  “Yep. Bourbon Street’s over there.” Don Orlando pointed to the right. “Here’s a side street where we can cut through.”

  They turned onto the dark narrow street, lit by one storefront window.

  “Did we check this place?” Maggie slowed to examine the goods in the store window. The usual stuff—beads and boas. Little stuffed alligators wearing Santa hats. “Oh, look.”

  Don Orlando chuckled at the large box of voodoo dolls. “The economy pack. Twenty-four voodoo dolls at one low price.”

  “Sweet Mary. You could take care of all your enemies in one fell swoop. Let’s go in.”

  He gave the door a shove, and it opened. A tiny bell tinkled overhead. “Hello?”

  Maggie followed him inside. The door swung shut with another tinkling noise. The narrow store was dimly lit. One side held the usual touristy stuff, but the other wall was covered with glassed-in shelves. She eased closer for a better look.

  “Ugh!” She stepped back. The shelves held glass jars filled with things that looked like pickled animals and body parts.

  “Looks like we found the right place,” Don Orlando said.

  “That depends on what you seek,” a male voice spoke from the back of the room.

  Maggie gasped and edged closer to Don Orlando.

  There was a scratch of a match, then a small flame traveled from one candle to another till three large ivory pillars illuminated the back of the room. The candles rested on a counter, and behind them, a bald black man stood.

  Don Orlando cleared his throat. “Can you help us?”

  The man bowed his head. “Those who come at three in the morning are generally in need of my help.” His voice had a deep, hypnotic quality to it. “Come forward so I may see you.”

  Maggie followed Don Orlando as they neared the counter and the glowing pool of candlelight.

  Suddenly, the black man stiffened. “Pierce?”

  Don Orlando halted. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Of course, man. Don’t you remember—” The man’s eyes widened. “Oh, God, you don’t.” He ran a hand over his bald head. “Store’s closed. Come back tomorrow.” He blew out a candle.

  “Wait!” Don Orlando ran toward him. “You know who I am.”

  “No, no. I mistook you for someone else.” He blew out a second candle. “Go now. The store is cl—”

  “No!” Don Orlando grabbed the last lit candle and held it away from the store owner. “Tell me who I am.”

  The man shook his head. “I told you, man, I don’t know.”

  “You do.” Don Orlando passed the candle to Maggie, then reached over the counter, grabbed a handful of the man’s shirt, and lifted him off the floor. “You will tell me.”

  “Damn,” the store owner wheezed. “How’d you get so strong? Okay. I’ll tell you.” He gasped for air when he landed back on the floor. “Sheesh, man. You don’t even remember your name?”

  “I remember nothing.”

  “Damn!” The store owner hit the counter with the flat of his hand. “I told her she was making the potion too strong, but does she ever listen to me? Nooooo. Three bat wings she put in the potion, not two like the book says. Three! And that eye of newt?” He raised his hands, shaking his head. “She should have never added that. I told her she was asking for trouble.”

  “Enough!” Don Orlando grabbed the candle from Maggie and set it down with a thud. The flame lurched and flickered wild shadows across the gruesome glass jugs. “Who am I?”

  “You’re Pierce. Pierce O’Callahan.”

  Don Orlando gave Maggie a stunned look. “I’m Irish?”

  The store owner muttered another curse. “I told her she was making it too strong. She’s always causing me trouble.”

  Don Orlando glared at him. “Who are you?”

  “Durand Dérangé.” With a sigh, he turned to the wall behind him and flipped on the lights.

  The jars looked even more ghoulish under the flickering, purplish fluorescent light. Maggie could detect animal feet and eyeballs. “How did you erase Don Orlando’s memory? I mean, Pierce.” It would take a while to get used to his new name.

  “More importantly,” Pierce added, “can you make another potion to restore my memory?”

  “Ah, man. I don’t think so. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

  Pierce leaned over the counter. “The woman who made the potion, can she undo it?”

  Durand’s gaze flitted to his left. “I don’t know where she is. She left before the hurricane and hasn’t come back.”

  “Who is she?” Pierce ground out.

  “My sister. Désirée.” His gaze slipped to the left again.

  Maggie glanced to his left and spotted a photo frame stuffed between two jars. She eased over for a closer look.

  “Désirée is crazy, you know. Whatever she wants, she gets.” Durand shrugged. “And she wanted you, man.”

  That figured. Maggie groaned inwardly. Even as a mortal, Don Orlando, or Pierce, would have attracted a ton of girls. The photo on the dusty shelf showed a beautiful young woman with glowing bronze skin, wearing a white sun dress. Beside her stood a little girl, also in a white dress. “Is this Désirée?”

  “Don’t look at that.” Durand dashed over, grabbed the photo, and stuffed it under the counter. He glanced back at Pierce. “I told you who you are. You should go now.”

  What was he hiding? “Why don’t you let Pierce see the photo?” Maggie asked. “It might jog his memory.”

  “No, no.” Durand shook his head. “The photo cannot help. She erased herself completely from his memory.”

  “Why?” Pierce thumped the counter with his fist. “What could I have possibly done to deserve amnesia?”

  “Nothing, man.” Durand shrugged. “Désirée was visiting a cousin in Dallas, and they went to a rodeo. That’s where she saw you and decided she had to have you. Don’t ask me why. She’s never wanted a cowboy before.”

  “Then I was a cowboy?” Pierce asked. “In a rodeo?”

  “Sure, man. I hear you were really good.”

  “And Pierce started dating your sister?” Maggie asked.

  “No, no.” Durand shook his head. “Pierce didn’t even know who she was till she slipped a love potion into his beer. Unfortunately, she always makes her potions too strong.”

  “So, she tricked Pierce into loving her?” Maggie balled her hands into fists. It was a good thing Désirée was out of town.

  “Yeah,” Durand continued. “Poor old Pierce was completely under her spell. When she got tired of him and came home, he followed her here. Eventually, she got so tired of him, she decided to erase herself from his memory.”

  Maggie clenched her fists tighter. How could any woman possibly grow tired of Don Orlando?

  Pierce cursed under his breath. “She didn’t erase just herself. She erased everything!”

  “I’m sorry, man.” Durand lowered his head. “I told her that eye of newt was too much.”

  “And you really don’t know where she is?” Maggie considered slipping inside his mind to see if he spoke the truth.

  “She left before the hurricane. Met some bigwig from Hollywood who said he’d make her a star.” Durand scowled. “She left me to clean everything up. Left me all alone to work this damned store.”

  Pierce’s laugh sounded pained. “Sounds like a great gal. I’m glad I don’t remember her.” He strode toward the front door.

  Maggie started toward the door, but something prickled at her senses. She was missing something. She slowed to a stop and glanced back at Durand. “Who’s the little girl in the photo?”

  He gulped. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The little girl in the photo, standing next to Désirée.” Maggie wandered back toward Durand. “Who is she?”

  “She—she’s a cousin. We have so many.” He grabbed a ring of keys from under the counter. “I need to lock up now.”

  Maggie focused her thoughts and conce
ntrated on Durand’s bald head. With a swoosh, she invaded his mind.

  He gasped and stumbled back. The key ring fell and hit the floor with a jangle. Maggie walked toward him as she sifted through the images in his mind.

  Durand retreated till he bumped into the back wall. “Oh, God. You’re one of the nightwalkers.”

  “Then you know what we can do,” Maggie whispered. She scoured his mind, finding images of Désirée with a baby.

  “Damn.” Durand glanced at Pierce. “You’re one, too? That’s how you picked me up.” He grabbed a jar from the shelf behind him and poured a line of red dust along the counter.

  Instantly, Maggie was shut out of his head. How had he managed that? “Who is the little girl?”

  Pierce joined her. “Tell us the truth, Durand.”

  Durand lifted his chin. “You can’t make me talk. You can’t cross the brick dust, even with your minds. You can’t hurt me.”

  “And you can’t hide from us forever,” Pierce growled. “Show me that photo.”

  “Damn.” Durand shifted from one foot to another. “Désirée is always causing me trouble. You won’t hurt her?”

  “I have no interest in your sister,” Pierce said softly. “Show me the photo.”

  With a resigned sigh, Durand handed Pierce the photo frame. “The little girl is named Lucy.”

  Maggie peered at the photo. “She’s beautiful.”

  Pierce stroked a thumb gently over the little girl’s face. Her facial features were very much like his. “Am I the father?”

  Durand grimaced. “Yes, you are.”

  Back at the warehouse, Maggie was relieved to find that Colbert had installed two bathrooms on the second floor—one for males and one for females. As she showered, her thoughts centered on Don Orlando. Make that Pierce. Pierce O’Callahan who had a beautiful little girl named Lucy.

  Her heart twisted. Oh, how she had wanted children! But it was impossible with a womb that was literally dead during the day. She lowered her head under the nozzle and let hot water pound on her. How could she be so selfish? She should be happy for Pierce. She turned off the water and toweled herself dry. After all, this had been the purpose of her mission, right? To discover his true identity and hopefully, find his family? She should be happy. Then why did she feel like crying?