by Jasmine Walt
When she felt the stirrings beneath her crotch, she knew why. “Oh, no, you don’t, Cecil, you’re not going to get a boner with me, buddy.”
“You’re so cute, how can I help it? How can any guy help it? Better than dwelling on death.”
She paced from him, furious her body had begun to respond. Oh, my aching ovaries. My hormones are working overtime. Apparently excited, the ghost of sexual transgressions wound its way up her leg like a snake. She slapped at her thigh. “Get off of me.”
Cecil got to his feet, shook his hair out with both hands, and straightened his jacket.
She regarded him for a few seconds. Yep, if he bothered to comb his hair, the man could be considered sexy. Strong jaw, super smile, square shoulders, muscled chest… “Uh, let’s head back. I’m famished.” She didn’t dare look at him, focusing on the dead shifter instead. Her temper flared at the act of violence before her. The ghost of past angry misconduct taunted her, his silvery form turning a bright, blood red. She felt unnatural anger course through her body. She brushed at her torso, feeling as if attacked by bees.
Cecil, once again standing with his hands on his hips, gawked at her. “If I couldn’t see those damn ghosts, I’d think you were touched in the head, Ms. Manager.”
“Thanks, Cecil. I’m fine. Let’s get rolling. I’ll buy you lunch, what do you say?”
“Thanks, but if you can give me a few dollars for the bar tonight, I’d appreciate it.”
“Seriously? You want me to pay you to get drunk?”
He shrugged. “I can get the money in other ways, but…” He trudged in the direction of the truck. “You offered.”
She stomped away from him, making him step up his stride until he quickly caught up with her.
“You’re sure in a snit today. Are you certain you don’t want to…you know? The word you don’t want me to say? It does wonders to ease tension. I can have you back to happy in no time at all.” He looked at her with complete sincerity, as if offering to help her weed her garden.
“Thanks, Cecil,” she said, almost laughing. “You’ve got the best heart of anyone I know.”
“It’s not my heart that’s the good part. It’s my--”
“Got it. Thanks again, but it’s a no.” She strode silently back to the Jeep. Once she and Cecil were in their seats, she rummaged in her purse, pulling out a ten. “Here. It won’t get you drunk, but it will get you a good buzz.”
Cecil brightened. “Thanks, Ms. Manager, but you didn’t really have to do that. You know I do odd jobs and such.”
“Take it. You’ve done a good deed today by taking me out here. It’s the least I can do.”
“Well, I’ll let you know if any more information comes my way. I’m telling you, the ladies are so pleased when I’m done with them, they talk to me. They tell me things.”
For a split second she wondered what it would be like to try Cecil. That thought was shoved away by memories of Hung Durand breathing on her neck in the SUV a while ago. His lips had been so close. Thinking of his arm wrapped around her chest made her nipples ache. Oh, Lord, I want that man. And then, God help me, I want him dead.
6
Chia arrived home after dark, at around six p.m., exhausted. All she wanted was a long bubble bath, bottle of wine, and a good romance novel. Pure heaven. She dragged herself up the front steps, pausing for a moment to listen to the gurgling creek that ran adjacent to her property.
Bordered by a beautifully rusted iron fence with abundant viewing cutouts, the whole setup designed to re-route the bears while allowing her to take in the creek’s majesty, the bubbling water often served as solace. Today, since the day had been so horrid, it only served as mild distraction.
Sighing wearily, she stepped through the massive timber front door. She hung her coat on a hook, turned, and stepped unaware into a pile of slimy, slippery, red, gooey something-or-other that made her do the splits. She landed, with a curse and a thud, the crotch of her jeans split.
“Oh, you’re home,” said D’Raynged, stepping out of the kitchen holding a wine glass filled with deep red liquid—probably not Cabernet. “I see you found my hairball. Something in my throat.” He placed an elegant hand on his elegant neck and made several elegant voice clearing sounds. “Yep, I think I got it. I knew you wouldn’t mind since the place looks like…” His lip curled in derision. “Like this.”
“You did this on purpose!” She lifted her smarting hands, covered with his bloody stomach projectile. “You yakked on the floor! This is disgusting! I can’t believe you did this.”
“And I can’t believe you choose to live in a pig pile of trash and remnants of your human encounters. I almost slid to the floor when I stepped on a jizz-filled condom next to the dining table. Your living room stinks of weed, cheap beer, and even cheaper tequila. There are filthy dishes in the sink…Puh-lease, child, you test my good nature,” he sniffed.
“I’m a busy woman,” she snapped. She got up from the floor, shaking her hands free of crimson slime. Her ghosts simply hummed and swirled along the ceiling, watching.
“When are you going to do something about your apparitions?” D’Raynged said.
“You can see them?” she asked, distracted by the bloody mess on the floor, on her pants, on her hands and splattering her shirt. “You’re a dead man if these stains don’t come out.”
He chuckled. “I’m already a dead man.” He strode into the front room, looking every bit like a GQ cover model—The Southern Edition. He wore a pair of crisply ironed pants and a linen shirt. About six foot four with dark blond wavy hair, high cheekbones, a roman nose, full lips and green eyes—when they didn’t glow red—he held himself tall, as if he expected heads to turn and ears to listen to his every word.
The man had turned vamp in the mid-1700s in Connecticut when a group he headed, as a staunch, prominent abolitionist, suffered brutal attack by their slave loving counterpoints in the south. Born and raised to a wealthy family on a plantation in South Carolina, he’d moved north, and fought valiantly and tirelessly to abolish transatlantic slave practices.
Once turned vamp by his maker, he took solace in knowing his former self had been the poster child to the cause. “At least the cause lived on though my handsome face,” he’d told Chia early on, when she interviewed him for the vacancy in her house. “And as vampire, I easily took care of more than a few of my detractors.”
Watching her, an amused expression on his handsome face, he let out a low laugh. “Do you want to know the answer to your question?” he asked, settling down with his glass of…dark red whatever.
“What?” she asked, hurrying to the kitchen to retrieve cleaning supplies. She returned a few minutes later, wearing latex gloves, carrying a bucket filled with Murphy’s wood cleaner and hot water, paper towels, and a sponge. Her pants and shirt were wet where she’d tried to remove the splatter stains.
“Your question. You asked, ‘can I see your apparitions?’ I’m surprised you even have to ask. Dead man over here, remember? Supernatural abilities? Ring a bell?”
“You’ve never mentioned them before,” Chia said, dropping to her knees and attacking the bloody smears. First, she wiped up the chunks and big stuff with the paper towels, fighting to keep her dry heaves from becoming wet heaves, adding to the pukey mess. Next, she scrubbed with the wood cleaner. The ghosts dipped and dived in front of her face as if playing a game. She had to keep waving her arms to get them out of the way so she could see what she was doing.
“You honestly don’t think your every move is all that interesting to me, do you?” He sipped at his beverage.
“I’d think something as odd as six ghosts would qualify as interesting,” she said, scrubbing hard.
“I’ll give you that,” he said. “But try abolishing slavery. Now there’s an interesting topic. Something I gave my life to, quite literally.” He nodded, as if in self-congratulating appreciation for his good works. “Moving on, I believe you wanted to have a chat with me. Let’s get it
over with so I can get on with my date with Sultana.”
Hearing the female vampire’s name, she stiffened, the brush suspended mid-scrub, dripping Murphy’s scented water. Sultana. That’s Hung’s next hit.
“What’s the matter, my pet?” D’Raynged asked. He cocked his head and studied her, eyes narrowed.
“Nothing, except for this mess. Almost got it.” She finished cleaning, then used a few fresh paper towels to get the remains. “There. You’re safe now. I won’t kill you.” Smiling sweetly, she got to her feet, grabbed her supplies and headed to the kitchen.
“Stop,” D’Raynged stated, eyes aglow, doing one of his vampire tricks.
Chia froze, poised mid-step, one foot several inches from the floor, the other balanced on her toes. “Will you please unfreeze me, you jackass?” If her muscles worked, she’d have jerked, startled. The words emerged without her having to move her mouth or jaw.
“Not until you tell me what gave you pause a second ago. There’s something whirling around in your puny human brain you don’t want me to know.”
“You’re the vampire. You figure it out.” She stared straight ahead, eyes unable to move, realizing even her ghosts were frozen. Well, that’s kind of cool, she mused. As translucent, colorful, shimmering wisps of energy, they looked like beautiful, crystalline Christmas ornaments, suspended in the air.
As for herself, she felt her heart beat, heard herself breathing, but nothing, not a single muscle seemed under her command. This has got to be one of the strangest things I’ve ever experienced. She didn’t feel tired. More like bewildered at being unable to move. “Come on, D, let me go.”
“Not until you’ve told me what you don’t want me to know.” He used that tone, the evil vamp tone that made her blood grow cold.
“What if I don’t want to?” Her head turned in his direction, but not because she willed it. Oh, this is weird. I don’t like this, not one bit.
“What if you don’t have a choice? Which one of us can truly make the other dead, hmmm?” He finished his glass of bloody claret and turned to glare at her, his eyes still glowing from the magic he’d performed on her. “You merely threaten. I follow through.”
The look made her feel ice cold inside.
“Tell you what. If you confide in me, I’ll help you with your ghosts. I might have a suggestion or two, if you tell me why they hang around you all the time.”
If she could move her face, she’d have scrunched it up with apprehension. “Oh, super choices, D. I get to not only tell you something that’s going to make you howl, I get to share my worst, most private secrets.” It’s fricking freaky to speak while the lips aren’t moving.
“I don’t howl, my pet. Wolves and shifters howl. And Sultana when she’s in the throes of ecstasy.” An elegant shoulder rose and fell. “Your choice, child.” He rose with languid grace, then paused. “Guess I’ll get on with my date sooner, rather than later.”
If she had any control, her eyebrows would have risen and her eyes would widen. Instead, she simply stared straight ahead, lips parted. Shit! She might already be dead! “What if I merely sketch out a few facts about the ghosts? No real details?”
He brought a long finger to his perfect lips and tapped, thoughtful. “I need details about two of them. Then, we have a deal. That’s after you tell me your other secret.”
Hmmm. He might be so pissed, he’ll forget about the ghosts. “Okay, deal.”
His eyes stopped glowing and her foot landed with a hard thwack on the floor. She stumbled as motor control was restored.
D’Raynged strode toward the kitchen.
“Asshole,” she muttered, when he was out of earshot.
“Excellent hearing, don’t forget,” he said from the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Glass of wine? Tea?”
“Wine, please.” Her feet dragged as she tromped to the sofa. He’s going to kill me, kill Hung. Then, I won’t have to deal with losing my job. I can hang out with my ghosts and haunt someone else. Good plan.
D’Raynged emerged from the kitchen a short time later, holding one of her grandma’s silver trays bearing another goblet of his translucent red beverage, a glass of wine for her along with the rest of the bottle, cheese, and crackers. “Your refrigerator lacks sustenance. This is all I could find. You look…” He lifted an eyebrow and studied her. “Peckish. Yes, that’s the word. You look rather peckish.”
“If that means pissed, frustrated, this horrible day keeps going on and on and on, I’m with you on that.”
“More like famished, haggard, emaciated…”
“Okay, all right.” Chia put her hand up to silence him. “Point taken. And thank you for the food.” She reached for the glass of wine from the tray he extended, and set it next to her, before taking a few crackers and cheese. What she really wanted was to pour the entire glass of wine down her throat in one gulp, refill, and repeat. Instead, she nibbled on the cracker, trying to appear polite while her mind schemed. “What’s that you’re drinking? I’ve never seen you drink anything.” She glanced at her crotch, spying the split seam. Quickly, she grabbed a sofa throw to pull over her lap, thinking, Dag nab it. Another pair of pants, destroyed. Dealing with shifters on a daily basis had its side effects—namely, sharp claws.
D’Raynged sat in the armchair opposite her. The scene could very well be from the Gone with the Wind movie, all genteel sensibility and politeness. If D’Raynged bore a mustache, Chia thought he’d look like Rhett Butler’s blond haired brother.
“This,” he held up his glass of red to the lamp light, causing it to sparkle and shimmer. “This is a human serum and plasma mixture, along with other ingredients. Some friends and I are experimenting with something that could serve as a pick me up between feedings, and not alert others in social settings as to whom they’re breaking bread with.” A dark chuckle escaped his lips. “It’s important to blend in.”
“You don’t have to worry about such things in Charming. I’ve made it a safe, Switzerland kind of place.” Her chest puffed with pride.
He looked down his nose at her. “You honestly don’t think I spend all my time in this quaint town, do you? Child, I could be in Anchorage, like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And truly, my kind has to worry about being discovered all the time. We’re not safe anywhere. Your kind, even the shifters, fear us. The mere fact you’ve managed to make it somewhat safe is truly commendable.” He sipped his beverage, swishing the mouthful back and forth before swallowing, regarding her coolly.
“Thank you,” she said, brightly, feeling pleased by the compliment.
“That’s why I appreciate you allowing me to rent a room from you. Not that I enjoy the state of cleanliness, or lack thereof.” He arched an elegant eyebrow and cast a look of disdain at their surroundings.
“I see. And, you’re welcome.” Her eyes swept back and forth, too. “I’ll clean it, I promise. I need to rest a moment and then, I’ll get to work.” Trying to buy time, she said, “So the ghosts aren’t really ghosts, not, like the spirit of dead people. They’re combined energy from certain acts I’ve done in this life. Acts I’m not proud of.
“They’re sort of like the offspring between me and the person or persons I had the encounter with. I have no idea why I have them and other people don’t. It’s not like I’m the only person who ever did anything wrong. People commit foul acts daily. Every minute of every hour something is occurring, you know?”
She realized her words were flying out like she’d snorted cocaine or ingested speed—not that she’d ever tried those substances…okay, once or twice at a party. “That one over there,” she pointed at one of them. “He represents the worst thing I ever did sexually. I took revenge on someone using his body.” Her face grew warm and sweaty as she regarded it. “And that one? That came from something I did in absolute rage. He…the guy…he didn’t deserve it.”
The vampire’s face grew so cold, Chia almost yelped. “What? What did I say?”
“You’re trying to distract m
e. I don’t care about your ghostly bursts of energy at the moment. What I care about is your secret. Then, we’ll get to your trivia.”
She let out a long, low breath. Dag nab it. Goddamn Hung Durand. He’s a thorn in my side where I’d rather have him be a…
“I’m waiting. Patience is growing thin, however. I’d say you have about three seconds left.” He looked at an imaginary wristwatch. “Three, two…”
“Okay, okay, okay. Hung’s next hit is Sultana.”
The room grew so still Chia wondered if D’Raynged had done one of his magic freeze thingies. She wiggled her toes. Nope, they’re still under my command.
He burst out laughing.
She smiled, confused.
“You’re such a winsome kidder, Chia. Surely you jest.”
“That’s me, always joking around,” she said. Could I really be off the hook so easily? She reached for her glass and took a long, long swallow of wine.
“So what’s the real secret?” the vampire said, after regaining his composure.
“Um,” she said, her mind whirling. “Red and Dick want to eradicate all shifters in this town. Red wants my job.”
“You told me that bit of news earlier in the day.” D’Raynged drained his glass of liquid, appearing unperturbed.
“Not the part about eradicating shifters. I only got that news this afternoon. I even saw it for myself. One of my…” She looked away, a sudden bout of grief capturing her heart.
“A friend, am I right?”
She nodded, unwilling to speak or even look at him, lest she lose it and start crying.
“It’s difficult to lose someone you care about,” D’Raynged said, in a flat tone.
“Yes,” she agreed, sniffling, growing suspicious about his comments.
“Harder still when there are not that many of your kind around. Not that many who catch your fancy, I should say. Like the fellow who walked out this morning. A lover, right?”
She lifted her head and met his cool, calculating stare. “Right,” she said, eyes narrowed. “So you agree with me about the lack of fun fish in Charming?”