by Nina Bruhns
The kitten’s expression condemned her.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Giselle said. “It really isn’t wrong if you’re doing it for the right reason.” The kitten didn’t appear convinced.
Placing her hands on the wall, Giselle pulled herself up to a standing position on top of the dumpster. It pitched to the right, but she grabbed hold and placed both hands on the top of the brick wall, waiting for the dumpster to steady. Then she looked up one way and down the other of the lane. No one in sight except the kitten. It meowed accusingly.
“I know, I know, but it’s…self-defense. That’s it. Self-defense. That means it’s not criminal, right?”
”Mmmrrrwww.” That sounded like a no.
Hopping and pulling at the same time, she got to a sitting position on top of the wall.
“I bet you thought I’d fall,” she said to the kitten.
It blinked its eyes. Cat, human, cat again. That seemed to be a yes. It gave another accusing glare.
“If you think about it you’ll see that this is really okay. Since this is VICTIM headquarters, it is, in fact, a public place. You can’t break into a public place, right?”
“Mmmrrrwww.” No again. The kitten looked away, a curl of disgust on its cat lips.
“A lot you know. Did you go to law school?”
“Hssssss,” the kitten protested.
“I know, I didn’t either. But doesn’t that seem like reasonable logic?”
“Mmmrrrwww. Meow.” No, not at all.
“Oh, shut up!” Great. Out debated by a cat.
Giselle edged her legs over to the courtyard side of the wall and jumped down to the ground below.
“Ouch.”
Her legs didn’t make good shock absorbers.
The “Mmmeeeeoooowwww” from the lane sounded suspiciously like cat laughter.
“Stupid cat.”
Giselle crossed the courtyard and tiptoed up the back stairs. She tried the screen door handle. Unlocked. Success. Pulling it open with one quick movement, she peeked inside. No one. She slipped through and let the door close softly behind her. She was committed to the mission now.
She crept down a long hall that led from the back door to the front. Peering out a peephole in the front door, she saw Kopeleski still operating the metal detector. He stopped, examined an object and mumbled something. No doubt her name still figured prominently in the mumbling.
Mollified that she would not be caught, at least not yet, Giselle crept back down the hall the way she’d come, all the while glancing into each room.
Parlor. She’d been there.
Next was the dining room. Nothing there.
Powder room. Distinctly uninteresting.
Next she discovered an office. Hallelujah.
Slipping inside, Giselle began inspected the room slowly. It was lined on two walls with bookshelves crammed full of titles. Scanning the wall of books closest to her, she read the spines on the shelf at eye level.
“Metaphysics and you.”
Who me?
“The Paranormal Pal.”
Not my pal.
“A Medium is Better Than Average.”
Hmmm, average what?
“Paranormal Sexuality.”
Eeewwww.
Giselle bent to examine another shelf. She scanned more book titles.
“Spells For the Average Wizard.”
Hmmmm, average again.
“Special Occasion Spells.”
What occasions are special to wizard?
“Me, Myself and Nudism.”
Yuck.
Moving on, she found one wall of shelves seemed to be the United States tax code.
Boring and useless to her.
The only wall without bookshelves had framed certificates and diplomas. Giselle saw that one proclaimed The Wonders School of Wizardry and Metaphysics. It appeared to be a correspondence course. University of Georgia, Bachelor of Science, Accounting. Accounting? Then a license for a business at this address called An Accounting Wizard, P.L.L.C.
Moving to Kopeleski’s desk, she saw every conceivable surface covered with papers and files. On the desk chair laid an open copy center box filled with multicolored flyers. She picked one up. Are you a VICTIM? Seen that one. Another box lay open on the floor beside it. Inside were pamphlets. Giselle took one from the box. Vampires are people too—the VICTIM Manifesto. Written by the Vampire Lester with contributions by Wizard Armand Kopeleski. Giselle stuck the pamphlet in her purse. There were so many that it wouldn’t be missed. Besides, it was obviously meant to be distributed to the public. She was a public.
Pawing through the other items on the desk, she saw a file for VICTIM, which included bank statements. The statement for last month lay on top. She perused it. The account had a balance of almost zero. The organization was broke. Apparently not many people—or vampires—wanted to be a VICTIM. Continuing to search, Giselle found copies of IRS tax forms signed by Kopeleski as the accountant for VICTIM.
Kopeleski’s calendar was at the top edge of the desk. She leaned over to view its entries and someone grabbed her from behind and jerked her backward. A rough hand covered her mouth and stifled a scream in progress that ended up as a muffled “Mmmmmm.” An arm clamped around her shoulders and chest.
Giselle’s heart took off like an explosion in her chest as adrenaline rushed through her. A tall, hard body pressed every inch of her back, from mid-thigh to the top of her head. Giselle reflexively reached to claw at the sinewy arm and the rough tanned hand.
Hey, wait a minute. She recognized that hand. She knew that arm. And come to think of it, that hard body felt familiar pressed against her back. It was Ry. The jerk.
Her heartbeat slowed from the heart-attack-imminent to a you-scared-the-crap-out-of-me-but-I’m-okay-now stage. Then it became an even more comfortable it-seems-only-right-to-beat-the-crap-out-of-you beat.
Giselle quieted and quit struggling against the arm. Ry released her and stepped back, which put his shins within kicking distance.
“Ow,” he hissed under his breath.
Who could blame her for kicking him? He had practically offered up his shins. He was lucky he didn’t get kicked in a worse place.
“You deserved it, you creep. Scaring me like that. What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here? I’m a professional.”
“Yeah, a professional ass. And anyway never mind because I’m not speaking to you.” Giselle turned away and rifled the desk papers again.
“We need to get out,” Ry started.
“I’m not listening to you. La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.” Silence. And then, “Hey, look at this.” Giselle pointed to the desk calendar.
The previous day, between dental appointment and séance was G. Hunter—arrange. Ry looked at the entry from over her shoulder. Oooh, the jerk. He needed an elbow to the stomach.
“Ooof.”
“Back off, mister. I’m not speaking to you and I’m definitely not touching you.”
“I’m sorry. Okay? I know I need to explain my behavior,” Ry whispered urgently.
Giselle spoke over him. “Still not listening. La, la, la, la, la, la, la. I don’t hear a thing.”
Ry took her by the shoulders and roughly turned her in his arms. He covered her mouth with an urgent kiss. His lips moved on hers. His tongue touched her tongue.
For a moment, Giselle allowed herself to lean into him and rest against his hard—ooooh, hard—body. His mouth tasted like mint with a hint of coffee. She liked coffee. His lips were so soft. His tongue was… Oooh, the jerk was French kissing her. She pushed him back.
He blinked then focused. “Will you listen now? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry a thousand times. I’ll apologize in more detail at a place and time where we aren’t in danger of being arrested for breaking and entering.”
When Giselle would have interrupted, he stopped her. “I’ll grovel, I’ll do anything.” Anything?
“I’ll kiss you
r ring. In fact, I’ll kiss anything you want.”
Anything?
“Let’s just get out of here,” Giselle said.
Anything? Hmmm, sounded like a good offer.
They both heard it at the same time. Kopeleski’s front door creaking as it opened. Ry put his finger to his lips. He’d shushed her. The jerk. She gave him a condemning “you don’t have to shush me since I know to be quiet when the owner of the house we’ve broken into comes back. I’m not completely stupid” glare.
Ry returned it with an arch glare of his own. Giselle slapped at his grabbing hand before allowing Ry to take her by the arm and pull her toward the doorway of the office.
Giselle heard someone enter the house and stomp up the front hall stairway to the floor above them. Ry pulled Giselle into the hall and out the back screen door, which he closed with barely a click.
They made it to the back gate within seconds. Ry threw the latch and they slipped out into the lane. While Ry closed the gate, Giselle walked purposefully in the direction of Abercorn Street. She surreptitiously glanced back to see if he would follow. He did.
He caught up with her. “You’re coming with me.”
Did he really think she would take orders at this point? Or, for that matter, ever? “No I’m not.” Giselle kept moving.
“Don’t you want to watch me grovel?”
That stopped her. It did sound appealing. “Okay. But we’re not going to your house.”
“You want me to grovel in a public place?”
His eyebrows converged in that cute frown she recognized. The frown of displeasure. Good.
“Definitely a public place. The publicer, the better.”
“Will it get me groveling points to do it in public?”
“We’ll see.”
“Come on.” He scowled.
His scowl made Giselle smile. The groveling had not yet begun and she was enjoying it already.
A Girl, a Guy and a Ghost: Chapter Twelve
Ry marched Giselle from the lane to a nearby restaurant. It was a tiny, diner-style place, with a few other customers scattered throughout. After being seated by the waitress at a table near the counter, it took Giselle a couple of minutes—real time twenty—to describe her harrowing trunk adventure. She’d emphasized the harrowing part.
Ry began apologizing immediately.
“I’m sorry. How many times can I say it?” Ry made apology number ten, tugging a hand through a now-shaggy mane of blond hair.
Giselle enjoyed his frustration. “I don’t know. Let’s try to find out,” Giselle responded a little too sweetly.
Ry’s apologies were made with that cute and sexy—emphasis on sexy— quality of his, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.
A few of the customers at the counter leaned toward them, obviously listening in on the drama taking place. Their eavesdropping made Ry visibly uncomfortable, and Giselle quietly jubilant. His mortification soothed her like a balm on the wound her heart and pride had taken this morning.
From heartbroken disgrace to triumphal gloating in less than twelve hours. The transition was enough to give a girl whiplash, in the best possible way of course.
Successful breaking and entering, a ghost on the horizon, and now Ry groveling. Things were going her way now. Uh-oh. Was she tempting fate again? Wouldn’t want another trunking as a demonstration. She’d better temper her gloating with a little humble appreciation.
Besides Ry would reach his limit. Giselle wanted to forgive him before the pendulum of his emotions swung from remorseful and penitent to angry and defensive. The trick would be to jump in with acceptance at the optimum point. Too late, and he was lost. Too early, and she would miss all that soothing debasement. It was risky. Very risky.
Ry picked at his meal. Evidently he had trouble eating a hamburger and fries while eating crow. Giselle’s sandwich went down just fine, thank you very much.
“I want to explain.” His voice got ragged and his words disjointed. “My mother…she… I just… It’s difficult. She brings out the worst in me.”
Giselle could well believe that.
“Mama… When I was a kid, she’d draw me into these paranormal mini dramas. I hated it. She’d want me to be a part of the…show. I felt like a performing organ grinder’s monkey or a dog doing tricks. She’d parade me out in one of these cutesy Little Lord Fauntleroy outfits. Uhhhh.” He shuddered.
She could see the memories still had a powerful effect on him. A tight feeling stabbed at her chest at his evident pain. She had to forgive him right now. She had to soothe that pain.
“Ry.”
“I feel so guilty that I let my…situation with my mother interfere with your safety. You could have been killed. Because of me. Because I told you to leave my house this morning.”
Yeah! That’s right. It was his fault she’d been in the trunk of that car. What had she been thinking? He wasn’t off the hook yet. No way. Not completely anyway.
“Well if the hair shirt fits, feel free to wear it. I’ll let you know when you can take it off.” It wasn’t forgiveness. But the tongue-in-cheek teasing way she said it made his lips quirk in a half smile.
“Come back to the house… I’ll kiss it all better.” He leaned forward gave a mock leer. “Then I’ll love you all better,” he whispered.
He obviously thought he was out of the woods.
“You think sex is the answer? You must think you have a magic c—.” Her voice was not a whisper. Oops. She looked around, hoping no one heard her.
The father of the family of four at a nearby table glared at her and nodded toward his two kids, a boy and girl. Giselle shot him a smile crossed with a grimace of apology.
“Your…your…rooster isn’t going to get you out of this one, mister,” she said in a furious tone.
“You seemed to love my rooster last night.”
“I did not. I—”
“Don’t worry, darlin’. My rooster loved your kitty cat too.”
“Your rooster isn’t getting anywhere near my kitty cat ever again.”
Ry laughed and turned to a diner who had been showing particular interest in their conversation.
Mr. Customer sat almost contorted in his chair so he could hear what they’d been saying. No telling how much he’d heard over the noise of chattering people and clanking dishes around them.
“Sir, could you please tell her that I’m sorry and it won’t ever happen again. Would you tell her to forgive me?” Ry asked Mr. Customer.
The man, a tourist—as evidenced by his Michigan State University t-shirt and camera—became discombobulated.
“Er, er. He really seems sorry that he broke up with you, miss. He seems genuinely upset that he hurt you. In my opinion you should forgive him,” Mr. Customer stammered.
“I’ll take it under advisement,” Giselle said wryly, and turned back to Ry. “Incidentally, could you please tell your mother that we aren’t together anymore?” Giselle said, making air quotes with her fingers around the word “together”.
“I don’t know.” Ry’s lips quirked even more. “I’d kind of like to see you bald. Besides, who says we aren’t together anymore.”
Hmmm. Explore that issue later. Giselle decided to skirt over his question by changing the subject. “What were you doing at Kop—” She looked at Mr. Customer, who still appeared to be listening. “Mr. Wizard’s house?”
“I found out he paid a florist to deliver two dozen red roses to you at your hotel. That seemed suspicious since your encounter with him wasn’t the stuff of romance. I wanted to check him out.”
“The roses came to my hotel in the name of you-know-who bloodsucker. Clearly the two of them are in cahoots. At least we know Mr. Wizard didn’t need psychic powers to see I was in Savannah. You know who probably told him. All that ‘I saw you with my third eye’? Puh-lease.”
Ry appeared to be enjoying his hamburger now, taking a big bite and chewing with gusto. A tempting bit of catsup clung to his chin. Giselle could feel her tong
ue slip between her lips. It wouldn’t be too far a stretch to lean over the table and lick that catsup away. She could lick all the way down his neck and then to… No. She bit her lip. She wouldn’t go there again.
“I’ll ask you know who about his relationship with Mr. Wizard when I meet with him tonight at his house,” Giselle announced.
Ry choked on a fry. “What? I don’t think we need to do that.”
“‘We’ aren’t doing anything. I’m going to be meeting him and I happen to think it will be a very useful way to get information. You know who has suddenly decided that he loves me. He says that he’s mine eternally. If he’s so devoted, he’ll have to answer my questions.”
Ry looked horrified. The second half of the fry he’d choked on hung limply in his left hand.
“Miss? It doesn’t seem right for you to meet with some guy who’s in love with you, not when your boyfriend here has said that he’s sorry he broke up with you,” Mr. Customer interjected.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Giselle replied.
“Hey,” Ry started.
“But he wants to be your boyfriend again. Besides, you don’t want to get involved with a lawyer,” Mr. Customer said.
“Lawyer?”
“You said bloodsucker.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Mind your own business.” Giselle turned away from Mr. Customer with an angry snap.
“I’m a relationship therapist. I know what I’m talking about,” Mr. Customer said in a pompous tone. “It’s never good to bring a third party into a relationship when you’re trying to rescue it.”
“Butt out, Mr. Know-it-all Therapist,” Giselle barked back.
“Well,” Mr. Customer huffed. “With that bitchy personality, it’s no wonder he broke up with you.” He turned to Ry. “I suggest you take back your apology and break up with her for good. She’ll make your life more miserable than your mother did.”
“Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.” Ry had lost his good humor.
“I was only trying to help. What a jerk,” Mr. Customer said.