“On the incident report form, there’s a line to list injuries. Janie and Mick both knew my arm was sore, first from the grabbing and shaking, then from being jerked around in Scarlett’s. I don’t know if that’s why the tracker stopped working, but Janie insisted we list an arm injury, and now the tour company needs me to sign a medical waiver. In spite of what some people think—” I glared at Saber. “—a trauma to a vampire body has consequences. However briefly it may last.”
I pushed back my chair and stood. “I’ll be here at eight to talk to your artist, but if you have any more questions, contact my attorney. Right now I need to get this tracker implanted and get to work.”
I admit it. I sailed out of the room, out of the building, in, as the Regency novels say, high alt. Even the foul, rainy weather didn’t dim my triumph, though it did make me stop to coax my umbrella open.
Sandy was snug in her trench coat when she caught up with me outside the sheriff’s department doors. “You did well, overall, but don’t push Saber too far.”
“He deserved it.”
“Certainly he did, but he’s at least a state-if not federal-level cop and an unknown factor. I’ll call a few colleagues in Daytona and see what they know about him.” She gestured at my arm. “Can you get the tracker taken care of today?”
“If an ER doctor can work me in, I can get it done now. If not, it’ll be tonight after work.”
“Good. And, Francesca, don’t worry. There’s no way they’ll railroad you for this.”
Why did that have a “famous last words” ring to it?
I followed Sandy’s midnight blue Beemer south on U.S. 1 until I turned into the Flagler Hospital grounds. There I caught a break because—in spite of the rain—the ER was virtually empty, and the doctor who’d inserted my first tracker was on duty. The procedure had to be documented with photos as well as a written report, so a nurse took digital pictures as the old tracker came out and the new one went in. A few stitches later, a quick test of the device, and I was outta there.
At seven fifty, the rain had stopped, but the wind gusted strongly off the bay. At times like those, I wished there was a back entrance to our building for tenants. Since there isn’t, I parked in my reserved space, sprinted around the building to Cathedral Place, and ran up the stairwell.
Maggie wasn’t home yet and didn’t answer her cell. I left her a message about the interview with March and left another message for Dave at the VPA about the new tracker. Those duties done, I refreshed my makeup, then decided to toss down another six-ounce bottle of blood to speed-heal the new implant into place.
Tonight I’d decided on a Minorcan costume paired with a water-repellent microfiber cape with a hood. The cape wasn’t period-authentic, but it was warm, and I’d had a bad day. Why add to it? With my damp hair twisted into a high bun and my teeth freshly brushed, I left for work at eight thirty.
I arrived at the same substation on St. George Street where music pulsed from the Mill Top Tavern and Mick paced the small plaza dressed in street clothes and a windbreaker.
“God, Cesca, don’t you ever check your damn cell phone?” was his cheery greeting when he spotted me. “Janie and I have tried to reach you a dozen times.”
“I’ve been on the dead run all day.”
“Dead run? Har, har.” He punched me on the shoulder, the good one. “Seriously, answer your cell now and then. We were worried about you.”
“You were?”
“Hell, yes. For some reason we like you.”
I grinned. “Thanks. Hey, you’re not on rotation tonight, are you?”
“No. I volunteered to give you this personally.” He passed me a rolled piece of paper and a pen. “It’s the medical waiver.”
I unrolled the form, scanned it, signed it, and handed it back.
“I’ll take this to the office in the morning,” he said, tucking the form and pen in his windbreaker. “You talk to the cops yet?”
“For more than two hours this afternoon.”
“Have they found Stony?”
I pulled my hood tighter as a gust of wind blew off the bay. “They have a sketch, but I don’t know how hard they’re looking for him.”
“Well, Janie and I put in the good word for you.”
“Thanks.” I smiled and looked around. “Is anyone signed up for the late tour?”
“Yeah, nine hearty souls. You’re stopping at the drugstore, right?”
He meant the building that housed the oldest drugstore, circa 1737. The building was once a house of revelry north of town, then moved and plopped atop an Indian burial ground that was part of the Tolomato Cemetery. The drugstore is one of the most haunted places in an entire downtown of haunted places, and one of the buildings I’d skipped on Tuesday’s tour.
“Yep, that’s on tap tonight.”
“Mind if I tag along for a while? Ghosts flock to you, and I want to find the bugger that bit my arm last week.”
“Fine by me, but I’ve had two weird tours this week. Sure you want to risk another one?”
“I’ll chance it. I brought my digital Kodak. And if the ghost biter doesn’t show, maybe Stony will.”
“Oh, yeah, I’d love to hand his mug shot to the cops.”
“Great minds think ali—What the heck?”
I turned in time to be engulfed in a Shalimar embrace.
“Francesca, you poor dear!” Shalimar Millie was back and dressed in Jacksonville Jags sweats again—minus the visor—as were two other ladies from Monday’s tour. Their purses were beach bag–sized and hitched on their shoulders.
“Millie, you’re all right,” I said, smiling.
She pulled away, looking part confused, part indignant. “Did you think I was ill?”
“Oh, uh, no,” I stammered to cover my apparent gaffe. In my admittedly limited experience, people of a certain age either complained about infirmity or denied it. “You just looked tired, or, um, worried or something on Tuesday night.”
She flipped a hand in dismissal. “I simply had some unfinished family business on my mind.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re back.”
“Oh, we plan to keep coming back.” She nodded firmly. “We’ve adopted you.”
I stared for a beat. “Excuse me?”
“We’re sure that frightful man from the other night killed the Frenchwoman and is trying to pin it on you.” She smiled broadly. “Until that troublemaker is caught, two or three of us will take every tour you lead. And,” she added, patting her purse, “we’ll be packing.”
My mouth fell open. Packing? As in armed? I wanted to laugh until I realized she was perfectly serious. Then I felt my eyes widen and stuttered, “B-but, ma’am, you don’t need—”
“Not, ma’am, just Millie. That’s Grace Warner, and that’s Kay Sims,” she said, pointing to ladies who both had short silver hair and identical determination-stamped expressions.
“Millie, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but—”
“No buts,” she said, holding up her beringed hand. “Some people adopt highways. We’re adopting you. We have disposable incomes, senior discounts, and we’d love to help nail that nasty man. Not that the Frenchwoman wasn’t a pariah, but that wasn’t your fault.”
I had two seconds to digest Millie’s announcement—and puzzle over her pariah comment—when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my shoes as I spun around to find a twenty-something man in jeans and a Flagler College sweatshirt standing almost on top of me. When did he sneak up? Vampire Senses Stunned by Shalimar Lady. Film at eleven.
“Ms. Marinelli? Paul Thoreaux. Has the sheriff’s department made any progress on the French Bride murder?”
“Hunh?” Quick when I’m startled, aren’t I?
“Are you a suspect in the case?”
Yikes, a reporter? I glanced at the press ID clipped to his sweatshirt and gathered my sadly scattered wits.
“I don’t think I can comment other than to say I had no reason to harm the bri
de, and the groom has my sincerest condolences.”
“He says you didn’t do it.”
I blinked. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer tonight. “Who and what are you talking about?” I asked.
“The husband. Etienne Fournier. He says you didn’t kill his wife but thinks some guy who was following them around did it.”
“Stony, the Covenant guy?” I asked.
“The stalker was honest-to-God Covenant?” Reporter Paul all but wagged his tail in excitement. “Shit, they play rough, but I didn’t think they bothered regular people.” He darted me a glance. “No offense.”
“None taken. Mr. Fournier is right. I didn’t kill his wife.”
“That remains to be seen,” a deep, mellow voice said from my right.
I turned. In slow motion. Hoping what I heard would prove to be a trick of the wind.
It wasn’t. Deke Saber sauntered toward our little group in the same clothes he’d worn this afternoon minus the sunglasses. The jacket was buttoned to hide his gun, but I saw the slight bulge at his hip. Could this day get any worse?
I didn’t even try for tactful. “What are you doing here?”
“Taking in the sights,” he said mildly.
“You’re taking my tour?”
“Who’s this guy?” Reporter Paul asked, all eagerness.
“I’m a new…acquaintance of Ms. Marinelli’s,” Saber said.
“She doesn’t look happy to see you,” Millie shot back.
“I’m hoping to grow on her.” He flashed the kind of smile meant to charm the support hose off the older ladies.
Shalimar Millie didn’t fall for it, bless her. “Humph. Handsome is as handsome does.”
“Hell,” Reporter Paul groused. “I thought you were that Stony guy. The one stalking the French couple.”
“Oh, no,” Millie supplied. “That man had a long scar on his face. If he tries to pull anything tonight, we’ll shoot him.”
Paul blinked long eyelashes.
“That’s right,” I jumped in. “These ladies are armed with their digital cameras tonight. So is Mick.” I pointed to my colleague’s goofily grinning face. “He’s also a tour guide. Maybe you should talk to him.”
The reporter brightened and headed toward Mick, whose goofy grin morphed into a dirty look at me.
I spun toward Millie and her merry band and shooed them back a few paces. “Ixnay on the gun-ay talk-ay, ladies,” I whispered, hoping Saber couldn’t hear.
“Why? I have a permit,” Millie said.
“To carry concealed weapons?” I hissed in frustration.
“We’re seniors. The fuzz won’t bust us,” Silver Kay said.
“Not unless we actually shoot someone,” Grace added.
Millie shook her head at me. “My dear, you’re looking awfully frazzled. Did you get a chance to, uh, eat tonight?”
“Maybe you should’ve had a double,” Saber drawled.
I jerked around to find him closer than he should’ve been. Super Hearing Fails Vampire Again.
Millie sniffed. “Maybe you’re the problem, Mr.—”
“Are you the vampire?” a new voice on my left demanded.
I glanced over my shoulder to see four women dressed in more leather than an entire herd of cows. Black leather bustiers, second-skin pants, ankle boots with three-inch heels, and long coats. Their acrylic nails—and exposed midriffs—were stark white in contrast. So were the fake fangs flashing behind bright red lips. None of them more than twenty-five or-six, they made the goth gang look mature and well-dressed by comparison. Worse, faint bite marks dotted their necks and exposed arms.
I was thinking, Yikes, but must’ve nodded.
The tallest of the foursome, long-legged and black-haired, looked me up and down. “We’re going on your tour.”
“To check you out for the Daytona vampirth,” a blonde added, lisping the s. Pointing to the tallest girl first, she introduced them as Claire, Barb, and Tetha. “And I’m Thithi.”
I almost said, “I’m Thethca,” but caught myself when Barb and Tessa, both redheads, waggled their fingers and flashed big fangy smiles at Saber.
“Hi, Deke.”
“We’ve missed seeing you at the club,” Tessa pouted.
Yeesh. Wasn’t this just peachy. Gun-toting seniors, a reporter, Saber, and now blood bunnies. That’s what they had to be. Human women who wore fake fangs and got their jollies hanging out with vampires. I’d read an article about blood bunnies, but seeing them was another plane of weird. If Stony did show, it’d be the highlight of the evening.
Saber had mentioned Ike this afternoon. Now the blood bunnies showed up. Coincidence? I thought not.
I wanted to bang my head on the nearest coquina wall.
I plastered on a smile instead. “Welcome to the Old Coast Ghost Walk. We’re a bit late getting started, so hand me your tickets, and let’s get right along, shall we?”
NINE
The biting ghost didn’t manifest at the oldest drugstore, but the angry spirit of Fay’s House made up for it. When Fay’s wrathful face loomed in the window, her mouth moving in silent curses, a fierce wind gust rose to sound as if she were calling the hell-hounds on us. The other tourists didn’t seem shaken, but the blood bunnies screamed like preschoolers.
A bigger person might’ve been sympathetic. I wasn’t. I gave Fay a thumbs-up. Probably shouldn’t encourage the cranky spirit, but who did these bimbos think they were, coming to check me out? More important, had this little field trip been their idea, or had the head honcho, Ike, put them up to it? If so, why? VPA Dave had told me Ike ruled his illegal but overlooked nest with an iron fang, but he’d never so much as acknowledged my existence. Until now.
The bride Yolette and Ike’s second-in-command vampire were both dead. What did they have in common, other than Stony and the Covenant? I wished Saber was off investigating that angle instead of trailing me, though it had been fun to watch him try to avoid the blood bunnies all night. Without success.
Of course, I’d quickly and quietly reassured Millie, Kay, and Grace that the blood bunnies’ fangs were as fake as their nails. Probably their boobs, too. Reporter Paul didn’t seem to care, judging by the drooling way he watched the women. They batted their eyes at Paul and Mick, but they darn near draped themselves on Saber.
He scowled through the tour. I smiled.
Mick abandoned me after the drugstore visit, heartless wretch. But it was our last stop and only two short blocks from our starting point. I rattled off my closing spiel at close to eleven o’clock and waved a figurative, not-fond farewell to the blood bunnies. Reporter Paul trailed after them, poor deluded guy. Someone ought to warn him, though it wasn’t gonna be me. I thanked Millie, Kay, and Grace for coming and was enfolded in another Shalimar hug before they walked jauntily off. Geez, they had more energy than I did.
Saber didn’t wait five seconds after the ladies left to annoy me. More than he already had, that is. Truth is, seeing him again tonight made me breathless. Could be that his faint musky smell was giving me some vampire version of asthma. Or it could be just plain nerves.
“How many of those women carry concealed?”
I contained my start, just barely. “The blood bunnies? You’d know better than I would.”
He shook his head, a small smile playing on his sensuous—yes, sensuous—mouth. He bugs me, but I’m not immune to his attributes.
“Come on. I overheard that ‘Ixnay on the gun-ay talk-ay’ business. You suck at pig Latin.”
I shrugged, wrapped my cloak tighter, and started hoofing it south on St. George. “Tour’s over. Good-bye, Saber.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and fell into step on my right. I thought about turning on the vampire speed, but nervous as I was, I might fall on my face. I walked energetically instead. Saber kept pace.
“I’m not planning to run the senior citizens in, you know. You can talk to me.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because I
’m interested in you.”
“You are?” My heartbeat jumped. The only man who’d intrigued me in centuries was interested in me?
“Sure. I may be a preternatural expert, but I can always learn something. You’re a new breed of vampire to me.”
Feeling more sexless than ever, I kicked myself for thinking he meant anything personal. “So I’m, what, some kind of science experiment?”
“Your smart brain might want to remind your smart mouth that I’m also investigating a case you’re connected to.” He paused a beat. “Like it or not.”
I stopped short, planted my fists on my hips. “In other words, you want to continue the interrogation.”
“If you’re willing.”
“You think I fell off the dumb wagon? My attorney will have a fit if I talk to you without her present.”
“You held your own this afternoon.”
“And, surprise! I’m doing it now.” I stomped off again, nursing a bruised ego.
“Tell you what. I won’t ask you about the murder. We’ll just chat.”
“Chat? Who are you, and what have you done with the jerk from the sheriff’s office?”
He flashed a smile, and laugh lines crinkled around his amazing blue eyes. Who knew he had laugh lines? Who knew he laughed?
“You like being a vampire?”
“Since I don’t have a choice, I like it a lot better now than I used to.”
“Because of the whole villagers-uprising-to-burn-you-out thing?”
I blinked at him. Nah, he couldn’t know about that unless he’d read the newspaper article. “Actually, because I don’t have to live with vampires and play their politics.”
“I wouldn’t think a princess vampire had to play politics.”
I groaned. “You did see that article, huh?”
“Looked it up online. Seems like you had it pretty good.”
“Oh, sure, I did. The ranking vampires in Normand’s court just loved it when the king made me his princess and second-in-command. Yeah, they partied for days over that.”
“Aw, did the poor vampire princess not have any friends?”
Triton flashed in my mind’s eye, but that’s not what made me stop again. Dark of the moon, iffy psychic senses and all, the hair on my nape stiffened. Magick scraped against my skin.
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