Mina suddenly appeared to remember Vlad. She shot at him with her fangs exposed. Not a very girly look.
Vlad swung at her slapping me instead with the swirl of his cheap cape. The price tag poked me in my left eye. That hurt.
Mina dropped from her hover position and plopped on the ground baring her fangs and hissing. She crouched, ready to leap at Vlad.
I yanked the Draculated idiot back before they came to blows. “Back off. I know karate and three other Japanese words. What was that about Stephen King?”
The vampire mattress salesman pulled himself to his full inadequate height and spoke in a stage whisper, “Do you know how much money he makes?”
Now I was truly confused. Was this troll thinking of flipping an ancient monastery with shitty plumbing and selling it to Stephen King?
He raised his hands, palms forward. “Wait! Wait! Wait! A great idea hit me!”
“Left a bruise, I hope.”
“The monastery will make a perfect retreat for writers. If I can buy low enough and get King to endorse it as a haven for horror I’ll make a killing!”
I’d met blithering idiots before but never one riding a tricycle and wearing a Darth Vader helmet. I’d just spent my last ounce of patience on this noodle.
“I’m calling the mob. Oh mob!” I said in a semi-yodel waving at the cluster of Louts.
Vlad fixed his eyes on Mina as she air-danced. “You can’t fool me. She is a vampire!” He swooshed his cape, plopped his helmet on his head and remounted his trike. “Stay here. I’ll be right back with my Kodak!” He was gone in a poof of olive oil exhaust.
Squirl perched on a stump chewing a twig.
Kit sat on a tombstone shaking his wigless head and adjusting his skirt. “Not going according to plan, is it? We could be at Joe’s sipping Bloody Mary’s.”
I waved off his rhetorical snipe. I would be drinking Virgin Mary’s.
“Mina, now look what you’ve done,” I said. “Vlad’s going to out you. Probably sell your picture to the National Enquirer, because inquiring minds want to know about vampires and aliens.”
She began to weep like a little girl.
I felt like a verbal Buffy killing vamps with my words.
“Or-e-o! Whoa! Or-e-o! Whoa!”
Was that the flying monkeys from Oz? I swiveled my head jamming my neck in a hot painful crack. The monks were out of the barrels, and on the march. They were headed our way.
In a solemn procession, hoods down and hands over their staked chests, they lumbered closer. Aside from smelling like a bunch of winos, they didn’t look too bad. That monk wine contained some powerful mojo.
We might just get away with convincing the villagers that the monks weren’t dead. Maybe we could buy some time before the Vatican SWAT team arrived.
I was feeling a bit confuzzled. The monks were dead. Or were they? Either way, who was the boss of them?
Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, I counted the clergy as they shambled passed the tombstones toward the Jolley brothers and the villagers. Forty hoods were all present and accounted for, proof positive they weren’t exactly dead just operating on alternative fuel.
Gack! Forty!
One cleric made no effort to hide the stiffie he carried under his cassock as he lumbered passed Squirl. It was Edward! That sucker!
Whatever the little innkeeper had, the vampire-monk was hooked on it.
Mina flitted to the ground and stood next to me.
“Get out of here!” I whisper-yelled at her. “I thought I told you to hide.”
With her pale complexion and Angelina lips, there was no disguising what she was. The Louts would tear her apart and stuff her with garlic.
On one hand I could understand her glee. The woman had spent the last three decades keeping house for a bunch of silent, celibate men … like being married for thirty years, only forty times worse. On the other hand she needed to lay low until this battle for blood was over.
The monks continued their zombie shuffle down the hill toward Roger, Bram, the postulants, and the villagers. They were too intent, too focused. They’d never pull it off.
The Louts hefted their weapons and assumed battle positions. Obviously they’d rehearsed this final conflagration. The beheaders moved to the front line, their axes held high.
I had to clue the guys about Edward before he started neck nibbling and confirmed the villagers’ fears.
“Edward!” I yell-whispered, dashing after the procession, my feet slipping on the rocky ground.
The monk with the stiffie turned with a leer. “How did you know it was me?”
“Your cologne,” I said. I wouldn’t give Edward the satisfaction of noticing it. This dude could spend a century in a religious enclave and never clean up his act.
The villagers’ voices rose in anger. Bram needed a diversion to end this standoff. The arrival of the monks brought things to a head and heads were about to roll.
I jumped to the center of the confab clapping my hands and jabbering at the top of my voice, “We would like to invite the entire village of Loutish to our wedding later today. Fun. Dancing. Cotton Candy!”
Roger looked at me like I’d lost my last marbles.
The villagers mumbled, smiles breaking out on their faces.
“Good idea,” Squirl said tapping my arm. “They don’t get out much. Keep their minds off the monks and that Mina. She is a vampire, isn’t she?”
“I thought I told you to hide,” I said. “Edward’s in that pack of hoods.”
She covered her neck with her hands, but couldn’t hide the look in her eyes. The little innkeeper was hot to trot even if it meant relocating to the dark side.
Roger stood next to me and spoke through clenched jaws. “What the heck are you doing?”
“Ixnay on the Edward-ay.” I nodded my head toward the monk with the protuberance.
“I’ll grab him,” Roger whispered.
“Careful where you grab him!”
Roger inched toward Edward, facing the villagers but peering back over his shoulder as he retreated from the mob. He snatched at the vampire monk. The instant his fingers touched the monk, the vamp morphed into a pretty impressive wolf. The lupine hunk howled once, then trotted into the forest blending with the darkness without so much as a goodbye. Rude.
“We’ll be back with Mayor Cushion for the wedding,” the fat lady sang. “I’ll bring a noodle casserole. Nice to see you boys!” She waved at the monks who maintained their glazed expression.
The hausfrau slid down the embankment adjusting her billowing frock. Her instructions to her minions carried over the shuffle-stomp of the gang. “We’ll bring them their pot luck, casseroles and Cushion. It is time to do away with this cult and burn the abbey to the ground.”
She waved her vacuum cleaner baton in the air and disappeared round the bend in the road. The mob lumbered after her, the ground vibrating under their heavy gait. I wondered if Loutish was built on a honeycomb of tunnels, which would account for the mini-earthquakes.
I waved and called in a singsong voice, “Bring your favorite dishes! Toodles!”
A sound closely resembling the Green Mamba Jet Car rumbled over the hill. I’d seen the jet-powered hotrod once on the Discovery Channel. It’s not a sound easily forgotten. The spot where I stood crumbled under my ballet flats. Loutish must be built on shifting sand.
I was surprised when I turned to see a mini-tank with a gun turret slit for a window and metal-plated sides. It wasn’t the Mamba. It was the size of a small Hummer and twice as iron encrusted. It cruised to a halt between Roger, Bram and myself.
I peeked in the slit window. It was dark inside but I connected with watery red eyes staring back at me.
It was Renfield.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Renfield said something, but I couldn’t hear him over the rumble of the tank.
I put my hand to my ear as a sign I had no idea what he was saying.
He motioned to the back of the tank.
With a clang that echoed off the trees, the rear door dropped open and a step unfolded in three flip-flops.
Renfield signaled the monks.
“It looks like he’s attempting to spirit them away before the Louts return,” I said.
“Let Renfield take them to safety until we figure out what to do with them,” Roger said.
Bram followed Roger to the head of the monk line. The Jolley brothers extended helping hands to the fried friars as they wobbled over the uneven terrain and into the armored vehicle.
I had to temporarily suspend my gross-out as I watched Roger touch the mildewed puce and purple sleeves. The friars’ robes tangled and they tripped over each other like a multi-pack of clowns.
John and Paul stood to the side not helping but not hindering. In the shadowy half-light I thought I saw blood on their collars. Before I could look closer, a rumpus occurred that drew my attention.
A flutter of cassocks, a few flipped monks, and an umph and Edward broke from the pack of monks in a glitter of diamond-like dew. He flew at Squirl who stood inches from me.
The dude would make a great MLS listing agent. He would not take no for an answer.
I stepped in front of the flying monk and delivered a Kill Bill kick to my estimated location of his problem.
He keeled over for a second and popped back up. I guess all parts of a vampire are subject to temporary stunning and quick recovery. He was like a twenty-year old stud at a keg party.
“You guys pin that horny toad down and keep him under control.” I glared at Edward.
“I’ll run Squirl into the church for safe keeping. Vampires won’t dare cross that threshold. I’ll meet you at the pavilion for the ceremony. Remember, we can’t see each other before the wedding so stay out of the guestroom so I can get dressed.”
He waved me off with a muddy paw. Jeepers. Creepers.
I shoved Squirl ahead of me, turning back in time to see the Jolley brothers blow their assignment.
“Oops!” Roger and Bram grabbed at the shadow that had been Edward but was now a bat winging its way through the uppermost trees.
The rear panel crunched into place, enclosing the monks, and the tank roared away in the direction of the Van Helsing.
“Wait!” I screamed. Why was he taking them to the inn?
Roger turned to Bram. “Can we trust Renfield?”
“He never steered me wrong, but then again, I don’t remember him at all.”
“Where the hell-heck did he get that lead box on wheels?” I asked.
“Carfax Abbey has an annual car auction, silent of course. I’m guessing the tank was up for bids,” Bram said.
I hugged Roger, feeling uneasy at leaving him alone. I had the dark shadow of a premonition. “Next time you see me, I’ll be your bride. But remember you can’t see me before the wedding. We wouldn’t want any bad luck.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The church was deathly quiet. The altar was bathed in shadows despite the large narrow leaded glass windows that ran from the floor to the arched ceiling, stretching three stories into a vault.
Something was amiss near the pulpit. The Book of Names was missing from the pedestal. John and Paul were supposed to have returned it. They’d been gone long enough to return an entire mobile library and they did have blood on their collars.
Squirl clung to me like a toddler being dropped off at daycare. “I don’t want to stay here, alone. I’m afraid.”
I held her by the shoulders and gave her my most stern look. “Big girls don’t cry. This is the safest place for you. Vampires can’t enter churches. It’s the law.”
She shook her head. “I want a restraining order.”
“They don’t work.”
“They do in Vulgaria. They’re called shotguns.”
“Sweetie, you must be brave. Look how courageous I am. I’m getting married again. Have you any idea how much guts that takes?”
I opened my eyes as wide as I could to get a better look at the main altar but nothing stood out. I tiptoed up and down the aisle looking for pew lurkers. If Renfield circled back to the abbey with his tank of monks, he didn’t bring the boys here.
How do you hide thirty-nine men? I sniffed the air. It was musty and moldy but no male sweat.
“Sit here under this crucifix.” I plunked Squirl down in a corner of a front pew under a station of the cross and handed her a prayer book with a faded gold ink cross on the cover. “We’ll come and get you after the ceremony. Now stay put and keep your dang libido under control!”
“But I’m a bridesmaid. I’ve never been a bridesmaid before and I even bought an orange dress with a big bow on the shoulder just in case someone ever asked me.” She whimpered. “It’s back at the inn.”
“Forget the dress. Do not leave the church.” It seemed everyone was excited about the wedding except me.
I patted her head and turned to go. The confessional booth began to shimmy and then switched to a rumba. It rolled and rocked and spit out Edward the nympho-monk. He came at Squirl, flipping his cloak behind him and slurping his lips. “Mine! Mine!”
This dude would be hell in a singles bar.
Squirl went into a trance, her eyes glazing over. I wondered if he’d slipped her a ruffie when I wasn’t looking.
I picked up a brass candleholder about a foot in length and swung it as if our lives depended on it, because they did. It connected with the vampire’s head and took the wind out of him. He fell back into the booth. I slammed the door and grabbed a huge jug of what I hoped was holy water standing next to a baptismal font. I popped the lid and sprinkled the doors of the booth, saturating the wood and the floors.
“That should keep him in place until somebody stakes him.” I sure wasn’t about to be the driving force behind a stake. Maybe Mina would get a kick out of nailing him.
“Change of plans! Come on Squirl,” I grabbed her hand and we dashed through the courtyard and into the residential wing of the monastery. No way could I leave her alone with Edward banging around the box like something from Doctor Who.
Roger was in our room fiddling in his side of the closet. “Thought you were stashing Squirl.”
“New plan. She’s the assistant to the bride. I stashed Edward instead. He’s in the confessional waiting to be heard.”
He scratched his head, again. Had he picked up grave lice? “I thought vampires couldn’t enter churches.”
“Umm…there seems to be a variance. I haven’t figured it out yet,” I said. “Any word from the Vaticopter?”
“Nada. Bram should be told about Edward in the box.”
“Where is Bram?”
“He’s at the wedding pavilion preparing for the service. There’s some trick to it as we have to comply with the Vulgarian traditions or the mayor won’t sign our marriage certificate.”
“I just want a plain “I do… We do ceremony.”
“When in Vulgaria…”
I cut him off with my special I-told-you-so look.
“Mina’s on her way here to make your hat or whatever it is you’re wearing.”
That was sweet of her.
I felt like a seasoned French fry, all crispy and gritty. “I need to sponge bathe and fix my hair. Give me some privacy,” I said slipping into the bathroom.
The water closet was a simple affair containing a sink with no faucets and no drain, a small wooden table, and a tiny chip of a mirror suspended by one nail over the bowl. All is vanity.
A half-full pitcher sat on the table. There was just enough well water to dab my face with a dampened corner of the only towel and peel off the schmutz.
One tired looking mama-to-be gazed back at me from the sliver of glass.
It bummed me out to see the gap in my mouth. I was not a gap girl.
“Squirl, hand me a biscuit,” I called.
She popped in the door beaming. “You like them! You really like them?”
“Can’t go another day without one.”
I too
k the biscuit Squirl handed me and closed the bathroom door. Necessity is the mother of a dentist. I dipped the rock-hard corner of the biscuit in the sink drips and broke off a piece, shaping it into a Chiclet.
It hurt like the dickens but I wedged the biscuit Chiclet into my empty tooth socket. Good. Not much blood. I sucked air in and out over the dough until it hardened, then looked at myself in the mirror and groaned.
I stripped out of my maternity slacks and tunic and sponged with the re-dipped end of the towel. Not the cleanest of brides but my intentions were pure. Well, not one-hundred-percent pure.
With the soggy-tipped towel wrapped around my body, I opened the bathroom door and called to Roger. No answer. Coast was clear for me to peek at myself in the floor-length mirror nailed to the inside of the closet door.
I unhung my lovely wedding dress as a flood of emotions sloshed over me.
This was for real. Once again, I was gambling my current state of happiness on a man. But this time it was different. I was sober and I was marrying one of the nicest guys on earth. Roger had the heart of a lion and the nerves of a meerkat. I loved him with all my being and most of my patience. I was more than ready to get our vows vowed and get the heck out of Vulgaria.
Carefully, I slipped on the hand-made red-bow shoes. I was tickled with how sweet they looked. It was temporarily easy to forget we were surrounded by the undead and by garlic swilling Louts. This was my wedding day and I would be happy even if I had to stake half the town.
I slipped my wedding gown from the hanger and gently worked the neckline open. The dress was a loose shift style. I wiggled it over my head. It fell from my shoulders in soft layers of chiffon and lace and eased over my baby bump. It had a short train, not enough to trip over, but just enough to highlight the shoes peeking from the hemline. Now all I needed was the wreath of flowers for my hair and my bouquet.
“Spider!” Squirl jumped out from behind the closet door causing me to catch my breath.
“Where?” I swished the dress and tapped my feet in a frenzied stomp.
“Here,” she put a small black spider on my dress and tucked it into the folds.
Vulgarian Vamp (A Wendy Darlin Comedy Mystery Book 5) Page 11