Pita laughed. “That’s more like it. She doesn’t care about the mushy stuff.” She looked at Paige over the rim of her mug. “I refuse to believe we’re related. I can’t be related to someone so cold and heartless.”
“You’re related to Granny Mags,” I pointed out.
She glared at me and bared her fangs. “Do you want to get bit? Because that’s how a person gets bit.”
I held up my hands. “Not judging, since all three of us are related to that woman.”
“Not me,” Paige said. “I keep telling myself I’m adopted.”
A little blob of fur landed on my shoulder, laughing. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
I reached over and petted my pet fruit bat. “How’s it going, Peter Vincent?”
The little bat looked around nervously. “There was a strange woman here a little earlier. She’s very loud, and the man with her pointed his camera at everything. And now all these women are here… and they’re not normal.”
“Not normal?” I asked. “How so?”
Peter Vincent looked around nervously. “They never stop talking. Never. And most of them aren’t nice. They talk and say mean things about everyone.”
I nodded. I had noticed the same things. These ladies were made for reality TV, full of snark and attitude. I had already decided it would be best to distance myself from them as much as possible.
Before you think I cracked up and had a mental meltdown, yes, I can talk to my pet bat… and most other animals. Most vampires have a special talent and mine happens to be talking to animals, while Pita can talk to ghosts and Paige can sometimes take a peek into the future.
As far as special talents go, I think Paige got the short straw because she couldn’t really control it. She just gets precognitive flashes out of the blue.
Of course, Pita tended to get unexpected visits from the dead at random times and I couldn’t turn my talent off, either, which could be frustrating sometimes. You hear birds chirping in the morning. I hear them gossiping. Certain types of birds are the biggest gossips around, and don’t get me started on crows. Filthy-mouthed animals.
“We must make them go away,” Peter Vincent declared. “Can you imagine what will happen if Granny encounters any of these gabby women? Granny doesn’t like gab.”
“That’s true,” I said, “but in this case, I don’t think she’ll mind because she’s the reason they’re here.”
Peter Vincent gasped. “Granny invited them? You know that’s not a good sign. They must be killed. Let Paige kill the guests. Just this once. Death to the squawkers.”
I chuckled. “Paige, believe it or not, is actually happy about this.”
Peter Vincent gasped again, his eyes filled with terror. “Paige is happy about people? The world has gone mad.”
I nodded. “And they’ll apparently be here for about two months filming a show.
The terror in the little fruit bat’s eyes disappeared, replaced by a calm determination. “Two months? No. Gabby squawking women will not eat us out of house and home. I must protect the food.”
“Protect the food?” I asked. “Why does the food need to be protected?”
“You know,” Peter Vincent said, so agitated that he had begun hopping from one foot to the other. “It’s what they always say about unexpected guests and visitors. They just show up and eat you out of house and home.”
He squeaked in terror at the idea of a future without food and then took off like a fighter jet, zooming towards the kitchen before I could point out that we always had guests and visitors since we were a B&B.
“What was that about?” Pita asked.
I shrugged. “Peter Vincent is apparently worried about our guests eating all the food.”
“Your pet is weird,” Pita said, looking over her shoulder towards the kitchen. That was her domain and she didn’t like anyone – not even cute little fruit bats – meddling about in there.
I nodded. “He can be. Know what else is weird? Two bodies hanging from a tree in our front yard that weren’t hanging there this morning.”
Pita rolled her eyes and groaned. “I had wondered if you noticed that.”
“It’s been a little busy around here, thanks to Granny’s little reality TV surprise,” I said, “but two bodies in a tree are remarkably hard to miss.”
Pita nodded. “That’s the idea. Granny found a place online to get them and thought they might help scare tourists away.”
I stared at my sister. “Does Granny have access to a different Internet than the rest of us? She found a place that sells dead bodies? I don’t get stuff like that on my Internet.”
“At least they’re not real bodies,” Paige said. “They’re very realistic, though. I thought Anthony was going to have a heart attack when he opened the crate.”
“Where is Anthony, anyway?”
Pita smiled. “Where he always is lately. Hanging out with his witchy girlfriend.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Anthony was a good kid but really shy when it came to girls. Broomhilda, the owner of the Little Plant Shop of Horrors who had been crushing on him as bad as he had been crushing on her, had finally taken matters into her own hands and asked him out. They made a cute couple.
“Anyway, back to the bodies in the tree,” I said. “They need to go away.”
Paige shook her head. “Can’t. Christina has already said she loves them. She even told the camera crew to include them in as many shots as possible.”
I groaned. Other people had to worry about their grandmothers leaving their dentures lying around or buying lame things off the Home Shopping Network. I had to worry about my grandmother buying fake dead bodies online.
My phone beeped with a text message. It was Christina’s assistant, Denise, letting me know she was driving up the road with this season’s prince of roses.
I sighed. “Time to put on my thrilled-to-be-doing-this face. The star of the show is arriving.”
Paige bounced up and down in her chair like a kid. “I wonder who it’s going to be,” she said excitedly. “I hope it’s Jet Carson. He was a dream on last season’s Princess of Roses. All the guys were back-stabbing and plotting against each other because he turned everyone against everyone else. It was wonderful. He brought out the absolute worst in everyone. And that was with the guys. I can’t even imagine what kind of trouble he’d cause with the girls.”
Pita and I exchanged looks. Our sister was seriously disturbed.
“Of course it’s Jet Carson. Who else would it be?” a voice asked from above us. “We’re still getting hate mail over last season’s Princess of Roses. And that kind of hate means only one thing – People loved it.”
The three of us turned to see Christina coming down the stairs. She had retired to her room while waiting for this season’s star to arrive.
She pointed at me and winked. “That’s the real trick to keep in mind, Penny. Nobody actually comes on these shows to get engaged anymore. It’s all about winning over the audience to become next season’s prince or princess. Either make them love you or make them hate you. There’s no in-between. No halfway. That’s the secret.”
Paige gasped. “Oh my gosh. Penny you could be the next Princess of Roses. Just think of it; a whole houseful of guys getting all alpha and macho just to impress you.”
I stared at her in horror. Just the idea of it made my fangs itch.
The front door opened and a woman who I assumed was Denise entered, quickly stepping aside as Christina shooed her away to reveal the man a small army of women would soon be drooling over.
Unlike Paige, I had never watched either dating show so I knew nothing about this guy, but if the look on Denise’s face was any clue, spending an extended period of time in a car with him was the opposite of fun.
The assistant was pretty. Not in a turn-your-head-make-you-wreck-your-car-pretty, but a more down-to-earth wholesome pretty. She had long brown hair, brown eyes, and she wore glasses. And she looked tired. Like spending time
with Jet had killed part of her soul.
However, regardless of any soul-killing qualities he might possess, it was easy to see why Jet Carson was so popular with the fans of the show. He was tall and broad, with perfectly styled dark brown hair and teeth so shiny white it was almost necessary to squint when he smiled.
Luckily, smiling a lot apparently wasn’t going to be an issue. He glanced around quickly, realized no cameras were pointed in his direction, and lost the smile so quick that you’d think he was renting it by the hour.
“This town sucks,” he said.
Christina fake-laughed. “Oh, Jet, darling. Do behave. It’s perfect for the Halloween special.”
The Prince of Roses looked around the room briefly, his eyes skimming over me and my sisters like we weren’t really there. “Whatever.” He couldn’t have sounded more bored if he tried. “It was a long boring flight followed by a long boring drive. I need to lie down so I’ll be refreshed for tonight.”
Christina patted his shoulder, a look of pity on her face. “Of course, dear. Our gracious hosts have actually set up their guest house in the back for you.”
Jet groaned, rolling his eyes. “Really, Christina, that’s great… but I want to lie down now. Not go wandering through someone’s backyard. The quaint little guest house can wait until later tonight.”
The smile on Christina’s face took on a slightly strained look but it stayed in place. “Of course, dear. You can rest in my room upstairs. We’ll get you moved into the guest house later, after you’d had a chance to rest.”
Jet nodded, still looking bored. “You’ll help me upstairs, of course.”
“Denise can help you.”
Another groan from Jet. “The assistant? Really?”
The smile finally disappeared. “You’re being an ass,” Christina said.
He smiled. “Of course I am. That’s why I’m the prince this season.”
Christina frowned. "That isn't the reason you're the prince." She glanced quickly at us before looking back at Jet. “Be an ass to everyone else. I’m not your personal assistant.”
Jet reached for his forehead. “Oh dear. I think I might be getting a migraine.” He looked at the reality TV show hostess, an evil grin slowly appearing on his face. “Wouldn’t it be terrible if I got sick and had to drop out at the last minute?”
Christina closed her eyes tight, squeezing her fists at her side. I could almost imagine her counting to ten to avoid losing her temper. After a couple of minutes, she exhaled slowly and opened her eyes. The smile slowly - very slowly - crawled back into place. “Yes, Jet. That would be terrible. Let me show you to the room so you can rest.”
As she helped Jet up the stairs as if he were an 80-year-old with bad knees, Christina looked over her shoulder at me. “Since you don’t officially meet him until tonight, make sure and act all impressed and surprised… and you might want to start getting ready.”
Impressed to meet that? Pretty sure my acting skills would have to be Oscar-worthy to make that happen.
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to wear to something like this,” I said, looking at my sisters for help.
“It’s fine,” Denise said before Paige or Pita could provide any input. “Since it’s the Halloween special, everything has been taken care of. Just keep your fingers crossed that the fog machine arrives on time.”
I looked at my sisters. “Fog machine?”
Chapter 4
As luck would have it, Denise’s fog machine didn’t arrive on time. Fortunately, Anthony had returned to the inn early, and Broomhilda was with him, wearing her usual wardrobe that consisted of a short black dress, green and black leggings, and black shoes. I couldn’t help but smile and shake my head at the leggings. Witches in Transylvaniatown didn’t do subtle.
After explaining to the witch what was needed, we assured Christina and Denise that Broomhilda had a way to create fog on demand. We just left out the part about her using magic.
“This is so cool,” Broomhilda sad, unable to keep the goofy grin off her face. Apparently, she was a fan of Prince of Roses, too.
“This is stupid,” I grumbled, unable to share in her enthusiasm. “And I look stupid.”
“No, you don’t,” Broomhilda said.
“Yeah, you do,” Pita said, trying – and failing – to hold back a tiny giggle.
We were standing in the cemetery across the street from the Dreadful Inn, along with the other contestants – or Rosettes, as they were known to fans. All of us were wearing long flowing white gowns.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the faint glow of our protective Sunstone jewelry – my ring, Paige’s necklace, and Pita’s earrings – faded since the light was no longer a danger to us. Christina ran up to us, her excitement barely contained. “Okay, it’s time. Start the fog, Hilda.”
“It’s Broomhilda.”
Christina waved the correction away. “Yeah, whatever. Fog. Now.”
Broomhilda glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. I didn’t know if the witch had the power to turn someone into a frog, but for just a few seconds, I thought I was about to find out.
And then she shook her head and smiled, as if realizing the obnoxious woman wasn’t worth the effort. She knelt down, placing both palms flat against the ground, her eyes closed in concentration.
“What’s she doing?” Christina asked, horrified. “Is she sick? Is she going to hurl?” She placed her arm in front of me and pulled me away from the kneeling witch.
The idea that the reality show hostess didn’t want me in the spew zone made me start to think that she really did care about something other than ratings.
“Be careful,” Christina said. “These dresses are five-thousand dollars a night to rent… and they can’t be returned if they get messed up.”
Yeah. She didn’t just care about ratings. She cared about money, too.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “She’s not going to hurl. She’s getting ready to make the fog.”
“How?”
“Magic,” I whispered.
Christina rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Whatever.”
I couldn’t help smiling. Funny thing about people. You can actually tell them the truth about something supernatural and there’s an excellent chance they won’t believe you.
I heard a gasp from one of the other girls and noticed tendrils of fog start to rise from the ground, growing thicker with each passing second. Within minutes, the whole cemetery was cloaked within a heavy mist.
Broomhilda stood up. “Will that do?”
Christina glanced around, seemingly unimpressed by the fact that someone had just created fog from doing nothing more than touching the ground. “Yes, Hilda. That’s perfect.”
She glanced at me, that million-watt smile sliding effortlessly into place. “It’s your town so you get the honor of going first. Wait for your signal and then head towards the Inn. Try to walk slow and regal… and don’t forget to be impressed and happy – No! Ecstatic – about meeting Jet.”
She was already walking towards the star of the show before I could respond. I glanced at Pita and Paige. “Why am I doing this again?”
“So Granny Mags doesn’t do something much worse,” Paige responded.
I frowned. “Could anything really be worse than this?” I motioned to the dress I was wearing. It was long and white and… gauzy. It looked like I had tried – and failed – to dress up as a mummy for Halloween. It also had a neckline forming a ‘V’ almost to my naval so the ‘girls’ were letting their presence be known.
Paige looked me over from head to toe, her frown matching my own. “It does have a strong Brides of Dracula look to it.”
Pita groaned. “I hated that movie.”
“We all hated that movie,” I added.
One of the other girls – a tall redhead – broke apart from the group she was hanging with and approached us. The gauzy white dress didn’t look good on her, either. Her lip curled in disgust as she eyed me. “Honey, you’ve got t
he perfect place for a Halloween show but do yourself a favor and bow out gracefully.”
I looked at her, stunned. “I beg your pardon?”
The girl flashed a condescending smile. “There are always a few girls put in the show for the express purpose of being voted out. They have zero chance of getting the guy. Their job is to show up, cry a little bit, and then leave. Sometimes things get messy, though, because… well, because those girls don’t realize what their job is.” She stepped closer. “Don’t make things messy.”
“You want messy, Red?” Paige asked. She bared her fangs and hissed.
The girl’s pale skin became even paler and she quickly retreated back to the safety of her friends.
Thankfully, Denise was too busy talking on her always-present earpiece to notice the altercation. “10-4,” she said, almost under her breath. She looked at me. “They’re ready. You’re on.”
“Wish me luck,” I said.
“Good luck,” Paige, Pita, Broomhilda, and Anthony said in unison, offering quick hugs before I turned towards the Dreadful Inn. It was my home, and I loved it, but it was the scariest place in the world right now, all because of the man standing in front of the porch, the man I had to pretend to be interested in or face the wrath of Granny Mags.
“It’s showtime,” I whispered to myself, forcing my feet to move.
It was a strange thing. Walking with the knowledge that numerous cameras were aimed in my direction, recording my every move. All of a sudden, I wasn’t sure I could do something that I had been doing all my life.
I tried to remain calm, putting one foot in front of the other, and all of a sudden, I couldn’t figure out what to do with my arms. Letting them swing at my sides didn’t seem quite right but anything else seemed equally as awkward. It didn’t help that a fan had been positioned halfway between the cemetery and the Inn, making my hair blow across my face as my dress snapped like a ship’s sail in a storm.
I held the obscenely low-cut neckline of my dress closed with one hand to avoid any embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions while using the other to brush my long auburn hair from my face, and then, before I knew it, I was standing in front of Jet.
The Vampire and the Ink of Doom (Dreadful Vampire Mysteries Book 1) Page 9