The room was about the size of my apartment, but that’s where the similarity ended. My place oozed class (at least the part I’d been able to afford to decorate). This place oozed, too, but not in a good way.
An ancient queen-sized bed stood center stage with a bright orange comforter. There were two white Formica-topped nightstands and a matching dresser. An orange papier mâché lantern hung in one corner. Orange shag rugs covered the hardwood floor (seriously). And the pièce de résistance? Orange and turquoise polka dot wallpaper.
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach as my gaze swiveled to the small open doorway that led to the bathroom.
Polka dot towels. Orange bath mat. Turquoise shower curtain. And more wallpaper.
Run!
That’s what my super-intuitive vamp instincts told me. Or maybe that was my snotty, pretentious, vamp DNA.
Hello? It’s a decent room. One for which you should be ultra-thankful. What about poor Esther? Chances are, she’d kill for a place like this right now.
All right, so kill wasn’t the perfect word choice for a time like this.
I had a quick mental of her chained in a cellar somewhere (Did they have those in Texas?) or maybe an attic. Yeah, probably an attic. Or a crawl space.
I saw her sprawled on a filthy wooden floor, a pool of blood beneath her. The musty smell of urine and death hung in the air. Rat droppings littered the area surrounding her. Her body lay broken and bleeding and—
I quickly slammed my mind closed to the rest of the visual. I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat and forced my gaze to make another 360.
It was sort of retro, and familiar. I’d once had a mini-smock with that exact wallpaper pattern (talk about prime blackmail material). Most of all, the room was completely free of blood and poop. Unless you counted the walkway outside—see calf reference above—but that was only temporary.
Bottom line, the room wouldn’t inspire a page in Modern Interior, but I could deal.
I put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, locked and bolted it and shoved a chair under the doorknob—just in case the sign didn’t speak for itself. I secured the drapes and blinds and grabbed my suitcase.
I changed into a T-shirt and pink lace boy shorts before pulling out one of the eight bottles of blood I’d brought. It took my eyes a second to focus with all the polka dots and realize that there was no micro wave. A quick glance in the bathroom, however, and I spotted a one-cup coffeemaker.
A few minutes later, I poured myself a cup of warm blood, kicked off my shoes and settled on the bed. I took a sip, pulled out my cell and checked my voice mail.
“You have eighteen new messages …”
Ma. Delete.
Ma. Delete.
Ma. Delete.
Ma. Delete.
Ma. Delete.
Ma. Delete.
Ma. Delete.
Ma. Delete.
Message number nine was from my brother.
“It’s Rob. Mom’s looking for you. She sounded really pissed, so I’d call her if I were you. Plus, she said if you didn’t call her, she was going to your apartment to look for you. I really don’t want her here because I really don’t want to explain about Nina. Not because it bothers me talking about it or anything like that. Hell, no. I can say her name all day and it doesn’t bother me one bit. I don’t give a shit if we ever get back together. And I surely don’t give a shit if she’s sorry. Though she should be on account of I didn’t do a damned thing. You can tell her I said that, too. On second thought, you might hurt her feelings and I wouldn’t want to be a bastard. Not because I want her back. Just because, you know, she’s got girlfriends and I know how you women talk. Before you know it, I’ll have a rep for being an asshole and I won’t be able to get a date to save my life.”
Sure.
“So call her. And for the record, I wasn’t the one who decided to take a piss on your rug.” I heard a purrrrr and a meow www in the background. “Who knew the little guy had so much in him? Call Mom.” Click.
The only person I was calling was animal control to report a rabid cat loose in my apartment.
I relished a picture of Killer getting zapped by one of those cattle prods (not that they use those but, hey, a vamp can dream) for an eighth of a second before number ten echoed in my ear.
“It’s Max. Mom’s looking for you. She said you were supposed to help her with some plan and you didn’t show. I told her I wasn’t your babysitter and that she should head over to your apartment if she really wants to talk to you.”
Uh-oh.
“Call her,” he added. Click.
The next seven messages were from my mother. I deleted all of them and moved on to number eighteen.
“It’s Evie. I hope the trip went well and you’re soaking up the desert sun at this very moment.”
I squelched a twinge of guilt for lying to my one and only employee. I know, right? I should turn on the BV I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-anyone-but-myself mentality. I tried. Really, I did. But I was starting to suspect that switch had been broken at birth.
“I found someone for Tabitha,” she went on. “He owns a dry cleaners in Queens. He fits the description, but he isn’t into magic so much as comedy. He does stand-up every Saturday night. Hopefully she likes jokes more than she does hat tricks. Mia called and said they went to a macramé class for date number three and that she made her own handbag. It was celibacy at its finest and she’s thrilled.”
I wouldn’t use “celibacy” and “thrilled” in the same sentence, but then I’m a born vampire: i.e., a sexual dynamo.
Give me an orgasm or give me death!
“Also, Jonelle had a wonderful time with Uncle Harrington and wants to do it again. The only problem is, he couldn’t stand her. Said she was all over him and he didn’t even get a chance to nap during the movie.”
Come again?
“Even after he farted. It seems she likes a strong man who isn’t afraid to be himself and she wants to take him to her salsa club on Friday evening. I warned her what might happen, but she’s adamant. Help! And speaking of help, your mother called looking for you.”
Imagine that.
“Twenty-three times. That’s a new record for her. Anyhow, she kept saying something about an ambush and how if she can’t do the ambush in the comfort of her own home, then she’ll have to do it elsewhere.” Click.
Uh-oh.
A wave of anxiety rushed through me and I punched in Jack’s number. Surely she hadn’t decided to go for the poison. Jack would never forgive her. I would never forgive her.
“Where’s Mandy?” I blurted the moment I heard my brother’s voice.
“Underneath me,” my brother replied. “We’re about to have sex. We’ve been about to have sex for the past two hours, but we keep getting interrupted.”
“Is mom there?”
“I like a little kink as much as the next vampire, but I draw the line at that.”
“I didn’t mean in bed with you. I meant, has she been there?”
“Earlier. She would still be here, but Mandy pretended that she got called out on an emergency at the hospital, so Ma finally left. I swear, if I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t believe it. I think she’s really starting to like Mandy. She was fussing all over her, propping up her feet and even making her a snack.”
Oh-no.
“She didn’t eat it, did she?” I blurted. “The snack? She didn’t eat the snack, did she?”
“She’s saving it until later. She wants to work up an appetite first.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Says you. You’re not the one who keeps getting interrupted.”
“I’m sorry. Go back to what you were doing, but do not let her eat the after-sex snack.”
“Why not?”
“Because …” Our mother’s a self-absorbed lunatic.
I wanted to say it. I needed to say it. The thing is, he’d sounded so happy at the thought that our mom was being supportive of Ma
ndy and the whole baby thing.
I couldn’t bust his delusional bubble.
“Because eating too soon after sex can cause really bad cramps.”
“No way.”
“Way. I heard it on Discovery Health.”
“Since when do you watch Discovery Health? Since when do you watch any TV?”
“I watch TV.”
“Platinum Weddings doesn’t count.”
“Since I deal with all types of clients at Dead End Dating, I figured I’d better beef up my knowledge of humans. I can’t hook them up if I don’t know what makes them tick.” Can I improv or what? “I also saw a show about reproduction. It said if you’re trying to up your chances at conception, you should eat only eggs for seventy-two hours following intercourse. Mom didn’t make eggs, did she?”
“It’s a ham and turkey sub with mayonnaise.”
“Well, then, I guess you’ll have to throw it out in favor of an omelette.”
“That sounds a little far-fetched.”
“To you. You’re a born vamp with a weird, twisted digestive tract. Humans are different.” I heard Mandy’s voice in the background, followed by a few muffled words from Jack. “Mandy said she’s never heard about the eggs, but she can see how the protein might play into the fertilization of the reproductive egg.”
“See?”
“She says we’ll give it a try.”
“Great.”
A moment of silence settled in and relief swamped me until I heard Jack’s impatient, “Can I have sex now or are you going to give me another lesson in Human 101?”
“Throw out the sub,” I added before pressing the OFF button.
Disaster averted. For now.
But who knew what my ma would try tomorrow? Or the night after?
I had to do something.
“You can’t poison Mandy,” I told my mother when she picked up the phone on the second ring. “It’s not right.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not right because you, um, promised I could help.”
“Lilliana? Where are you? You were supposed to meet me this evening to head over to Jack’s. Instead, I had to go alone. Your father was busy with his golf lesson and Max couldn’t do it. And Rob said you made him promise to watch Killer, which was the only reason he had to stay at that dump you call an apartment.”
I let the comment slide and gathered my strength. “I’m on a business trip.” I crossed my fingers and gave her my spiel about the Success 101 Retreat and how it was going to make me a more powerful matchmaker.
“Arizona? That’s out in the middle of nowhere.”
“The idea is to get away from all distraction, relax and focus on your inner power.”
“But we’re having a crisis here. Your brother and his human are probably having relations at this very moment.”
“But it won’t count because she ate the sub.”
“She did?”
“I heard it from Jack’s very lips. Which means you don’t have to worry about it until, say, next Friday.”
“Nonsense. Each pill is only effective for twenty-four hours.”
“Not when mixed with food.”
“That’s ridiculous. Where did you hear such nonsense?”
“Ivan,” I heard myself blurt. “He heard it from his OB/GYN buddy and told me. That is, when we weren’t making out.”
My mother latched onto the comment like a dog grabbing her favorite bone. “The two of you made out?”
“No doubt. So you see, the proteins feed the birth control molecules and improve the pill’s effectiveness. With a twelve-incher, I’d say she won’t be fertilizing an egg for a good couple of weeks.”
“I did use a double layer of meat to disguise the taste.”
“There you go. Now stop worrying about it until I get back.” I spent the next few minutes listening to my mother’s suggestions for flowers for the commitment ceremony with Ivan.
“We just sucked face, Ma. It’s not like he proposed.”
“Not yet, but who knows what will happen at the next hunt?”
“About that… I don’t think I’ll be back from the retreat in time.”
“But—”
I cut her off with some gurgling noises. “Oops, I think we have a bad connection,” I added in between a grrrrr and a shhhhh. “Call you later.” Click.
I downed the rest of my blood and sat there for several minutes listening to the sounds from outside. The animals. The muted voices from the adjoining rooms. The occasional car that passed by. The faint crying of a baby, followed by a woman’s soothing shh.
A wave of loneliness swept over me.
Crazy, right?
At the same time, I was hundreds of miles from home in a town I couldn’t even find on the map. On a mission to save my good friend from torture and death. It made sense that I would feel a little wigged out.
It certainly wasn’t because I was, you know, thinking about Ty and the future and worrying over whether he felt the same way about me that I felt about him.
No, I was just feeling a little lost and I needed to hear a familiar voice. That was the only reason I dialed his number. It wasn’t because I wanted to hear his voice.
“This is Ty. You know the routine …” Beep.
“It’s me. I just wanted to say good morning. I hope your case is going well.” I caught the Love ya before it could slide past my lips. “Um, good luck.”
I spent the next few minutes outlining a plan of action for tomorrow. I’d check out Wanda’s cousin over at the pharmacy and ask him about Mordred. I cooked up a story about a wealthy, prominent woman who’d met and fallen in love with Mordred right here in Lonely Fork years ago. They’d gone their separate ways and now she wanted to reconnect with his son (not that Mordred had a son, but he’d lived here over fifty years ago and so it wasn’t believable that he wouldn’t have aged since then. He would be an old man by now, but a son … He would fit the description I’d jotted down to a T).
My gaze snagged on the stats and something niggled at me. He seemed familiar somehow. I hadn’t thought so when I’d seen him at the meet and greet. But now, looking at the details on paper …
I shook away the crazy sensation and focused on my story. It was my job as matchmaker and perpetuator of happily-ever-after to find the son and introduce him to his father’s first love.
Not the perfect alibi, but I could make it work.
I finished, turned off my phone (just in case my ma decided to call me back), killed the light and snuggled down under the covers. I didn’t need to worry about Esther or feel sorry for myself. I had a big night tomorrow and I needed some sleep if I wanted to be on top of my game.
Unfortunately, someone else needed ice and so I spent the next half hour listening to the machine groan and grumble just outside my door before I finally unearthed the earplugs and stuffed them in.
Since I’m Super Vamp, I could still hear every little bump and groan anyway. I ended up burying my head under two pillows and humming to myself until I finally nodded off.
The noise followed me, of course, reminding me how far away I was from my apartment (the most I had to put up with there was CNN and the occasional fight from the couple down on two) and Killer and my life.
Even more, it reminded me of Esther and how alone she probably felt.
Not for long. I was here and I was going to find her.
Before it was too late.
At least that’s what I was telling myself. I just wasn’t so sure I actually believed it.
“Dinner’s at five,” Elmer said when I finally managed to pick up the ringing phone on the night-stand. “We get the stuff catered in once a week from the Porky Pig down the street. It’s first come, first served and I got a whole mess of bull riders headed inside right now. If you want some, you’d better get down here before these boys eat up everything.”
“I don’t really do barbecue, but thanks anyway.” I listened to Elmer give me the lowdown on the Continental brea
kfast being served the following morning—Krispy Kreme and orange juice—and gave him a cheerful “Can’t wait” before sliding the phone back into place.
Ugh.
My head pounded and my arms and legs ached. I felt as if I’d spent the day tossing and turning thanks to a loud ice machine and a per sis tent calf.
Oh, wait. I had spent the day tossing and turning and listening to a loud ice machine and a per sis tent calf.
I buried my head under the pillow and dove straight into LaLa Land. At least, I tried.
Mooooooooooo. The sound reached beneath the surface and hauled me back to consciousness. My eyes snapped open. I fought my way past a pile of blankets and stumbled from the bed. Peeking around the edge of the blinds to make sure the sun had dipped below the horizon, I hauled open the door and scowled.
“Enough!”
The calf looked at me. I looked at the calf. He moooooooed and I grrrrrrrrrred. Instead of crazy, sleep-deprived woman, I went for bloodthirsty vampire. I snarled and flashed some serious fang.
The animal gave a frightened moan, pranced backward and scrambled down the walkway. Psyched, I turned toward the ice machine.
“You want a piece of me?”
It knocked and shuddered. I tried the snarl-and-flash thing. No luck. I balled my fingers and popped it on the side. Metal groaned and dented. The machine gave a dying sputter and dumped a load of ice on my feet.
“That’s what I thought.” I shook off the ice, thanked the Big Vamp Upstairs that I wasn’t wearing my Chanel silk slippers and headed back inside my room.
Quiet settled around me, but I was already wide awake. I stared at the ceiling all of five seconds before reaching for my cell.
Evie answered on the second ring and recited this week’s DED slogan. “Dead End Dating. Where love is just a profile and several paychecks away.”
It’s just temporary, all right?
“How’s it going?” I asked her.
“I added a new client today.”
“The custom deluxe package?”
“The nifty thrifty, but if it’s any consolation, I think she’ll be easy to match up. She’s been married eight times and she’s afraid of being alone. I’m betting we hit pay dirt with the first prospect.”
Sucker for Love: The Dead-End Dating Novel Page 11