by Ann Denton
“I thought I was supposed to head to the pumpkin patch after watching this interview with Darrell.”
Someone pounds on the locker room door. I go to open it.
Darrell’s standing there with a big cocky grin. “Ladies, you are in for some fun! Vic one’s family went to the courthouse by mistake, so someone over there is handling the interview.”
“Okay …” This does not explain why Darrell’s so stinkin’ excited.
“Instead, Bennett’s decided that I should go pay a little visit to my old friends. See if I can’t dig up anything that shows the Crypts are involved in this mess.”
“Why would they be involved?”
“This is too big, too complex for a single person to do. Makes sense that they’re tag-teaming it. We know they had someone at the gala.”
“But, even if they were mad at the Halloween Board members, this last guy is random,” Becca points out.
“Maybe they’ve just figured out a power buyer. Maybe they’ve opened up a market. There are a lotta possibilities. Don’t worry. I’m good at massaging contacts. If the gang is in on this, I’ll find out.”
My stomach drops to the floor. I want to drop too, and just slither away and hide underneath something. I wish I had snake powers. “Um … you mean like we need to go to Hearts and Powers or—”
“Oh, no. The Crypts are throwing a rockin’ “White Trash Bash” tonight. Anyone who’s anyone will be there.”
Is it possible for a stomach to sink below the earth? Like to the magma layer? Because I think mine’s there right now. Darrell’s literally proposing I walk into my own personal hell.
Behind me Becca squeals. “Oh, so fun! Oh, but you know what? No one else is following up on this Flood dude.”
“I can stay,” I volunteer.
Becca narrows her eyes. “And steal my lead? I don’t think so. You’re going with Darrell.”
I turn pleading eyes on Darrell. “You don’t need me, do you?”
“Hell yeah, I need a partner to watch my back. Those blood suckers are dangerous.”
“You don’t have blood.”
“Not the point.”
Becca slaps a black catsuit covered in paint speckles into my hands.
“What’s this?”
“My cousin’s an artist. Loves paintings. You’re gonna be a Jackson Pollock.”
I arch a brow.
Becca shrugs. “I’m gonna be a Picasso painting.” She holds up her bodysuit, so I can see an ear on her leg, a nose on the side and two eyes stacked on her torso. She’s added a spell to make the eyes blink. ‘Cause that doesn’t look creepy at all.
“I’d rather be Picasso.” Mine’s just paint blobs. How boring.
“Want to squish into my body suit?” She holds it up. It looks like a baby onesie against my body.
I glare at her.
She shrugs. “I made Seena be Van Gogh’s starry night. I thought it would be funnier if he wore that costume, but—”
I sigh. “This is fine. Can’t miss out on a chance to embarrass Seena.”
She winks.
Darrell clears his throat. “I don’t care what you wear, as long as it’s costume-ish. But we gotta get going.” He turns and lets the locker door slam behind him.
I sigh, defeated.
“I have face paint too, if you want?” Becca’s hesitant.
“Why not?”
If I’m walking into hell, at least I can do it with a painted-on smile.
Chapter 18
I’m stunned when I see Darrell. He does not look … like a mummy at all. He looks like a sleazy Jersey gangster. He’s got the slicked back hair, leather jacket, and gold chains. And skin.
“Nice … costume?”
“Disguise. This is my undercover persona, baby,” Darrell winks.
“It’s so … sleazy.”
“Yeah, it’s the best.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Gor’s Pawnshop. Where else?”
I nod. I poke his face and the his cheek is clammy under my finger. But otherwise, it’s very realistic. “I’m gonna have to find a new location for my costume shopping. You’ve got me beat.”
“You know it.”
Darrell insists we walk to the Crypts’ party. To enjoy the ambiance of the holiday. Yes, because I love the sounds of part-fae kids screeching as they run from house to house to get candy. Alright, it’s not that bad. They’re generally kinda cute in their human costumes. Truckers and waitresses, nurses and bikers. I even see a couple pro-wrestlers.
It takes under ten minutes of swerving around sticky-fingered miniature people to get to our destination.
Apparently, the Crypts’ have splurged on the old demon mansion for their party. Mammon’s Mansion, the sign on the creaky gate reads, as Darrell pushes it open. I stare up at the Tudor and Gothic mansion. It looks like an old English castle. A combination of brick and stone on one side and a pitched roof with white walls and exposed wood framework on the other. The stairs are lined in glowing, carved pumpkins—a nod to the vamps human origins. Organ music drifts out of the windows on an upper floor.
I huddle closer to Darrell as we walk. There are vampires chatting on every side, canned PBRs in hand. (That’s Pure Blood Reds for those who don’t know.) And though they’re dressed in overalls and plaid and have blacked out some of their fangs to fit the white trash theme, I feel very, very nervous.
The Crypts don’t like me.
God, I hope Luke’s not here. I hope Cookie’s not here. I hope Darrell’s done with his contacts in like five minutes flat and I can just hide behind a couple trees in the front yard while he talks to them.
Darrell’s bandaged hand squeezes mine. “Lighten up. We’re here to party! You better look ready to party.”
I force a smile. Thank goodness my face is painted. Hopefully it hides how strained my smile is. I don’t even know what I look like. I just closed my eyes and let Becca go to work. Because, when it feels like you’re walking to your own execution, do you really care? All I know is my face is speckled with paint and my hair is still up in that terrible wave thing from Mrs. Snow.
A vamp with a mullet wig wolf-whistles at us from behind. I turn to glare at him. He’s got about four strings of black light necklaces on, and it looks like he might be walking the line of DUI. Wonder who he’s been sippin’ on?
When his glazed eyes slide over my figure, he stumbles backward. “That’s fucked up!” He turns and makes his way down the stairs.
I turn to Darrell, who’s gotten to the front door and is making nice with the security golem.
“What’s on my face?” I ask Darrell.
He glances over at me. “Paint spots.” He holds out an elbow and escorts me into the entryway.
“Hmm. I think a vamp over there mightta’ been drinking someone on LSD or something then. He acted like I looked crazy or something.”
Darrell shrugs. “Not surprising. They like to party hard.”
We pass more vamps in straw hats and cutoff shorts. A game of corn hole occupies a side room. A few humans are there, and I can see a vamp miss, then his friend chant “Drink, drink!” as he wraps his arms around a giggling human.
I roll my eyes.
When we hit the main ballroom, I freeze. Impressed? That’s an understatement. Awed is more like it. Black lights twinkle all around the room and shoot up the walls from purple spotlights. Spiderwebs decorate all the windows and corners. Branches crisscross along the ceiling for any party-goers who might be able to take on bat form. The dance floor is a thick red glass. There’s either lighting or an enchantment underneath it because it looks like we’re about to step onto a pool of fresh blood.
The high-class nature of the decorations clashes with the Wranglers and cowboy boots two-stepping to ragtime organ music. But humans have never made sense. Why should vamps?
Darrell’s at my side and leans down. “I heard that the transformations are going on here tonight. So, stick close. Don’t want to chanc
e anyone thinking we came to interfere. Security’s gonna be pretty tight outside the main room.”
I nod. “Roger dodger.”
We edge around the ballroom as Darrell looks for his contacts. I try to keep my face down, to avoid searching the crowd for Luke (or letting Cookie spot me).
But I hear muttering and that makes me glance over. Two vamps—one with pigtails and a piece of straw between her fangs, and the other with a belt buckle the size of his fist—glare at me.
“That’s not funny,” the woman scowls at me.
“Some people ain’t got class, hun. Come on,” the guy puts an arm around her and leads her away.
What are they talking about?
I look down. There, on my stomach, popping out underneath the black light, is phosphorescent paint. It glows. And it’s in the symbol of a frickin’ sun. WTF?
“Drat!” I grab Darrell’s arm. “Darrell, I have a problem.”
He shrugs me off. “Let go. Just spotted my contact.” He walks off before I can say another word.
I hug the wall, one arm protectively around my torso. I try to will myself invisible. But my two fans return. And they bring a friend. A big one.
Mammoth Vamp walks up to me. “Think you’re funny, huh?”
“What? No. I just was looking—”
“Stakes aren’t a joking matter.”
“What?” I glance down at my torso. The glowing paint spots have rearranged themselves. They no longer form a sun. Now they’ve made a pointed stake. Mother effer. Becca must have used enchanted paint or something. What kind of enchantment? A ‘screw you Lyon’ enchantment that’s for sure. An Offensive spell maybe? Dammit all.
“Look, a friend gave me this costume—I didn’t—”
“What’s going on here?” Mammoth is joined by a vampire who has not dressed up. He’s in a formal suit and a red-lined cape. I do not comment on how he’s capitulating to stereotypes because I have a sinking feeling I’m in deep shit.
“Look at her costume.”
The Dracula dude stares at me and arches a brow. “Holy water? Really?”
It’s wimpy if I cry right now, right? I glance down, and sure enough, the glowing paint has changed again. “No! I swear.”
“What kinda gag is this? Who sent you?”
“No one. I have a friend who made this—” I’m killing Becca. Killing her. If I survive. “I’ll just leave. This was a bad idea.”
Drac looks over my shoulder. “Too late. Looks like you’re wanted.” He grabs my arm roughly and pulls me toward a dark hallway at the edge of the ballroom. He drags me into the blackness and my eyes don’t have time to adjust before he’s opening a door and shoving me into a room.
I fall to the floor on an expensive oriental rug. I glance up. I’m in a formal sitting room.
And there, on the couch in front of me, dressed in a Victorian high-necked gown, is my worst nightmare.
Cookie Gonzalez.
“Lyon Fox,” Cookie takes a sip from her teacup and dabs at her lips with a lacy napkin. As if this were a casual meeting.
Her grey hair still has stripes of black, emphasized by the braids crowning her head. She has a smattering of freckles, crow’s feet, and a bright smile. She looks festive in her bright green gown. Not deadly. I’m pretty sure that’s on purpose. She’s one of those lure-you-in-with-a-false-sense-of-grandmotherliness types. “Well, Ms. Fox. I have to admit, I’m shocked to see you here.”
I stand.
She eyes my costume.
Drac holds up a black light next to me. “She’s been wandering the ballroom freaking people out.” The violet light washes over my face and I watch Cookie’s reaction to the changing paint on my crappy costume. I look down quickly to see Luke’s face form in the paint. Is she offended by him? Mad at him? His face turns away.
I look back up to see her glaring at me.
“Look, I didn’t want to come here. And I definitely didn’t mean for this to happen. Someone spelled my costume,” I gesture at my torso.
“Why must you intrude on my life?” she sets down the teacup. Shit’s about to get real.
“You’re the one sending me cookies.” Dammit. I need my lips sewn shut.
“Anyone with an ounce of sense would understand that was a warning. A very tame one at that. I don’t give warnings twice.”
I swallow hard but force a smile on my face. If she’s gonna kill me, I’m not letting this bitch know she scares me too. Yes. I’m stupidly stubborn in the face of death. “Why the heck would you need to warn me? I’m not getting into your business. I couldn’t care less about you and your thugs.” I almost say she should be more worried about Bennett. But I stop my stupid tongue before I throw him under the bus. No need for two of us to die.
“I want you to leave Luke alone.”
Wait. What? That came out of left field. If Luke helped her send me the cookies, of course I’d leave him alone. I’ve been leaving him alone. Why would she say that? Did she send the cookies on her own? Without him? He said he didn’t know. Bennett thought that was a lie, but … “Why do you want me to leave him alone? What’s it to you?”
“My business is my business. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Let’s not.”
Cookie stands. Chills creep up my spine. And I get a sense of how dangerous she actually is.
But something in me won’t let this go. His face flashed up on my stomach when she looked at my costume. What does this spelled paint show? A sun, a stake, holy water, Luke. What if it’s not offensive stuff? Could it be … fears? Why is she scared of him?
I look at Cookie again and her eyes blaze. She’d incinerate me with that look if she could. What if she’s not scared of him? But scared for him?
“If he’s that important to you, you should let him push me away himself.”
I see a flash of guilt before her calm mask descends.
Luke didn’t know. He didn’t try to scare me. Warn me. Mess with me. He wasn’t part of this. Her look says it all.
He told me the truth.
But she knows Luke. Thinks I’m bad for him. And thinks she has the right to interfere.
Who the frickin’ hell does she think she is? I stare and the gears slowly click in my head.
“Shenanigans!” I gasp. “You’re his mom!”
“I was told you were slow. Didn’t realize that slow,” she sits and picks her cup back up. “And we prefer the term sire.”
“So, what? I’m not good enough for your son?” Now that I know why she’s interfering, I’m just straight pissed. My ears are hot. I’m that mad.
“Of course not. And I don’t want him further tainted by your sweetheart stupidity. He’s already drifted far enough.”
Fury spews from my mouth like I’m giving birth to some alien creature that’s pure rage. “How dare you!”
“A mother’s love has no bounds, Lyon,” Cookie says as her eyes flicker toward someone behind me. She gives a nod.
I whirl. Instinct drives me. I know that was the signal. Every nerve in my body screams. As, somehow, I realize that nod means my death.
I see Drac coming at me with a sword. He swings it in a high arc over his head. It gleams as it descends, destined for my neck.
I force myself not to flinch. Not to move away. To face it. “You’ve lost your weapon,” I whisper. I feel the blade kiss my neck. A drop of warm blood slides down to my collarbone.
I know the spell works when my right leg burns, contorts, stretches and bursts through the cat suit. My chicken leg erupts in all its glory. I shift my weight to my left leg and pivot so I can see Cookie’s face. Her jaw is open in shock. Her teacup is tilted in her hand, dripping blood onto her lap. She doesn’t notice. Her eyes are on my leg. Gradually, they make their way back to my face.
I cock an eyebrow. “I have a new policy. Mothers need boundaries.”
Cookie slowly recovers and sets down her teacup. To my utter shock, she laughs. Belly shaking, full body laughs consume her. Tears form in her
eyes.
Beside me, Drac takes a step forward. He grabs my upper arm roughly. “Ma’am?” he addresses Cookie.
She waves her arm. “It’s fine, Gustave. Leave us. Bring Lyon some tea, with sugar.”
He nods, not questioning her change of heart.
Cookie gestures for one of the chairs near her. “Please, sit. I think an apology may be in order.” She dabs at her dress with her dainty napkin, mopping up the spilled blood.
I shuffle slowly to a chair, very confused, and not wanting her to see how weak I actually am with this stupid leg.
“You have guts,” Cookie says.
“Sometimes more guts than sense.”
“Tell me why you’re here tonight,” she leans against the couch. “I’m guessing you weren’t searching for my Luke. You’d know better than to find him at one of our ‘morally questionable’ events.” She uses air quotes. And in that moment, I understand Luke so much more. He’s turned his back on this. On her, for the most part. He doesn’t want this life.
It’s like a ray of sunshine burst through the clouds in my chest. Hope. Bright. And brilliant. And blazing.
I turn to Cookie. I’m gonna cash in on this newfound—respect? Shock? Goodwill? I’m not sure what she’s feeling toward me. Or why my chicken leg has caused this change of heart. This doesn’t feel like the right time to question that. It feels like the time to use that to my advantage. “I’m here looking for leads on the fae murders going on at the hospital.”
“You risked my wrath for an investigation?”
“Fae are dying. Some people on the force think a group’s behind it. Mainly your gang. They think you want to sell the fae power that’s been drained.” I lay all the cards on the table. If we’re going for trust here, I have to start, right? Should I even be going for trust with a gang leader? Too late.
Cookie laughs. “You do know that fae are flocking to the ley lines as we speak.”
“Yup and the leaches are right there with them. Which is why I don’t think it’s you. What would power go for this time of year? Who’d buy, if they can go soak up extra fae power for free?”
“So, you don’t think vampires did this. Yet you think we know—”