Exes and Exorcisms

by Keira Blackwood

  EXES AND EXORCISMS

  FORBIDDEN FANGS, BOOK 2

  KEIRA BLACKWOOD

  LIZA STREET

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  The Forbidden Series

  About Keira and Liza

  Paranormal Chick Lit

  Exes and Exorcisms: A Paranormal Chick Lit Novel

  Forbidden Fangs, Book 2

  Copyright © 2021 Keira Blackwood & Liza Street

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual persons, places, or events is coincidental. All characters in this story are at least 18 years of age or older.

  1

  XAVIER

  “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy” serenaded customers sitting in their booths eating ribeyes bigger than their faces. The chorus garbled and cracked like the speakers were underwater. Along with the bloody aroma of searing meat, the air was filled with sweat, cedar, and humans.

  “Whoever owns this place can’t spell, but they sure can fry up a fine slab of beef,” a middle-aged man said to his companion as I passed by their table. He tapped his finger on his napkin where the restaurant’s name was printed.

  The man across from him tipped his cowboy hat and muttered something unintelligible, with his overstuffed cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s.

  The Stakehouse wasn’t spelled that way because of a mistake. The sirloins were a front for the real business.

  It would have been obvious to anyone who knew anything about vampires or weaponry. But none of the patrons ever seemed to catch on. Wooden stakes graced the walls—deadly decor arranged into peg art. One wall bore a configuration of stakes that formed an outline of the state map of Tennessee. Sadly, no one seemed to get that one, even though Tennessee happened to be the state they lived in.

  Other displays were recognized more often, like one everyone guessed was meant to be a cow. When I looked at it, all I saw was the Cliffs of Insanity from my all time favorite film, The Princess Bride. Don’t ask me how a cow and a cliff look the same, but my guess was the cow was on its back, legs up in the air.

  With a nod to the chef, I headed through the kitchen and straight into the freezer. Inside the walk-in were shelves of meats and fixin’s. The keypad I needed to access was behind the giant vats of pork ’n’ beans. The freezer hummed, blurring out the sounds of the kitchen and dining rooms. Even with my shifter hearing, all I could detect was my own heartbeat over the white noise. My breath looked like a stream of fog seeping away from my nose in front of me.

  I reached back along the wall until my fingers met the upraised buttons. The combination was eight-zero-zero-eight-five, boobs on a calculator. Just like the pork ’n’ beans, and the stake pun for a business name, Clyde thought he was clever for coming up with the code.

  The back wall was a secret door no one would notice if they didn’t know to look for it. As soon as it opened, I stepped through.

  The room reminded me of a cave. Dank, dark, and damp. This was the true Stakehouse. It was little more than a lounge and an arsenal. As the headquarters for a ragtag group of vampire hunters, it was also the only place I’d felt at home in a long time.

  There were other Stakehouses throughout the US, but this one was where I’d landed after tragedy struck.

  The place was abuzz tonight, which meant more than one other person was present. Also, it meant some level of excitement beyond the usual stories of victory.

  Three guys who had been around a while, but I only knew in passing, were huddled around Clyde. The big one—a bear shifter—was laughing, his barrel chest heaving up and down with a very Santa-like ho ho ho.

  “Xavier.” Clyde waved me over. “You’re going to want to hear this.”

  Chances were good I wouldn’t. Still, I joined the group, stepping in beside Clyde. His responsibilities mostly involved gathering information...and being a huge pain in my ass. He believed his knowledge gave him leadership qualities, which meant he was the most inept micromanager to grace the state of Tennessee. Regardless of his real skills, people called to tell him when there was a rumor about a bloodsucker on the eastern third of the United States, and Clyde passed that information along to one of us hunters. Some jobs paid, either by a town looking to clear a nest, or by the riches the immortal bastards collected during their savage existences. Those jobs were picked up quick.

  I liked the other jobs—the ones no one else wanted to take. In those jobs, the only satisfaction was in the slaughter—and the slaughter was all I was really after.

  They said revenge was a dish best served cold. That was true. It was also best served rare and bloody.

  “Tell him from the beginning,” Clyde told one of the other hunters—a squirrely guy, with big eyes and a nervous twitch.

  There was something cruel about the squirrely guy’s eyes.

  “Xavier, right?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “I’ve heard about you. Personal mission, secret motivation, right?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “Your type—it’s always something to do with a woman. Who was it that they killed? Mama? Sister? Your mate?” His lip curled, revealing a set of yellowed teeth.

  Girlfriend. But I didn’t answer.

  Clyde kicked him. “Stop being a prick, Austin, and tell him about the job.”

  “Heard from a friend who knows a guy. Third cousin’s grandma’s sister’s kid’s uncle.”

  I stared at Austin. Either he was trying to piss me off or he was just an idiot. I didn’t care which. I just wanted the details so I could get this interaction over with as quickly as possible.

  “His best friend’s ex, twice removed,” Austin said.

  “How can an ex be twice removed?” the bear asked. “This is a load of bull.”

  Austin raised a finger to the bear’s lips and pressed, while he continued explaining a line of people who may or may not exist. Clyde smirked and shook his head.

  Austin said, “Found a man chopped in half.”

  I crossed my arms. “And?”

  “All the guy’s blood was drained. Telltale sign,” Austin said. “Some redhead was heading out to bury the body in the woods.”

  I turned to Clyde. “I thought you said you had something for me.”

  “I’m getting to the good part,” Austin said. “Patience is a virtue and whatnot.”

  “They say there were teeth marks, and vampires have been confirmed in the area,” Clyde said.

  If Clyde said it was confirmed, it was true.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Forbidden, Kentucky,” Austin said. “Shifter territory. Lots of weird shit happens there.”

  I didn’t care if it would be a complicated mission. I wouldn’t be satisfied until every immortal monster had been eliminated.

  “I’ll do it.”

  2

  KELLY

  Gazing down at the felines cavorting in the alley, I decided that Snowbal
l was going to become a problem.

  It was obvious her dramatics would introduce another betrayal. What I couldn’t tell yet, and what I avidly watched to discover, was whether that betrayal would come in the form of spurning her current lover, Meowcus Anthony, for His Lordship King Snugglebumpkins, or whether the betrayal would revolve around bringing in another cat to their soap-opera-style kitten shenanigans.

  Darkness fell over the alley, plunging it into shadow. Portions of the stage were lit only by a far-off streetlamp. That wasn’t a problem for me; with my nighttime vampire vision, I could see just fine.

  His Lordship King Snugglebumpkins gave a lazy-sounding meow as Snowball approached. Her tail was in the air like the strumpet she was and her gaze flicked back and forth. Ostensibly, she was here for His Lordship King Snugglebumpkins, but Meowcus Anthony lurked off to the side, the wanker. He was a tabby, gray and black striped, with a glossy coat that should have put to shame the scraggly black coat of His Lordship. However, what His Lordship lacked in polish, he more than made up for in swagger.

  “I see what you’re doing, Meowcus,” I said, gripping the edge of the window frame. Thirst made my throat tight. I needed to go out and find some unfortunate Forbidden resident to sip blood from, but I was too wrapped up in the soap opera playing below. There were a few bags of stolen hospital blood languishing in the refrigerator, so perhaps I would make do with one of those.

  Tearing myself away from the view in the alley, I marched to the fridge and grabbed a bag of blood. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as drinking from the source, but I preferred it to leaving the sanctuary of my small apartment. The tattoo parlor was closed today because it was my day off and Marla was away with her new mate, Grayson. I could stay home and enjoy a brief holiday. Plus, I’d had a vision that my shifter ex was on his way to Forbidden. If I didn’t leave the building, I wouldn’t have to see him. Win win.

  Rather than doing the civilized thing and pouring the blood into a glass, I punctured it with my fangs and drank straight from the plastic. While I sucked the bag dry, I flipped on the radio. I’d found the antiquated piece of equipment in the alley one night and I’d liked the look of it, like it had been fashioned in the eighties. To my surprise, when I’d put in some batteries, it still worked. When the quiet got to be too much for me, I’d turn it on and listen to the local stations. Now that it was late, I got to listen to Yelling Man’s garbled voice. I immediately had to turn down the volume, because, as usual, he was yelling.

  This guy seemed to be a staple personality in this little town. Today, he shouted about demons creeping amongst us.

  “They’re sneaky! They’re insidious! They’re inconceivable!”

  “I do not think that word means what you think it means,” I murmured, because The Princess Bride was everything, as far as I was concerned.

  While Yelling Man’s rants echoed through the apartment, I tossed my empty blood bag into the waste bin and made my way back to the window. Truly, I ought to get more of a life. Or rather, an undead life. With Marla and her one true love, Grayson, off visiting his nephew, I’d been reduced to making up stories about alley cats. I’d met a few of the shifters that lived in town, but I hadn’t put in much effort yet to build any bonds. If I was going to make this place my home, I’d need to do that. I was fond of Cordelia, the town’s witch, so I’d probably start there.

  Snowball sat in the center of the alley and licked a paw.

  “I see what you’re doing, you little hussy,” I whispered.

  Both His Lordship and Meowcus Anthony were staring at her, feline desire plain on their faces.

  Then, out of nowhere, a calico raced into the alley, bearing down on Snowball. I gasped. This was Cleocatra, here to defend her man!

  “Look out, Snowball,” I whispered, even though I was secretly eager to watch her get taken down a peg or two.

  Yowling and hisses floated up, punctuating the cats’ fight. Mostly it seemed to be posturing. His Lordship leaped from the top of a dumpster and wandered over to the two females, watching with what appeared to be mild interest. Cleocatra lifted a paw and swiped at Snowball, who arched her back and spun.

  “The demons are approaching!” Yelling Man shouted from the old radio. “Protect yourself with hemp! Protect yourself with tinfoil! Do not let them take root in your soul!”

  A loud banging sound reached my ears. It seemed to come from the tattoo parlor’s front door. I pulled a jumper on over my camisole and went downstairs, curious as to who would have the gall to pound on the door when the sign clearly said closed.

  The man had the typical shifter build with muscles making up for what he lacked in brains, along with the obnoxious self-assurance most shifters seemed to boast. His dark hair and beard accented a rather handsome face, along with his cowboy hat, but nothing about him moved me to feel anything except irritation.

  When he saw me through the glass, his face went slack with shock. “Where’s Marla?”

  I opened the door. “She’s on vacation. We’re closed. Go away.”

  “I need some ink,” he said.

  “You need some manners.”

  “Please. I made an error in judgment. Do you do tats?”

  Did I do tats. I was a bloody artist, for fuck’s sake. “I’m a tattoo artist,” I said. “I don’t do tats. I do art. For the lucky few people in this town who don’t annoy me. Kindly piss off.”

  He held up a hand. “What are you doing that’s more important right now than your art?”

  Bloody hell, this man wasn’t going to let up. The forlorn expression on his face roused my sympathy, which didn’t often happen.

  “Fine. Come in. Tell me what it is you need.” I swung the door open wider.

  “Thank you,” he said, stepping inside. “My name’s Joe.”

  “Kelly.”

  We shook hands and he looked around. The interior of the parlor was decorated in red and black, very edgy, quite vampiric, really. Photos lined the walls, displaying Marla’s and my art. Each was in a red frame to make it pop. Black plastic chairs sat up front near the door, along with a fantastic little sofa upholstered in red, which I’d found at Forbidden Hand-Me-Downs and purchased immediately for the parlor. Because obviously such a beautiful piece of furniture was necessary. The fabric was soft, with a lacy look similar to that of my favorite bra-and-knickers set.

  I had a love of fine things. Some might call it a weakness; I called it my super power.

  Joe went on, “I mean it, I really need this tattoo covered up. I have a date tonight, and my last relationship didn’t go well. And I know you’re...I know you’re a vampire. I can pay you in cash, and you can drink from me, too.”

  Blood from the source. I wouldn’t say no to that. Of course, I’d just had a bite, and I was no longer thirsty.

  “Show me what we’re working with,” I said.

  He rolled up his sleeve to reveal the name Bitsy in scripted font on his forearm.

  I sighed. “I could easily turn that into Wanker. What do you think?”

  It was a lie. I couldn’t turn it into Wanker. Although I was tempted to try.

  “I’ll take anything,” he said.

  Already an image was forming in my head—a book with an eye. Something to symbolize knowledge and wisdom. He could make up whatever other kind of symbolic shite he wanted later on, and in the meantime, it would accomplish its task as a reminder that he shouldn’t ink women’s names on his skin.

  I pulled a fresh sheet of white paper from beneath the counter, grabbed a pen, and started sketching. The lines formed seemingly of their own will. A picture began to appear. When I sketched, if I made a mistake, I leaned into it and was often surprised at where it led. The same was true as I created Joe’s new design.

  “Wow, that’s amazing,” he said.

  “I know.” I’d lost my false sense of modesty when the Collector turned me into a vampire.

  I finished the sketch and turned it around so he wasn’t looking at it upside down.

/>   “It’s perfect,” he said. “And that’ll cover up her name?”

  “Yep,” I said.

  We settled on a price, but as I wasn’t thirsty at the moment, we left the blood offer alone.

  “Tell you what,” he said, “if you’re in a jam, you can call me. I’ll owe you a drink.”

  I transferred the design to tracing paper that would give me an outline to follow, although I didn’t generally need the outline. Then I grabbed some antiseptic and washed down the chair where Joe would sit, and the adjustable table where he’d rest his forearm. Then I prepped my tools. When everything was ready, I pointed him to the chair.

  “You know not to move, and all that other stuff, right?” I said.

  He nodded. “Right.”

  The tattoo didn’t take long, and I lost myself in the white noise of the buzzing gun and the appearance of the design on Joe’s skin. It was nice, him being a shifter, because there wasn’t much swelling around the ink and I could more easily see what I was doing.

  I was just putting the finishing touches on the design when the bells on the door chimed. I turned around and nearly dropped the tattoo gun.

  Scrawny as a starving rat, with dark circles around his eyes and cracks in his lips, stood a ghost from my not-too-distant past.

  Pestilence Peter.