Bled & Breakfast

by Michelle Rowen

  Batberry? “You have a special suite for vampires?”

  “I like to cater to my guests. Whoever they may be.”

  “So you’re not freaked out at the possibility that . . . you know. We are?”

  Her initial surprise had faded and her friendly look returned. “I’ve known Owen long enough to realize that vampires aren’t the stuff of nightmares.”

  Right. And by the look on her face, I was guessing that she thought Owen was the Edward to her Bella—and I didn’t mean Lugosi. The drama outside with Miranda calling Owen out as a cheater hadn’t seemed to diminish her crush in the slightest.

  “There’s a toad on your desk,” Thierry said to Heather.

  I glanced over, surprised to see he was right. A small brown toad sat next to the register. Since it had been so still, I’d previously thought it was a paperweight.

  “This”—Heather patted its head absently—“is Hoppy. My pet toad.”

  “Her familiar,” Rose corrected, nodding. “Witches need familiars.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You’re a witch?”

  Heather had the grace to look embarrassed. She ran her fingers over the antique-looking gold locket she wore on a chain around her neck. “Hardly. I mean, I try to do a little magic every now and then. But doesn’t everyone?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “Not everyone.”

  “The other girls won’t let her in their coven,” Rose said. “They’re mean to my Heather, especially that nasty Miranda Collins.”

  “Grandma,” Heather growled under her breath, her cheeks reddening.

  “Miranda’s part of a coven?” Thierry asked. “So you were baiting a real witch, Owen? Doesn’t seem very wise to me.”

  “She’s harmless.” Owen shrugged, absently studying his fingernails. “She wouldn’t try to hurt me. She’s crazy about me.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  Owen regarded him with a bored but patient expression. “Women adore me. Miranda included, despite her momentary hissy fit. To hurt me would be to hurt any chance she ever has of being with me again.”

  “What a tragedy,” I said under my breath.

  “Nobody understands Owen,” Heather said, standing up. “He’s wonderful, really.”

  Hoppy let out a low croak.

  Heather glanced at the toad. “Owen helped me find Hoppy. Two months ago I broke up with my boyfriend at the time—then he took off without a word. Owen tried to cheer me up with an afternoon at the beach . . . and there Hoppy was, in the middle of a spring rainstorm on the shore. I brought him home, gave him a box to sleep in. He’s been with me ever since.”

  Rose nodded. “Familiars choose their witches.”

  Heather sighed. “Hoppy is not my familiar, Grandma.”

  “Not with a silly name like that he isn’t! When I practiced, I had a lovely black cat named Sheba.”

  “You’re a witch, too?” I asked, surprised. It was witches galore around here.

  Rose stroked her white hair to neaten it. “This is Salem, dear. Everybody’s either a witch or they want to be a witch.”

  “Not me.”

  “Of course not. You’re a vampire.”

  A vampire who sincerely hoped for a minifridge in her room.

  Since Salem wasn’t a hotbed of vampiric activity, except for Owen and the occasional missing person, and didn’t have any blood banks—businesses that sold the red stuff by the ounce to paying fanged customers—we’d gone the BYOB route.

  The last B didn’t stand for booze.

  Or actually, I should say that I’d gone that route. At his age, Thierry didn’t need to drink blood regularly to survive.

  Heather showed us the room on the second floor. It was small but quaint, with a double bed, a vanity, and an en suite bathroom. Every fabric, quilt, and afghan in the room appeared to be homemade.

  “You weren’t kidding about the special features.” I stared at my reflection, which included both vampires standing behind me as well as Heather. Rose had temporarily excused herself to put away her gardening supplies while we checked out the room.

  While we couldn’t see ourselves in regular mirrors, luckily there were special mirrors manufactured for the vampire population. Problem was, they were very expensive, so not everybody could afford one.

  “I’ve never understood why we don’t have reflections,” I said. “It’s just so bizarre, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a witch thing,” Owen offered.

  I glanced at him. “A witch thing?”

  “I’ve heard this rumor over the years,” Thierry said. “Legend has it that there was once a witch who loved a vampire, one who was very vain about his appearance. One who was loved by many, be they witch, vampire, or human.”

  “Was his name Owen?” Heather joked.

  “Very funny,” Owen said, then frowned. “Wait, was it?”

  “No, not Owen. The legend goes that the vampire betrayed this powerful witch, but since it was a matter of the heart, she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. Still, she wanted him to suffer. She cast a spell on him so powerful that it, in turn, cursed all vampires from that day forward to never again see themselves in a mirror, a spell that survived even after the witch’s death.”

  I stared at my rare reflection, at my shoulder-length brown hair and my hazel eyes with hastily applied mascara. “Witches,” I said under my breath. “Total troublemakers.” Then I sent a glance at Heather. “Present company excepted, of course.”

  “Heather,” Thierry said, “do you know anything about the vampires who’ve gone missing in town lately?”

  “Only what Owen’s told me about it.”

  “Any idea what might be behind their disappearances?”

  “None. Sorry.”

  Thierry frowned. “Owen, you said that Monique was over three hundred. How about the other two?”

  “I think they were up there as well.” Owen nodded.

  “Hmm. All master vampires.”

  A little Vampire 101: vampires were considered fledglings for their first fifty years, regular vampires till they were three hundred. After that, they’d earned the title of “master.”

  “If these vampires didn’t just go missing, but were murdered, none of them would have left any body behind,” I said. Only vampires less than a century in age left a body when they were killed. Older ones disintegrated into a gooey mess. Trust me—it wasn’t pretty. “Therefore, there’d be no clues to find out who did it.”

  “Correct,” Thierry replied.

  “So basically, the Ring’s handed you a case that’s pretty much impossible to figure out.”

  He held my gaze. “Essentially.”

  “A test,” Owen said after a moment. “The Ring loves handing out tests to determine a consultant’s worth in his first few assignments.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” I said. “What if we fail?”

  Thierry’s lips thinned. “Let me worry about that, Sarah.”

  “Just your saying ‘Let me worry about that’ makes me worry. About that.”

  “Don’t. It’ll be fine. I know how to handle them.”

  “Yeah,” Owen breathed. “Good luck with that. Sarah, have you ever met any of the current Ring elders?”

  I grimaced. “Haven’t had the pleasure.”

  “Keep it that way.”

  Yeah. That was really comforting.

  We unloaded our small amount of luggage in the room, then went back downstairs with Heather and Owen. It was well after eight o’clock by now, and the sun was starting to set. Rose had come back inside and was dusting the table near the front door.

  “Where are you off to now?” she asked Owen as he made for the door.

  He gave her a wink. “Places to go, Rose, my love. People to see. Life is good.”

  Heather picked up Hoppy from the desktop and cradled the toad in her arms like a tiny dog. Hoppy seemed perfectly content there.

  “Anyway, Thierry, if you need any help”—Owen raked his hand thr
ough his blond hair—“you have my number.”

  Thierry nodded. “We’ll take a look around town tomorrow when everything’s open.”

  Owen paused at the doorway. He pressed his hand against his forehead, his brows drawing together.

  “Something wrong?” Heather asked with concern.

  “No, it’s just . . . a headache. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

  “Maybe Miranda got one of those voodoo dolls after all,” I said. “And she’s stabbing its forehead with an ice pick as we speak.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, it’s nothing. Talk to you later.”

  He pushed open the front door and took two steps onto the porch.

  A weird chill shivered down my arms, which was odd since it wasn’t the least bit cold outside.

  “Owen,” Thierry began, “what’s wrong?”

  Owen pressed his hands to either side of his head.

  “It’s weird. I just get the strange feeling that—” He gasped. “What’s happening to me?”

  Without another word, he stopped talking, turned away, and started to run. He got halfway down the driveway before he dropped to his knees.

  And then, as if somebody had just shoved a wooden stake through his heart, he disintegrated like the Wicked Witch of the West right before our eyes.

  One moment he was there.

  The next . . . he was dead.

  Chapter 3

  Since he’d been a vampire for more than a hundred years, Owen left no body behind, only a gruesome black stain on the interlocking brick of the B and B’s driveway.

  Stunned and sickened, I clutched the sleeve of Thierry’s black jacket. “What happened?”

  Heather began to shriek in horror and was about to run out to where Owen’s remains were, but Rose held her back.

  “Owen!” she wailed.

  “Oh no!” Rose’s eyes were also wide with shock as she pulled her granddaughter into a comforting embrace. “Honey, it’s horrible. But . . . he’s gone. We can’t help him now.”

  “I’ll take a look around,” Thierry said, a grim look on his face.

  “Take a look around?” I blurted out. “Are you crazy? The same thing could happen to you!”

  “I need to check.”

  “No. You need to stay here with me.”

  He touched my face. “You stay here. Look after Heather and Rose. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  “Thierry!”

  Before I could stay anything else, he slipped out of my grasp and headed down the driveway. I watched him, frightened that he was about to vanish right before my eyes.

  I don’t think I actually breathed for three minutes after he left my view. Finally, he returned and met my angry but relieved glare.

  “You scared me!” I exhaled shakily. “Did you find anything?”

  “Nothing,” he told me. “Nobody. And there are no weapons near the place he expired.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “A spell,” Heather said, her voice garbled and hard to understand. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Someone did a spell to kill him from a distance. It had to be Miranda. Oh, my God. Owen. Owen’s gone!”

  She let go of her grandmother and clung to me. I didn’t let go of her. I felt horrible for this girl I’d only just met, who’d lost someone who meant something to her—so suddenly, so unexpectedly.

  Miranda Collins had threatened Owen in front of all of us, but did I think she was the one responsible for this? She wasn’t a nice person by any means, but I didn’t think she was that stupid.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered as Heather’s tears soaked into my shirt. “I know you cared about him.”

  “I didn’t just care about him. I loved him.” She pulled back and stared into my eyes. “I loved him. And I never told him.”

  My heart wrenched. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, Owen.” She ran her hand under her nose, but there was now a resolution in her gaze pushing past the pain and grief. “I need to tell him how I felt. And I’m going to find out who did this to him—and if it’s Miranda, then she’s going to pay.”

  I frowned at her. “How are you going to tell him how you felt? He’s . . . I’m sorry, but he’s gone.”

  “His spirit isn’t gone. Not yet. A séance,” she said firmly. “I’ll do one at midnight. It’s when the magic is the strongest. I can summon his spirit.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Sure it is,” Thierry said.

  I looked at him with surprise. “Excuse me?”

  He regarded Heather very seriously. “Do you honestly believe you have the power to summon Owen’s spirit?”

  The weak girl I’d met earlier was fading away, leaving behind one much more determined. “I can damn well try.”

  “Then do it. Sarah and I will be there, too.”

  “You will?”

  “We will?” I raised an eyebrow.

  His jaw was set. “Yes. Because whatever happened to Owen may be the exact same thing that happened to the other three missing vampires. And if that’s true, then it means something very important—and very dangerous—about Salem.”

  “What?”

  “That there is an alpha witch in town. One capable of death magic, one who can kill from a distance. One who is specifically targeting vampires. The Ring will want to know about a threat like this and take steps to deal with it.”

  “How many alphas are still around?” I asked. “Is this something that anybody would know?”

  “There’s none,” Rose said. “There aren’t any of those witches left—not in this country, anyway.”

  “None?” I repeated with shock. “Why not?”

  “Witch hunters,” Thierry said simply. “They’ve been very adept at their jobs over the years. But if an alpha escaped their attention and is killing vampires, then it’s a problem.”

  I swallowed hard. “I’ll say. But if anyone finds out what we are . . .”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Heather assured us, taking small, shaky breaths. Her eyes were red and shiny with tears.

  “Me, too,” Rose agreed. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear it.”

  My mouth was dry. If vampires were being killed in Salem—just for being vampires—then we were in serious trouble from somebody able to kill from a distance.

  Adventure and romance, that fortune-teller had promised earlier. I really wished she’d been a bit more specific.

  • • •

  Thierry and I went up to the room alone and I closed the door behind us. I sat down on the edge of the bed and clasped my hands together, trying my best to calm down. I caught his expression in the mirror—it was grim. Then again, grim was a typical look for him.

  Since I wasn’t a mind reader, I decided to go ahead and ask. “Is it safe for us to stay here?”

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t seem happy about that at all. “But I’m not ready to leave. Not yet. Nobody knows who we are—what we are. I want to explore Salem tomorrow and see if we can find anything useful.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “Then we leave.”

  “What about the Ring? Are you going to call them?”

  “No. Not yet, anyway. Letting them know Owen’s fate before we know any further details would raise an alarm. They could overcompensate, and we really don’t want that.”

  “Understood.” I didn’t really, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to. “I noticed you didn’t suggest I hightail it out of here and leave you to check things out by yourself.”

  His lips curved even though his gray eyes remained serious. “I know you well enough by now to presume that would be a futile suggestion.”

  “Smart guy.” I sighed and moved toward the window to look outside. From where I stood I could see the exact spot where Owen had met his Maker, since there was a black stain there now, kind of like a small, gory oil slick of death. I shuddered. “You didn’t like him.”

  “You don’t think so?”
<
br />   “I felt a definite vibe of dislike.”

  Thierry managed a small laugh at that. “I didn’t dislike Owen. However, his lifestyle choices leaned toward the hedonistic and frivolous, often to the detriment of anyone who relied on him. I suppose I found him selfish more than anything else. But I never would have wished him dead.”

  I was glad to hear that. Somebody could be a scummy person in a whole lot of ways, but that didn’t mean they were evil down deep. “Heather saw the good in him.”

  “There was good in him.”

  “I think there’s good in just about everyone. It’s simply a question of whether it’s enough to outweigh the bad.”

  “Exactly.” He met my gaze. “You look surprised that I agree with you.”

  “Not surprised, exactly. You’re just all . . . optimistic and positive today. Nearly shiny, really.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Now, let’s not get carried away.”

  I almost laughed out loud at that. My cell phone suddenly let out a buzzing sound. I pulled it out of my bag and looked down at the screen.

  CALL ME AS SOON AS YOU CAN. SAY NOTHING TO THIERRY.—MR

  I swallowed hard.

  “Something important?” Thierry asked.

  “No, it’s just . . . Amy,” I lied. It was the name of my best friend from back home. “She wants me to call her back and it can’t wait.” I laughed nervously. “You know Amy.”

  I escaped from the room without any more lies spilling from my lips and hurried downstairs to a far corner of the bed-and-breakfast. My hands were now sweating.

  I couldn’t delay getting back to him. Markus Reed, the Ring’s most accomplished and deadly enforcer, wouldn’t be too happy about that.

  He picked up on the second ring.

  “Sarah,” he said. “How are you finding Salem?”

  “Witchtastic, thanks.” I forced myself to sound calm. “What do you want, Markus?”

  Unless he was psychic, there was no way he knew what had happened to Owen. And since Thierry wasn’t planning to contact the Ring with that information—at least not yet—I wasn’t going to say a thing.

  “I know it hasn’t been very long at all since our deal, but I’m thinking you’re in a prime spot to find out more information.”