The staircase looked as though Scarlett O’Hara would sweep down it any moment and declare, “After all . . . tomorrow is another day.” It was wide, made of dark, polished wood, and curved as it rose upward. It had approximately four million steps.
After we got to the second floor, we walked along the hallway, our footsteps quieted by a thick carpet that was a faded burgundy. The walls looked freshly painted, a rather nice rose color with a chair rail that matched the wood of the staircase.
The hallway seemed to go on forever, but we finally reached the end and stopped in front of double doors, which were slightly ajar.
Patrick held my arm in a loose grip. I had stumbled several times and he probably thought I was going to keel over. I had no illusions I could escape, mostly because I still felt weak and more than a little shaky. I was worried about my parents. And my thoughts kept straying to Ralph. Was he okay? Were these his friends? What had happened to us in the cemetery?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet the queen of this crazy freaking town. Nerves plucked at my stomach. I wondered where the queen fell on the bad-ass scale: Was she Cinderella-stepmom scary or off-with-her-head Queen of Hearts terrifying?
I looked at Patrick. “Um . . . should I curtsy or something?”
He smirked. “Yes. And always address her as ‘most royal grand potentate.’”
“Seriously?”
“You don’t want to know what happened to the last person who messed up the formal address.” He slashed a line across his throat.
Oh, shit.
“Zerina, you have to stop changing people’s hair color.” A woman’s irritated voice filtered through the slight gap between the doors.
“I don’t know what she’s complaining about,” answered a woman with a thick British accent. “Terran looks better with blue hair.”
“Just stop doing it. Don’t make me throw your skinny ass out the window.”
Patrick knocked, then shoved open the doors. Shocked, I stood there like an idiot, gaping. He tugged on my arm and I followed him inside.
Three people stood in a large room obviously under construction. A single floor lamp offered me a limited view of the shadowy space. Tarps lay over furniture and scaffolding went to the vaulted ceiling. The sharp smell of fresh paint assailed me.
The woman in the middle was tall, blond, curvy, and gorgeous. She wore a dress that showed off the slight roundness of her pregnant belly. Next to her was a man built like a Greek god, his moon white hair pulled into a ponytail. They both had purple light emanating from them. I couldn’t quite discern the scent; it was close to the spicy earth smell of sandalwood.
On the other side of the blonde was a petite woman, maybe in her twenties, with neon pink hair. She wore a black bustier, miniskirt, and thigh-high stockings. Her vinyl shoes were the same shocking pink as her hair. Whoa. Her eyes were pink, too. No surprise; her aura was sparkly pink and it smelled like cotton candy. She looked me over and found me boring.
Patrick, who wasn’t exactly my friend to begin with, left me stumbling in his wake. He stopped short of the small gathering and jerked his head toward the blonde. Oh. The queen.
I attempted to curtsy, but my legs buckled and I dropped to my knees. I wasn’t sure where to put my gaze. Hadn’t I read you weren’t supposed to look royalty in the eyes?
“Greetings, most royal . . .” Crap. What came next? “Wait. I’ll get it. Uh . . . your most royal grand poot-n-toot. I mean, impotent.” I sucked in a breath. After all I’d survived since arriving in Broken Heart, I was gonna die at the hands of a queen who demanded verbal tribute. “Your most royal grand potato head.”
Silence was thick. My heart pounded and my whole body felt clammy. I looked up and saw Patsy’s mouth open. Cut off her head, she’d scream manically.
“Potentate!” I yelled. “Your most magnificent royal grand on high potentate!”
Everyone burst out laughing.
What the hell was going on?
“Get up, honey,” said the queen. “Patrick, you are such an asshole. You scared the crap out of her.”
I got up, feeling light-headed. Relief poured through me, but underneath squirmed embarrassment. I glared at an unrepentant Patrick.
The pink-haired woman grinned. “You looked like you pissed yourself.”
I couldn’t formulate a response to that comment.
“Don’t worry,” she went on. “I’m all for a little vengeance.”
She flicked her fingers at Patrick’s head. His beautiful, dark hair turned neon green.
“Zee!” yelled the blonde.
Zee laughed as she scurried out of the room.
I gaped at Patrick. “What—”
“She’s a fairy.”
“Oh.” A fairy. Why the hell not? I sidled a look at Patrick’s hair.
He sighed. “What does it look like this time?”
“Um . . . like Las Vegas threw up.”
The blonde laughed. She looked me over, her expression friendly and curious. The man also studied me, his eyes an odd golden color. His nostrils flared almost as if he were scenting me. He didn’t look quite as friendly.
She held out her hand and I shook it.
“I’m Patsy. And this is my husband, Gabriel.”
“Libby Monroe.”
Her husband didn’t offer his hand, which was fine with me. I had no plans to get chummy with anyone except Ralph. Wait. No. Not even Ralph. Lick-alicious or not, he was still a vampire—one who could shoot fire from his hands. I don’t even know how that was possible. Vampires weren’t really my specialty. I was more a Bigfoot, Swamp Thing, Moth Man kind of girl. Maybe I should’ve read Mom’s books. God knows she’d published enough of them.
Patsy turned to Patrick. “I feel weird about taking over the mansion.”
“This place is the largest in town . . . fit for a queen,” said Patrick, smiling. “Living in the house on Sanderson Street is a better fit for us. The Wiccans cleansed the whole house—which Jessica is now redecorating.”
Patsy’s eyebrows rose. “Why don’t we go sit down?”
“But I was already sitting down,” I whined. I was so frazzled, damn it. I pointed at Patrick, like he was an errant older brother. “He made me come up here.”
“You’re a poot, Patrick.” Patsy laughed. “Stan’s bringing over Ralph. He checked out okay.” She wagged her finger at Patrick. “Take the girl down the easy way. We’ll meet you in the living room.”
Gabriel whispered in her ear and she rolled her eyes.
“How many do we have?” she asked.
“Three downstairs,” said Gabriel. His lips twitched as if he might smile.
“Why do we need three living rooms?” groused Patsy. “I swear to God, the whole town could live in this one house. Take her to the one y’all were in before, okay?”
Patrick wrapped his arms around my neck and brought me flush against him, which totally geeked me out. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you downstairs the easy way.” He looked down at me. “Ready?”
“For wha—”
Chapter 6
“—at!” I sucked in a breath. “Shit! Oh, shit!”
My entire being had imploded and been reassembled in the blink of an eye. I was nauseated again.
Patrick let me go, but I grabbed him by the shirt and glared directly into his eyes. “Never, ever do that again!”
“It takes a while to get used to.” He looked down at the white-knuckled grip I had on his threads. “You’re ruining my favorite shirt.”
I unclenched my fingers, then wobbled to the couch closest to the hearth. The fire made me feel better. Its warmth spread through me and gentled the roar in my head.
I heard singing.
I’d never heard anything like it in my life. It was a crystalline harmony.
“What kind of music is that?” I asked. They made me breathless, those delightful sounds.
“What music?” asked Patrick.
“You don’t hear
it?”
He shrugged, but his gaze said, I only hear the ravings of a crazy person.
Patsy and Gabriel came in, walking through the door like normal people. I guess they didn’t feel it necessary to rearrange their atoms to get from one place to the next.
Patsy chose the divan opposite mine. Gabriel sat next to his wife. Patrick moved to the right side of the fireplace, leaning against the flat stone.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” said Patsy. “What were you doing in the cemetery?”
I didn’t see the point in lying. I wasn’t exactly a prisoner, but I doubted very much they’d let me walk out. At least not yet. I wondered if they had my parents somewhere else and, if they did, why hadn’t they told me? Or brought them here, too? And if they didn’t . . . my heart squeezed. But a dark little voice whispered that something was wrong. They were in danger.
For all I knew, so was I.
“I’m with PRIS,” I admitted.
Patsy and Gabriel looked at me blankly, but Patrick’s interest was piqued. He shifted toward me, his gaze intense. “Paranormal Research and Investigation Services has a team in Oklahoma?”
“Yes,” I said, unnerved by his intensity. “Relax, dude. We’re not a hit squad. We only investigate the paranormal.”
“Sweet Lord,” murmured Patsy. “You certainly hit jackpot, didn’t you?”
“The Megabucks. We’ve gotten evidence here and there, but nothing big enough to shut up the skeptics.” I glanced at her. “Nothing like this.”
“PRIS and other such organizations cause problems for us,” said Patrick. “The world is not ready for us. When it’s time to integrate, we’ll do so on our own terms.”
Patsy held up her hand to stall Patrick’s next words. “Save the lecture. We have a lot more to do before worrying about taking those steps.” With a loud sigh she looked to my right, where no one sat. “Quit nattering. Who are you?”
Sheesh. The queen had a short memory. “Er . . . Libby Monroe.”
Her gaze flicked to mine. “Sorry, hon. I wasn’t talking to you.” She stared at the blank space next to me for a minute. Then she said, “Thanks, Melvin. Yes, I’ll tell her. Ew. No. You can’t do that without lips.”
No one else in the room seemed to find her behavior odd. Hey, I knew when to shut up. I tried to appear nonchalant, but it was hard to keep my gaze off Patsy.
“Melvin says he saved you from the Tainted vampire.”
“Huh?”
“Melvin was the zombie.” Patsy grimaced. “I never have figured out how his soul found its way back into his corporeal form. He’s been hanging around the cemetery, annoying everyone.” Her head swiveled to the blank spot and her mouth dropped. “Holy crap. Did a dragon really squish Melvin?”
“Yeah,” I said. “And the other vampire.”
Patrick cleared his throat. “We found the remains of . . . er, Melvin. And the ashes of the Wraith.”
Wraith? Tainted vampire? My mind was starting to spin. I didn’t know what these terms meant. I wasn’t sure I cared.
“Ah. Ralph tried to save me first.” I said it just in case he got points or a gold star or something. She was the queen. Maybe she could knight him and bequeath him some land or serfs or whatever.
“Ralph’s a gentleman, sure enough,” said Patsy. “Melvin’s attached himself to you, hon. He likes you.”
I looked to my right. I didn’t see anything. Anyone. All the same, chills raced up my spine. “When you say attached . . . you mean his ghost is following me around?”
“I know it’s hard to believe,” said Patsy kindly, “but it’s true.”
“Oh, I believe it.” I had validation for all those years of searching and theorizing and traipsing through godforsaken places. Hysteria threatened, but I managed to hold it at bay. “Mom’s gonna love this place. Oh, and Dad. He’s really wanted to use that new spectrometer.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you invite them to town,” said Patsy.
Panic erupted. They didn’t know my parents were in Broken Heart. I had no idea if Mom and Dad had been unavailable because the phones crapped out or because they’d run into trouble. But if I was sitting in the living room with the queen, then who—or what—had gotten hold of my parents?
Wait. Calm down, Libby. I didn’t have any facts. I needed to quit operating on emotion. These seemed like nice . . . er, people, so they’d probably question me and let me go. Then I could try contacting my parents again.
It was next to impossible to keep my mind on track because Ralph kept jumping into my thoughts. Would it be too junior-high to ask if he’d said anything about me? Yeah. It would. I wondered if I’d see him again.
As if on cue, Ralph walked into the living room. The fire’s song melded into a low, sweet crooning. I leapt from the couch, unaccountably happy to see him.
“Ralph!” I hurried across the room and threw myself into his arms. “You’re okay! You’re really okay!”
“So are you,” he murmured, pulling back to look me over. His hand curved on my cheek. My heart tripled its beat. Heat poured through me. His aura was golden, pure as sunshine. I wanted to bask in it. He smelled like orange spice, a cinnamon-smoky scent, both sweet and tart.
I leaned forward and blew on the spot under his left ear. He sucked in a breath and I felt his lips brush my earlobe.
“Do y’all need a room?” asked Patsy drolly. “Or can we get down to business?”
Her voice shattered the spell. We both blinked at each other and broke apart.
“What just happened?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “But I hope it happens again.”
“You two sit down,” snapped Patsy.
I turned around, my fingers intertwining with Ralph’s. Everyone looked at us in astonishment.
“What?” I asked.
“This isn’t high school and you ain’t behind the bleachers.”
Patsy sounded very irritated. We both sat on the couch like two children sent to the principal’s office, but I kept my grip on his hand. My gaze was drawn to Ralph. He looked so delicious. I wanted to sit on his lap and lick him.
“I don’t know what’s going on here,” said Patsy. “But it’s weird.”
It didn’t feel weird. It felt right. I couldn’t keep from staring at Ralph. I was intoxicated by his nearness. I thirsted for him. “You are so fine.”
“What?” Patsy asked, her voice suspicious.
I coughed. “Wine. I asked if I could have some wine.”
“We have enough stupidity around here. I don’t keep booze in the house. Ralph, go make her some tea. Take your time.”
“Aw,” I whined. I didn’t want Ralph to leave. Not ever. My attraction for him was otherworldly. The dragon had kissed me. Now I had a kinship with fire, with passion.
Ralph didn’t seem to want to leave, either, but he obviously couldn’t disobey his queen. He took my hand and kissed it, then went off to do Patsy’s bidding.
I looked morosely at Patsy. Then my gaze dropped to her belly.
“You’re the queen of the vampires, right?” I frowned. “How can you be pregnant? Aren’t you dead?”
“It’s complicated. I’m sorta queen of the lycanthropes, too,” said Patsy. Her expression looked as if she’d swallowed glass. Guess there was some tension there. I couldn’t imagine trying to rule vampires and werewolves. I hadn’t mastered balancing my checkbook, so keeping the balance between two traditional enemies was beyond my skills. Then it hit me. Oh, crap. I pointed at Patsy’s belly. “Loup de sang. You’re loup de sang.”
“How did you know that?” The question came from Gabriel and his tone wasn’t friendly.
“We live, breathe, eat, and drink the paranormal. Mom’s written several books. Vampires. Werewolves. Ghosts. Can you believe she actually uncovered a diary from a French fur trader who . . .” I trailed off. My whole body went cold. “Did you say your name was Gabriel? Gabriel Marchand? Saint Thomas on toast . . . you’re the first bloo
d wolf in history.”
“Wow. She’s good,” said Patsy. “Look, she seems harmless, so I say we let her go.”
Patrick shook his head. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Well, you’re not the queen, are you?” she asked. She looked at me, her blue eyes suddenly intense, mesmerizing. “You will leave Broken Heart. You will forget everything you’ve seen. You will return to tell PRIS there’s nothing here.”
Her voice seduced, beckoned, promised. I recognized that sexy do-what-I-want undertone.
She stared at me, and I stared at her. Finally, I said, “Is this the part where I call you mistress and agree to bring you victims?”
Patsy looked shocked. She stood up, crossed to the couch, and took my hands in hers. Once again, I was drawn into her forceful gaze.
“Forget everything you’ve seen and heard in Broken Heart. Forget Broken Heart. Tell PRIS nothing is here.”
I said nothing, hoping they might believe her second attempt worked. Maybe they would take me back to our car and leave me alone. I still needed to find out what had happened to Mom and Dad. Even though Broken Heart was filled with the evidence we needed to prove the paranormal world was real, it was too dangerous. I was more than happy to forget about this town and what lived here.
“It didn’t work,” said Gabriel. “Did it? Ralph said it wouldn’t.”
His voice held soft menace. I swallowed the knot suddenly lodged in my throat. He was the most dangerous one in the room. I didn’t want to cross him. He rose from the divan and stepped toward me. Patrick had shifted as well, his gaze on mine. Patsy wasn’t moving, either. I slipped my hands from hers.
The singing changed harmonies. It rose in alarm, a chorus of warning.
I stood up, unsure about what I could do against people who were faster, stronger, and smarter than I was. I didn’t care who they were; they couldn’t hold me against my will. I slid closer to the fireplace; the heat beckoned me. I craved more of its warmth.
“I’d ask nicely, but I can’t give you a choice,” said Patsy. I heard real regret in her voice. “You might as well get used to the idea, Libby. You’re not leaving Broken Heart.”
Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home Page 4
