“I am so not with the bounty hunter.”
“You are so lying.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
“Can we get back to the subject? We both have work to do.”
“It’s four in the morning. I’m not due into the office for another five hours. Tell me about Ty.”
“Who?”
“Ty Bonner. The bounty hunter. You are with him.”
I tried for a laugh, which came out sounding as nervous as I felt. “Says you. Listen, I really need your help.”
“I already told the police that you would never chop anyone into little pieces.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but that’s not what I’m talking about. You know our new client? Viola Hamilton?”
“The one who was in your office when the cops came?”
“That’s the one. She wants me to make several matches, which is no problem except that one of them needs to be a redhead. A testosterone-oozing redhead.”
“Like a young Kenneth Branagh?”
“More like Howdy Doody.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“You know Howdy?”
“I don’t just watch CSI. Listen, Lil. It’s not possible. We’re talking orange hair. You’re not going to find a man with orange anything who oozes testosterone.”
“Just keep your eyes open. If you see anyone on the street who fits the bill, slip him a card. Also, check out some of the online sites. Cruise profiles and see if you can spot someone—anyone—who might work. I’ll be looking, too. Oh, and you know the new client—Rachel Sanchez?”
“She called yesterday.”
“I’ll work on her while I’m doing Viola.” While I knew Evie could make a great match, herself, she wasn’t privy to all Rachel’s quirks—namely that she morphed into the Taco Bell spokespooch when the moon was full—and so I felt compelled to handle the were myself. Step one? Googling the mating habits of were-Chihuahuas.
“Oh, and Esther called again,” Evie said. “She wants to know if you’ve found her anyone and I said no. You haven’t, have you?”
“No.” Esther, made vampire and old maid, was proving to be a much more difficult match than I’d originally expected. The problem? I didn’t really know any male made vampires, except for Ty, and he totally was not her type. At first, I’d thought so, but after I’d gotten to know him (via Google—ya gotta love the Internet—a really hot and heavy kiss, and, oh yeah, drinking his blood), I’d ruled him out as a possibility.
“She sounds so…sad. What should I do?”
“You don’t have any more uncles do you?” We had, on at least one occasion, paired up a client with one of Evie’s relatives for a practice date until we could find the real thing. While it hadn’t been a huge success (he’d been old and prone to falling asleep and she’d been a vivacious vampire who’d liked to dance), it hadn’t been a total failure either (vivacious vamp had bought the practice date spiel and given us another chance). “Maybe one who isn’t collecting social security?”
She seemed to think. “There’s my uncle Darwin. He’s on disability rather than social security because he lost a testicle during World War I.”
In other words, the man was older than dirt.
On the other hand, Esther had been around during that war (she was over one hundred and she hadn’t had a date in as many years) which meant they might actually have something in common.
“Set them up,” I told Evie.
I called The Ninas next, but neither picked up, so I had to leave a message. I also called my brothers, and Francis and Melissa (my first vamp client and his live-in human girlfriend), and Ayala aka the pickiest born vamp in existence. The night was still young (if you were a vamp) and so the only one who actually answered was Melissa. I explained my predicament and gave her my new cell number in case she needed to contact me (not that she would since she and Francis were extremely happy despite their obvious differences). But the phone call pumped my ego enough that I actually started to think I could find a redhead who oozed testosterone. I’d matched up Francis, the geekiest vamp in the universe. Nothing could be harder than that. Right?
I left a message for Ayala, along with a “Born vamp coming right up!” and then I sat staring at the phone.
I really should call my folks. Then again, I was a businesswoman (not a chicken). I had priorities.
Punching in the number, I spent the next minute navigating through my voice mailbox until I reached my messages.
“Hi, Lil. It’s Ayala. You still haven’t called me back and I’m wondering about this weekend. I think we should try something different. Maybe a blond again. But taller this time. With very little facial hair because I really don’t like a lot of facial hair. And loyal. This last guy had the number for Marc’s Speedy Supper programmed into his cell phone. I absolutely won’t abide by an eternity mate who’s constantly sinking his fangs into someone else. I want a bottle man.” A beep signaled the end of the message.
While I wasn’t much for blonds, the bottle part I could relate to.
“Message two,” an automated female voice said. Followed by a familiar “Lil?”
It was Nina One. Blond, beautiful, and totally superficial. “I need to talk to you right away.” Anxiety filled her voice. “It’s an emergency. I can’t decide between the Dolce and Gabbana snakeskin clutch or the new pink Louis Vuitton. The first will totally go with these divine shoes I just bought, but the pink Louis is absolutely the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. Call me.” Beep.
“Message three…Lilliana, this is your mother. We’re hunting tomorrow night rather than Sunday. Your father and I have a pressing commitment on our usual night which is why we have to reschedule for Saturday. Make sure you’re on time. Oh, and your father needs you to stop off at Golftown on West Thirty-second and pick up a box of Ben Hogans. Make sure you get the Tour Deep balls and not the Hawk Twelve. Your father absolutely detests the Hawks. He says they shorten his putt. I’m inclined to think that it’s his swing that shortens his putt, but you know your father.” Beep.
“End of messages.”
I hit the off button and stared at the phone.
Golftown? Sure, it was a pretty cool store if you were into golf, but I wasn’t. Even more, I was on the run from the cops. Polyester-wearing cops. A place like Golftown would surely be crawling with police. With all those loud, obnoxious pants, it was like church.
My mother, of course, hadn’t given one thought to the fact that she was sending me into the lion’s den. No, she only cared about golf balls. And being on time to the precious hunt.
I was a fugitive, for Damien’s sake! On the run. Fighting to get my afterlife back. I didn’t have time to go to Golftown, let alone the hunt. Sure, we’d been doing it for over three hundred years and in all that time, the only person who’d ever missed had been Max. But he’d gotten held over at Moe’s doing inventory and so he’d been quickly forgiven by my parents. Otherwise, all children had been present (albeit grudgingly) and accounted for. End of story.
I wasn’t counting highlighters and Liquid Paper, but I was doing something equally important—laying low. I wasn’t going to risk getting caught by traipsing all the way out to Connecticut.
No way. No how. Nuh-uh.
That’s what I told myself as I crawled into Ty’s bed and closed my eyes just before daybreak.
Done deal. No hunt. Not this vampire.
“I forgot Dad’s balls,” I blurted when my mother opened the back door at a quarter past nine on Saturday night.
While I did have some backbone (I’d purposely bypassed Golftown on my way over), it went all soft and Jell-O-ey when faced with the prospect of breaking three hundred years of Marchette tradition.
“I meant to stop off and pick them up,” I rushed on, “but I couldn’t get away and—”
“It’s about time,” my mother declared.
Jacqueline Marchette wore a chocolate-colored silk wrap dress, a diamond Tiffany
choker and matching bracelet, and a disapproving frown. Her long, dark brown hair had been slicked back into a chic ponytail that accented her high cheekbones and sculpted nose. Thick eyelashes fringed her rich brown eyes. Chanel’s Chocolate Mousse slicked her full lips. She smelled of French perfume, cherries jubilee, and lots of money (what born vampire didn’t?).
I’d been fortunate enough to snag my favorite Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress—black and white with cap sleeves—before fleeing from the cops and a fab pair of black leather Vivia’s, so I didn’t feel underdressed.
“Your brothers have been here for over an hour,” my mother informed me.
Geez, Mom, It’s great to hear you’re doing so well. Me? Well, I’m wanted for murder, which means every cop between here and Manhattan is looking for me. I’ve got an overprotective bounty hunter for a babysitter. And my hair—damn its traitorous soul—refused to cooperate. In a nutshell, I’m peachy. Just peachy.
“Your father and I count on these nights, Lilliana,” she went on, “and we fully expect our children to hold them in the same regard.”
“I do.” I smiled. It was that or bust into tears, and my mom isn’t really the type you can cry in front of. (Plunder small villages? Yes. Cry? No friggin’ way.) “The next time I resist arrest and go on the lam, I’ll be sure to ask for hunt nights off in advance.”
“It’s the very least you can do, dear.”
I know she gave birth to me and we share the same bloodline and I should be eternally thankful and all. I wouldn’t be here in all my vamp glory if it weren’t for the sixteen hours of extremely painful labor valiantly endured by the woman standing in front of me. I know (namely because she reminded me on all major holidays and my birthday) and I appreciate it. Really. It’s just that sometimes (i.e., now) I felt like smacking her.
“Don’t just stand there.” She motioned me inside. “Everyone is waiting.”
While she was as uptight and pretentious as ever, I knew something was off when, instead of gliding toward the living room in her totally fab pair of strappy leather Jimmy Choos, she reached for a bottle of Scotch that sat on a nearby counter and downed a swig.
It wasn’t the alcohol that clued me in, but the fact that she didn’t bother pouring it into a glass. My mom was the walking poster girl for born vampire decorum. She dressed her best, minded her manners, and never played with her food (except that time she’d played a few sets with Martina Navratilova).
“Everyone.” She took another swig and swiped the edge of her mouth with the back of one perfectly manicured hand. “Including Jack’s human.”
My brother had been bringing his human flavor of the week for as long as I could remember. While my folks didn’t like it, they usually dismissed it with a “Male vampires will be male dicks, er, that is vampires” mentality. But this was different. This was…
Realization hit and I perked up. “Dr. Mandy’s here?”
My mother cut me a startled stare. “You know her?”
“Um, no. Not really.” Sure, she’d loaded me into a morgue drawer, but that didn’t mean we were friends for afterlife, right? “I know she’s a doctor and her name is Mandy.” When Mom arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, I added, “Jack told me.”
“Since when do you and Jack talk?”
Since I’ve been on the run for murder and he loaned me an obscene amount of money that I fully intend to pay back just as soon as my life gets back to normal and the planets align.
She seemed to have forgotten that all-important tidbit—me being on the run—in her desperation for Scotch and I wasn’t about to remind her. Besides, she looked upset. Shaken, even.
I know, right? My mother.
I couldn’t help but respond to her desperate need for empathy (and my desperate need to stay off the chopping block) and lie. “Did I say Jack? I meant Max.”
I expected the usual long, thoughtful, suspicious look.
She waved a hand. “I can’t believe he brought her tonight.” She shook her head. “Your father and I agreed to meet her and those people tomorrow evening. Not that we fully expected to actually meet them. Your father and I felt certain we could reason with him after the hunt. Tonight. It’s obvious he and this Mandy human are completely wrong for each other. But then he showed up with her. Now she’s here and he’s…” She shook her head again. “I simply cannot believe this. You should see him. He’s completely beside himself.” She shook her head. “He’s just so different.”
“He’s in love.”
She looked at me as if I’d sprouted a halo before waving her hand again. “There’s obviously some powerful magic at work. She has to be a witch. That’s the only explanation for this drastic behavioral change. He’s like a different vampire since he met her.”
“That’s actually a good thing.” On account of Jack’s usually a shit and all.
Okay, now I’d sprouted a halo and angel wings. “Are you insane? How in the world is he supposed to spend forever with a human?” Before I could point out what was obvious to everyone except for my mother (who would sooner drive a stake into her own heart than do the unthinkable and make a vampire) she added, “I need another drink.” She downed a long swig.
I stepped forward (to smack her, of course) and found myself patting her back and mumbling, “It’ll be all right.”
Crazy, right? But I’d been freaked out myself when I’d seen Jack with Mandy. I could only imagine how my mom felt what with him being the fruit of her womb (my mother’s words, not mine).
She took several more drinks before setting the bottle on the counter and straightening her shoulders. “I’m ready,” she said. “The sooner we get in there, the sooner we can send Mandy back to the city and talk some sense into Jack.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
I followed my mother into the living room and braced myself for my father’s reaction when she announced, “Lil forgot your balls.” Followed by the inevitable, “Lil, we’d like you to meet…” where she introduced me to this week’s fix-up. Aka the latest prime specimen of born male vampness wealthy and fertile enough to be her future son-in-law and the sire of her grandchildren.
“Lil’s here,” she said. “Rob’s it.” She clapped her hands. “Come on, vampires. Let’s get this show on the road!”
Wait a second.
I glanced around. My father. Max. Rob. Jack. Dr. Mandy. Mom. My father. Max. Rob. Jack. Dr. Mandy…
Holy shit.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked as he came up next to me.
“I love you, bro.” I planted a big, wet one on his cheek. “I really love you.” I headed for the back veranda before I broke down and wept with gratitude.
No awkward fix-up. No Mom on my back, pointing out my flaws, berating me for not doing the expected thing and squeezing out a grandchild for her like so-and-so’s daughter. No dad giving me the “eye” and wondering if I’m a lesbian. Not that I have anything against same-sex relationships, but I wouldn’t want people thinking I’m a Sephora girl when I do all my shopping at MAC. Same principle.
The point? This moment…What can I say? It was my fondest dream come true (okay, so maybe it wasn’t the fondest, but it ranked right up there with finding my eternity mate and rolling around naked on the beach with Ty). We’re talking heaven.
Not that I did much talking or thinking about the big H. I rarely gave any thought to the “What happens next?” concept. After all, I’m immortal.
But every once in a great while when I did imagine the “What if I were human—not that I want to be—but what if I were?” thing, when I did, H-E-A-V-E-N always consisted of an accepting, supportive family that didn’t think of me as the black sheep.
Black is so not my color.
The next few moments passed in a frantic blur as my mother herded everyone outside, toward the veranda steps.
Rob got the usual head start and raced down the steps, across the lawn, and into the trees. The it person takes the lead and whoever catches him first and gets close eno
ugh to blow the whistle around his neck wins.
My father had his usual stopwatch, but before the hand could tick off a full minute, my mom gave the “Go” signal to the rest of us.
My mother and Max took off after Rob. My father was slow on the start, but once he realized what was happening, he hit the forest at warp speed, an enraged look on his face, a competitive gleam in his eyes.
I lagged behind as usual, ready to circle back around just as soon as everyone was out of sight. Mandy was slowing Jack down, however, and so the three of us practically crawled toward the cluster of trees that loomed just beyond the lawn.
Eventually my bro and his sweetie came to a dead stop for a long, lingering kiss (totally cute or what?), and I took advantage of the distraction. I cut to the right and headed for my usual spot—the pool house.
I’d barely settled into a lounge chair to go over my Alpha Meet Market list when I heard the shrill sound of the whistle that signaled the end of the hunt. I glanced at the clock on the portable fridge.
Three minutes?
Not that I was complaining. I was just surprised.
Even more when my mother emerged from the woods a few minutes later dragging a startled Rob by the whistle wrapped around his neck.
“You have to be kidding me,” Max said as she hauled him up the veranda steps. “She hasn’t won the hunt in, like, two hundred years.”
Not since the time she’d beaten my father and he’d pouted for three decades. While she always participated, she usually held back and let someone else walk away with the coveted Moe’s vacation days.
Usually.
Then again, she was desperate to speed things along and get Jack away from Mandy.
Obviously, mothers didn’t just lift cars to save their children. They also tackled other vampires (even the fruit of their womb) and beat the shit out of them when necessary.
“You didn’t have to hit me.” Rob followed her as she led him past us and into the house.
Dead and Dateless Page 12
