Once I sat down, Alex and Wembley both took their seats again. “So, why are you here, Stephanie? I’m sure you have Christmas plans of your own.” I glanced at the sweater.
She glanced down and grinned. “A gift from my children. I’ve actually already eaten dinner with my family. With small children, we schedule early, so I was just wrapping up when these buffoons called me.”
“So why are you here?” I asked.
Stephanie looked at Alex. “Yes, Alex. Explain to the very kind woman why I’ve gate-crashed her quiet family evening.”
Except it was Wembley who spoke. “She’s here just in case things go amiss. We wanted to be sure that someone who was especially gifted at…ah, counseling was on hand if you didn’t take things well.”
This woman was no counselor.
“What in the world are you up to, Jefferson? What have you gotten my daughter involved in?”
He raised his hands. “I met her afterward. She was already—”
“I was already a vampire when Wembley met me, Mom.” Mallory entered the dining room and placed Stephanie’s drink in front of her. “They’re quite good. Mom found a great milk substitute.”
With a quick, sweeping glance, I found that Stephanie seemed unsurprised by the announcement, Alex was watching me like a hawk—what did the man think I might do?—and Jefferson…Jefferson was so immersed in this fiasco that I wasn’t sure I cared what he was doing.
A vampire—what would that man come up with next? I blinked at him. Looked again. Blinked. “Jefferson, are those fangs?”
Chapter Seven
Given the circumstances, I was proud of myself.
I didn’t faint. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even scream. I was the perfect hostess…in my mind, at least.
In reality, I wasn’t entirely certain what I did.
“Mom?” Mallory held my hand and was tapping it.
It wasn’t as if I’d passed out—had I? “Darling, I’m fine.” I clasped her hand between my own.
“Are you?” Mallory asked. Then she sniffed. “Mom…how much milk punch have you had?”
“Oh, really?” I shooed her back to her seat, and Alex, as well, when I found him hovering on the other side of my chair. “You ask me how much I’ve had to drink after you tell me that you’re not dying but you’re sick, and, oh, by the way, you’re a vampire?” I shot her a narrow-eyed look. “You may not criticize my drinking habits.”
Stephanie chuckled. “Mrs. Andrews—”
“Evelyn, please.”
“Evelyn, I might adore you.”
At which point my other three guests turned to stare at her. It seemed apparent by their response that Stephanie did not often declare her adoration.
“That’s so kind of you say, Stephanie. Would you like some consommé? Or perhaps some fondue? Vegan, of course, but it won’t take a moment to reheat.”
Stephanie grinned broadly. “No, I’m still full from my family dinner, but thank you so much for asking.” She turned to Alex and Jefferson. “Well, boys, what do you have to say to Evelyn?”
I glanced at Alex, but my gaze rested on Jefferson. Much as I peered, I couldn’t detect those fangs I was certain I’d seen before.
“Our sincerest apologies for surprising you with an unexpected guest,” Alex said.
Jefferson nodded. “Of course, yes. Although Sta-Stephanie is handy in a crisis, and we weren’t entirely certain how you’d react to—”
“Your fangs?” I asked. When he didn’t deny it, I knew that what I’d seen was real. With a stiff smile directed at my daughter, I said, “And Mallory, do you also have fangs?”
There. I’d said “fangs” twice now without flinching or hysterical laughter. Mother would be proud.
“I do, but they’re much smaller than Wembley’s,” she said, looking oddly chagrined.
My lips twitched, but since my thoughts were hardly appropriate, I wouldn’t share them. I couldn’t help a quick glance in Wembley’s direction, and caught one of his patented, heated come-hither looks.
My cheeks tingled, as did some other parts of my body. The man was so deliciously naughty. And perhaps…a vampire. That was certainly something to explore in more detail. After the dinner guests had gone, naturally.
I clasped my hands together in my lap. “All right, Mallory.” I steeled myself. Seeing my lover with fangs was one thing, but my child… “Let me have a look.”
An appalled expression crossed her face. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m your mother, darling. I’ve seen you in the buff, ill, and completely out of sorts. I can handle fangs.” I pursed my lips primly, then added, “Tiny fangs, you said. I’m sure they’re barely noticeable.”
And when they appeared, I had to remind myself that my daughter had expressed some sensitivity concerning her newly acquired fangs. I pressed my lips together. I would not smile. I would not. But then I did, because there were just so adorable. Especially compared to Jefferson’s much, um, larger set.
She covered her mouth with her hand, and when she removed it, her fangs had disappeared. Just like Jefferson’s. “Happy?”
“No need for sarcasm. Now.” I clasped my hands firmly together. “You need to tell me everything. Every single bit of it. And if you leave any important parts out, I will know. I am your mother, and I always know.”
Stephanie and I shared a look of mutual understanding. She was a mother. She knew exactly what I was talking about.
It turned out that my daughter had met a man, just not the romantic catch I would have hoped for her. She’d crossed paths with a predator who had infected her. As she told me how that had happened and what had followed, I did my very best to be strong. But my poor little girl—
“Mom, don’t cry. I’m fine. Really. Aren’t I, guys?”
Everyone around the table agreed that, indeed, my daughter was doing quite well. But I still gave her a hug.
With my arms around her, she patted my back and said softly, “And he’s dead. He’s gone.”
The surge of satisfaction I felt was enough to banish my tears.
After I’d taken my seat again, I asked, “What about the blood?” That seemed an important question.
“No blood. I’m a bit of an anomaly there. No blood—it actually makes me really sick, even the smell.”
I nodded. That made sense. “You always were squeamish about blood.”
Mallory shrugged. “And I guess I still am. Also, no solids, and so far nothing but plant-derived foods.”
“But you’re saying that’s not typical.” A mother did try to avoid using the word “normal,” and in the case of vampires, that seemed particularly wise.
After a resounding agreement from all present that, no, that was certainly not typical, I directed my attention to a certain vampire who had a lot of explaining to do. I pasted a pleasantly inquisitive look on my face. “And you, Jefferson? Do you consume blood?”
Jefferson squirmed in his chair, just like a schoolboy. “I might.” One stern look from me, and he said, “Yes, but it’s all very civilized these days. No murdering or rampaging.”
He might have added “anymore,” but I was a lady, so I pretended not to hear.
“Hm.” Morbid curiosity had me wondering about the logistics, but how did one ask such a question delicately? Where were the lines of etiquette drawn when discussing how and from what sources one partook of blood?
“Go on, Mom. I know you have questions.”
Again, how did one ask such a question delicately? One didn’t. One simply asked. “Do you use the bagged or the fresh variety?” I frowned. Would I need to start stocking blood? Perhaps a second refrigerator in the utility room…
“Bagged contains preservatives, and that doesn’t really…” Jefferson’s gaze locked on my face. He cleared his throat. “Ah, fresh is best.”
Alex intervened before poor Jefferson could entirely insert his foot into his mouth. “What Wembley means to say is that there’s a bottled version. Collected by donor
s and then stored in stasis bottles.”
“Stasis bottles? That sounds very high-tech.” I considered space and hygiene concerns.
Mallory fidgeted. “More witch-tech than high-tech”
“Witches. There are witches?”
Mallory nodded.
“Now that’s exciting.” I’d always had a secret fascination for witches. And there was the neighbor down the way who practiced Wicca. Was there a connection between Wicca and Mallory’s witches? But back to the blood, because one must be prepared at all times for guests. “So about these stasis bottles, should they be stored in any special way? Perhaps a dedicated refrigeration unit?” I tapped my finger on the table. “I’m thinking a small unit in the utility room. Oh, perhaps warmed? Do I need special equipment to heat it?”
The scent of garlic made my nose twitch, and I looked up to see my daughter crying. And the more her tears ran, the stronger the scent became.
“Sweetheart, is it possible, I hate to ask, but…” I leaned close and whispered, “Darling, do your tears smell like garlic?”
She sniffled and wiped her face. But instead of answering me, she said, “Mother, I love you.”
“I know, honey. I love you too.” Silly girl, as if there was anything she could do—or be—that would make me love her less.
I did let loose a discreet sigh of relief. No need for that appointment with Dr. Dinmann, thankfully. I would have to do some reorganizing to find the perfect spot for these stasis bottles of blood, but that seemed simple enough. And a better juicer. The one I had simply wouldn’t do. There’d be a lot of juicing happening at the house now.
A few questions still buzzed around in my head. For example, if not vampires, what exactly were Alex Valois and Stephanie Kawolski?
With a smile, I turned my attention to the pair of them. “So, tell me more about yourselves.”
I’d get to the bottom of it. After all, they were my daughter’s friends. Best to know exactly who she was spending her time with.
I caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye, and realized her tears had left red marks down her face. I leaned close again and whispered, “Darling, I think you need to powder your nose.” I nudged her. “Literally.”
She laughed. “Yes, Mom, I imagine I do.” And she quietly left to do just that.
Epilogue
My daughter, a vampire. Heavens, who would have thought? I grinned as I rinsed the last of the dishes. Certainly not Suzanne, down the road. Oh, Lord—or her father. No telling what Edward would have said. That man could be so rigid. I’d never go so far as to say I was thankful he’d passed on, but perhaps to be thankful he’d missed this particular stage of our daughter’s life wasn’t so terrible.
I removed my gloves. I’d forgotten how relaxing washing dishes could be. With the cleaner on holiday for the next few days and so much of the dinnerware not dishwasher safe, it had been unavoidable. But dishes for five people, that was only a moment’s work in any event.
The milk punch was looking inviting. Perhaps—no, that wasn’t quite what I was craving. I started to towel-dry the last bit of dampness from the dishes.
My daughter a vampire—and Stephanie a witch. She’d been only too happy to exchange numbers with me. I was certain the charming woman felt surrounded by people wholly unlike herself. My daughter, newly turned. And Jefferson had hardly been at his best this evening.
Ah, Jefferson.
I’d decided to send him home. It wouldn’t do for him to think he could betray a confidence without some repercussion. Though he had been attempting to bring my daughter and I closer together… No, sending him home had been the right choice. It did feel as though I’d punished myself, but that simply couldn’t be helped. Jefferson and I could explore his, ah, vampireness some other time.
Stacking the last of the dishes, I decided on the red that Alex had brought. I was feeling the need to indulge, and for whatever reason, red wine sounded divine. And the man had excellent taste in wine.
Alex was a mystery. He seemed to exude a kind of self-contained confidence, short of arrogance, but intense. And not a word as to what he was. Not a vampire or a witch, if there were such a thing as male witches—or would that be a warlock? But his silence on the topic had been noteworthy.
I wondered if Mallory knew that her date—and yes, Alex had most certainly been her date—had a shared history with the now happily married Stephanie Kawolski? It was impossible to miss, if one knew what signs to watch for. And I most certainly knew those signs.
That might make the furtherance of my acquaintanceship with Stephanie slightly awkward, but I liked her. We might not be so very alike, but I sensed a possible friend and perhaps an ally in this world that my daughter had entered.
I’d give her a call next week. Perhaps she could sneak away for brunch or a manicure.
I sat down at the kitchen table with my glass of red (it was truly divine) and my laptop. I’d just have a quick look at that juicer that Suzanne bought recently when her vegan daughter went on a juicing kick. Or was that the other daughter? The one that saw the psychiatrist?
Oh, and what was the brand of that adorable little fridge that the Nelsons had in their bar? That would fit perfectly in the utility room. Also a microwave…
I hope you enjoyed this peek into Mallory’s world through her mom’s eyes. If you’d like to read more about Mallory’s adventures as a vegan vampire, the series begins with Adventures of a Vegan Vamp.
About the Author
When Cate’s not tapping away at her keyboard or in deep contemplation of her next fanciful writing project, she's sweeping up hairy dust bunnies and watching British mysteries. Cate writes and lives in Austin, Texas (where many of her stories take place) with her pack of pointers and hounds. She's worked as an attorney, a dog trainer, and in various other positions, but writer is the hands-down winner.
Cate writes paranormal cozies (Vegan Vamp Mysteries & Death Retired) and romance (The Goode Witch Matchmaker & Lucky Magic) as Cate Lawley and paranormal (Lost Library) & urban fantasy (Spirelli) as Kate Baray.
Follow Cate Lawley online:
Her Newsletter
Her blog
Amazon
Facebook
BookBub
The Mystery of the Christmas Doll
Ani Gonzalez
Summary
Christmas in Banshee Creek usually means cold weather, hot chocolate, and lots of toys. But when a haunted doll with a bloody past arrives in the Magical Curiosity Shoppe, Dora Pendragon suspects that the innocent-looking toy is determined to find a new owner. Will Dora solve the mystery behind the doll before it finds a new victim?
Chapter One
December in Virginia. Ugh. It wasn't as cold as the outer rings of Hades, exactly, but it was close. It had been cloudy all day and the afternoon chill was hard to cope with. I could feel my hands turning blue inside my jacket pockets.
Double ugh.
I ignored the cold and paused in front of my store in jeans and a puffy winter jacket, scanning my surroundings in the dim light.
Back alley? Check.
Broken streetlamp? Check.
Shabby wooden sign with "Magical Curiosity Shoppe" written in creepy Goth script? Check.
Yep, my shop was still here in Banshee Creek, Virginia, USA.
Ensconced in its small brick building, the store looked old and well established, as if it had been sitting there for centuries. The stone steps were well-worn and the front window had a crack. The place looked like the rest of this Colonial-era town, aged and respectable.
A neat trick, considering my shop had appeared in Banshee Creek only a few weeks ago.
And I mean "appeared" quite literally. The Magical Curiosity Shoppe was one of those interdimensional establishments that hopped from one reality to another, causing people to exclaim "Wait, that wasn't there yesterday."
They all looked the same, shabby little shops full of antiques and odds and ends. You never found what you were looking f
or in those shops, but sometimes you found what you needed. Or, if you were terribly unlucky, what needed you.
This wasn't my first time in Banshee Creek. The town sat on a powerful ley line and my wandering shop was obviously attracted to that energy. But my last visit had been several years ago. Actually, almost a century ago. Time flies when you're having fun.
The town hadn't changed much, at least this part of Main Street. It had electricity now and lots of cars, but that was about it. The Colonial-era buildings were still standing and Victorian homes still dotted the streets. Strong magic had that effect. It preserved things.
Things like ghosts.
The town was famous for its many spectral inhabitants. The first thing I was told when I showed up a few weeks ago was that it had been voted America's Most Haunted town.
No wonder my shop kept returning. But why was it still hanging around? That was the question.
I opened the heavy wood door and stepped into the Magical Curiosity Shoppe. Right now I needed heat. Luckily, the shop came prepared and delicious warm air hit my face the moment I stepped inside.
"You look like an ambulatory iceberg, Dora," a gravelly voice said from behind the counter.
I turned, taking off my jacket, as a black and white cat leapt onto the wood counter.
"I feel it too," I replied, removing my wool beanie and letting my long, dark hair loose.
Despite the shop’s warmth, I was still shivering. Born, raised and cursed in the balmy Greek isles, it took me a while to understand the northern midwinter traditions about slaying the dreaded winter gods. I understood them now, though.
"Why did you even go outside?" Bubo, my daemon cat, replied, sitting with his tail neatly wrapped around his legs. "You know what the weather is like here. It hailed for three days the last time we were here."
Spells and Jinglebells Page 11
