The Real Werewives of Vampire County

by Ivy, Alexandra; Fox, Angie; Dane, Tami; Haines, Jess

  Tia showed me how to wear makeup without looking like I was wearing makeup. You’d think that would defeat the point, but I stopped debating her on it after she almost jammed a mascara wand up my nose.

  Tia was easily flustered.

  I rubbed my lips together, tasting a hint of cherry gloss. I looked like me, only better.

  Yes, she’d forced me into white pants, which are a really bad idea if you want to wrestle a murderer to the ground. And don’t even get me started on the flimsy emerald top. Tia said it matched my eyes. I wasn’t sure why that was important, but I figured she knew style just like I knew how to slap a pair of handcuffs on a drunken werepoodle.

  Speaking of cuffs, I had both pairs in my what-cha-ma-call-it Softy Calf Hobo bag. The silly purse cost more than a case of those fancy cigars Finnegan liked to smoke, but I figured he owed it to me for making me wear mascara.

  Tonight would be my big chance. The vulture herself was throwing a luau, complete with a roasted hog, in honor of me and Lucien. Of course, if Francine had her way, I’d be the one tied to the spit.

  Let her try. The deep pockets allowed enough room for my mace. I’d sliced a stun gun holder into the lining of my fancy new purse. The cut of the pants was generous enough for my two fixed-blade daggers, and I had my lucky boot knife in my bra.

  Gorgeous.

  The silk against my skin made me feel almost naked. Sleek. I placed my hands on my hips and studied the image in the mirror. I looked like I could pull this off.

  Tia had even suggested a bottle of the vulture’s favorite French perfume as a hostess gift. The contents of the tiny gold bottle smelled like half-dead rabbit. I had to admit it wasn’t bad.

  My heels caught every crack in the sidewalk as I hobbled over to Francine’s hacienda-style home. The scent of roast pig lingered in the air, and I could hear voices and laughter coming from the back of the house. A plant-filled courtyard dominated her front lawn, featuring terra-cotta birdbaths, lush floral arrangements, and tasteful sitting areas. I took the stone path through the garden and straight to the looming stucco house, painted in burnt orange. Before I could even knock on the heavy wood door, it opened.

  “Hola, missus,” a uniformed housekeeper in her midfifties answered. She led me though the foyer and into a boldly decorated room that led to I didn’t even want to know how many more. This place could have fit half our pack.

  A bank of glass at the back of the house opened out to a patio.

  “Mitzy!” a voice called from the kitchen as we passed.

  I stopped short as an impossibly skinny woman with a broad-brimmed hat poured herself a glass of white wine laced with fruit. She had a helmet of straight black hair that ended stylishly at her prominent collarbone.

  “Care for some dinner?” she asked.

  “Where?” I asked, not sure what to make of her.

  “Here.” She jiggled the pitcher.

  “I think I’ll wait,” I said. I wasn’t really into drinking, especially now, when I needed to keep my wits.

  “Suit yourself,” she said, leaving the pitcher behind for the maid. “I’m Nina, by the way.”

  One of the Predators.

  And a wereleopard from the way she smelled. She was impossibly bony, yet sleek, and she moved with a fluid grace.

  “Tia told me about your little shopping trip,” she said, a conspiratorial smile tipping her lips.

  It was then I noticed she was wearing a silver bikini under an elaborate white silk wrap.

  “Don’t worry. It’s not real silver,” she said, as if that’s why I was staring.

  A ribbon of dread wound its way through me. “This is a pool party,” I said, stating the obvious.

  And I was in pants.

  I could have sworn I knew how these things worked. I’d watched Dynasty. Alexis Carrington and her pack wore skimpy gowns and jewels to outdoor parties. They even had shoulder pads. I was not overdressed for a society party. I couldn’t be.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Nina said, as if she could read my mind. “Nobody swims anyway.”

  I was just about to think of a way to escape when one of the glass doors at the back of the house slid open. “Nina!” Francine breezed in wearing a getup that reminded me more of a 1940s pinup outfit than swimwear. “Stop drinking your dinner and get your ass out here.”

  “I need to fortify myself before Samuel arrives,” she said, fishing out a cherry and biting it.

  “You knew he was a Puritan when you married him.”

  “Yeah, but I thought in four hundred years, he would have grown out of it.” Nina glanced at me. “He’s going through a relapse. You know how it is.”

  I nodded, not even wanting to think about how these women could marry vampires.

  “What are you wearing?” Francine asked, walking a slow circle around me.

  “I don’t swim,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Obviously.”

  My fingers squeezed the crinkly wrapping of my hostess gift as I endured her scrutiny. At that moment, I wished I’d been holding my lucky boot knife, and it took everything I had not to reach down in my bra and pull it out.

  At least then I’d feel capable of defending myself.

  Nina breezed past. “Let’s get out to the party.”

  The entire patio was filled with women in swimsuits and wraps that were never designed to touch water. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that everything out here was dry-clean only. They clustered around mosaic tables and on padded chaise lounges. A band had set up in the back, playing island-themed music.

  My skin crawled with the need to escape. It wasn’t only the fact that a twelve-foot wall surrounded the entire pool area, it was the keen knowledge that I did not belong here—even if I was a guest of honor.

  Ha.

  More like the main course.

  Okay, well, the sooner I questioned Francine, the faster I could make my escape. I knew she was involved in Sunny’s murder the same way I knew she’d taped her boobs into that gravity-defying pinup swimsuit.

  “Francine,” I said, as she attempted to glide toward a cluster of polished women. “I have a gift for you.” I dangled Tia’s perfectly wrapped bottle of eau de dead chipmunk.

  The vulture assessed me. “Not now, werewolf.”

  I gripped her on the arm, knowing her kind didn’t like touch. “I need to talk to you.”

  Her eyes were dark with fury as she attempted to shake me off.

  I held on tighter. “Don’t think I won’t make a scene.”

  “Tsk! You think I care if you make a scene? Hell. It would be the highlight. They’d be talking about my party for the next year.”

  “Don’t you want to know why Lucien married me?” I asked, tempting her with information.

  “Sure thing, hon. I’m dying to know what you had on him,” she said, shrugging out of my grip, while at the same time smiling to a group of guests. “Over here.”

  She led me to the edge of the pool area, where plants spilled from terra-cotta pots and part of the stone wall gave way to a rocky waterfall.

  “Now let’s get one thing straight,” she began, as I locked eyes with her and released a surge of power from low in my chest.

  She made me jumpy, nervous. I channeled that anxiety and more as I flung my power out at her.

  Shadows fell over her face as she backed farther into the palms, wet with water.

  That’s it. Back away. Run. There’s nowhere to hide.

  My head buzzed with energy and a dry tightness seized the back of my throat. My mind locked with hers. As soon as I felt the connection, I asked, “Did you kill Sunny McCarty?”

  “Ouch!” she said a second before my power whipped back and smacked me between the eyes.

  “Son of a—” I stamped one well-heeled foot on the pavement so hard I was sure I heard a crack.

  I knew better than to jump too far, too fast. I’d let her get to me. I so wanted this to be over.

  Francine cringed like I’d raked my nai
ls over a chalkboard.

  Join the club. My head was ringing, too. The goal was to slip into someone’s mind, not zap her with a thousand volts.

  “Let’s start over,” I croaked, trying to act as if my skull wasn’t ringing.

  This time, I eased into her mind. I let the power connect naturally. We’d start with simpler questions.

  Francine’s fingers shook as she checked her diamond earrings and smoothed her hair behind her ears.

  I could feel the magnetic pull of the connection as I drew closer to her.

  “Why are you such a bitch?”

  She laughed. “Because I can be.”

  Of course. I’d forgotten how straightforward it was for bullies like her.

  “What do you know about me?” I asked.

  “I know you don’t belong here.” She fixed on me then, as if she could see straight into me. “I don’t think you belong anywhere.”

  The truth stung.

  “Tell me a secret about Sunny.”

  She considered the question. “Nina hated her.”

  That surprised me. “Nina?” Sure, I’d only known her for about two minutes, but she didn’t seem like the hateful type. Or maybe she was just drunk.

  “Why?” I prodded.

  “Sunny was blackmailing her.”

  Some friend.

  Francine stared out past me, toward her party. “You’d think Bliss would have been the blackmailer. She’s had money problems ever since her dead husband left his money to the dog.”

  “What?” I hadn’t met Bliss yet.

  Francine glanced at me. “And by dog I don’t mean someone like you. He left their fortune to Chi-Chi the Chihuahua.”

  “Poor Bliss.” I didn’t even know her and I felt sorry for her.

  Francine shrugged. “She gets by.”

  And, if I was reading between the lines right, it also meant Bliss would never eclipse Francine, which seemed to be a requirement for being a Predator.

  “Introduce me to Bliss,” I said, scanning the designer crowd, as if I could somehow pick her out.

  “No problem. I’ve been dying to show her what a train wreck you are,” Francine said, making me instantly regret my truth powers.

  My head throbbed, the pain moving down my neck and into my shoulders and back as I pushed deeper into Francine’s mind.

  I didn’t need the vulture’s approval. At least she didn’t know I was investigating.

  She smirked down at me and I braced myself. Hopefully my initial questions had gotten me into her head enough, because I needed to know. “Did you kill Sunny McCarty?”

  Francine tossed a lock of gleaming hair over her shoulder. “A massive Gothic chandelier killed Sunny.”

  She was resisting. It seemed she’d dish out anyone else’s dirt, but there were barriers up when I aimed directly at her.

  I regrouped and hit her again. “Were you behind the falling chandelier?”

  “That would be impossible.” She pursed her lips. “The chandelier fell from the ceiling.”

  Just shoot me now. I was running out of juice and she was playing semantics.

  My head pounded. Dang. Most of my subjects would at least elaborate a little. Francine was going to torture me for every sliver she gave me. “Did you rip down the chandelier?” I pressed.

  “According to the rumor mill, the chandelier was cut,” she said, her voice breathy with meaning, or perhaps the strain of avoiding my questions. “I’d say it was a planned job. You cut all but one wire and then ... Snip, snap.”

  Oh geez. My temples rang and the patio began to spin.

  “Did you have anything to do with Sunny’s death?” I shrieked.

  She blinked. “No.”

  Finally. I wanted to curl up and sleep on the patio. “Then why?” Why had she made this so difficult? “Are you holding anything back?”

  She leveled a predatory smile. “Yes.”

  “What?” I grimaced. I couldn’t hold the link any longer. I let her go and with a crack, I felt our connection break.

  My power shot back into me like a rubber band snapping. “Ow.” I clutched my head and fought a wave of nausea.

  I was going to have a massive hangover from this one.

  Francine felt it, too. She stared at me, rubbing at the spot above her ear. “What did you do?” she asked, the words coming slowly.

  She squared her shoulders, regaining her trademark control. “Never mind.” She brushed past me and back to her party.

  I could barely walk straight as I made my way through the partygoers, who were at this point almost giddy with anticipation. The vampires would be arriving soon. I could tell we had some werewife hopefuls in the house tonight.

  Run, I wanted to tell them. Run and never look back.

  “Nina,” I nearly ran into her.

  “Whoa, girl,” she said, steadying me. “I see you had some of the sangria.”

  “I’m looking for Bliss,” I said.

  I didn’t know how I was going to question her. The pain in my head was growing worse and worse. I’d pushed myself too hard back there with Francine. But I couldn’t help it. The woman’s mind was a brick wall.

  “Bliss had to cancel,” Nina said. “Oh yeah—excuse you,” she added sarcastically as a bimbo nearly trampled her on the way to go see a vampire.

  “Why did Bliss cancel?” I asked. “I really wanted to meet her.” And her little dog, too.

  Nina shrugged. “Why does Bliss do anything?”

  I’d like to find out.

  “Wait.” I needed to talk to Nina, too. My brain felt like cotton.

  “Why are you cringing?” Nina asked, as I prepared to draw my powers out once again.

  My head felt like it was going to split in half. I rubbed at my temples as I used all of my strength to draw a line between us.

  “Mmm,” she said, bringing the fruity wine to her lips. “That tickles.”

  At least her mind was open. It felt like walking through a soap bubble.

  Even so, I knew I wouldn’t last long. I hadn’t even found a private place to question her. “Francine said Sunny was blackmailing you.”

  “I’ll say. She was taking me for five thousand dollars a month.”

  No way would I get deep enough to ask if she was the killer. I was surprised I’d gotten into her mind in the first place.

  “Why was Sunny blackmailing you?”

  Nina took a sip of wine, holding her glass to the side with two fingers. “She caught me giving my personal chef a bonus.”

  “That doesn’t seem so bad.”

  “On the dining room table.”

  My brain was fuzzy, yet another side effect. “Well, he is a chef.”

  “We weren’t eating, babe.”

  Oy. I didn’t need that mental picture.

  She noticed my discomfort and answered it with a sultry smile. “Oh, don’t be a prude. My husband doesn’t eat. I don’t eat. Our personal chef has to do something.”

  “Just shoot me now.” These people were all nuts.

  She tilted her head and studied me. “No. If I was going to kill you, I’d maul you.” She grinned. “Or just smack you with a chandelier, right?”

  “What?” I demanded. But it was no use. The connection fizzled out. I had nothing left. Nina didn’t even notice.

  She bent closer. “You don’t look so good.” She shook her wine goblet, the half-melted ice at the bottom sloshing from side to side. “You’d better lay off the hooch.”

  I stumbled backward. I’d never questioned two people in one night and now I knew why. There wouldn’t be a third, that much was certain.

  “I gotta go,” I said to no one in particular as I made my way back toward the house. The cool slap of air-conditioning hit me as I slid the glass door open. It felt good in a way, like laying my head on the cool porcelain of a toilet seat after I got sick questioning that Harley-riding witch back in Las Vegas.

  She’d been a stubborn cuss.

  But at least the biker witch wasn�
�t evil. I had a feeling there was more to Sunny’s murder than one desperate werewife gone off the deep end.

  Francine and her dodgy answers.

  Nina and her talk about chandeliers.

  A large hand closed around my shoulder and I shouted.

  “Heather,” he hissed in my ear.

  “Lucien.” I about fell over with relief.

  He wore no shirt, which was a total waste because at that moment I knew I wasn’t fully appreciating his fine vampire self. I also liked the concern I saw in his eyes. Sue me. It felt kind of good that someone cared whether or not I passed out next to the fake tiki hut.

  “It’s done,” I murmured as he wrapped his arms around me. “I’m wiped.”

  Wait. I thought about resisting as he pulled me close against his chest, but then again—I wasn’t crazy.

  I supposed I should have been trying to keep my distance from him, but at that moment, I didn’t give a rip.

  My cheek rested against Lucien’s chest and something warm pooled inside me.

  “Okay, let’s get you out of here,” he said as he drew away and helped me down the hall.

  He didn’t ask me any questions. He didn’t push me. He just walked with me. And as soon as we’d cleared the threshold of Francine’s house, he picked me up and carried me home.

  “I can stand,” I insisted as Lucien kicked our front door closed.

  “Leave it to me,” he said, as we headed for the stairs.

  You’re not listening, I protested, or maybe I just thought it as he carried me up the steps like a child, all the way to his room.

  His bed was an ornate cherry wood antique with bloodred sheets. “I’m not sleeping in your bed,” I groaned.

  “Of course not,” he said, easing me into the soft mattress and stretching out next to me. “Advil?”

  My head hurt too much to argue. “Better make it a double.”

  He fetched me four pills and a chaser of water. I swallowed them down and wished he could just knock me out. “I feel like I got hit by a garbage truck.”

  The bed dipped as he sat down next to me. “Is it always this bad?”

  “No.” I’d pushed myself hard tonight. “Go away.” That’s what my pack did at this point. They cleared out and left me to my pain.