“You can’t stay here,” I told him. “Just grow some balls, go home and tell Nina she’ll have to go to a hotel.”
“I’ve got balls,” he said defensively. “Big ones. Massive.”
“Then you won’t have any trouble tossing her toward the nearest Hyatt.”
“A hotel’s so impersonal.”
“She works at a hotel.”
“Exactly. You wouldn’t tell me to sleep at Moe’s.”
“Hey, there’s an idea.”
“Very funny.”
“It’s only fair you should be the one to keep the apartment,” I pressed. “It’s your apartment.”
“True, but I can’t kick her out on the street.”
I wanted to point out that if it had been any other female vampire (and he had a long list of them in his past), he would have kicked her out and slammed the door without so much as a twinge of conscience.
We’re talking a born male vampire. Hitler had nothing on ’em.
“I mean,” he rushed on, “I could kick her out. I would. But what if she gets vindictive? I don’t want some crazy pulling a Fatal Attraction.”
At least that’s what he said.
But I didn’t miss the flicker of hurt in his eyes and the tick in his right jaw. He was upset and doing his best not to show it.
A front that would crumble soon enough, once he passed I’m the luckiest SOB on earth and cruised straight into I suck rocks and it’s no wonder she left my sorry ass.
“A week,” I told him. “But then you move back to your own apartment.”
“Yeah.” He craned his neck, scoped out the surroundings and rubbed his hands together. “So, do you have any blood?” He pushed to his feet. “I’m starved.”
“If you’re looking for a fresh maiden, I’m afraid I’m all out.”
“What about something from the deli?” He started for the kitchen.
I was right on his heels, alarm rattling through me. This was my brother. Marchette flesh and blood. He lived to hypnotize and tantalize and sink his fangs into a sweet, succulent neck. Any neck so long as it was attached to breasts and a vagina. “Since when do you bottle it?”
He hauled open the fridge and ducked his head in. “Bottled blood is as good as any.” He pulled a full bottle of imported AB—from the shelf.
“So sayeth a vamp who is totally whipped.”
Grabbing a corkscrew, he frowned. “I’m not whipped.” He wound the screw into the top and a loud popppp followed. “I don’t even like Nina.”
No, he loved her. He was just too proud to admit it because he thought she didn’t love him. But she did. She was just too scared to admit it.
And they said humans were clueless when it came to relationships?
“You should be scourging the countryside for sweet, succulent virgins,” I told him. “At the very least, a semi-decent hottie with great taste in clothes. Unless, of course”—I eyeballed him—“you still have feelings for Nina.”
“Are you kidding?” He went for an I-don’t-give-a-shit look and failed miserably. “I couldn’t care less about her. That virgin thing”—he pointed at me—“I’m on it.” Instead of bothering with a glass and a microwave, he gulped the blood cold and headed back to the living room. “First thing tomorrow night,” he called over his shoulder.
I followed him. “Why not tonight?”
“It’s Sunday,” he said, as if that explained everything. He collapsed on the sofa. Bottle in one hand, he reached for my remote and flipped on the TV. “ESPN is running a replay of the Giants versus the Cowboys.” He toed off his boots, planted his feet on my coffee table and settled back into the sofa. “I heard it’s one helluva game.”
“Why don’t we go out?” The sooner he started hooking up with new women, the sooner he would realize that Nina was the only woman for him.
That, and the fact that I was feeling pretty crappy.
I needed a distraction from the whole Esther situation. Since the office was closed on Sunday, I was on my own for a diversion.
“A brother and sister night,” I added. “You know, two siblings doing the town. Kicking up their heels. Having fun.”
“Sounds fuckin’ A,” he murmured, but he’d already tuned me out. “Maybe tomorrow.” He grabbed a throw pillow, leaned back and shoved it under his head. He took another swig of blood.
My gaze went to Killer. “What about you? You up for a walk?” I wiggled my eyebrows. “We could go window-shopping.”
Are you kidding me? There’s so much estrogen floating around here I’m practically suffocating as it is. He blinked and leapt up onto the couch. Settling next to Rob, he propped his head on my brother’s thigh and eyed the TV. It’s about time we had a little testosterone in this place.
“Fine. Do the male bonding thing.” I nailed Killer with a knowing stare. “But if anyone starts a pissing contest, I swear I’m kicking you both out.”
I left Rob and Killer in the living room, retreated to my bedroom and spent the next several hours sucking down coffee and Tums and Googling “Mordred Lucius.”
Ash had said the ritual site would have special significance for Mordred.
A place he’d been before.
Someplace he felt comfortable.
Powerful.
As odd as his name was, there were actually 108 listed as living in the United States. I went for the only one with a current address in New York (he’d had a driver’s license) and continued my search until I’d accumulated twelve past known addresses.
I could only hope he wasn’t going for a location prior to computerized records and Google. He was over eight hundred years old.
“I’ve got twelve possible locations,” I told Ash when he answered his cell.
“Who is this?”
“You know who it is.”
“Yeah, but I like to hear you say it. You’ve got a sexy voice.”
“Pull your mind out of the gutter.”
“Hey, you’re the one who called me.”
“To relay information, and not the kind that has anything to do with what I’m not wearing. I’m in a relationship. A committed, happy, healthy relationship.”
“Sure.”
“Do you want to know what I found or not?”
“Not really.”
“I found twelve.”
“Twelve what?”
“Locations.”
“Locations for whom?”
“The warlock. You said he would take Esther someplace he felt powerful, which means it has to be someplace he’s been before. I found twelve past addresses for Mordred and I’m thinking one might be the ritual location. I was hoping you could check them out for me.”
“I already told you, I can’t butt into this. It’s out of my jurisdiction and Merle gets very territorial. He nearly busted a nut because I asked around before handing it over to him.”
“What? He’s never heard of teamwork?”
“The boundaries between the different divisions of my organization are very distinct. Crossing lines can get you fired in the blink of an eye.”
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want you to lose your job.”
“I meant literally. Flames. Smoke. Burning flesh.”
“I get the picture.” Boy, did I ever.
“If you managed to find a track record for this guy, I’m sure Merle has picked up the trail, as well. Don’t worry,” he added. “My cousin knows how to handle a rogue warlock.”
Ash sounded so confident that I actually believed him. Really. These guys were professionals. They knew what they were doing and I should just sit back and let them do their thing. Esther was in good hands and I had absolutely nothing to worry over.
Life was normal.
Great.
Fan-friggin’-tabulous.
I powered off the computer and peeked into the living room. Rob was on his third bottle of cold blood. Killer had decided to hump my faux fur pillow. And the Giants were getting their asses kicked.
Yep, normal, all right.
I kept up the normal facade for the next two days. But by the time Tuesday night rolled around, I was back to freaking out. Rob was still rooming with me. Killer had ruined all my throw pillows. Ivan had canceled his appointment (and the sizeable check he’d written to DED). And I hadn’t heard one word about Esther.
The only thing that had gone right (in theory, at least) was Mia’s date with Harmon. They’d played Scrabble and drank hot cocoa and he hadn’t even held her hand.
They were in celibate heaven and headed for date number two tonight.
“Are you sure there are no more messages?” I asked Evie as I perched on her desk and rifled through the stack in my hand.
“Just the four from your mother, the two from Mandy, five from Nina Two and one from a guy who wants to sell you Amway.” She shoved a few file folders into a kick-ass Marc Jacobs hobo bag and powered off her computer. “Oh, and Tabitha called. She said the guy you fixed her up with last night had blond hair. She doesn’t do blonds.”
“I know that but they were a perfect personality match.”
“Obviously she’s more into looks than personality. She said she hopes that prospect number two is more her type.”
I had my doubts. He was a redhead, but he did meet the very specific height and weight requirements.
“Did you tell her the third time’s a charm and the first two are just warm-up dates?”
Evie nodded. “I also offered her a free dozen donuts and a coupon for Starbucks.”
“And?”
“She said she’d rather have the right man.” Evie stabbed a button on her computer and the screen went blank. “Don’t forget to call that new client—Jonelle So-and-so. We promised we’d call her with details for the first match.”
“But I haven’t made a match yet.”
“Not yet,” she smiled, “but the night is young. You have an entire half hour before she expects your phone call.” She grabbed her purse. “Gotta run.”
“Hot date?”
“I’m playing Bunko with my uncle Harrington.”
“How old is he?”
“Too old for Jonelle,” she said as if reading my mind. “The woman didn’t look a day over thirty in her profile pic.”
Make that six hundred and thirty. “She said she likes older men.”
“Uncle Harrington isn’t an older man. He’s an old man. Complete with Depends and cataracts and an infatuation with Wheel of Fortune.” When I didn’t look discouraged, she shrugged. “Oh, all right. I’ll ask him. But you can’t send them dancing. He farts every time he makes a sudden move.”
“No dancing,” I vowed. I slid her a pencil and note pad. “Write down his phone number and I’ll do the rest.”
After suckering Evie out of her uncle’s digits, I spent the next fifteen minutes convincing Jonelle why an Audrey Hepburn film festival would be the way to go for her first encounter with Harrington Dalton the Third.
Movies are romantic.
There’s no need to talk. To touch. To interact in any way, shape or form.
“So why is this the perfect date?” she finally asked me.
“Because there’s no pressure. You’re relaxed. He’s relaxed. It’s the recipe for success.” And a flatulence-free interlude.
A little more convincing and she finally caved. After that, I checked on Mia’s date—they were drinking milkshakes and watching Seabiscuit—and then spent a half hour working on a few matches for other various clients.
At least I tried to work, but I kept thinking about Esther and how much she’d wanted to settle down and how she’d entrusted her faith, hope and dreams (and Visa card) with yours truly.
I gave up the matches and pulled out the business card Ash had given me. Punching in the phone number, I settled back in my chair and waited.
“Sorcery and tax evasion,” a woman announced after the third ring. “How can I help you?”
“I’m trying to reach Merle Ambrose’s office.”
“This is it. Merle’s the head honcho here, but he’s got two assistants who handle the overlapping departments.”
“How in the world does sorcery overlap with tax evasion?”
“Sugar, I haven’t met a wizard yet who didn’t try a wiggle spell on his 1040 every now and then.”
“A wiggle spell?”
“You know, a little incantation and some effective animal sacrifice to wiggle out of paying the bottom line. So what are you calling about?”
“A missing warlock.”
“That would fall under Mickey’s jurisdiction. He’s Merle’s right hand in sorcery. I’ll transfer you.”
Fifteen minutes and five Barry Manilow songs later (courtesy of XM’s All Barry All the Time), I heard a slightly irritated “Yes?”
“Mickey?”
“That’s the name they gave me.”
“I’m calling about the Mordred Lucius case.”
“Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving this case?”
“No. I just wanted an update on how things are going. Esther—the kidnapped vampire—is a close, personal friend of mine.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. We don’t give updates. We just collect information.”
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Ambrose.”
“Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving the case?” he repeated.
“I already said no.”
“Then you have no reason to speak with him.”
“But—”
Click.
Sonofabitch.
I tried once more and crossed my fingers that I might get someone other than Mickey.
“Mickey here.”
Have I mentioned that I’m not exactly the luckiest vampire in the world?
I cleared my throat and took my voice down a notch. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Ambrose.”
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Countess Lilliana Guinevere du Marchette.” Okay, so the only thing even remotely good about being French royalty is that I could occasionally play the countess card. I tried for my most commanding tone. “I need to speak with him at once. I command thee,” I added for effect.
“Would that be about a particular case he’s working on?”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “Correct.”
“Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving the case?”
“Not at this time.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t—”
“Help me,” I cut in, my voice losing the regal tone. “Yeah, yeah. I know the spiel. I just thought you might cut me some slack. My friend is in desperate trouble and—”
Click.
I punched in the number again and went through the motions until I reached Mickey again. “I’m Lil Marchette. I’m calling about the Mordred Lucius case.” I decided to throw in a little bribery to tip the scales in my favor. “And I’d be more than happy to donate two free matches to anyone who spills their guts about Esther’s predicament.”
“I don’t date, Miss Marchette.”
“A man with your charm? I’m shocked.”
I could practically see his finger poised on the disconnect button. “Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving this case?” came the preprogrammed voice. “No? Then I’m afraid I can’t—”
“Yes,” I blurted. “I’ve got info. Lots of it.”
It’s one teensy lie. Get over it.
“Hold please,” he finally told me after a stunned moment.
Now, that was more like it.
I leaned back in my chair as Barry launched into a lively rendition of “Copacabana.” He’d just reached the final chorus when the music ended and a thick British accent echoed in my ear.
“Merle N. Ambrose. How may I be of service?”
My heart gave a double thump and excitement zipped through me. “This is Lil Marchette,” I started, my voice dying as two important things registered in my brain: 1) a dial tone blared in my right ear where I hel
d the receiver to my head, and 2) there was a strange tickling on the back of my neck, which indicated that something or someone was standing right behind me.
I bolted to my feet and whirled. The chair tumbled backwards and the edge caught my shin. Pain zipped through me and rattled my teeth.
“What the …?” I scrambled for words. “Who the …? How the …?” Focus, Lil. I shook away the vibrating pain and drank in the man standing in front of me.
He was short and pudgy. He wore a red fleece suit and running shoes and reminded me more of Santa Claus than a timeless, all-powerful warlock. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes twinkled. “Merlin?”
“That’s Merle N.” He held a finger to his lips. “I like to keep it separate; otherwise, someone’s liable to put two and two together. Don’t want the SOBs beating down my door, now, do we?”
For a wizard flying below the radar, he was a little off the mark. “It still sounds like Merlin when you pronounce it out loud,” I pointed out.
“On paper it keeps up the charade well enough. I don’t put in too many personal appearances. Knock, knock,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Not Excuse me. You’re supposed to say Who’s there? It’s a bloody joke.” His eyes twinkled and I fully expected him to belt out a Ho, ho, ho. “Don’t you like jokes?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then say ‘Who’s there?’ Knock, knock.”
I rubbed at my shin. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who’s there?”
“Dot.”
“Dot who?”
“Dot’s for me to know and you to find out.” He started to laugh. His stomach heaved and shook with the effort. “Wait, wait,” he finally managed after several loud, boisterous seconds. “I’ve got an even better one. Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Ears.”
“Ears who?”
“Ears some more knock-knock jokes for you.” He roared and I did my best not to roll my eyes. “Isn’t that the bloodiest funny thing you’ve ever heard?”
“A riot.” I pulled my chair upright and tried not to look freaked. “So what are you doing here?”
“You called me.”
“On the phone,” I pointed out.
He shrugged. “I prefer taking my calls in person.” The humor fled his expression and his brown eyes hardened. He went from easygoing to formidable in the blink of an eye. I had the sudden feeling that I’d just been hauled into the headmaster’s office.
Sucker For Love Page 8
