Dead Vampires Don't Date

by Meredith Allen Conner

  I needed to keep my wits about me and my magic close.

  ****

  The bright morning sun highlighted the buttery blonde locks of my client as she opened the front door, turning them into a whipped spread of pure silk. I'd sort of thought that gleaming hair occurred on the front cover of People after a great deal of airbrushing.

  Her perfectly coiffed, flat ironed, shoulder length, golden blonde, straight-from-her-parents hair, really did shine.

  I wasn't sure which direction my curls were headed in today.

  She wore a crisp white blouse with a shell pink sweater she had tied by its arms over her shoulders. It matched her cotton candy lipstick perfectly. Her short skirt was one coordinating shade of pink darker.

  Long, sleekly tanned legs extended down to – I leaned slightly forward over my counter – end in a pair of pink and white sneakers.

  I'm not making this up.

  I tried to subtly smooth out the shirt I'd put on moments before Al woke up early and leapt enthusiastically into my arms as we shook hands. I brought her into the office I reserved strictly for humans.

  I muttered a minor truth spell behind her back as she proceeded into the room. Just to be on the safe side. I've never met anyone so perfectly put together, aside from a Hollywood starlet and I've never actually met a real-life actress. Mom doesn't count. She wasn't acting. She was a witch.

  No doubt about it. My client was human.

  She sat gracefully in the wing chair across from my desk. My human only office mirrored the other one with a few minor changes in the details. The photos in this office depicted human couples of varying ages and ethnicity. I'd left my family symbol off and this wall remained blank, but still gorgeous in the deep wine color.

  The chairs carried the same symbols for truth, love and money. Magic works on everyone.

  My client set her pink and white insanely matching purse on the table and crossed those killer legs. My chair squeaked in protest as I thunked down. I slid my dirty biker boots into the well of my desk.

  "No offense, Ms. White, but you hardly look like you need my services."

  I know I shouldn't try to run off my clients – especially not before I received at least some money – but really . . .?

  In utter fascination, I watched as a deep rose entered her perfect upper cheekbones. Even her blush matched. How did she do that? Maybe I could get her to teach me. Oh, right. Why bother? No men.

  "Oh, thank you Ms. Storm. You're too kind. Please, call me Sandra."

  I actually peered around her to see if tiny blue birds planned to show up at any minute and sing in delicate harmony as they fluttered charmingly around her - her voice was that melodious.

  Sweet Glinda.

  My client was Cinderella and Barbie combined.

  I was screwed.

  Prince Charming had come out of the closet, begun wearing minuscule leather S&M outfits and transferred to the demon realm years ago. I was pretty certain that Ken had moved to Omaha.

  ****

  Several hours later I had my list compiled of Sandra White's desires in her true love. I'd written down five things.

  She liked blondes - probably the matching thing – athletes, a steady income, someone well-educated and with good manners.

  That was it.

  Her list of dislikes started with a "lack of humor" and ended with an "overabundance of nose hair". I understood now why she needed my help. Picky didn't begin to describe her. She had more issues than a diva who stayed out of jail.

  I was with her on the nose hair thing though. Yuck. How could you kiss someone with hair sticking out of their nose? I'd never be able to focus in on the lips, just the un-contained strands as he moved closer and closer . . . Ack!

  One of these days I might want to look into some type of serious questionnaire. But why bother? I'm a witch. Like I'm really going to take the written answer over my own instincts. People lie all the time. Magic doesn't.

  I pulled out two of the large binders I kept in my bottom drawer. I'd organized them into different client categories.

  Men went into one binder, women the other. I'd sub-categorized from there down. Gay vs. Hetero; Serious vs. Using me as an Escort Service and then into groups under the appropriate Charms.

  In the magical realm of love, my clients fall under different Charms – very close to the Astrological chart a lot of humans rely upon, but more accurate. Dead on in fact.

  When a client comes in, I work the spell for deciphering their Charm. Once I have that, it's sort of like matching the pieces in a jigsaw puzzle.

  Humans would relate it to trying to match Aries to a Gemini – a fairly good match; or Aries to Cancer – not recommended.

  Under Charms, a fairly good human match translates into ten plus years of marriage - considering the divorce rate these days, damn near eternal love. Not recommended . . . well, for the HC that usually ends in a death sentence for one of the clients.

  I try to avoid matching any of my clients with Charms that are not recommended for each other.

  A little Charm spell, a dash of magic and my own instincts – have I mentioned that my family coven is known for its ability to find true love? Our own personal love curse aside of course.

  We've matched couples for our entire three generations. I just do it for money now.

  Sometimes I can decipher a human's particular Charm right down to the smallest detail. I've never had a match go wrong when I'm that accurate. Actually, I've never had a match go wrong period.

  Except for that one zombie . . . oh, that's right. He died.

  Then again, I've only been in business for a couple years. Still, marketing is marketing, and I'm not one for letting a little detail like that not make it to the giant red and black sign on my front door.

  "Ninety-seven percent match success rate!"

  Okay, I did fudge it by three percent. You just know someone will try to sue you over one hundred percent these days. Never mind that it's true.

  I slid my notes on Barbie - Sandra White - as well as her photo into the binder for women. I set it aside and pulled out the binder for men.

  I flipped to the section I wanted, studied the five men in this particular Charm group and decided on two. I wasn't thrilled with either.

  I could use a few hundred more clients. Then I wouldn't have to stuff most of the binders with pictures from magazines. It looks great for the clients, but limits my actual selections.

  I put the binders back in my drawer, locked it and set my two choices out flat on my desk.

  I mumbled a truth spell. Pretty much what I thought, they were both okay, but not great. I wanted more for Sandra than the six point two years of marriage staring up at me.

  She might be nauseatingly coordinated, but I loved Barbie as a child. Heck, sometimes I walk down the Barbie aisle in Wal-Mart just to see what she's up to these days.

  Did you know Barbie is a major player in several different academic and industrious fields? She also recycles.

  I picked up the phone to place my calls. Maybe the perfect guy - or hunky demon - would walk into my office sometime soon?

  One could always hope. Curse or no curse, I certainly do.

  6. Got Fangs?

  I placed the call to Morgan around nine thirty that night. Early July in Idaho means long days and Morgan doesn't think much of UVBGone.

  We agreed to meet at Got Fangs? in half an hour. Since I had already dodged my Aunt's questions again, had dinner and taken Big Al for his nightly walk, I decided to get there early.

  Last night's flyer advertised a decent band this evening. As it didn't look like I would have to bury any bodies tonight, a cold drink and a front row seat would be a nice change.

  I slid a leather cuff over my wrist, checked my jeans, glittery green tank top and hair in the long mirror in my bedroom. I turned to the side.

  Damn, that leftover manicotti had pushed me past my sometimes size ten.

  I grabbed the pair of jeans that I wore way too o
ften and changed. Thrilled that I could breathe again - and annoyed enough to cut the size tag out - I re-checked my reflection. A little more rounded, but still hot.

  Yes, I am off men. That doesn't mean I can't torture them.

  I handed Al a meaty flavored dog chew, kissed his currently Chihuahua-only head and left.

  As I pulled into the parking lot behind Got Fangs?, I discovered my previous evening jitters had not fully left. An awful lot of dark, spooky shadows lounged menacingly between the bar and my car.

  I told myself that I had buried a body last night. I told myself that I hung with vamps and other creatures of the night. I told myself not to be such a weenie.

  Gripping my cell phone tightly in my hand - finger hovering over the speed dial for Morgan – I took off toward the bar.

  Some of Morgan's vamp skills must be transferable because I flew around the side of the building. I managed to make myself stop only when I reached the corner for the front of Got Fangs?, and when I was really certain that nothing followed me.

  Adopting an I-ain't-afraid-of-no-stinking-shadows attitude, I smoothed my top and sauntered around the corner. The expected line stretched twenty feet from the front door.

  I took my time now that I had streetlights for comfort. A little extra swing in the hips and a casual toss of my curls completed the look as I stopped next to Tiny.

  Larger than I figured Big Al had been in his former life, Tiny wore a silver wife beater tank with black sequins that formed a happy face in the center. Several white sequins made up the fangs and three large, red ones added the blood.

  Since Tiny's chest stretched every single thread on the tank, which created an oval happy face, I thought the blood sequins were overkill.

  Judging by the number of scantily dressed – honey, a thong, and a napkin don't count as clothes – girls giggling and hanging all over Tiny, I was obviously in the minority.

  Tiny's coffee with a ton of coffee-mate bald head gleamed and flickered with the red light that wavered above the front door.

  I had to hand it to Lolly. He knew his theatrics.

  Tight black leather pants with a silver silk cord that crisscrossed down the side seam of his legs, allowed a peek of thick muscles and more smooth skin.

  I must admit, I've thought of bringing a knife on more than one occasion. The only changes to Tiny's nightly outfits are the colors of the tank and the matching cord.

  Barbie would love Tiny.

  Too bad he was a gargoyle.

  I lifted my hand to tap Tiny, but he stiffened and turned to face me before I could reach his massive shoulder. All immortals, no matter the species, have super senses.

  Playing to our skinny audience, I let my hand fall on his shirt and trace the fangs instead. Petty? Absolutely. However, my tag-less jeans hugged my hips just a little too lovingly.

  Several of the teeny-tiny, size zero girls glared daggers. I immediately felt better.

  "Hey, Tiny." There was just a hint of suggestion in my voice. Honest.

  Tiny's startlingly light grey eyes twinkled down at me. He'd benefit from my little act too.

  "Hey yourself, Kate." He nudged the had-to-be starved, really young women to the side and opened the door for me. The squawks of outrage that accompanied this move so thrilled me, I kissed Tiny on his cheek as I headed in.

  I wondered which one would get lucky tonight. From what I heard Tiny was totally inappropriately named. All over.

  And gargoyles are known for their abilities to keep their girlfriends absolutely delirious despite the turning-to-stone during day thing.

  I preferred a man to be around all the time, myself.

  Strange that I would have those thoughts when I am completely off men. And were my eyes searching for large, hunky shapes in the poor lighting?

  Crap.

  I had enough to deal with right now. Dead bodies, big lies and love matches for Barbie are not little issues. I did not need to add a desire for someone big and be-horned as well.

  Especially since I knew that could only end in misery and I was also fairly confident that he didn't just want me for my pretty face.

  Maybe I needed to stop by that adult store down the street from my agency? My hormones were acting up again.

  I maneuvered my way past the throng at the bar, spotted a vacant table close to the dance floor and the small stage and headed over. I waved cheerfully at Lolly as I pulled out the chair. He narrowed his eyes and pointed his finger at me warningly.

  Jeez, you'd think he'd never had a fight in his bar before. Besides I heard that his business picked up after word got out about the whipped cream, chocolate sauce and champagne drenched t-shirts.

  Never pick an HC bar to hold your human bridal shower I always say.

  Well, I say that now.

  I batted my eyes back at him. Lolly shook his head, but grinned. Morgan and I had paid for all the damages.

  I caught Teri's attention. She's an immortal witch. I should just hate her on principal. She got to be part of the in-crowd, while I always had my hands pressed to the window looking in.

  However, she's also one of the nicest witches I know. She's never held my mortality against me and she's Lolly's wife. I matched them before I opened my agency.

  Teri smiled and held up two fingers with her brows raised. I shook my head and wiggled one finger. Occasionally, I meet other non-vamp friends here too.

  The sound of a bass guitar turned me towards the stage. The band was starting to set up. They looked as cute as they had on their poster.

  Lolly mixed up the bands between humans and the Non. His staff are all humanly-challenged, however. I could see his point. Some hinky things have happened at Got Fangs?.

  An open bottle of beer with ice-cold condensation on the neck plopped down in front of me. I reached for my wallet. "No charge tonight," Teri's blue and green eyes smiled at me. Not blue-green, but one blue and one green.

  I grinned back. "Really?" I casually scoped around for Lolly. He'd have a fit.

  "Yep." Teri leaned down. "Lolly's in the back and I never did get a chance to thank you for all that business."

  So the rumors had been true.

  "Always happy to do my part." I lifted my bottle in toast.

  Teri laughed out loud. "I know you are. Although you may want to wait another few months for the next time you and Morgan help out." She checked the other tables around us then whispered, "Lolly poured whipped cream mixed beer for almost a week." Teri laughed again.

  She could. She'd had her hands on the chocolate sauce that night. Morgan and I had the whipped cream canisters.

  I winced. No wonder Lolly had been so pissed. Still, I would have thought a warlock could solve a problem like that in no time.

  Teri must have read my mind. "Turns out magic and Nitrous Oxide don't mix well together."

  Well, that little tidbit had been left out of the Witches Manual. I couldn't recall using any magic myself that night.

  Just lots and lots of whipped cream.

  "Good to know." I nodded at Teri. Not every immortal witch would pass along information like that to me. In fact, I couldn't think of any other witch that would.

  Teri winked and left. Lolly stood behind the bar watching us. He said something to her as soon as Teri stopped next to him. She topped him by a full head. It didn't make a difference to either one of them.

  Teri bent and kissed him full on the lips before he could get going. Her tongue snaked out and I turned back to the stage.

  They were so much in love it made various parts of my body just ache. It sucks to be a hopeless romantic cursed to fail in love.

  The human at the table next to me gasped out loud. I checked my watch. She was right on time.

  I watched her walk through the crowd in the same mirror I had observed the demon in the other night.

  Morgan's long red hair flowed around her face caressing her pale, pale skin with every smooth step forward. She wore skintight black leather as usual, pants and a lace up bodice t
hat left her shoulders bare. The contrast between her flame red locks, white skin and black ensemble was striking to say the least.

  In addition to being drop dead gorgeous, Morgan had the unmitigated gall to be a size four. That should simply be outlawed in defense of all the rest of us.

  As she got closer, Morgan's vivid green eyes blinked slowly. The man next to me groaned.

  No one had the right to look like Morgan, especially since she'd been born way before implants, permanent make-up and plastic surgery.

  I'd hate her with a passion if she wasn't my UDBF.

  It occurred to me yet again as I watched her sultry approach that she could be a Morgan with an additional "a", possibly a "le," and definitely a "Fay".

  She'd been born about the same time. I'd tested my theory a few times by asking her if she wanted to watch First Knight and The Mists of Avalon with me.

  She'd just snickered.

  I've never heard of that infamous enchantress turning into a vampire. Then again, the records from that time are sketchy at best.

  I kicked out a chair seconds before she reached the table. Morgan slid into it. She somehow managed to make her every move appear like a bombshell during a bikini shoot – totally sexy, fluid grace.

  The chair behind me scraped over the floor as the human tried his luck. Morgan shot him a look – bug under pin. It was all she needed. The chair scraped again and we were left alone.

  Morgan removed a thin, scarlet thermos that hung from a hook on her belt, she set down the wineglass she'd snagged from the bar, twisted the thermos open and poured some blood.

  We clinked bottle to glass. Social niceties settled, Morgan leaned over the table to whisper in my ear, "All is well with the royals."

  I nearly fell off my chair. I'd tried all day to keep from dwelling on the dead body we'd buried the night before. I am truly gifted when it comes to pushing down all the bad stuff I don't want to think about, but even I had trouble dismissing that one. I must have seen the prince's face at least fifty times instead of the matches I'd picked for Barbie.