Dead Vampires Don't Date

by Meredith Allen Conner

  He could always use them as chew toys if nothing else.

  ****

  "Do you play any sports?"

  "I'm good enough to be semi pro in tennis." Ken stretched his legs out in front of him. Actually, I think his name was Steve, but unwrap the plastic and there's no difference between the man and the doll.

  Gelled and styled sandy blonde hair topped his perfect head. His eyes were the blue you see only on the most clear of days. A dimple winked periodically from the corner of his mouth.

  After that it got progressively worse. Or better, depending upon your idea of attractive. Mine ran towards big and scarred with just a hint of woodsy smoke.

  I had a hunch Barbie would like Ken, even without her predecessor and plastic mobile match. The link on that cuff had been his clothes. He'd walked in for his interview and I'd thrown my Charm spell right out the window.

  The man wore pink.

  Pepto-Bismol golf shirt, tan chinos and – shudder – salmon tennis shoes.

  I did work a truth spell. Twice. It came back heterosexual both times. I considered running it a third time.

  "And it says here that you own a tanning business?"

  His white teeth beamed from his utterly even, tanned face. "I do indeed." He reached into his shirt pocket, lifted a card and slid it across my desk. "Forty percent off your first visit."

  He winked. I maintained my smile. Barely.

  "Thank you." I pushed the card over to the corner of my desk. My trashcan waited underneath.

  I wouldn't last six point two seconds with this guy, let alone years. I reminded myself that this was not about me. I reminded myself that everyone has different tastes. I reminded myself that clubbing clients over the head with a trashcan was not good for business.

  But the image certainly made me smile.

  Smarmy and pretentious make my skin damn near crawl. A whole colony of ants had relocated to my upper dermal layer.

  Still, it was not my call. Ken met at least three out of the five of Barbie's date criteria. As a bonus, he even matched.

  However, I liked Barbie. I admired her pickiness in her dates. If you're going to spend a significant portion of your life with someone, you should be picky.

  I even admired her wardrobe. Intimidated might be the more accurate word, but damn, that girl knew how to accessorize.

  I'd keep Ken in mind. Sad as it may be, I simply didn't have enough clients to throw him into a reject pile – or under a bus.

  He really irked me.

  On the positive side, I still had one more client to interview. I studied Ken's over-whitened smile. Anything had to be better than this.

  We spoke for several more minutes. I asked a few more pertinent questions. He offered me fifty percent off and another wink.

  I shuddered to think of what went on in his tanning salon.

  Finally I wrapped things up, told him I'd call to set up a date and escorted him to my front door.

  He left without saying thank you.

  9. Mr. Scary As All Hell.

  I took Al for a walk later in the afternoon. I waited until the shops closed before we made our rounds. I'd made that mistake only once. Al has no sense of discretion what-so-ever. The owner of the beauty salon still refuses to talk to me.

  I didn't agree with him. A small meteorite maybe, but her ass in no way resembled the object-formerly-known-as Pluto.

  Try explaining that one to a seriously pissed-off woman with shears in her hand. To top it off, Al had channeled away after he'd offered his opinion.

  I'd tried to explain it wasn't me. I'm not one to throw wands at glass houses, but she didn't buy it. And those scissors were sharp!

  Now, I simply waited until after five and ordered take out for the two of us.

  Don't get me started on Italian restaurants, former mob hit men and the correct way to make a meatball. It's a damn good thing he can't actually hold a handgun now.

  We had a nice loop that took us about half an hour to complete. The Italian restaurant was just under six minutes away, so our food was still hot when we got back to my office.

  Nothing I could say dissuaded Al from considering these evenings as a date. I couldn't bring myself to play the species card quite yet. Pathetic as it might be, I enjoyed the companionship myself.

  Morgan and I never do the best-friend dinner together for the obvious reasons. I met my Aunt Tabitha every once in a while at the Chinese restaurant located in between our houses. And I don't date.

  Love is my business. It can't ever be a part of my life.

  Even before I went OFF men, I still didn't date that much. What's the point when you know where it will – or rather won't – end?

  After we stuffed ourselves on pasta and red sauce, I pulled out the vacuum. I haven't quite made it to the point where I could actually afford a cleaning service. It's all right. There is something soothing about cleaning. Mindless. Repetitive.

  Except for cleaning the toilet. That is totally gross. Besides, as I've pointed out, it's not like I have a love interest to object.

  In a flash, a large, bare, rippling chest shot forth in my mind. A very masculine hand appeared next, pointing at his chest and then the vacuum.

  Oh baby, let me caress those luscious muscles and kiss that hot skin and show you the error of my ways . . .

  The bell above my front door tinkled its warning.

  I set the rag and can of Pledge on my human only desk to hurry out to the small waiting area. Probably someone with car troubles.

  I made a mental note not to mention this to Aunt Tabitha. She doesn't like it when I work late at any rate. She'd have a complete fit if she found out I'd forgotten to lock my front door.

  And if I hurried I might even be able to expand on my demon daydream. We wouldn't work out, but my mind could still enjoy all sorts of wicked fantasies about the possibilities.

  Which reminded me, I still needed to get to that adult store.

  With that on my mind, I got almost to the front door before I realized no one was there. Weird. And why were my blinds down? I planned to do a little window cleaning as well, so I'd purposely left the blinds up as a reminder.

  One of those creepy shivers that begins as a warning and ends as a five-alarm bell ran down my back, I whirled around, hands cupped at my sides as I called on my magic.

  He stood just to the right of the desk in my tiny reception area as if he'd known I was in the human only office. He'd angled his body in such a way that if I'd been focused on my front door, I wouldn't have noticed him.

  I didn't like him already.

  That plus the REALLY BIG sword that he held in front of him as he casually cleaned it had my back up in no time.

  Why he even bothered with the in-my-face threat of his sword I didn't know. He would still be scary as all hell if he stood naked in front of me.

  Everything about him, from the top of his buzzed white hair, to his spurred biker boots screamed "bad-ass-psycho-killer!"

  The long black leather duster, dark pants and midnight vest with – I narrowed my gaze – small knives and Chinese throwing stars were entirely overkill.

  Chinese throwing stars? Morgan allowed me to try hers once. I had no doubts that his actually embedded themselves into his targets. Probably deeply and with a great deal of screaming involved.

  I gathered more magic.

  "Ms. Storm?" He didn't even bother to look at me, but remained focused on wiping the cloth slowly up and down the glistening edge of his blade.

  I considered lying. I could simply play dumb and claim to be the cleaning lady. I've never had a problem playing dumb in the past.

  That sounds horrible, I know, however, for some obscure reason that I have never understood, there is something about curly hair that signals diminished intelligence in other people's eyes.

  When you add blonde into the mix . . .

  The cloth whispered its way back up the lethal edge of the sword.

  Nope. Lying to this man struck me as a really, rea
lly bad idea.

  "Yes?" My voice cracked. My answer came out sounding like a question, as if I wasn't sure of my own identity. I didn't sweat it. I could not imagine anyone maintaining a sense of composure around him.

  "I believe you had an interview with Xavier Cantrall, the Prince of the United States vampires, the night before last?"

  He knew the answer. It was in his tone. He was just crossing his T's first.

  He chose that moment to look up and pierce me with his eyes. They were red. That bloody, evil red that many vampires have in movies.

  I'd never seen one with eyes like that before myself. One night while Morgan and I were playing drunken truth or dare, she'd mentioned it.

  I'd asked her about the scariest moment in her life. She'd gone quiet for a while then began describing an encounter with an assassin vampire. Something about all the blood they'd shed turned their eyes red, a sort of evolutionary mechanism to keep vampires from killing indiscriminately. Red eyes are extremely noticeable.

  I had actually thought she'd been lying.

  Now I wondered how much time I had left.

  I could use my magic to slow him down, but I couldn't win against him. I wasn't being pessimistic, simply realistic.

  All of the vampire assassins had been created over a thousand years ago, according to Morgan. There were only a handful of them. They were so lethal, no one had bothered to try and create more. Add into the mix that ancient vamps don't have to wait to be asked inside a house. They're that powerful.

  My heart slowed. My lungs quick working. A painful chill swept through my body. I couldn't move. I wanted to be brave. Given half a chance I knew that I would plead with him. I didn't want to die.

  "What did you speak about?" His voice was soft, almost gentle.

  "He . . ." My voice cracked again. I swallowed. "He asked me to find a match for him."

  "How did you respond?" He accompanied each question with a smooth slide of the cloth. I watched every stroke.

  Transfixed. Terrified.

  I licked my dry lips. "I told him that I would."

  "What requirements did he ask for?"

  My mind went blank. I couldn't remember. Why did he care?

  "I don't . . . I don't." The words trembled on my lips.

  "Think. Remember."

  Ice wrapped around every part of my body now. I'd never been so cold. Or so afraid. My hands began to shake.

  Why was he asking these questions?

  The trembling moved up my arms to my shoulders. The knife harness thudded against my back. Stakes.

  I could defend myself if I could reach one of the stakes.

  My arms refused to move. I couldn't even run. My muscles had locked down.

  "Ms. Storm?"

  Another caress of the sword.

  "He . . ." My teeth chattered. I bit down. "He wanted an O positive, athletic, brunette." It came out in a rush.

  The cloth abruptly stopped.

  Was he going to kill me now?

  "He wanted a human?"

  I nodded. I was beyond speaking. I stared at the gleaming edge of steel. Would it hurt? Would he gut me? Decapitate me?

  I thought of my aunt. We were all that was left of our family. She'd find me. Morgan and I didn't have plans for tonight.

  My aunt would come looking for me when I didn't answer the phone in the morning. She'd find my body.

  He lifted the sword.

  10. And The Lies Continue.

  The blade made a soft hiss as he inserted it into the scabbard on his back.

  "He is a vampire Prince. Why would he ask you to find him a human match?"

  I blinked, not understanding. Why had he put the sword away? He planned to kill me. I could see it in his eyes.

  "Ms. Storm."

  "He told me he wanted to come out," I blabbed.

  "The Prince of the United States Vampires plans to come out into the open?" His red eyes drilled a hole right through me. I could only stare.

  "Does he plan to out the vampires or the entire immortal community?" His oddly formal manner of speaking emphasized his questions.

  I've met two other extremely old vampires before. They both had the same excruciatingly polite tone.

  He shifted. I tensed. My hands clenched and I realized then that I still had my magic cupped in my palms. It had to be reflex because I could barely form a coherent sentence.

  The leather sleeves of his duster squeaked slightly as he folded his arms across his chest. He made no other move. He waited for me to respond.

  I replayed his last question. "I don't know."

  I couldn't stand it anymore. My nerves had reached their breaking point. He either needed to kill me or leave.

  He nodded once. "This may take longer than I expected."

  He planned to torture me? Little black dots danced around the edges of my vision.

  "Why don't we continue this in your office?" The movement he made with his arm was very courtly. I've seen actors in medieval movies use the same gesture. This was the real thing.

  So at odds with the lethal tension, the gallant move broke through my terror. I began to ease my way back towards the front door. I did not want to die. Or be tortured. I squeezed my fists, the warmth of my power reassured me.

  "Ms. Storm." I tensed to run like hell. "You will not make it through your door."

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  "I am seeking answers to my questions. I have no immediate plans to hurt you."

  Somehow that didn't completely reassure me.

  "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ivan Romanov. I am the personal guard to the Queen of the United States Vampires. I am searching for her son."

  It took several seconds before his words made sense to me. He didn't know. Ivan was looking for the Prince. He spoke of him in the present tense. He had no idea that Xavier was utterly dead and buried less than thirty miles from where we stood.

  He didn't want to kill me. He really did want answers.

  All I had to do was lie like hell again.

  I could do that.

  "The Prince is missing?" I made it a question, as if I hadn't a clue as to what he was talking about.

  Since I'm not a full card carrying member of the immortal group, I'm not privy to the gossip. I didn't know how much info was already out there.

  Better just to play dumb all around.

  "Please." Ivan made that grand gesture again. I headed into my office. Clearly he didn't plan to answer any of my questions until we were seated like civilized people.

  That thought gave me a moment of comfort. That disappeared with the mental reminder that once inside my office, with the door closed, my screams would be muffled.

  The door closed behind me.

  I bolted to the other side of my desk. Ivan gathered his long coat and sat down. It should have looked feminine - a woman rearranging her dress. Instead, it was menacing. Like he had bullets sewn into the hem, ones he could unleash with barely a thought.

  I moved over to the coffee maker. "Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?" I could do polite and I desperately needed some calming tea right now.

  "No. Thank you."

  The water spit and gurgled before it settled down to stream into the waiting pot. Almost immediately loud, high-pitched barking rang out from my other office.

  Big Al had channeled away after dinner. I'd locked him in the office, because as a Chihuahua he had issues with my vacuum. Ivan had practically whispered his questions and I hadn't been much better, with the door closed, Al had not heard a thing.

  Until now.

  A bare whisper of sound made me turn around. Ivan stood in front of the chair, sword in hand. "Who is here?"

  I didn't correct him. Griffins make a sound like a bark and Hellhounds do too.

  "No one." I rushed to assure him. "I have a Chihuahua. A tiny dog. He's harmless." I prayed to every source I could think of that Al would stay a dog.

  I loved him.

  If Big Al channeled back . . . I re
fused to think of it. I couldn't lose him. And I had no doubts that I would if the hit man took over.

  If Al started talking I could always use a silencing spell. He'd be pissed, but alive.

  Ivan cocked his head, listening. A heartbeat passed. Then another.

  His lip curled upward for a split second before he re-sheathed his sword and sat back down. Mr. Romanov didn't appear to be a dog lover.

  The barking grew more intense. "Do you truly enjoy the little beast?"

  I hummed a non-committal reply. I was not about to confess my feelings. He had enough leverage with his big blade and throwing stars as it was.

  I turned around and began to gather up a tea bag, sugar and a stir straw. As subtly as I could, I also gathered up a few extra herbs that I kept by the coffee maker. I needed them.

  I didn't know how much Ivan knew about me or my heritage, but I assumed he knew I was a witch. He seemed a thorough kind of assassin and I was a true oddity in a very strange community.

  However, he didn't need to know exactly how rattled I was. So I kept my back turned, as uncomfortable as that made me, and quickly added the herbs. It would sooth my nerves and give me a slight boost in powers.

  No need to advertise that.

  I sat behind my desk and took a large gulp. Of course, it burned my mouth. I'd heal that later. The most important thing right now was to down it all. A few seconds later, I accomplished my goal.

  Ignoring my stinging mouth, I laced my hands on top of my desk and arched a brow at Ivan. The great thing about the herbs is that they work immediately.

  My pulse slowed, the trembling stopped and I felt confident I could answer his questions without my voice quivering. He'd notice a difference but . . . I am a witch. You use what powers you have in the HC-community.

  Ivan glanced at my cup. He nodded slightly. He could hear the changes in my body.

  "Please, tell me again exactly what the Prince requested of your services."

  Maybe he thought the calming herbs would add details to my memory. "Prince Xavier asked me to find a brunette, who was also athletic and O positive, to be his bride."

  "His bride? Not for a companion?"

  I clenched my hands. "I am a legitimate match-making company, not an escort service."