The Accidental Vampire Plus Vampires Are Forever and Bonus Material

by Lynsay Sands

  “Busy,” DJ commented. “It looks like every car parked on this road could belong to just the clients of the restaurant.”

  “Hmm,” Victor grunted. “Turn here.”

  They found a spot on the side street and Victor quickly got out. He took the opportunity to stretch his arms and legs, relieved to be out of the car. Somewhat claustrophobic, he’d always felt trapped inside closed vehicles. Victor actually preferred motorcycles, but this was business not pleasure and needs must.

  “So,” DJ commented as he joined Victor on the sidewalk. “I guess it doesn’t matter that you don’t much look like your photo anymore. She’ll no doubt know you by the very fact that she doesn’t know you.”

  Victor scowled with confusion. “What the hell are you on about?”

  DJ shrugged. “Well, there are…what? five hundred people in this town? She probably knows everyone who lives here. We’ll stand out like sore thumbs.”

  “Right,” Victor snapped, moving a little more quickly as he approached the door. He just wanted to get this over with and find out if the woman was an immortal or not. If she wasn’t, they could leave and head home. However, if she was…

  Victor’s mouth tightened.

  If Elvi Black was an immortal, he had to find out all he could about her and take her back to the council for judgment. As DJ had said, drawing attention to herself with this ad was considered a major faux pas. He had to find out what other faux pas she was committing. Judging by the fact that there were also certain rumors circulating around the Toronto club scene that a female vampire was living in one of the small southern towns, advertising wasn’t her only mistake.

  DJ opened the restaurant door and Victor paused as a rush of heat and sound rolled over them, coming through the opening on a wave of delectable scents. The glimpse they’d had earlier of the restaurant really hadn’t told the whole tale; the place wasn’t just busy, it was packed. People filled every chair and stool and nearly as many were standing around the open bar at the front of the restaurant…and every single one of these people went silent and turned to peer their way as they entered, including the mariachi band that had been strolling between the crowded tables.

  “Have you ever been to Mexico?”

  Victor answered DJ’s hushed question with a shake of the head.

  “Neither have I,” DJ admitted. “But I think I might like it.”

  Victor’s mouth twisted dubiously at this claim as he ignored the rudely staring people and slid his gaze over the colorful décor of the restaurant. The walls were a pale cream broken by splash after splash of color, a blue and gold sombrero hanging on the wall, a huge bright green statue of an iguana and its young on a shelf, a string of clay pots filled with sunflowers as well as several color prints, most of them by Diego Rivera. And on top of all that there were colorful streamers, balloons, and a huge Happy Birthday banner.

  Even without the celebratory décor, it was too much color and excitement for Victor. He preferred soothing blues and cool whites. This was…loud and almost blinding to his senses.

  “Can I help you, boys?”

  Victor glanced down at the man who had approached. Five foot eleven or there about, the man was a good six inches shorter than Victor himself, and three or four inches shorter than DJ. He carried himself with the authority that his badge and uniform afforded him, obviously the local police. Possibly the only one, Victor guessed. It was a small town after all.

  “Well?” The officer demanded, his voice and expression going hard in response to Victor’s silent examination.

  “No,” he answered simply and started to move past him, pausing abruptly when he found his arm caught in a firm grip.

  “This is a private party,” the officer said grimly, and Victor understood why their entrance had drawn attention.

  “I was invited,” Victor announced. The answer seemed to echo in the room, making him realize just how quiet the restaurant had become now that the talking and music had stopped. Suddenly uncomfortable, he shifted as the officer studied him more closely.

  “Victor Argeneau?” he finally asked, his voice uncertain.

  Victor nodded, wondering how the man knew his name. He had a brief horrible memory of a T-shirt his computer geek nephew Etienne had favored for a while. It had been plain white with the words “I’m the teenage nympho you’ve been talking to on-line” or something of that ilk. For one moment he feared this was Elvi Black, but then the man smiled faintly and said, “You don’t look much like that picture Mabel showed me. Your hair was shorter and you were wearing a suit and tie.”

  Victor had no idea who Mabel was and didn’t care, but the picture in question was the one DJ had said he’d e-mailed to Elvi Black.

  “And you brought a friend,” the officer went on, his gaze turning to DJ with an appraising quality. If Victor looked scruffy compared to his photo, DJ just plain looked scruffy. He had developed something of an allergy to shaving about a year earlier and now resembled a young grizzly Adams. He too wore jeans and a T-shirt, but his jeans were blue and his T-shirt bore the name Alexander Keith’s and a logo for the popular brand of beer. DJ wasn’t much into fashion.

  “He drove me,” Victor said as explanation, and was immediately annoyed that he offered one.

  “Don’t you have a car, son?” the officer asked suspiciously.

  Victor’s mouth tightened. It was always seen as a bit less respectable not to have a car in Canada.

  “I have several. I don’t like to drive cars,” Victor answered shortly and then asked, “Where is Elvi?”

  “She isn’t here yet. I’m supposed to keep you company for a bit.”

  When Victor raised an eyebrow in question, the man shook his head and held out his hand. “I’m forgetting my manners. Teddy Brunswick, police captain of Port Henry, at your service.”

  Victor accepted the hand and shook it, his attention on the wide grin now on Captain Teddy Brunswick’s face. The expression made him look like the sheriff from an old black-and-white series he used to watch. It made him wonder if there wasn’t some goofy, geeky idiot deputy running around somewhere. Victor was a big television buff and had no problem imagining a grinning idiot Don Knotts–type following this more intelligent, mellow man around. He managed to refrain from asking.

  “Captain Brunswick.” Victor gave a nod, then, since the man already knew his name, simply turned to gesture to his younger companion and said, “DJ.”

  “DJ what?” the officer asked bluntly.

  The question made the younger immortal smile. “DJ Benoit. Gonna run me through the system and see if anything pops up?”

  “Yes,” Officer Brunswick said unapologetically.

  DJ actually laughed, then glanced to Victor and announced, “I like him.”

  “He just insulted you,” Victor pointed out with amusement. The lad often made him smile, which was a rarity. Little made him smile these last three centuries, but he found working with DJ similar to working with an overexuberant puppy. Victor actually enjoyed him for a partner more than the many morose men he’d worked with before, and was growing rather attached to the lad. Still, the day the boy peed on someone’s carpet, he’d be asking for a new partner.

  “You shouldn’t really be insulted,” Captain Brunswick told DJ. “I’ve already checked out Argeneau and the names of the others coming here looking to date our Elvi.”

  Victor decided then that Captain Brunswick was a man who needed his memory wiped. So would this Mabel by the sounds of it. And then what he’d said registered and Victor frowned. “The others coming here?” he echoed, scowling at DJ. “There are others coming?”

  DJ shrugged, silently saying he knew nothing about it. It was Brunswick who answered. Smiling with amusement, he asked, “You didn’t think you were the only one to answer the ad, did you?” Before Victor could respond, he added, “There are six men coming tonight. You’re the first to arrive.”

  Victor wasn’t pleased at this news, but was more concerned with the displeasur
e now on Brunswick’s face.

  “I hope they all don’t bring friends or the house is going to be crowded,” the officer commented, and then shook his head and said, “Come, I’ve kept you standing here long enough. I’ll show you to your table.”

  When Officer Brunswick turned to lead the way through the crowded restaurant, DJ started to follow, but Victor caught his arm to hold him back and asked, “What does he mean by ‘the house will be crowded’?”

  “I told you Elvi invited us down for the week,” DJ reminded him.

  “Yes,” he acknowledged impatiently. “But I expected we’d be staying at a hotel, not someone’s house.”

  “It’s a bed-and-breakfast. Casey Cottage. Elvi owns it,” DJ murmured. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Are you boys coming or has the thought of competition scared you off?”

  Victor stiffened. Captain Brunswick had paused at an empty booth halfway up the right-hand side of the restaurant, one Victor was sure hadn’t been empty when they entered. No one had left the restaurant, however, so he supposed whoever had been seated there when they’d entered, had now joined the crowd milling around the bar at the front of the restaurant.

  “This job is looking more and more interesting by the minute,” DJ commented under his breath as they moved forward to join Brunswick.

  Victor’s only response was a grunt. To him, the situation seemed to be growing more complicated by the minute, and more troublesome.

  “Here we are.” Captain Brunswick stood blocking the far side of the booth, obviously expecting them to squeeze into the nearer side together.

  Victor immediately stepped aside and gestured DJ in. Claustrophobic as he found cars, there was no way he was going to be trapped on the inside of a booth.

  Making a face, DJ slipped quickly along the seat, scrunching himself up in the corner. Victor settled next to him, ignoring the way the younger immortal proceeded to mutter and shift about with discomfort. The booth was really far too small for two grown men to sit side by side; especially two grown men well over six feet tall and half as wide. They were both built like warriors of old, which was handy when it came to hunting. Size intimidated and any advantage was useful.

  “Mabel will join us as soon as she and Elvi arrive,” Brunswick commented as the conversations in the room began again. The mariachi band was apparently taking a break, but the patrons were at least no longer silent, though they were still staring and Victor suspected the conversations being held around the room were mostly about him and DJ.

  Victor ignored the glances cast their way and nodded in response to Brunswick’s comment, but still had no idea who Mabel was and still didn’t care. His only interest in Port Henry was to meet this Elvi so he could sort out if she truly was one of them or they could get in the car and head home.

  Victor used to enjoy his work. However, he’d found himself growing weary of late. He was, in effect, a hunter tired of the hunt. Rather useless he supposed. On the other hand, Victor acknowledged to himself, he had no special desire to be at home either. He didn’t seem to be satisfied or at peace anywhere anymore, but then he never really had been since his wife, Marion’s, death. He also found himself tired a lot of the time, his dissatisfaction increasing. It was something he tried not to think about too often. He may be bored and weary with life right now, but had no wish to go rogue as many other of his kind had gone at this stage.

  “Mabel!” DJ said suddenly, apparently just placing the name. “She’s Elvi’s friend and the co-owner of the restaurant, and the bed-and-breakfast. Right?”

  Brunswick nodded. “Her best friend. If Mabel doesn’t like you, you can forget about Elvi. Those two have been thick as thieves since they were kids. She’s—”

  He paused abruptly when the room suddenly quieted again. Leaning sideways, Brunswick peered toward the front door and then got abruptly to his feet. “Another one’s arrived. Excuse me.”

  Two

  Elvi was blow-drying her hair when Mabel knocked at the door and shouted something. Frowning, she turned off the hair dryer and called, “What?”

  “Are you almost ready?” the woman said impatiently.

  “Yes, yes, I’m coming.” Elvi quickly began to wrap the cord around the dryer, her gaze sliding longingly over the tub as she did. She’d taken a shower but would have preferred a bath. Elvi loved her tub. It was a large, spa tub with water jets. She’d spared no expense in purchasing it, figuring she deserved it. After all, she’d had to give up her lovely, king-sized bed for a coffin; a luxurious bath seemed only fair.

  At the time, Mabel hadn’t been at all sure if she should be bathing or showering. After all, there was never any mention of Dracula ever bathing. However, after a lifetime of good hygiene, Elvi refused to go without, dead or not. If her skin began to slough off when wet, then so be it. At least it would be clean dead skin.

  Fortunately, that hadn’t happened. Elvi had been showering and bathing for five years without any unusual repercussions that she could see. Thank God.

  “We’re running late,” Mabel called out.

  Rolling her eyes, Elvi set the hair dryer in the cupboard, crossed to the door, and opened it.

  “Of course we’re running late. You let me sleep in,” she pointed out testily, stepping into the bedroom with just a large bath sheet wrapped around her.

  “That’s gratitude for you,” Mabel muttered, shoving a glass of blood into her hand. “Drink this and then get dressed. I laid out the new dress on your bed.”

  Elvi raised her eyebrows as she gulped down half the cold, thick liquid, then lowered the glass to point out “I don’t have a bed, Mabel. I have a coffin. I only wish I had a bed.”

  Making a face, Mabel took away the half-empty glass and gave her a push to get her moving. “Dress.”

  Elvi moved toward the casket in the center of her large, nearly empty room, her shoulders slumping miserably. God, she missed her bed. A king-sized, deluxe model, she and Harry had picked it out together shortly before his death. It had been like sleeping on a cloud. Now she slept in a crate.

  Elvi scowled at the dark, walnut casket as she paused beside it.

  Catching her expression Mabel said, “Maybe Brendan can do something with your coffin to make it more comfortable.”

  Her scowl deepened. She’d already put a bedcover in it. Anything else would make it so she didn’t fit, or nearly, and she found it claustrophobic enough without making the interior smaller.

  “I doubt there’s anything he could do,” she said, not wanting Mabel to bother the local funeral home director. The man had already gone to great trouble, layering the bottom with dirt from both Mexico and her garden, and then installing a special liner so that the smell and dirt didn’t seep through the satin. She didn’t want to trouble him further. Elvi hated to be a bother.

  She pulled on the dress Mabel had set out, tugged it into place, then peered down at herself and grimaced. It was new, but very much like all her other work dresses. Long, black, and sleek, it had a low neckline and was form-fitting all the way down to her knees where a slit started, allowing some movement. It would restrict every step she took and flash a good deal of lower leg as well.

  This was another of her pet peeves. The wardrobe of the undead. It just didn’t suit her style at all.

  “I wish I didn’t have to wear these stupid dresses,” she muttered, reaching back to do up the zipper.

  “Everyone gets a kick out of them.” Mabel brushed her hands aside to take over the task. “It’s what they expect.”

  “Hmm,” Elvi murmured. “Would they ever be disappointed to see me running around here in jogging pants and T-shirts.”

  “You can’t do that this week,” Mabel told her firmly. “We have a full house of guests.”

  “Do we?” she asked with surprise. After that fateful trip that had ended Elvi’s life, she and Mabel had gone into business together, starting a Mexican restaurant they’d called Bella Black’s. The name had been Mabel’s idea. It had also been M
abel’s idea to sell the house she’d once shared with her deceased husband and move in with Elvi, who lived just three very short blocks from the restaurant. It had made things much easier for both of them. Still, with just the two of them, the house had echoed with emptiness and soon Mabel was suggesting they turn the old Victorian mansion into a bed-and-breakfast as a second income in case the restaurant floundered and failed.

  Not that such an event was likely. Bella’s was busy every night of the week, thanks to Elvi’s status as a sort of town mascot. Still, Elvi had spent the better part of her marriage as a housewife. She enjoyed cooking and looking after others. She might not be able to eat anymore, but Elvi could still cook and did so every chance she got. She loved to touch and smell the food she could no longer consume, and watching others enjoy her efforts was as close as she could get to enjoying them herself. So, they’d renovated the old, Victorian manor, finishing the attic and putting in three bedrooms with en suite bathrooms there, and then named it Casey Cottage after Elvi’s daughter.

  The only trouble was that most of the guests were locals who stayed at the bed-and-breakfast simply to be able to say they’d slept in the home of a vampire. They had certain expectations as to what a vampire should look like and how they should behave, thanks to shows such as Elvira, Mistress of the Dark and so on, so she was forced to wear these ridiculous outfits at the restaurant as well as when they had guests at the bed-and-breakfast. Which was most of the time. The Mistress of the Dark had a lot to answer for, in Elvi’s mind. Including the fact that everyone now called her Elvi rather than Ellen, the name she’d been born with, or even Ellie, which was what most of her friends had called her before she died.

  “Here, don’t forget your bells.”

  Elvi grimaced as she took the anklet laced with bells. They’d been a gift from Mabel right after her turning. She’d claimed she thought they were charming, but Elvi knew the truth was they kept her from sneaking up on the other woman and startling her. Mabel had never admitted it, but Elvi knew she had been somewhat frightened of her after her death. If not for their long friendship and her loyalty, Elvi might have been lost. So she’d worn the silly bells home and continued to wear them as they both adjusted to the changes in her life.