Forcing herself to sit upright in the chair, Phoebe made herself look these women in the eye—these crazy, crazy, mentally unstable, in desperate need of a psyche ward women. “So let me get this straight. When I fell on Tyra Banks—”
“Hey!” Sam tapped her shoulder from behind, his voice a gravelly sin upon her ears. “I’m really coming to resent that. I’m not fancy, and I’m not a drag queen. I went to a costume party dressed like this, okay? And I think wearing a dress says a little something about how secure I am in my manhood. So lay off, lady. I’m just as bent about this as you are. You’re not the only noob vampire in the room. This isn’t just about you, sweetheart, and it doesn’t help when you call names. Now knock it off.”
Phoebe waved him away, suddenly incredibly hot and irritable. “Fine. When I fell on the manliest man I’ve ever fallen on in my entire thirty-three years, or should I say, when I was so rudely backed into a corner and fell on him, because his tooth pierced my skin—”
“Your ass, cookie. He bit that big booty-Judy you got.” Nina cackled, cracking her knuckles.
Phoebe tried to clench her jaw but ran amok when her new fangs clashed together. As much as she’d like to prove to Nina she could take whatever she doled out, right now, she had some pretty pressing issues. Like no more coconut macaroons or blueberry cheesecake. Ever. It was cause for deep sorrow. “So that meant I automatically became a vampire, too?”
Wanda straightened the bow on her collar. It needed straightening after that crazy circus sideshow of superhuman strength and inhuman twist of tendons. “You did.”
“And he’s a vampire, too?” She wiggled a finger over her shoulder at Sam, quelling the squeak in her voice by clearing her throat.
“As is your alleged sister,” Marty said, rolling her head on her shoulders to work out the obvious kinks one would surely encounter when their bones crunched so they could change shape and take on their werewolf forms. “I’m the only full werewolf. Like we explained, Casey, who’s not here tonight but will join us as soon as she can, is a demon, and Wanda’s what we lovingly call a halfsie.”
“Half vampire, half werewolf, BTW,” Sam offered in a smugly in-the-know way. “I’m learning the lingo. You know, so I’ll fit in with the clan.”
Suck-ass.
Phoebe tried to focus on all the information she’d been given after they’d each shown her their unique, paranormal abilities. The contents of which included all the gory deets on each woman’s accidental turn into a paranormal species, and their quest with OOPS to help others like them who had nowhere else to go when a crisis of this magnitude occurred.
She still wasn’t quite sure she understood the entirety of their situations or how they’d fallen in love with the men who’d created their personal paranormal dramas, but she did get that it was real. She’d seen the reality of it. She wouldn’t waste time denying what they’d shown her or even believing that her eyes were playing tricks on her.
That was all well and good.
But if it was real for her remained to be seen. There was no proof other than their word she’d soon be drinking blood and mind reading. “So let me be clear. You help people at this place called OOPS who’ve suffered a paranormal crisis, and all of you were accidents, including me and Sam?” Which left Sam where? In the cross-dressing paranormal slot?
Wanda slid into the chair near Phoebe and placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “We know firsthand what you’re going through. As to Sam, he’s suspect right now. It’s clear he’s vampire, but we have little information on how or why he got this way. We don’t know what exactly happened to him, Phoebe. Sam’s memories of what happened before he woke up with us are fleeting at this point. Like we told you, he was just dumped on our doorstep and he was unconscious. But we’re all in for helping him figure it out. And naturally, we’ll help you, too.”
How shiny. Phoebe’s head swiveled on her neck when she turned to face Nina. “Wait a minute. It’s because of you and your outrageous reaction to my claim that I can’t ever go out in daylight again?” Or dine at Bergdorf Goodman’s or wear a cute bikini on the boardwalk at the Jersey Shore, or breathe, or feel her heartbeat quicken when she found the perfect outfit for a client.
Ah, but there was compensation. Soon she’d be able to read minds and fly.
Mucho badassery.
“Technically, it’s because of me and my incisors,” Sam offered, grinning a grin so delicious it actually made Phoebe shiver—sort of. “But I’m okay with you laying blame squarely on Nina. At this fragile point, I feel she can probably better handle your wrath than I can right now.”
Nina rolled her beautiful eyes. “Oh, lay off the drama-queen bullshit. You can too go out. You just have to wear SPF gotrillion and two. But you’ll probably be too tired to go out in daylight anyway. Vampires sleep during the day. All day, and we don’t get out of our coffins till sunset. So I hope you’re down with a good Hoarders marathon on late-night TV.”
Phoebe blanched while her fingers tightened into a tension-filled fist. “You sleep in a coffin?”
Nina’s smile was sly. She was clearly enjoying toying with her, and Phoebe’d stepped right into her trap. “And before you ask, because you look like the kind of chick who’d be thrilled right down to her stupid-ass pedicure about it. No. You won’t sparkle in the sunlight.”
“Oh, damn,” Phoebe mocked. “And here I was all set to throw away my metallic body glitter and run off to join Team Edward.”
Instead of taking Nina down a peg, Phoebe’s smart remark appeared to only fuel her fire. “Well, it’s like I told Fancy Sam here. You won’t sparkle, but you will fucking fry.”
Her slight panic began to take a dangerous turn toward full-on freak-out. “Fry?”
“Snap, crackle, pop,” Sam quipped on a grin, planting his hands on his incredibly muscular thighs.
For the first time, Phoebe visibly cringed.
But Nina was paying little mind to anything but getting rid of her. “So I guess you need some time to absorb this, huh, Phoebes? Why don’t you go do that shit in your own crib? You can give us a little jing-a-ling when you’re all settled and past the oh-fuck-I-can’t-see-my-reflection-anymore stage.”
She couldn’t see her reflection anymore? That wasn’t just some ridiculous made-up Hollywood movie ploy?
Wanda jumped up and swatted Nina’s shoulder, shooting her a sour look of disapproval. “She’ll do no such thing. You know what the turn and subsequent adjustment to it is like. She needs round-the-clock support, as does our Sam.”
Sam leaned into Phoebe again with a conspiratorial wink. “Nina cried when she found out she was a vampire. I heard Wanda say so. If she cried, I think you should rethink your pending departure.”
Nina gave Sam a hard nudge to his shoulder. “For the last time, there was no fucking crying, but I’ll make you cry if you make one more crack.”
Sam’s hands flew up in white-flag fashion. “You da man.”
Wanda shot a stern finger in Nina’s direction and pointed at a chair for her to sit in. “Okay, so here’s where we’re at. Clearly, you’re both tougher than any of us. You’ve skipped several of the stages involved in accepting your new fate. I guess that means we move right along to teaching you both how to cope with the way of the vampire, and unfortunately, that means Nina’s your most knowledgeable guide. But I promise we won’t leave you alone with her.”
Phoebe looked down at her wristwatch and shook her head in the negative while she rose to leave. “Do you have some kind of paperwork we can read? Maybe a brochure or a book of vampire etiquette? Because I have an early-morning meeting with a client I can’t miss. Which means I need to go home and get a couple of hours sleep. I don’t have time to attend the Vampire Academy for Noobs tonight.”
“Fuck,” Nina muttered, letting her head fall to her folded arms on the table in purposely evident disgust.
Phoebe’s eyes flashed. “Fuck what?”
Wanda came to stand beside her, placing her arm aro
und Phoebe’s shoulder, the smile on her face warm and sympathetic. “I think what our most outspoken OOPS member means is, you’re not exactly in the place we thought you were. This lifestyle you’ll be forced to embrace isn’t like adjusting to a new pair of shoes, Phoebe. It’s so much more than that.”
Nina shoved away from the table, letting her chair rock on two legs. “And cue the whine. Damn it, Wanda. I was so down with Sammy. He took this shit like some kinda champ. Now we’ll be here all night while she pisses and moans until she passes out. We should have just left well enough the fuck alone.”
Marty planted her hands on her hips and glared at Nina. “No truer words, Gladiator. But you created at least half of this problem, and the hell you’re not going to help solve it. Whether she’s really your relation or not. What would you have done if Greg had just left you to your own devices, nitwit? You’d be ashes. That’s what. Now not another word out of you. You’ll see this through to the end like a good vampire or I’ll see your end.”
Phoebe stared at Wanda head-on, her senses suddenly and inexplicably on fire. The struggle to maintain not just her cool but her ability to think of anything else but going home became a force to contend with.
She needed out and she needed out now. “I understand exactly what you’re saying. I heard everything you said. I’m a vampire. I can’t eat food anymore. I have to drink blood. I have no organs. I’m dead on the inside. But if I’m super-duper lucky, I’ll fly just like my big sister, Nina, someday. I get it, and now I have to go home.” Rather abruptly, she was overwhelmed, and when that occurred, she needed space.
Wanda’s pink dappled cheeks puffed outward then deflated. “We’ve got trouble, ladies.”
Nina was the first to rise, blocking Phoebe’s path to the wide double doors with reluctant feet. “You can’t go home, Phoebe.”
Phoebe cocked her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “Look. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m you only more cutting-edge fashion, less ghetto back-alley goth. Oh, and far less likely to use the word fuck. I’m not afraid of you like Sam over here. So if you thought you could stop me from leaving, rethink. Now move. Please. Or things could become very chaotic for you.”
Sam’s indignant grunt floated to her ears. The scrape of his shredded nylons rasping as he crossed his legs make Phoebe shudder. His expression was affronted. “I’m not afraid of her. I’m leery. There’s a difference. A big one, thank you very much.”
Nina cracked her jaw, and to any bystander, it was clear she was fighting to keep her rage in check, but it was clearest to Phoebe, who understood the struggle to maintain her quick temper and sharp tongue on a daily basis. That Nina had the nerve to claim they weren’t related was like declaring Prada made hot dogs. But the proof of her legitimacy would have to wait for another day.
Like one where she didn’t feel like she was on fire.
Nina’s eyes flashed an emotion Phoebe recognized as sympathy, but she quickly let her thick eyelashes flutter to her cheeks in order to hide it. “Seriously, our differences and your crazy claim aside, cupcake, you can’t go home—not without us. Shit’s about to go down that you don’t know how to deal with, and you’ll need help. Our help. My help.”
Phoebe’s eyebrow rose to a new height of condescending even as her stomach revolted and her legs shook. “I said I’m going home.”
Nina scrunched up her face, blocking her path. “Yeah. And I said you’re not.”
Sam rose to his feet now, too, putting a hand on Phoebe’s shoulder to keep her from moving. A hand that created a multitude of reactions. Irritation, a strange sexy slither of pleasure, and more irritation. “It’s in your best interest to listen to Nina. I know you don’t like it, but you don’t seem to be getting the big picture here. Now stay put until you do.”
Whether it was Sam’s demand that she remain or Nina’s glare, she couldn’t have said. The only thing Phoebe was capable of thinking about was how much she wanted to slug first Sam, then Nina and the word home.
Home. Home. Home.
And like the saying goes, sometimes you get what you wish for.
Because when she opened her eyes to unleash her fury on Sam for having the gall to order her to do anything, he wasn’t there at all.
And neither was her gangster sister or her gangster sister’s friends or the beautiful fireplace she’d so admired when she’d first opened her eyes at Nina’s.
When she opened her eyes, she was standing in one of the rare kitchens in Manhattan that was bigger than a shoebox and affordable.
The kitchen she’d searched high and low for months in order to find.
The one where, if she listened to the Three Paranormal Musketeers, she’d no longer have any use for.
And that kitchen was hers.
CHAPTER
3
Mark, her roommate, business partner, and her best friend since grade seven when she’d punched Ernie Horowitz for calling him a queer, screamed a piercing squeal that continued to ring in her head long after it was over. “Jesus Christ in a pair of Choos, Phoebe! Warning, please, huh? I didn’t even hear you come in. Are you trying to scare the wrinkles into me? Don’t sneak up on me like that—especially when I’m in the middle of steaming my pores.”
As Phoebe’s eyes focused, she caught the tendrils of steam rising from the pot Mark hovered over on the stove. The scent of eucalyptus, normally pleasant to her nose, made her gag. Or dry heave. However you wanted to look at it.
The towel Mark had tented over his head fell to the floor when his gaze fell on her with openmouthed horror. He gasped. “What …”
Phoebe frowned, gripping the edge of the Formica countertop to keep from falling over. What now? Was there more after teleporting here like some other-dimensional space traveler? “What-what?” she asked, commending herself for keeping her voice steady.
He held his arm out straight; at the end of it was his hand mirror. The one he used to pluck his nostril hairs. He shoved it at her. His eyes were accusatory. They said she should know what. “That’s what-what.” Mark tapped the mirror for emphasis, his lips pursing.
Phoebe’s eyes flew open wide and her hand went to her face with a whimpered mewl. Fangs. She had fangs. Big, gleaming white incisors that had just begun to make an appearance over her lower lip.
They were exactly like the fangs Nina had so blatantly flashed in her face when they’d given her the Cirque du Paranormal experience back at the castle. How did you explain fangs? Did you even try? And hadn’t Nina said she’d never see her reflection again? After seeing her teeth, maybe that wasn’t the boil on her ass she’d originally thought it would be. Her mind raced to put together an explanation, but Mark saved her from having to say anything.
Mark set the mirror down and gave her a look of admonishment. “Halloween’s over, honey. And lay off the highlighter. You’ve gone overboard with your youthful glow and jumped into the Bride of Chucky ocean. It’s creepy. And where have you been? It’s almost midnight. You missed a perfectly fabulous tuna tartar with pumpkin risotto and steamed asparagus. You could have at least called, you dirty stay out,” he chastised on a snicker, shooing her away from the counter with a flap of his hand to turn the stove off. “So was it a date with that guy Joey from the bodega? He’s sweet on you, sunshine. I’ve got the extra half pound of pastrami to prove it. All I have to do is utter your name and he’s all assholes and elbows at the meat slicer, shards of pig flying in the hopes I’ll give him your number.”
Phoebe slid her boots off, still stunned, but forcing herself to form words. “No. No Joey.” She ran a hand over the kitchen wall just to be sure it was real. That she was really in her kitchen in lower Manhattan with the tiny balcony off their living room and the ridiculous painting of Cher hanging between the pictures of her and her mother.
“Wait,” Mark said with hesitance, alarm in his voice, his sweet round face wary. “You didn’t forget to come home, did you, honey?”
Most people would think that a stran
ge question, but not her. Not since … “No,” she replied, the word hushed but meant to reassure. “I didn’t forget. I just got caught up.”
Standing behind her, Mark rested his rounded chin on her shoulder. “Darling?”
His voice, in her ear, normally pleasant and nurturing, was maddeningly abrasive, leaving a residual ringing in its wake. “Yeah?” She wanted to scream the word, but managed to only whisper.
“Did the earth move for you or something tonight? Because you’re behaving like I did after that delicious night I had with Raul in Meheeco,” he mimicked a poor Spanish accent. “Sort of dazed and confused with just a hint of sinfully satiated.” Mark clucked his tongue. The smile the memory wrought from him reflected fondness. “Remember that trip? Soft sand between our toes, mojitos in hand, festive, colorful beach wraps, waves lapping at our feet. Heeeaven,” he sang. “We should go back—soon by the looks of you. Oh, and Penny called tonight. I told her you’d call her back.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and scooped up her boots, taking them to the small closet in the hall.
No sooner was she paying homage to the universe for keeping her from having to explain to Mark what was going on with her teeth and her complexion than her doorbell rang.
Phoebe had to jam a fist into her mouth to keep from screaming out loud the earsplitting pain that jangled her eardrums. Every nerve in her body was raw—raw like someone had used sandpaper on them.
“Who could that be so late? You don’t think Helen fell again?” Mark ran for the door, worry creasing his round face. Helen was their elderly downstairs neighbor who refused to use a walker as per doctor’s orders. Ornery and stubborn, she’d slipped and fallen last year, breaking her hip. Helen’s husband, Otis, had run into them in the elevator, panicked and worried, and they’d offered to sit with the couple until the ambulance arrived.
Since then, they’d spent almost every Sunday dinner downstairs in the Gaglianos’ apartment with the scent of mothballs and tantalizing homemade ziti surrounding them.
Accidentally Dead, Again Page 5
