Outtakes From the Grave

by Jeaniene Frost

***

  When I finally pulled into the driveway of my house, streaks of sunlight crept over the horizon. It had taken me over two hours to find my way back to the club, then another hour and a half to drive home. Never in my memory had I felt so exhausted. The sound of the truck must have woken my family, because one by one, they came out of the house. My grandparents were in their nightclothes, but my mother wore the same dress she’d had on yesterday. Obviously she’d never been to bed. The look of relief on her face when she saw me turned immediately to anger, and she was at the truck window before I even had time to open to door.

  “Where have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is? I’ve been worried sick! So have your grandparents. They called the police! What…?”

  She stopped when she caught sight of my strange clothes as I got out of the car and stumbled toward the house. Her speechlessness lasted only a moment, however.

  “Whose clothes are those, Catherine? Answer me!”

  I opened my mouth to explain when my grandfather walked up and grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me hard.

  “You think you can run all over, doing God knows what? You will not bring more shame to me! It’s been hard enough after what your mother’s done. I won’t stand by and let you be the same, you—”

  He cut off his tirade when I grasped his hands and pulled them off me. For a few silent moments, we glared at each other, me with angry weariness, and he with shock at the strength in my grip. Then I turned my back on him and went to my mother, reaching in my pants. I’d kept one souvenir, just for her.

  “Hold out your hand.” My voice was harsh, but my eyes weren’t.

  She stared at me before stretching out her hand. Into it, I placed a small, hard object.

  “This is where I was and what I was doing. I’m strong enough, and I know what it takes, so it’s what I’ll be doing from now on, I promise you.”

  She stared at the single curved fang in her hand for a long moment, tears overflowing her eyes. Then she reached out and touched my cheek with more tenderness than she’d ever shown me. Finally she wrapped me in her arms.

  Tears came to my eyes as well. At last I’d made her proud of me.

  My grandfather stomped over. “What in the Sam Hill is going on? Justina, I’m not finished with that girl yet.”

  “Oh yes you are.” My mother’s tone was so vehement that my grandfather gazed at her as if she’d grown a second head. She patted my shoulders before speaking again. “Leave her alone, she was doing a good thing. I am her mother, I am responsible for her, and I say it’s okay.”

  With her arm still around me, my mother led me into the house. My grandparents gaped after us but didn’t move to stop us. My mother had never spoken up to them before or overruled their wishes, so they were even more shocked than I was. I knew I’d always remember her standing up for me, but I didn’t have the energy to dwell on that. As soon as I got to my room, I fell on the bed and passed out.

  Later that night, I got up and ate dinner as though nothing had happened, and my grandparents never mentioned it again.

  Like my mother before me, I acquired a scholarship to Ohio State University and used money from working the orchards to buy my books. Unlike her, the remainder of the money I used to put a deposit on my ramshackle off-campus apartment came from vampires. Dead vampires, that was. From sheer cold practicality, I’d taken to pocketing their cash after killing them, getting the idea when one of them robbed me before attempting to bite me. Waste not want not was their motto, and it was fast becoming my own. In the three years since my first one, I’d killed four more. I had gotten better at it.

  For starters, I realized my weapon had to be bigger. The first vampire nearly killed me because it took too long to destroy his heart with the thin silver cross dagger. The question became, how did I increase my weapon size without giving away that I carried one? My answer came from making caramel apples.

  The closest neighbors to my grandparents had an apple orchard. We regularly traded fruits with them. While I was making the apples, sliding the fruit onto its wooden stick for easy handling, the idea hit me. Hide the silver. That’s what I needed to do. Conceal it in something a vampire wasn’t afraid of. Thus the idea for my wood-covered silver stake was born.

  It was a custom job, naturally. I took all my savings and bought a wide silver blade, five inches long and pointed. It was heavy but deadly sharp. Next came the disguise. Carefully I glued wooden strips over it, keeping them hard and smooth, contoured to the shape of the silver. When I was finished, I had a very ordinary-looking wooden stake with a surprise inside. Since plain old wood didn’t kill vampires (I found that out the hard way with my second one, ending up with a dislocated shoulder, bloody lip, deep puncture wound and a fractured wrist), they weren’t afraid of it. Indeed, the one I stabbed through the heart with only wood looked at his chest in amusement before yanking out the stake and ramming it into my thigh. If not for my silver cross with the handy dagger attachment, there would have been nothing left of me but a bad aftertaste in his mouth. Fortunately for me, the vamp thought that since I’d attacked him with wood, I didn’t know what really worked. He never saw the silver coming.

  My third one was almost downright simple. There was a pattern to it now. I went to any of the clubs within a three-hour drive and perused the patrons for the undead. They were easy to spot for me, their skin being so perfect compared to everyone else’s, and their energy crackled the air around them. My false wide-eyed infatuation worked every time, especially when combined with my consuming enough alcohol to fell a horse. The drinks had little effect on me, only making me calmer instead of inebriated. They appeared to have no effect on my vampire companions as well, so I surmised it was an immunity in the tainted blood we shared.

  However, it was becoming too risky to keep dumping cars into the lake; I was bound to get caught. It was much simpler to stake them, throw them in their trunk, and drive back to the where I’d parked my truck in a conveniently sheltered area. Once there, I transferred the body to the truck, concealed it with cherry bags, and took it home to bury in the far side of the orchard. Their cars I wiped down and abandoned.

  Fingerprints were no longer of great concern to me; I took to wearing long black leather gloves. The vamps actually found it sexy, much to my quiet amusement. There was the added bonus that nobody reported the vampires missing. I figured they didn’t stay too long in one place and so went unnoticed when they were gone.

  With my fifth vampire, I ran into a snag. Everything had gone smoothly, as far as killing the undead went, anyway. He was a chestnut-haired Irishman who kept telling me funny stories in a lilting accent until he’d charmed the socks off me. I almost figured I had him pegged wrong until we got to his car and he backhanded me so hard I actually lost consciousness. He deposited me in the backseat, thinking I would have a nice long snooze, and drove to an empty parking lot. Fortunately for me, I’d stopped carrying my stake in my purse and had it tucked inside the pocket of the carpenter jeans I wore. When he flung himself on me in the backseat, he came crashing down on my new toy. He was dead before his fangs were fully extended.

  After backtracking to my truck, I dumped him into the bed and covered him with bags of freshly picked cherries. When I was only about five miles from home, I stiffened at the red and blue lights flashing behind me. There was no way I could explain what was in the back of my truck.

  Chapter Two

  The Hair Salon Incident

  Author’s note: This scene originally took place in chapter 5, right after Bones tells Cat that she’s reached the point in their training where he’s going to turn her into a seductress. I had fun writing it, but it was eventually taken out in an attempt to keep the pacing more brisk. Plus by this point, I assumed readers were ready to get to the romance aspect of the novel, and this scene prolonged that, although it did show Cat starting to consider Bones as more of a man than a monster.

  Hot Hair Spa was a full-service salon. Facials, body wraps, man
icures, pedicures, every hair treatment possible, and waxings. Bones greeted the receptionist by name, smiling charmingly and asking after her family. She nearly tripped over herself to usher us back, casting openly admiring looks at him as she guided us through the modern beauty maze. I was incredulous at her behavior. My God, couldn’t she tell he wasn’t human? Apparently not, and she made it very clear she would offer him services above and beyond what the spa advertised.

  “How do you know these people?” I hissed when we rounded yet another seafoam-colored corner.

  He looked at me as though I were slow. “My hair, of course. You didn’t think it was natural, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t think it was natural. I thought you just dumped a bottle of peroxide on your head every night!” My nervousness made me snippy. Well, snippier than usual.

  “Darling, how good to see you.” A perfectly coiffed older woman squealed as she threw her arms around Bones.

  “Marlena, my sweet, always lovely to see you,” he replied.

  She patted his chest in a mock-reproving way. “What can I do for you, darling? You said it was an emergency.”

  I shot him an evil glare upon hearing that, but Bones ignored me.

  “I call upon your genius to work a miracle. My cousin here—” He gestured in my direction and her head swiveled toward me. “My cousin desperately needs your help. She has countless split ends, her fingernails are a disgrace, her eyebrows need waxing, and I don’t even want to tell you about her toenails.”

  Marlena stared at me as if I had just crawled out of the deepest, darkest swamp and had the algae coating to prove it. My face flamed, and once again I fantasized about me, Bones, and a long, pointed silver stake.

  “Ah, my darling, I see what you mean. But what pretty skin she has. I’m sure we can salvage her.”

  Salvage? Why that arrogant, uppity—

  “If anyone can do it,” he said, interrupting my mental train of insults, “you can. Spare no expense. I want her dazzling when she leaves.”

  Marlena cast a dubious look first at me and then back to him. “Come back in five hours. We’ll see what we can do.”

  ***

  When Marlena-the-evil-hell-mistress was done with me, I had an exact understanding of what it was like to go through the washer and dryer. I was washed, waxed, plucked, snipped, blow-dried, manicured, pedicured, painted, sloughed, exfoliated, curled, primped, and finally covered in different shades of makeup. My head pounded murderously by the time she was finished, but Marlena clapped her hands with the delight of a child.

  “Look at you! You are ravishing.”

  She swiveled my chair toward the mirror and I finally looked at the image I’d avoided all day.

  “I look… fake,” I managed, staring in the mirror at my perfect hair, makeup, brows, and matching fingernails and toenails.

  “Nonsense,” she said, brushing the hair off me since her scissors had cut layers into my long tresses. “You look beautiful. Now, you must remember everything Charleen told you about how to apply the correct contouring on your cheeks and eyes. Bones was very specific—he wanted to make sure you’d know how to do this when we were finished. Oh, I can’t wait until he sees you. He’ll be so pleased.”

  “I am pleased.”

  His voice made me jump nearly out of my chair as he appeared in the mirror behind me. Yes, vampires cast a reflection. He stared at me in the most unusual way, running his tongue along the inside of his lip like did when he contemplated something dangerous. I met his eyes and then looked away, not wanting to see what was in them.

  “Marlena, you are a goddess.” He praised her, kissing her hands and then each cheek. She beamed when he was finished, her face flushed.

  “Underneath all those country trappings was a beautiful girl waiting to be revealed. We didn’t even have to bleach her teeth.”

  For the first time in my life, I fervently wished I had a pair of vampire chompers. I would have bitten the smug look right off her face.

  “I already settled with Lisa at the desk. You’re too miserly with your fees. For the work you did on her, you should have charged me double.”

  Pig! I thought. Marlena was either oblivious or didn’t care about my obvious discomfort at being discussed as though I were a Buick that had just had some repairs done.

  “You know I gave you a special price. After all, if it weren’t for you, we’d still be in the red from that rash of robberies.”

  “Nothing to it, sweet,” he assured her. “Just kids thinking they’re tough. I gave them a good talking-to, and they saw the error in their ways.”

  I wondered if Marlena had any idea of what his version of a “good talking-to” was. Those kids had probably died horrible, screaming deaths.

  “And don’t forget your bag, Bones. We can’t have this lovely girl leave without all her new friends, can we?” She handed him a large, department-store-sized bag stuffed full of God knows what.

  He thanked her again, dark eyes crackling with flirtatious energy. It nearly had her quivering on her feet. I felt sorry for her.

  “Come back soon. We miss you.”

  With those parting words, Marlena escorted us through the doors of her salon. It was dusk already, and I felt his otherworldly vibe increase degree by degree. He’d been right about the night increasing a vampire’s power. During the day, he almost felt normal when I was near him.

  “Happy with your new look?” he inquired when we got back to my truck, eschewing his motorcycle for obvious reasons.

  It occurred to me that the last time we were in my truck at night, we’d been trying to kill one another. A sudden memory of him unzipping his pants and the flash of that tight, pale belly flittered through my mind before I could squash it.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” He had a crafty curl to his lips that let me know he could pretty well guess what I had been thinking. Well, some of it.

  I put the truck in gear and spoke without looking at him, concentrating on the roads. “Just remembering the last time we were in this truck after dark. You nearly punched a hole through my head. You might not want to do that this time. It would ruin my hair, and you just paid a lot for it.”

  He gave a low chuckle. “Still sore about that? Blimey, you should have seen how you looked that night to me. As rattled as a snake in a box filled with mongooses, you were. Thought you’d jump out of your skin when I pulled my trousers down. No wonder I had you pegged for an innocent. I’ve met nuns who were more promiscuous.”

  My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel while I sternly told myself that it wasn’t wise to slam on my brakes in the middle of traffic. Seeing my reaction, he laughed again.

  “The only thing I ever want to do with a vampire is kill them, Bones. I might be forced to kiss them and let them get a feel, but all I’m thinking about is the moment I’m going to bury my stake in them.”

  “Funny you should say that. I’m sure they’re thinking right along those lines as well.”

  I will not blush, I will not blush, I hate him so much, I will not blush. “Yeah, well, may the best one blaze a trail, right?”

  His eyes sparkled when I glanced over to see the effect of my words, and he clucked his tongue. “Well, well, luv. We might make a fallen woman out of you yet. You’re going to have to get used to a lot of dirty talk and be able to respond back to it. A simple ‘Want to fuck?’ isn’t going to cut it, quaint though the phrase may be.”

  “I can handle it.” To hide my discomfort at him throwing my former words in my face, I concentrated on merging onto the freeway.

  “Glad to hear it. For the next six days, we’re going to dress you the way a vampire expects an easy shag to dress. And we’re going to work on your flirting skills. Lastly, you’ll learn how to talk with the most depraved, lust-crazed, undead blokes out there. I’ll make you say things you’ve never even thought of. Opening night is next Friday, and you will be ready.”

  Chapter Three

  Bones’s Point of View after Their �
��First Time”

  Author’s note: Readers have often asked me if I will ever rewrite Halfway to the Grave through Bones’s point of view. The answer is probably not. For starters, when you’re in a character’s head, that character loses a lot of mystery for the reader because readers know what he or she is thinking or feeling. Second, I’ve also found that being inside a character’s head paints them in a much harsher light for the reader. Not only do readers experience the character through action and dialog, they hear everything the character doesn’t say, and unfiltered thoughts can be ugly at times. So if I rewrote Halfway to the Grave through Bones’s point of view, I fear that Bones would lose some of his mystique and sensual edge. After all, Cat might have thought that Bones was sexy and irresistible, but Bones would never think such a thing of himself. What character would? Oh, okay, Ian would, but that’s another topic *wink*.

  However, years ago I did take a stab at writing a scene from Halfway to the Grave from Bones’s POV, and I’m including it below. It takes place immediately after the first time Cat and Bones slept together, and I was surprised by how introspective Bones turned out to be.

  Bones fell back against the bed with her in his arms, loath to part with her flesh, but letting himself slide out until his cock rested just below her warmth instead of inside it. Her heart still beat with a frantic pace, and she breathed in sharp gasps even as her eyes fluttered closed.

  He held her and took in a long breath. Her sweat clung to him, masking his scent with her own, just as she now smelled more of him than herself. This created a new, mingled scent that was neither hers nor his, but theirs, and he breathed it in again so he could absorb it inside him.

  I’ve waited so long.

  He was surprised at the thought, because eight weeks to get her into his bed wasn’t that long. Still, he couldn’t dismiss his feeling of profound relief. Like something long denied to him was finally here. It wasn’t just the usual relaxation he felt right after a supremely satisfying shag—and she was as passionate as he’d dreamed—but it was something else.