by Cate Lawley
In the background, I could hear the rhythmic thud of hammers. I’d just been tuning it out.
A ringtone that might have been my mother’s special, preprogrammed tone jingled in the background.
“Ugh. That’s got to be mine. Any clues where my cell landed? My mother probably thinks I’m dead.”
Wembley handed my phone to me, mouthing something.
I held my finger up. “Hi, Mother.” Then I pointed to the back door, and Wembley nodded.
“Sorry. I just have to run outside.”
“Outside—why are you not at work?”
I’d forgotten—she had no idea I’d quit my job. I looked up at the brilliantly blue sky. Too bad I wasn’t religious, because now would be the perfect moment to pray to God for patience.
“So, Mother, a little change…I’ve given notice at work.”
“Given notice—you quit?” She sounded befuddled more than upset.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad…
“You lose your job—”
“I quit. That’s not losing a job; that’s walking away.” I sat down in one of Wembley’s incredibly comfortable lawn chairs. Why had the guys mentioned steak? Now I was dying for a cheeseburger. Except not really, because I would just puke it right back up. My stomach lingered on the memory of meat even though the reality made it unhappy—it was a weird feeling. And I guessed that aversion therapy hadn’t helped for very long after all.
“And what about your beautiful apartment? Did you quit it, too? Mrs. Franklin lives in your building. She heard you were moving out.”
“Did Mrs. Franklin mention anything else?” I squinted up at the tree shading the yard. But for the potential for bird droppings, a perfectly shady spot for some more lawn furniture.
“No. Should she have?”
“No, not at all,” I replied, trying to hide my relief. I crossed my fingers. “I think I might have found a new place in southeast Austin.” I’d be having a look at Wembley’s other place soon, I was sure. And I had a good feeling about it.
But I couldn’t help but be glad I’d dodged explaining anything to do with Mrs. A’s death. The official story had shifted but was still unpalatable. No longer an accidental overdose or suicide, now there were rumors of a suspicious death. I doubted someone had realized Mrs. A would never kill herself or do anything by accident, so the police must have found some evidence of foul play. Good luck finding the killer, coppers. At least I knew the truth. Nuts. Bradley. I’d have to text him; seemed better than calling—
My mom raised her voice. “Are you even listening?”
Oops. I’d kinda tuned her out there for a bit. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
Mother let out an exasperated sigh. “The job, the apartment, the car… Sweetheart, are you sure you’re all right?”
I sat up straighter. Was I all right? Only a few weeks ago, I’d never have made the huge, life-altering choices I was making now. But I was happy.
“What would you say if I told you I’d never felt like this before? I think I’m really happy.” My stomach cramped. Starving, yes—but I’d nabbed a killer. My life was in complete chaos, sure—and yet I was happy. “I have to go, Mother. I need to grab a snack before my stomach eats itself—but I promise you, I really am okay.”
Mom sniffed. Was she crying?
“That’s all I ever wanted for you, sweetheart. But the suburbs…” My mother’s voice firmed. “But if the suburbs make you happy, then you go live in the suburbs.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell Mom that southeast Austin wasn’t exactly the suburbs. Not when she was trying so hard to accept the new and strange woman I’d become. Besides, anything outside the heart of downtown probably was the ’burbs as far as Mom was concerned.
“Thanks, Mother.”
“Oh, and tell your friend I look forward to seeing him tomorrow. Bye-bye now.” And she hung up.
My friend? I stared at the phone.
Wembley.
I headed back inside, wavering between amused and terrified.
“Wembley?”
“Don’t look,” Wembley called from the kitchen. “Hide your eyes. Just having a quick snack.”
My nose picked up on the smell before he’d said “snack.”
“Right—I can smell it.” I pinched my nose. At least I wasn’t about to ralph. That was an improvement. “My mother, Wembley?”
“Ah. I did try to mention it. I answered your phone earlier this morning. When you were still passed out from your coffee hangover. She called twice. Any mother who calls twice…well, it was that or wake you up.” Water ran in the sink, and then he called out, “All clear.”
I unplugged my nose and sniffed cautiously. Barely any odor at all. I joined him in the kitchen. “How do you go from answering my phone to attending a luncheon as her date?” Because their little “date” had to be that luncheon she’d invited me to last week. “Any thoughts about the whole eating solids thing?”
“No problem.”
I rolled my eyes. My mother and Wembley hanging out was definitely a problem waiting to happen. “Where’s Alex?”
“He’s on call today. Lemann brought him in to deal with another potential Bart victim.”
“What? Without me?” A nasty thought occurred. “Ugh. He’s not the axman, is he?”
Wembley shrugged. “I didn’t ask for details.”
“So not good.” I pulled up Alex’s number. Tucking the phone under my chin, I asked Wembley, “Where’s my bag? I need to change—pronto.”
He nodded and disappeared.
Alex picked up on the first ring. “I was just about to call you.”
“Uh-huh. Sure you were.” I nodded my thanks to Wembley as he handed me my bag. “Where are you?” I made a circle with my finger, and Wembley turned his back.
“I’m over at headquarters.”
I pulled off my nightgown. “Got it. There in five.”
“Wait—”
I hung up before he could tell me not to come. Who knew what state that poor woman was in? And the Society, with their Inquisition and their lickety-split executions—not good.
I yanked on clothes as fast as I could. Once decently clothed, I said, “I’m good, Wembley. You can turn around. Where are my keys?”
He handed them to me.
I kissed his cheek. “You’re a doll. I’ll call with an update.”
“Shoes?”
Nuts. I’d just about left barefoot. I hunted around for my All Stars and finally found them under the couch. Socks were a lost cause. I tucked them under my arm and hotfooted it to the front door.
“Wait!” Wembley called from the kitchen.
“In a rush—”
“I know, I know.” Wembley appeared, a bottle of spicy vegetable juice in hand.
“Ha! Perfect.” I grabbed the bottle. “Toodles.”
I drove to headquarters barefoot, chugging my tangy-awesome juice the whole way. Something about the spicy-salty combo made it a little more satisfying than other drinks. I probably needed to pursue the salt angle a little deeper.
I zipped into the Society’s parking lot and parked next to Alex’s black Honda.
As I weighed faster and barefoot against the need for footwear, I heard a woman scream, “Noooooo!”
Decision made, I tucked my shoes back under my arm and flat-out ran to the front door. When I arrived, the front door was locked—I needed a dang key for this place.
I thudded the tinted glass door with my open palm. When that didn’t work, I made a fist and thumped harder.
“Coming.” Alex’s voice had an edge to it.
He opened the front door with a look of relief. “Thank God. Get in here.” He yanked me inside by my forearm and locked the door behind me. “I’ve already sent the staff home, but this…this I cannot handle.”
And then I heard it—a woman saying, “No, no, no, no.”
Alex propelled me further into the store and then pointed two aisles ahead. “Whatever you can do…�
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He ran a hand through his hair.
I tiptoed toward the aisle in question, unsure what horror had stumped Alex, former knight and enforcer and on-call emergency responder.
Nuts. I’d forgotten Tangwystl. I was pretty sure I’d left her in Wembley’s spare room…
I turned the corner of the aisle.
22
LIFE SUCKS? GET A LIFE COACH
A terry cloth robe and bunny slippers.
That was what I noticed first. Next came the flame-haired woman wearing them. And then—hard to believe this wasn’t the first thing I registered—the gooey red-colored corn syrup that covered her.
She was huddled on the floor directly in front of the fake blood display.
Very real fangs protruded from her mouth. Not so small as mine, but smaller than Wembley’s. Not a baby vamp—maybe just a hungry one?
In a disappointed, the-world-had-just-crumbled-under-her-feet voice, she said, “It’s just syrup.”
I sighed. Probably very hungry.
My phone beeped with a text from Alex: Hates men.
Aha.
“Would you like some blood?”
With sad puppy-dog eyes, she blinked and nodded.
“All right, then, let’s get you some, shall we?”
She perked up, and her fangs extended further. Yikes. About the same as Wembley’s, but I’d never seen the actual descent or retraction happen. They just seemed to be there—or not. Moving fangs were super freaky.
I smiled. It was harder to look scared when you smiled. And those fangs were creeping me out.
“I don’t haaf to bite anything?” She certainly managed to speak with those monster serpent fangs better than I could.
“No. No biting. There’s a fridge out back.”
She melted in relief. And what she meant by biting “anything,” I didn’t really want to know. Could vamps survive on non-human blood? Another factoid to pursue that had absolutely nothing to do with my own vampire experience.
I reached a hand out to help her up. “What’s your name?”
“Gladys.” She leveraged herself to a standing position using my hand for balance.
And it was like a Liz flashback: gorgeous cheekbones, long legs, and all. Except for the clothes. Liz had fabulous taste in clothes.
“How exactly did you get here?”
She angled her head. “My car.”
“And you found the Society how?”
She looked at me like I’d gone mad. “The internet?”
Right—why not? Bits, Baubles, and Toadstools definitely had a website.
“Excellent. Well, let’s you get you a snack.” She blinked sad eyes at me, and I immediately corrected myself. “A very large meal. We’ll get you sorted.”
I bade a fond farewell to my clothes, and then put an arm around her very red, very sticky shoulders.
We left the aisle for the main area of the store to find Alex patiently waiting to escort us to the blood supply in the back of the warehouse.
She jerked and squealed like a stuck pig.
I hugged her with one arm and waved him away with the other.
The moment he disappeared, she fell silent. My ears might not forgive Alex that little misstep.
“I’ll just unlock the door and prop it open, shall I?” His voice carried over the aisle shelving, but was muffled.
I herded Gladys out of sight down another aisle. “All right.”
“Go ahead,” Alex said.
Arm around her shoulders, I walked Gladys through the “Employees Only” door to the back of the warehouse. I propped her against the hall wall and said, “Stay. Don’t move. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
And then I slipped back into the retail area. “Alex? Where are you?”
He appeared from behind the register. “Hiding.” He had the grace to look just a little embarrassed.
“Text me directions to the blood stash.” When he raised his eyebrows, I wrinkled my nose at him and said, “I’ll be fine. Oh, and clear the hallways. Please.”
He snorted. “Done five minutes ago. My ears are still ringing.”
“What happened with the salesgirl? She’s human, right?”
“Actually, no. But she called when a lady in a house robe, slippers, and nothing else appeared in the store. I sent her for a long lunch and told her to call before she comes back in.” Alex ran his hand through his already very rumpled hair. “She remembers some things. I think. It’s hard to say—but sedatives can be tricky. I think, unlike you, she knows something about what happened to her.”
“Well, that just sucks for her. I’ll do what I can to sort her out.” A thought occurred. A brilliant thought: I might have found my calling. I grinned at him.
“What? That look cannot be good.”
“Just call me the after-life coach.” I crossed my arms. “The Society will be receiving my bill for services rendered. And tell Cornelius that if he doesn’t pay up promptly, I won’t help the next time you have a fake-blood-soaked vampire damsel in distress.”
A total lie, but I was technically unemployed, and a girl had to get her pennies where she could. And I liked the idea. After-life coaching seemed like something I might take to. I’d been managing my own transition rather fabulously, and had come out smelling like a bouquet of fresh flowers, if I did say so myself.
“I need to get back to Gladys.”
“Gladys, huh?” He laughed. “Well, at least you got a name out of her. Work on a last name, if you don’t mind.”
“Will do.” I hustled back to the “Employees Only” door, turning to shoo Alex out of sight before I opened it. Couldn’t have my new client melting eardrums or wandering the halls in her bunny slippers.
THE END
THE CLIENT’S CONUNDRUM (VEGAN VAMP #2) PREVIEW
Chapter One: Where’s the Bathroom?
The woman at the front of the room smiled in that bland, uninterested way that people do when they’d given a presentation fifteen times too many and couldn’t be bothered if you were listening or not.
“I know that some of you are new to the area, and some of you are new to enhanced living.”
At least she had a pleasant voice.
“I’ve provided each of you with a binder. Inside the binder you’ll find…”
Or not so pleasant, because it all sounded like blah, blah, blah. This was going to be an ordeal. And to think I’d been looking forward to the Society’s official orientation since I found out that an orientation existed.
The thick binder in my hands was printed with the words “Do Not Remove from Society Headquarters.” Well, if you’re going to give a girl—vamp—a handbook, you better expect her to take it home.
I wasn’t sure how I’d lug three pounds of paper products and a massive 1990s binder out unnoticed, but I’d work it out.
Just as the presenter was getting to the good part—the location of the several bathrooms scattered throughout the warehouse facility—someone’s phone rang. Shame on them. A lady needed to know where the facilities were located; you never knew when you’d have a makeup emergency or a wardrobe failure. Because as many fluids as I drank these days, I never seemed to actually need to pee. The wonders of magic.
The phone kept ringing. At some point—three rings later? five?—I realized I’d changed my business forwarded calls ringtone…to that same exact ringtone.
I dug through my purse, considered very briefly silencing the call, then answered, “Just one second.”
I started to crawl over the feet and purses of those unfortunate enough to be seated in my aisle. The Society had packed us in like sardines, which was silly with only twelve or fifteen attendees. Couldn’t they have given us a bigger room? “So sorry,” I said to the woman whose foot I’d just trodden on.
I could hear Gladys’s voice as she continued to talk. But I could hardly listen to Gladys, crawl over strangers in a tight space, and make my apologies to the injured. Gladys would have to wait.
Fina
lly, I reached the end of the row, and I turned to give the presenter an apology wave only to find her glaring at me. Oopsie. I waved and smiled anyway then stepped out into the hall.
“I’m so sorry, Gladys. It’s just that I have to attend—” I closed my eyes and sighed. “Did you say dead? Next to you? In bed? Calm down. I’m on my way.” I ended the call with a sigh.
Lord above, Gladys had turned into a project. She was probably having bad nightmares again. I headed toward the front of the warehouse building, to the retail shop. It was the easiest exit to the parking lot, and the stock in the store was always entertaining.
I’d helped her through a rough few days when she’d first transitioned. Like me, she’d been bitten and accidentally turned into a vampire. Our progenitor—a nasty creature who’d hanged for his crimes—had been gorging on the blood of women he found particularly annoying. In the midst of that, he’d killed several women (not a Society crime) and turned loose a few baby vamps on the world—and we’d been too noticeable in our untrained dismay (definitely a Society crime).
I had no memory of my particular neck-biting trauma, but Gladys remembered small pieces. And since then, men made her very uncomfortable. We’d been working on it. As her undead life coach, it was my job. Gladys was my first client, but we were making great progress.
My cell pinged with a new text message. As I slid my finger across the screen, a photo popped up. I flipped my phone to enlarge the picture…yes, definitely a corpse. Definitely in a bed. Quite possibly Gladys’s bed.
As I ran to the front of the building, I couldn’t help thinking at least he was a man—we really were making progress if Gladys had been doing the wild with some guy.
But a dead body meant reinforcements were called for. I made a beeline for my favorite investigator-enforcer-knight’s office. Dead bodies usually meant all sorts of mess. Political mess, physical mess, maybe even paranormal mess.
Alex was great with messes. And he’d helped me. We shared a sensitive secret, so we were tight.
Knocking lightly produced no result, so I pounded.
“What?” It sounded like Mr. Cranky Pants woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
