Feeling sad about the matter, I checked the itinerary. Hooray, the last item for the night. Boo, it was something about zoning. If that didn’t spell ‘bore me into a coma’, nothing did.
Tristan checked his itinerary too and flashed me another look. What was that for? I didn’t do anything to kill the monotony of his meeting. Yet.
His smooth voice betrayed no hint of emotion ... a clue that he didn’t like something. I perked up to hear that flat tone say, “We have a motion from the Fulton Falls Country Club for a zoning restructuring. Is the representative of that concern here tonight?”
A happy, hearty voice answered from the back of the room behind me. “I am, Mr. Chairman.”
I bit back a groan as Tristan said, “Chair recognizes Clifford Tattingail.”
He came swaggering up to the podium, Tristan’s biggest political nemesis in Fulton Falls and Ford County. When had that snake slithered in?
He smiled and greeted several people sitting in the rows of chairs as he came, pausing to shake hands, pat good old boys wearing caps with the rebel flag on them, and waste our time.
Tattingail was the epitome of a southern small town politician and tent revival preacher. Somewhere in his fifties, he kept his receding hair trimmed and slicked back. Attractive enough to be considered handsome but not unapproachably so, he radiated that kind of smarmy good cheer that made you smile back while checking to make sure your wallet was secured. His black shoes were shined to a mirrored finish, and his tan slacks and matching jacket spoke of good taste without airs ... the kind of clothing found on the department store rack, but the most expensive rack and not on sale. Tattingail had money, but he also had the good sense not to wave it in people’s faces. Since he wasn’t scheduled to preach a sermon, he wore a light blue button-down shirt with no tie tonight. He knew how to appeal to people on a surface level. It was when you dug in and really listened to him that you figured out what a creep he was. There was plenty of good reason why he’d never won an election against Tristan.
Tattingail’s briefcase was expensive but slightly worn. He reached the podium and opened the case, taking out a thick sheaf of papers. He looked at Tristan and didn’t bother to hide a sneer. He never made any bones about the fact he detested paras, a quality that endeared him to those rebel flag-loving people who made up the bulk of his constituency.
His low, rolling voice was made for preaching, which he does at his church out on the south end of town. “Mr. Chairman, members of the county commission, I have a request for a new zoning ordinance. This would allow for the country club’s hunting group to extend our range on our property for bow hunting.”
I noted a couple other commissioners rolled their eyes. Tristan kept his gaze steady on Tattingail. “You have the paperwork on that?”
“I do.”
Tattingail marched forward with his stack of papers. However he veered over to the right and placed them in front of the woman sitting next to Tristan.
Oh boy. Here at last was my opportunity to glare. I did so as Tattingail turned around and faced me. His eyes widened the least little bit before he snorted with pointed derision and went back to the podium.
The female commissioner sighed and pushed the paperwork to Tristan with an apologetic smile. Tristan smiled back and gave a slight shake of his head. I reduced my glare about fifty percent.
Tristan shuffled through the papers, though I had the idea it wasn’t necessary to look them over. He’d known Tattingail was at the meeting on behalf of the country club, which was why he’d given me that look. No doubt he already knew the placement of every dotted ‘i’ on the papers in front of him.
Tristan finished his study and handed the packet back to the female commissioner. As she flipped through with desultory interest, he addressed the waiting man.
“Once again, Mr. Tattingail—”
“Reverend Tattingail,” he loftily corrected.
Tristan gave him a little nod. “Reverend Tattingail. Once again, your club’s request places the hunting range within 40 yards of Old Jesup Trail, a county-maintained road. You know perfectly well the ordinance is 50 yards.”
Tattingail huffed. “The part of Old Jesup Trail that is impacted is barely 500 feet of road that turns into our club’s private drive. Traffic there is almost non-existent except for members.”
“Yes, and I’m sure your members would prefer not to be shot as they make their way to their tee off, tennis lessons, or hunting party.”
In the face of Tristan’s cool composure, Tattingail reddened. “We do not challenge the law that states no one can aim a gun towards the road. We only seek to enhance the range on property we own.”
The woman on Tristan’s right pushed the paperwork to the next commissioner and gave Tattingail a severe look. “Cliff, we’ve been over this before. It’s not safe and it’s against the ordinance.”
Tattingail drew himself up, looking as plucky and proud as a crowing rooster. “You’ll notice in those papers that I have the signatures of all members of our club stating they are in support of this. These are the people who will be impacted. We’re even prepared to buy that portion of road from the county.”
“Which we’ve rejected,” Tristan reminded him.
It amazed me how little input it took from Tristan to set Tattingail off. His rolling voice bellowed with anger. “Which you’ve rejected, you fanged monstrosity. You’ve scared all the rest into following you. If not for you, not one person on this commission would deny my petition!”
Everyone in the audience leaned forward, their faces avid. Now things were getting interesting.
Tristan never turned ugly, but his demeanor did go cold with displeasure. “That’s enough, Mr. Tattingail. Your proposal is denied.”
I loved how he stressed the ‘mister’ and didn’t call him Reverend. It was a subtle but effective dig.
As Tristan banged his little judge’s gavel on the table in front of him, Tattingail ranted. “Tool of Satan, do you think we’re not aware of the hold you have over this commission?”
Gerald still sounded bored. “Here we go again.”
I was as entertained as the rest. I couldn’t resist making fun. “Ha! He called Tristan a tool.”
Gerald snorted, but his tone chastised. “You’re supposed to be acting like Patricia.”
Oh yeah. I noticed that though Gerald’s expression remained casual, he sat up straight in his chair. His feet swung under him, ready to spring if things got physical. I wiped the smile off my face and glowered at Tattingail.
My show was for nothing since the preacher stayed busy confronting Tristan. He stood there ranting about godless monsters feeding on innocent humans and passing laws to keep mundanes under control, yadda, yadda, yadda.
When Tattingail paused for a breath, Tristan only said, “I am not getting into this with you, Mr. Tattingail.”
“No, because you think you’re going to Atlanta to spread your evil throughout the state. But you won’t win. I dropped out of the race so my supporters could join up with Cooper and defeat you! This will remind you of God’s might, you vampire demon. You cannot deny God’s might.”
“But I can deny your zoning request. Consider that done.”
With a blistering insult I won’t repeat (such language from a man of God; he should be ashamed) Tattingail stepped out from behind the podium. He took another step towards the commissioners. In an instant I shot to my feet and moved to stand in front of him. I bet no one ever saw me travel the short distance; it must have looked like I disappeared from one place and materialized in another.
I felt smug until I realized Gerald stood at my side. I hadn’t seen him stir.
I ignored that because I had Tattingail to deal with. With my voice as cold and threatening as Patricia had ever used, I said, “Request has been denied. You may leave.”
“Now,” Gerald added. He still sounded bored. Why not? He had to be twice Tattingail’s weight with more muscles in one arm than the jerk had in his whole body.
The preacher looked at Gerald and me in turn. The livid color in his face drained as he stared at me. Then his lip curled back over his upper teeth, like a cornered animal readying to fight.
Tattingail had enough sense to step back, but not to shut up. “You think you own this town. But all you’ll get is a piece of the bowels of hell.”
I said nothing. I just did my glare. Tattingail turned on his heel, grabbed his briefcase, slammed it shut, and stormed out. A few of the good old boys in the audience scowled in my general direction before also leaving. For the most part though, there was the sound of many sighs and subdued chatter. The people had gotten what they’d come for.
What can I say? There’s not much to do in Fulton Falls on a Tuesday night.
I glanced at Gerald. “How did I do?”
Instead of the praise I’d hoped for, he shook his head. “You got a little toothy. Pull it back a notch next time.”
Darn it. I reinforced my glamour and went back to my seat. “Picky, picky,” I groused.
At least one person didn’t mind my overly enthusiastic performance. Tristan gave me a wink as he wrapped up the meeting.
After the session closed, Gerald and I waited around while the people who had attended filed out of the chamber. Tristan and his fellow commissioners stood in a loose knot, talking quietly amongst themselves about whatever it was commissioners discussed. I noted the four members who stood comfortably with their leader and the two that held back some distance.
At last the final attendee went out into city hall’s lobby and on into the night. Gerald looked towards Tristan, who gave him a nod. “We’re done,” the werepanther told me.
He and I headed for the doors. “The night ended on an interesting note,” I observed.
“It’s not over. Watch your temper.” Gerald slowed as we reached the double doors that invited us into the lobby. His nostrils flared, and I went on alert. Someone waited for us out there.
Sure enough, Cliff Tattingail lingered off to one side, standing beneath portraits of the President and Vice President of the United States, the smaller one of Georgia’s governor, and the even smaller ones arranged in rows of Fulton Falls’ mayor, city council, and Ford County’s commission. He stepped forward to confront me the instant my Louboutins tapped upon the sparkling tiled floor.
“You and your brother are a plague on this town, vampire. Along with the shifters.” Tattingail looked Gerald over with a sneer – and something else. Jealousy? Envy? No, more like the way I stare at chocolate when I’m myself. Covetous, like he wanted to own Gerald. I knew I had to be reading the Tats wrong. Maybe he wished he had those cool cornrows.
Reminding myself to be Patricia, I looked down my nose at him. The heels gave me only an inch on him, but I managed. “May I help you with something, Mr. Tattingail?”
Like Tristan, I decided not to honor him with the title of reverend. I sincerely hope the good Lord in His wisdom has no use for men like him.
Tattingail sneered, “You could start by going back to the pit you crawled out of.”
“Why don’t you come with me?” I invited in my sweetest tone. “I’m sure you’d be welcome.”
I could see broken capillaries in his nose. That made me think of blood, of course. Sweet, living blood. The urge to take a bite out of him held more than one temptation for me.
Tattingail drew himself up, maybe to make himself taller than me. “My name is in the book of God. You can’t hurt me, monster. I am not afraid of you.”
It was all posturing, a way for the Tats to save face after losing to Tristan for the umpteenth time. He got on my nerves, however, and the fact he was starting to look like a meal didn’t sit well with me. I needed him to leave right then and right there.
I let the glamour go, revealing eyes of scarlet red and fangs nearly an inch long. Before he could react, I shoved my face at Tattingail’s and yelled, “Boo!”
He squealed and jumped back a couple of steps before wheeling around and running outside. Oh my gosh, it was hilarious. I had to laugh. Yes, I behaved like an insensitive juvenile, but he had it coming. Tattingail was such an awful man.
Chortling, I turned to Gerald. “Did you see him run? Now that was rewarding.”
The werepanther gave me a look of severe disapproval. “Girl, you can’t go around acting like that. It’s undignified. Plus he’ll be telling everyone you tried to attack him. It won’t get him anywhere, but it gives us paras a bad name.”
He had a point, but sometimes it’s hard to be above it all. I folded my arms over my chest. “Yes, I’m sure the Tats will eventually be won over by good manners and the appearance of normality. He was moments away from loving paras until I set him back.”
“The Tats?” Gerald broke up, his pointed ears laying back on his head as he enjoyed a good laugh. He bellowed hilarity until tears squirted out of his eyes.
Finally he calmed down. Wiping his eyes and still snickering he said, “Okay, okay, you win this one. And giving ‘the Tats’ the Halloween treatment was pretty funny. Patricia wouldn’t have taken it so far, but she would have enjoyed putting a scare in that prick.”
I beamed though my need for a bottle of BP9 was starting to get pretty fierce. I’d been pushed to my limits. “I’m glad to know I would have made her proud. Now get me to your car and my stash of liquid sanity.”
“Right this way,” Gerald said, leading me to the door and opening it for me with a flourish. I heard him chuckle under his breath. “The Tats. Wait until I tell the others.”
Chapter 6
A week slid by. No more shifters went missing, and we found no new clues as to where the ‘misplaced’ ones had gotten off to. It was hard to concentrate on doing much since the election countdown was on. Before we knew it, the big day had arrived.
Polls showed that Tristan and Emory Cooper still ran neck and neck. As soon as I rose as Patricia, Gerald drove me to the polling place to cast my vote. No, I still couldn’t fly. I was beginning to think I never would.
I admit to having a moment when I came close to voting for Cooper. I was happy with Dan. Tristan and I were over. Yet the thought of Fulton Falls without him, of going into the King George and knowing he wasn’t in Para Central making things happen ... it was tough. Especially since in the last week I’d appeared at his side as Patricia for each event he could show his face at, hoping to coax just one more vote in his favor. It sucked that we’d finally reached a decent level of camaraderie when he might leave soon.
Win or lose, the big push for votes was done. The excitement and nervous energy in Para Central made me a little edgier than usual. I decided I could wait to hear the results from my office.
I sat down at my desk with the idea I’d tackle the new computer system we’d had installed a few days ago. A lot of Tristan’s people complained it was full of bugs. Why our fearless leader had decided to install the mess with everyone already wigged out over the election, I couldn’t tell. Maybe Tristan decided that a little more crap added to the current poop-storm wouldn’t matter.
Wrong. So very, very wrong.
I’m no whiz kid, but I wasn’t helpless when it came to computers either. Yet I’d had my share of problems with the new operating system and I was determined to figure it out before I pitched my computer into a wall. My laptop, still operating the old way, sat nearby as a backup in case I did lose it. A freshly opened bottle of Blood Potion also stood sentinel against my anticipated frustration. I dug in and got to work.
Gerald showed up an hour into it. “Ah, getting heavy into masochism,” he opined after peeking at my computer screen.
“No kidding,” I groused. “It’s time to call in tech support. No way we can keep things running around here with this mess. How are my eyes and mouth?”
He gave me a thumbs-up. “Black as night and not toothy.”
“Awesome. Any word on the election?”
“Still close but Tristan is slightly ahead right now.”
Gerald’s ears swivel
ed in that cat way of his. He moved away from my desk and looked out into the hallway. His ears perked with interest. I loved watching him do that.
His tone was careful. “I think you have a visitor. You might want to make yourself as presentable as possible, Patricia.”
Now my ears perked. Two sets of footsteps sounded in the hall, both making the telltale sounds of women’s heels. Giving Gerald a quizzical look, I put away my emptied bottle of BP. It clinked against two other bottles in the trash can that hid behind my desk. With Gerald’s warning use of my predecessor’s name, I made sure I kept my glamour in place.
Wendy breezed in, her attitude all professional except for her slightly wider than usual eyes. She was followed in by another woman. “Um, Ms. Keith, this lady wishes to speak to you. I know she doesn’t have an appointment, but, well—”
I knew my eyes were wide as well as I rose to my feet. I clung to my glamour like a life preserver as I looked the visitor over. For a moment I came close to diving behind the desk. The first thing my stunned mind jabbered was, not like this, she can’t see me like this, not as a vampire.
Except for eyes of blue, the face looking back at me might have appeared in my mirror while I lived. It was my twin sister Ashley.
After a split second that felt like it lasted a lifetime, I remembered she’d never recognize me in a million years. I was in Patricia Keith’s body. As far as Ashley knew, I was eleven months dead, long gone to wherever it was that most of the dearly departed end up. She had no idea I’d been earthbound as a ghost. She most certainly didn’t know that I occupied a vampire’s body.
Hoping my shock had disappeared fast enough that Ashley hadn’t noticed it, I made myself as cool and composed as Patricia had been. “Yes, well, come in. Please. Thank you, Wendy.”
Animal Attraction Page 9
