The cashier nodded and showed Tats the twenty, pointing to the beaming elderly lady. His smile grew bigger and brighter as he took her hand in both of his.
“Dear lady, thank you so much for your support. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“I wish it was more, Reverend Tattingail. I think it is high time good people took our town back from those...” she lowered her voice dramatically “...freaks.”
“Way to go from sweet old lady to hag,” I muttered. “Heaven help your precious great-grandchild if she gets infected.”
Meanwhile Tattingail nodded, his expression in sober agreement. “Yes ma’am. I couldn’t agree with you more. Vampires and shifters trying to bring our children into their awful way of life ... it has laid heavy on my heart for years now.”
Fear lit the customer’s eyes. “So you don’t think any of it is an accident?”
“Men like Tristan Keith have been seducing our youngsters into his immoral embrace for far too long. And that so-called Zoo Flu ... it’s God’s divine wrath punishing the wicked.”
Oh that sorry bastard. When I thought of Ryan Warner sobbing his heart out, when I thought of my sweet little nephew made to suffer through no fault of his own—
“Why don’t you take that cross you’re wearing around your neck and—” I started to splutter. I stopped because it felt like blaspheming to speak my mind right next to a huge display of bibles.
I rolled my eyes upward. “Sorry, God. If you’re listening, you know I’m just mad. I don’t want that big pretender taking anything to do with you and putting it in places it was not intended.”
I decided it would be best if I left the room and the senseless blathering filling it. I went to the storeroom to see what Tats had been up to before Cheryl the cashier had summoned him.
It was a storeroom, also set up to be a campaign headquarters. There was a table set up between shelves of stock, complete with a couple of computers and phones. A young woman in a pink skirt suit spoke on one of those phones. She tapped on the computer in front of her as she spoke.
“Yes sir, Mr. Tattingail is determined to get shifters off our streets. He hopes to have the vampire registry re-instated in the county too.”
My brows rose at that. The vampire registry had been deemed unconstitutional by the U.S. Supreme Court years ago. Challenge after challenge from conservative states had been struck down. How clueless were Tats’ supporters?
Miss Pink (her lipstick and fingernails matched her suit) smiled as she chattered on. “Why thank you. Twenty dollars is certainly appreciated, especially from those on a fixed income. Every little bit helps inch us along to re-taking Fulton Falls. We’ll get there, somehow.” She paused her sugary-sweet monologue. “Oh, twenty dollars? Well, bless your heart and God love you. Can I send you a bumper sticker? Because you are so generous!”
I stood there in disbelief as the volunteer upselled the person on the other end of the line into giving the campaign one hundred dollars. Miss Pink was a schmoozer of the highest order. Her expression was smug as she hung up. I wanted to punch it off her.
Tattingail strutted in and I glared at him. I wondered if he’d gotten every last penny out of the little old lady in the store. His question to Pinky only increased my cynical thoughts. “How are we doing?”
Miss Pink smirked. “The donations are pouring in following Tristan Keith’s election. People are excited to see things change locally without his influence. The moment I tell them I’m with your campaign, they can’t wait to tell me how happy they are to see him get out of town.”
She handed Tats a sheet of paper from the nearby printer. I looked over his shoulder to see names, addresses (many of them assisted care facilities), and pledges. He chuckled.
“Fulton Falls is on its way to a new day where all the freaks are banished even when it’s dark. Keep up the good work.”
I kicked at him even though I knew my toe would pass through his shin. “You are such a jerk. I almost wish I had lost control back at the meeting last week. But instead of sucking you dry, I’d turn you. Then we’ll see what tune you sing. Ugh! If I wasn’t a lady, I’d say a thing or two. You’d better believe it.”
I stalked over to a corner and stood there glaring at the Tats and Miss Pink as they worked their phones and long lists of people to wheedle money from. I watched and waited, impatient for the jerk to do something so I could pin something – anything – nefarious on his self-righteous head.
After a couple of hours of watching the Tats and Pinky coerce funds from more donors, I was relieved to see the reverend stand and rub his lower back. Cheryl hadn’t summoned him this time to thank some contributor and wheedle extra money out of them, so I had hopes a change of scenery would happen.
For once, he was on my side. “I have to meet with someone, so you’ll have to hold down the fort,” he advised his cohort.
“No problem, Reverend,” she said, still perky after countless calls filled with exclamations of ‘bless you’ and ‘God is saving a special place in heaven for you’. I felt nauseous because the blessings flowed more copiously according to the amount of money pledged. It called Miss Pink’s sincerity into question.
Tattingail stuck his head out into the store to wave to the cashier. Then he and I climbed into his Buick and set off to parts unknown.
Naturally a gospel station played on the radio. It didn’t help my grouchiness. As far as I was concerned, after two hours of hearing the Tats call paras everything from unclean to Satan’s children, the man had as much to do with godliness as Daesh did.
He stopped in a coffee franchise’s drive-thru to order a latte that had so much chocolate and sugar it should have given him instant diabetes. Then he drove on to a rundown area on the outskirts of Fulton Falls. The sedan pulled into the lot of a park that had seen better days. The playground’s equipment had been new in the 1990s, and the basketball court was cracked with weeds growing in several places. The nearby houses were dilapidated with cars on blocks. The area looked pretty unsavory. I imagined whoever the Tats was meeting would not be a banker or CEO.
Tattingail checked his watch and then the clock on the dashboard. He grunted and settled back with the car still running. For the heat I supposed, since everyone commented on how nippy the weather was. As a ghost I didn’t feel it. As Patricia, I was always freezing except for those few awfully won moments of pleasure after feeding on Gerald.
I didn’t know what to expect when the Tats’ appointment showed up, but it sure wasn’t my brother-in-law’s truck. The big pickup with the dark tinted windows was impossible to mistake. But then, why was I so surprised? After all, I’d had more than a little suspicion it was Tattingail blackmailing Ryan.
The minister sucked down the rest of his latte, switched off the ignition, and got out of his car. He opened the passenger side door of Ryan’s truck and climbed in. I followed, shoving past the unknowing Tattingail to perch in the extended cab’s backseat. A child’s booster seat and a couple of toys cluttered it. It made me smile a little to see evidence of my adorable nephew.
Tattingail’s now-hated voice pulled the smile out of me, though he sounded pleased. “This needn’t take long. Do we have a deal or not?”
“Yes.” Ryan didn’t bother to look at him. He stared straight out the windshield at the swingset with its three out of five broken swings.
“Good. I’ll call you with a date and time.”
“Call the cell phone this time. My wife wanted to know why someone like you would call someone like me after she saw the I.D.”
“I hope you took care of that?”
Ryan shrugged. I felt like I watched a mannequin being made to move. He was that lifeless.
Tattingail’s tone was breezy. “Make sure when you come that you use the members and staff entrance. You’ll see the sign.”
“Fine.” The word was only a ghost of a whisper.
“Don’t look so grim, old boy. You might enjoy doing what comes natural for your kind.” W
ith that and a hearty chuckle that made me want to climb in Patricia’s body so I’d have fangs to rip his throat out, Tattingail got out of the truck.
I sat there for a second as Ryan clutched the steering wheel with white-knuckled pressure. I don’t remember ever seeing a face more hopeless and angry. He put the truck in gear.
I hopped out and reluctantly got back in the Buick. The Tats talked on his cell phone, still laughing as he spoke.
He said, “We have a bear.” He paused to listen to the person on the other end. I put my head close, trying to hear too. No luck since Tattingail had the thing smashed tight to his ear.
Reverend Butt spoke again. “No, we’ll make this one a special occasion. Build the anticipation. Really whet everyone’s appetite. We have the other one ready to go anyway. Hey, since I have you on the line, let’s talk about next month’s fundraiser.”
He started the car and put it in gear, the phone still at his ear. I scowled at him. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to talk on the phone while you’re driving? Same stats as driving drunk, you moron.”
Unaware of my advice, the Tats kept on yapping as he pulled out onto the road. “Oh, at least twenty-five dollars a plate. That’s good barbecue, you know?”
I made a growling sound as he blew past a bus flashing its reds as it made a stop. No way this clown was running a kid down on my watch. “As much as I’d love for you to wrap yourself around a telephone pole, I don’t want you hurting anyone else,” I said, putting my hand to his phone.
I drew on the device’s battery. Oh yum, yum, yum. What blood is to a vampire, power is to a ghost. It must have been recently charged, because I suddenly felt awesome. Almost tipsy. Too bad it wasn’t enough juice to make me visible. I would have loved to make the Tats poop his pants.
The phone beeped a warning and died mid-conversation. Tattingail pulled it from his ear at last and stared at the dark, dead screen. His brows drew down over his eyes. “Damn it!”
I sat back and giggled. “What language from a good Christian. For shame.”
I got no further information on what Tattingail and Ryan had agreed to. My brother-in-law was to report to a service entrance. But a service entrance to what? It irritated me that I had no answers.
At least I knew for sure that the Tats was the man blackmailing Ryan. But there was darned little I could do with the information except stick close to the so-called reverend when possible. I couldn’t even say for sure that Tristan’s old political rival had anything to do with shifter disappearances.
When Patricia’s body called me, I was in a bad mood. That begged for trouble the moment hungry vampire surrounded my consciousness. Making it worse was that Gerald wasn’t there waiting for me as usual when I popped out of the casket like a macabre jack-in-the-box. A lone bottle of BP9 sat on the bench instead. With nothing else at hand to settle my bloodlust, I consumed it in a hurry. Then I began to look for something else.
The cemetery was quiet at that early hour. Despite having a bottle of Blood Potion in me, it only took the edge off my hunger. I ached for more. Seeing a car enter the graveyard’s gates made me lick my lips in anticipation. Breakfast was served.
The car, its headlights dazzling my sensitive eyes, headed my way. I struggled to pull on the glamour that would disguise my fiend-red eyes. Come to me, I coaxed the approaching prey.
It did. It stopped a yard from me. Someone got out and I tensed, ready to fling myself on him.
“It’s me, Brandilynn.” Tristan’s voice.
I blinked in surprise. And don’t get me started on Tristan smelling of fresh blood. He’d gone back to live donors. The scent made my head reel.
Worst than smelling what I shouldn’t have was remembering he’d once sworn off feeding from the living as part of his commitment to me. That was when there had been a chance of us being together. Another reminder of love lost.
Thank heavens there were no living creatures in the cemetery at that moment. I’m not sure I’d have been able to resist with everything against me.
Tristan had the good sense to shove an open bottle of BP9 at me. As it was the only thing around to slake my ravaging hunger with, I snatched it and downed it in three seconds flat. Tristan was ready with a second and a third bottle too. As I drained the last one, the furious buzzing in my head and gnawing need in my gut quieted. I could think again.
I swallowed the final drops, feeling the rest of glamour’s pretense of normality drop into place. I faced Tristan sans fiery eyes and fanged teeth. I tried not to see the beauty of my former lover. I ignored that he’d gone back to blood groupies.
I even managed a polite, “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Before he could answer, I thought to worry over my usual greeter. Concern replaced irritated confusion. “Is Gerald okay?”
Tristan’s smile soothed. The pink-tinged lips flushed with fresh, living blood helped the appearance of ease. “Gerald is fine. I wanted to talk to you in private is all. Since my time is extremely limited, this seemed like the best opportunity.” He waved at the Mercedes idling close. “Shall we?”
I stared at him for a long beat before nodding. “Sure.”
My steps still dragged with reluctance because I wasn’t sure what to expect. I hated to be suspicious of my former sweetheart, a man I still loved. But this was Tristan Keith. That vampire was always plotting something.
Tristan drove with practiced ease. Even though he could fly as well as any vampire – no jealousy here, ha-ha – the car was the latest in a long line of Mercedes he’d owned. His co-commissioners were all earthbound humans, as were many of the business owners and contributors to his campaigns and charities.
I eyed the remainder of the six-pack of BP9 he’d brought, trying to ignore the tastier smell of fresh blood coming off Tristan. Despite my many failings, I was getting better at not using Gerald as my personal Fountain of Sanity. However I knew if he had been along for this particular ride, Tristan’s upholstery would have gotten splashed. I opened a new bottle and tried to concentrate on the leather smell of the car’s upholstery.
Tristan glanced at me before checking traffic on the road he readied to turn onto. “You first. Did you dig up anything interesting today?”
I felt a mixture of relief and disappointment that we were all about business. We were halfway to the King George when I finished telling him about Ryan and Tattingail.
Tristan’s dark eyes looked black as night as he mulled over the news I’d collected. “If Tattingail is behind these disappearances, I fear the worst. He has never made it a secret he wants paras, particularly the shifters, exterminated. The bastard is careful though. Nothing of a nefarious nature has ever come up in his dealings.”
“You would know,” I said. Tristan made a point out of finding out as much about his opponents as possible. “I wish I knew where he wanted Ryan to go. What he’s supposed to do. I couldn’t get a bead on that at all.”
“Blackmail. How did he find out Dr. Warner’s accounting irregularities? Or about the misdeeds that the rest committed?” Tristan shook his head. “There are more people involved in this. I’m sure of it.”
“We still have to prove this situation is tied to the other missing shifters,” I sighed. “Even then, my word won’t mean anything since I’m gathering information as a ghost.” Spirit evidence is inadmissible in court.
“I’m sure Warner and Tattingail are a part of the bigger picture. Your sister’s husband fits the profile of the ones who have gone missing to a tee.”
“I’m going to keep close tabs on him. He’s our one verifiable link to whatever is happening.”
We settled into silence. We were entering the downtown area when Tristan spoke again. “I suppose you realize I’ll be hard to get hold of now. I’ll be splitting my time between Fulton Falls and Atlanta as I get ready to take office.”
I put on a brave smile. “I figured. Off to bigger and better things.”
“I want you to know – I’m still here for you – I mean, I realize I
haven’t been the man I should have been these last couple of months.” He struggled mightily to find words for something that there was no easy way to speak of.
I swallowed the last of my latest bottle. I looked over at him, sitting so close. He may as well have been a million miles away. He hadn’t left for Atlanta yet, but he was already gone.
Feeling all of that, I said, “We’re over, Tristan. I know that. It hurts, but I know. This will help us make a clean break of it once and for all.”
We reached the storefront that housed the entrance into the King George. Tristan parked the car and switched it off. We sat there, listening to the engine tick as it cooled.
His voice came out thick, as if he dredged it up from his gut. “I still love you. I always will.”
But you love me second best, I thought. That knowledge brought no pain. Patricia had been here first and Tristan had invested much more in her than me.
He kept going, trying to find a way through the hurt. “I don’t blame you, you know. Things would have been much worse for Fulton Falls if Patricia had been saved.”
“That doesn’t stop the guilt.” I spoke from harsh experience.
“No. Yet I know she would have wanted it this way. She was always about the greater good, and a lot of paras are still around because she’s not. I can’t tell you how many times Patricia told me, ‘We look out for our own’.”
I patted his hand, all the contact that felt safe to offer. “Go to Atlanta. Kick butt for the paras of this state. We’ll keep things in order here as a way to honor Patricia.”
He nodded. We got out of the car and headed inside without speaking again. There was an unspoken agreement that we had nothing left to say, no way to build the bridge across the gulf that now separated us.
As I walked down the hall, I heard masculine laughter coming from my office. I stalked in to find Gerald and Levi waiting for me. Yeah, just what I needed on the heels of my conversation with Tristan. I headed straight for the bottle cabinet.
They sat side by side in front of my desk. Somehow the werewolf with short hair wearing an official law instructor uniform looked like the werepanther with cornrows wearing black leather and jeans. Their anticipatory expressions were identical as they watched me grab a BP9. Bromance at its finest, my friends.
Animal Attraction Page 13
