The Trouble With Vampires

by Sands, Lynsay

  “So you switched to history to please them,” Santo said solemnly.

  “With a minor in music,” she reminded him. “I still play music. I even used to be in a band.”

  “Keyboards?” he guessed.

  Pet grinned and shook her head. “Electric guitar. It was a hard rock band.”

  His eyebrows rose at that. “I play drums in a rock band.”

  “Really?” she asked with interest, and could actually picture him behind a drum set.

  “Sì. We are called the NCs, for Notte Cuginos.”

  “Notte cousins?” she asked, recognizing the word cugino, and when he nodded, Pet asked, “And are you all cousins in the band?”

  “Sì. But we have not played for a while.”

  “Why?” she asked at once.

  “Gia, our singer, Christian, our violinist, and Raffaele, our keyboardist, have all found their life mates, and all are from here in North America. Christian’s wife, Caro, has business concerns in Toronto she is still tying up, so they spend a lot of time there, Gia’s husband is from California, and Raffaele’s wife, Jess, is from Montana, so . . .”

  “So the band has disbanded,” Pet suggested when he didn’t finish.

  “For now,” he allowed, and then added, “But it is fine. Julius has decided to open offices here, and Zanipolo and I will split our time between projects in Italy and here once Mortimer does not need our aid anymore.”

  Pet’s eyebrows drew together with confusion. She had no idea who Mortimer was. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What offices are you talking about? I thought you guys were Enforcers who hunted bad immortals?”

  “Bricker is the only one among us who is actually a full-time Enforcer. The rest of us are presently working as Enforcers to help them out. Mortimer calls it being deputized. Once things settle down and Mortimer has all of his people back . . .” He gave another shrug. “We will return to our usual full-time jobs.”

  “I see.” Pet thought about that briefly and then asked, “So is the RV some kind of cover or mobile command center or something?” RVs didn’t exactly jive with immortal Enforcers in her mind.

  “No, it is an RV,” Santo said with amusement. “Marguerite and Julius have not actually been working as Enforcers. They were on vacation, an RV tour with J. But when Mortimer got the tape of Parker’s 911 call and realized it originated from Albany, which Marguerite and Julius were driving through, he called and asked them to stop and look into it. Once they’d spoken to the Caprellis and decided it should be investigated, they called him and he called us and had us stop here. We were in Newburyport, Massachusetts, at the time.”

  Pet blinked at that. “What were you doing in Newburyport?”

  “Driving back to Toronto from New Brunswick using the American route,” he said, and before she had to ask, explained, “We were investigating the purchase of a couple dozen coffins in New Brunswick to be sure it was not a rogue starting his own little army of immortals.”

  “Immortals don’t sleep in coffins,” Pet said with certainty.

  “No,” Santo agreed with a smile. “But some rogue immortals use the vampire myth to control their turns. They make them sleep in coffins with a bit of dirt in the bottom, telling them they have to sleep there or they will die or some such rot. It ensures they do not run off. They always have to return to the coffin and their sire.”

  “Smart,” Pet commented, and then asked, “So, was it a rogue who bought the coffins?”

  A look of disgust crossed Santo’s face. “No. Someone calling himself an artist.”

  “Artist?” she echoed with disbelief. “Why would an artist need two dozen coffins?”

  “To make an art installation,” he said dryly. “He had arranged the coffins in rows in a gallery there, dressed up stuffed animals of all sizes and description, and then ripped off limbs or the head, or slashed open the gut so that the stuffing stuck out, and then he arranged one in each coffin and called it art.”

  A small laugh slipped from Pet and she shook her head. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I wish I were,” he muttered. “The gallery owner considered it high art.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand and he was telling you he was high when he agreed to give this so-called ‘art’ a showing?” she asked with amusement.

  “I would not be surprised,” Santo said with a grin. “I think both the artist and the gallery owner were high when we interviewed them. They actually sat there driveling on about how it was the artist’s representation of the death of innocence. That was even the name of the art show, The Death of Innocence.”

  Pet laughed at that, and then as her laughter faded, she tipped her head and eyed him for a moment, before asking, “So, your temporary base is in Toronto?”

  “Sì.”

  “But you’ll eventually go home to Italy?”

  Santo hesitated, and then said, “As I mentioned, Julius is opening offices in North America, probably in both Toronto and New York, so I will most likely spend more of my time here in North America.”

  “Oh,” Pet murmured and wondered why that made her happy. She’d already decided he wasn’t someone to tangle with. Clearing her throat, she asked, “What are the offices Julius is opening for, exactly?”

  “Notte Construction.”

  “You work for a construction company?” Pet asked, not sure why she was surprised. The man was huge. She could see him wrestling a jackhammer and such. But she’d never imagined that’s what he did and still found the idea unlikely.

  “I am a civil engineer,” he announced as if guessing she’d been imagining him in a wife-beater and jeans, swinging a sledgehammer.

  “Oh.” Pet blinked and smiled. That seemed more his style. He was smart and commanding and she could imagine him strutting around a construction site in a hard hat with a clipboard in hand, ordering people around.

  “Here we go!”

  Pet and Santo both stopped and looked up at that. Their waiter had returned with the main course.

  Sitting back from the table to stay out of the way as the young man set down the plates, Pet glanced toward the appetizers that remained. There wasn’t much left. They’d both been eating as they spoke. Santo had eaten every last one of the chicken wings and between the two of them they’d eaten all the fried pickles and most of the potato skins. There were just a couple of jalapeño and cheese balls, and one potato skin left. In fact, Pet was actually kind of full now and eyed the steak Dylan set before her with a little regret. She would end up taking most of it home in a doggie bag, she knew. But it was best fresh off the grill, and now she regretted eating so many appetizers.

  “Enjoy!” Dylan said cheerfully before moving away.

  “Thank you.” Pet picked up her knife and fork and set to it, determined to make a good showing.

  They had eaten in silence for several minutes when Santo suddenly said, “You intend to move Parker out of the house after school today.”

  Pet glanced up from her plate and eyed him silently. His voice had been grim.

  “That is your plan, is it not?” he asked quietly when she continued to stare at him. “That is why you were putting his gaming system and television in your car?”

  “Yes,” Pet said finally, and then set down her knife and fork and reached for her drink. She picked it up but then simply held it as she explained, “Parker was left in my care. It’s my responsibility to keep him safe and between midnight creepers and the fanged visitor next door, the house isn’t looking very safe at the moment.”

  “No,” he agreed quietly, but much to her surprise he looked extremely disappointed by the news.

  Pet wondered about that as she watched him reach for his own drink. Was he disappointed? If he hadn’t controlled her last night when he’d kissed her—well, really, even if he had controlled her, no one had been controlling him, and there had been no mistaking the hard bulge in his jeans last night as anything but definite interest. So maybe he was disappointed at the thought
of her leaving.

  Of course, the more cautious side of her mind argued, men would screw a hole in the wall if it got them off, and she was the only female around. At least, the only one who knew about them and was easily available since she had been in the same house. That thought made Pet grimace as she watched Santo drink.

  Bypassing the straw, he swallowed a large gulp of the clear bubbly liquid and then set it carefully back on the table before asking, “Where will you take him?”

  “My place,” she admitted, and took a drink of her own beverage. A wry smile claimed her lips as she set it back on the table, though, and she added, “Which ought to be interesting.”

  When he raised one eyebrow in question, Pet explained, “I live in an apartment building, which means more security and people around, which is all good, but . . .”

  “But?” Santo prompted when she paused.

  “But my building doesn’t allow pets,” she admitted. “Parker isn’t likely to agree to leaving Mrs. Wiggles behind, though.”

  “So you plan to sneak the cat in?” he guessed.

  Pet nodded. “Yeah, but getting Mrs. Wiggles and all that gear I just bought into my apartment without the apartment manager noticing and raising a fuss should be interesting.”

  Santo was silent as he placed his last piece of steak in his mouth. It was only after he’d chewed and swallowed that he offered, “Perhaps I can help.”

  “Schlepping all the stuff up?” she asked with amusement. “Or distracting the apartment manager with your magnificent yet intimidating physique while Parker and I sneak Mrs. Wiggles and all her gear in?”

  Santo smiled suddenly, and she thought, pheromones or not, the guy was gorgeous enough to stop traffic. Then he asked, “You think I have a magnificent physique?”

  Pet flushed, but snorted at the question. “Like you didn’t know that.”

  “I did not know,” he assured her.

  She didn’t buy that for a minute. Her expression becoming serious, she said, “I know you can read my mind, Santo, and so already know exactly how freaking hot and sexy I find you. Don’t deny it,” Pet said when he started to shake his head. “I knew about immortals being able to read and control minds before I encountered you guys. But even if I hadn’t,” she added firmly, forestalling him when he opened his mouth as if to protest, “Marguerite gave the game away when she reassured me that none of you were connected to the Brass Circle when I hadn’t mentioned them to her.”

  Santo looked confused. “Who are the Brass Circle?”

  Pet eyed him uncertainly. He really looked bewildered by the name.

  “Is it a band?” he asked finally when she remained silent.

  Her eyes widened at the question. Good Lord, he really had no idea who the Brass Circle was. Not that she hadn’t believed Marguerite when she’d said they weren’t connected to the organization, but since the Brass Circle had been uppermost in her mind since she’d noted the silver flecks in their eyes . . . Of course, she’d tried to block those thoughts the minute they’d cropped up in her head, Pet reminded herself. Still, Marguerite had picked up on them anyway.

  “Pet,” he said quietly, sliding his hand across the table to gently touch hers.

  The tingle that charged through her at the innocent touch had her stiffening and staring down at their hands.

  “I cannot read or control you.”

  She glanced up sharply. “What?”

  “I cannot read or control you,” Santo repeated solemnly.

  Pet stared at him blankly for a minute and then asked, “Why? Marguerite can.”

  He withdrew his hand and straightened in his seat, but rather than answer her question, asked, “Just how much do you know about immortals? And how do you know about us?”

  Pet peered down and picked up her fork to begin pushing her potatoes around on the plate. “I know that immortals started in Atlantis and have existed since before its fall. That their beginnings came from science and not some curse.”

  “Nanos,” Santo said with a solemn nod. “Bioengineered nanos that were developed in an effort to create something that could heal people without the need for surgery and such.”

  Pet hadn’t known that, but merely nodded and added, “I also know that while you’re similar to vampires in that you need extra blood, are stronger, can see better, and hear better than mere mortals, you aren’t dead and soulless like mythical vampires are supposed to be.”

  “Anything else?” Santo queried when she fell silent.

  “You can read mortals’ thoughts and control them,” she said quietly.

  “Yes, usually we can. However, I cannot with you,” he assured her.

  Pet was silent for a moment and then cleared her throat and asked, “So, last night, when we—when you kissed me . . .” She met his gaze. “You didn’t control me in any way?”

  Santo looked so surprised and even horrified by the question, she knew the answer before he said, “No, of course not. Even if I could have controlled you, I would not have done that at such a time. It would be rape.”

  “But Marguerite can read me,” she repeated with confusion. “And I’m pretty sure she’s controlled me a couple times too, and I know Bricker did to get me in the SUV.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “But I cannot.”

  “Why?”

  Santo was silent for so long, she was sure he wouldn’t answer, but then he sighed, shrugged, and said, “Sometimes that is just the way it is.”

  Pet’s eyes narrowed. He was avoiding her gaze now and she suspected there was more to it than that, but he didn’t leave her the opportunity to press him on the issue. Glancing around, he spotted their waiter and waved him over.

  “We should get moving or we will be late picking up Parker,” he said as he pulled out his wallet.

  Santo was right, of course, Pet saw when she glanced at her watch and noted the time. They’d been sitting there for much longer than she’d realized. They really did have to go. But that didn’t stop the questions now swirling in her head. Could he really not read her? Or was he lying? And if he was lying, why?

  Nine

  “This isn’t going to work.”

  Pet rolled her eyes at Parker’s prediction as he dragged the last of his books out of his school knapsack. It was at least the sixth time he’d said it, and it was the sixth time she responded with, “Yes, it is.”

  “The cat will be fine.” Santo added the reassurance as he gathered the bags Parker had filled with things he “just couldn’t live without” during his stay at her place.

  Parker released an exasperated sigh and turned his bag upside down, shaking it to remove anything still remaining inside. When nothing fell out, Pet picked up Mrs. Wiggles from where she’d been napping on the bed while they’d packed Parker’s clothes in his small suitcase. “Here. Open up and we’ll put her in.”

  “She’ll suffocate in there,” Parker protested even as he opened the bag wide for her to set the cat inside.

  “She won’t,” Pet assured him as she released her hold on the cat and retrieved her hands. When Parker started to zip up the bag, she said, “You don’t have to close the bag until we get to my building, and then you can leave it open just a bit so she can get air, but not enough that she can stick her head out. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He relaxed a bit and reached into the bag to pet the animal.

  “Why don’t you go downstairs?” she suggested. “I’ll put your schoolbooks in a bag and bring them down.”

  Nodding, the boy headed for the door, his head bent to peer into his knapsack at Mrs. Wiggles rather than where he was going.

  “He’s going to fall down the stairs and break his neck,” Pet muttered with a shake of the head.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Santo said and left the room on the boy’s heels, several bags hanging from his shoulders and hands.

  Pet smiled crookedly as she watched him go, and then glanced around, noting that the room seemed a lot larger without him in it. It also seemed to b
e cooler and have more air. Neither of which could be true, so she supposed that meant it was just her when the man was around. She got hot and bothered.

  “Almost ready?”

  Pet glanced toward the door and smiled as she watched Marguerite sail in, another lovely lightweight summer dress swinging around her long legs. “I just have to pack up Parker’s school stuff and we’ll be good to go.”

  “I’ll help,” Marguerite volunteered, moving to join her at the bed.

  “You don’t have to,” Pet protested.

  “I want to.” Marguerite picked up a pencil case and notebook and put them into the large cloth bag Pet had liberated from her sister’s pantry for the task. “I also wanted to thank you again for agreeing to let us use your sister’s house to keep an eye on Mr. Purdy’s place. It will make things much easier. The window in the den affords a view of both the front and back of the house, which means only one of the men will have to watch at a time, allowing them to take shorter, six hour shifts each, rather than the two watching twelve on and twelve off they started with.”

  Pet smiled faintly but shrugged as they worked. “It was hardly an altruistic decision. It isn’t safe around here until Purdy’s visiting cousin is taken care of and you guys are seeing to that. Besides, this way I don’t have to worry about the creep who tried to get in the other night returning and getting in to steal stuff or wreck the place while we’re gone. You guys can handle him.”

  “True,” Marguerite said, sounding amused.

  They both fell silent for a moment and concentrated on gathering everything Parker had removed from his bag. The sheer amount of stuff made her shake her head. She had no idea how he’d fit it all in his knapsack. There were at least six thick textbooks, several notebooks, two pencil cases, a sketch pad, an iPad, his laptop, various power cords, a ruler, and even some paint, paintbrushes, and charcoal.