How Knot to Marry a Vampire Page 2

  I swallowed nervously. I was a fairly optimistic person, but I couldn’t find a scrap of good in this.

  “They broke into the church shortly after you left,” Ghost Reverend said, “and when they didn't find what they were looking for, they headed across the street to the WE.”

  “Who did?” If it weren’t for the warm cup I was holding, my hands would probably be ice cold.

  “They asked who was present at the diner when I died. Johnny said he was and then...” Ghost Reverend's voice trailed off as he kissed the large cross that hung from a chain around his neck.

  “Reverend, tell me.”

  He blinked a few times, then seemed to get a hold of himself again and continued. “They killed him.”

  The air went out of me with a whoosh and I gasped. “Johnny is dead?”

  The reverend closed his eyes and mouthed what I assumed was a silent prayer. When he opened them, his gaze was piercing but somehow still gentle. “I'm afraid so. It's only a matter of time until they find out about you, my child.”

  “Me?” I choked.

  “You're the one they seek. I should never have asked you to risk your life like this,” he said, wringing his hands, “but I had no other choice. It was my duty to keep it out of their hands.”

  I stood like a statue, stunned and frozen for a moment before snapping to my senses. “Can't I just give this…this thing to them? I mean, I know you said it’s dangerous in the wrong hands, but we’re talking my life here. And Johnny’s already dead. Things are pretty damn dangerous already.”

  “It doesn’t belong to them,” the reverend said, ignoring my choice of words. My bad language was the least of his worries. “They can't just take possession. The rightful guardian would have to die in order for that to be possible.”

  “Rightful guardian?” And then it dawned on me. “I'm...I'm now the rightful guardian. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  He nodded. “Temporary rightful guardian. A small, but distinct difference. Until the Others come for it. Is there somewhere safe you can go?”

  “You mean, like a friend’s house?”

  “Preferably someplace magical. Far away from Hazard Junction.” It was a strange request coming from a pastor but, then again, nothing about tonight had been normal. “The magic will act as a shield of sorts.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I hadn't been there in years, but there was nowhere else to go.

  I nodded.

  He looked relieved. “I'll stall them as long as heavenly possible.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure. Start a fire or blow something up, maybe.” Another shocking statement coming from a pastor.

  I hoped he wasn’t talking about the WE. Without the Waffle Emporium, Hazard Junction, as we knew it, would be gone. It’d be just another shithole town in the middle of nowhere.

  “Good luck, my child. And don’t trust any strangers.” Before I could ask him anything more—like how to tell the difference between the Others, strangers I could trust, and actual strangers, whom I shouldn’t—Ghost Reverend and his cheerfully bright suit were gone.

  Setting my tea down, I tucked the cigar box under my arm like a fancy clutch and packed up my things as quickly as I could. Not sure when I’d be back, I brought just about everything (including my knitting), which honestly wasn’t all that much. I set the box down only once in order to change out of my pajamas.

  Thankfully, I'd stopped at the gas station the day before, so I had a full tank. No need to gas up.

  With the cigar box on my lap, my belongings in the backseat, and the Hazard Junction city limits in my rear-view mirror, I turned my old but reliable sedan onto the main highway and jammed the accelerator to the floor.

  “Nocturne Falls, here I come.”

  2

  Luka

  * * *

  As I pulled off my socks and stowed them under the chair where my clothes were folded, I thought of a thousand things I’d rather be doing right now. Like getting a root canal, scraping off old wallpaper, or finding out that the Picasso I had just purchased for a client was a forgery. But the faint sounds of laughter and clinking glasses in the distance reminded me that not everyone here shared my opinion.

  I shifted my phone to the other ear. “The next time you invite me over for a friendly game of poker, Julian, remind me to say no.”

  “Such a grump, Luka,” Julian said, laughing on the other end of the line. “Next time, maybe you’ll be smart enough not to bet against me.”

  The thing was, poker night at Julian’s always involved more than just poker, and last night was no different. We’d bet on all sorts of things that could be verified with a quick Google search. And as the night had worn on and more drinks were consumed, the topics and what we were betting for became more and more ridiculous. Like how many total rushing yards did the Saints’ star running back have last season? The loser bought the pizza. Was Abe Vigoda still alive? The winner made twenty bucks. What sports commentator was caught with his pants down on camera? The loser had to ride the elevator to the lobby in a pair of zombie slippers, buy something from a nearby shop, and come back up.

  It wasn’t that I knew what year Britney went bald (2007), it was just that I didn’t think Julian knew. The guy was so adamant, he had to be wrong. He wasn’t.

  Which was why I was in the office at Nocturne Falls Cellars, getting ready to be the model for a painting class.

  “There won’t be a next time,” I grumbled to my soon-to-be ex-friend.

  “Come on,” Julian said. “You're an exhibitionist. Do I have to remind you that you once made a career out of people ogling you?”

  True, but that was a lifetime ago. Literally. For a short time, I’d been a stage actor in New York City before a wealthy theater patron with an unhealthy obsession had turned me into a vampire.

  “What happened to painting Starry Night or random beach scenes at these wine and paint parties?”

  “Hey, it was Jasmine’s idea,” Julian replied. Jasmine was the tasting room manager and one of Julian’s ex-lovers. “Given how popular VOD is with the tourists, she came up with the idea for Paint a Paranormal.”

  I scoffed at the comparison. Posing as the vampire on duty in the town square for photo-ops with tourists was nothing like…this.

  “In the nude,” I replied. “Don’t forget that part.”

  “Relax. I’ve modeled for these things several times. You’re not completely unclothed.” There was a slight pause at the other end of the line. “Or did she change her mind?”

  I looked down at what little I was wearing and grumbled.

  Julian continued. “The older ladies love paying $50 for a glass of wine and a painting lesson using a supernatural model. These events have been a big hit with the tourists. And the winery has been selling a lot more wine and wine club memberships.”

  “Great.” A whole roomful of tipsy blue-hairs awaited me.

  “Meet me at Insomnia when you’re done,” Julian said. “I want to hear all about it. Let me know if any of the ladies try to tip you.”

  Tip me? I nearly choked.

  “Luka? Are you ready?” a female voice called from the other side of the door. “We're getting started in a few minutes.”

  “Coming,” I replied reluctantly. Julian chuckled as I hung up.

  Jasmine was waiting for me in the hallway outside the office. In addition to short red hair that curled around her elf ears, she had long, dangly earrings, intense green eyes, and knee-high boots. Hot, yes, but she wasn't my type. And not because she was Julian’s ex. We’d dated a couple of times, too, but there wasn’t any romantic chemistry between us. It was like hanging out with my sister. Or a drinking buddy.

  She nodded curtly as she appraised me, then pointed to my torso, which was covered up by the robe. “Did you find the…a….”

  “Yes,” I said through clenched teeth. “Had I known, I’d have man-scaped better.”

&nb
sp; “Wonderful!” She grinned, ignoring my grumpiness. “Thanks so much for doing this, Luka. I owe you big time. When Julian called to say he had a conflict and couldn’t make it, I panicked at first. Tonight’s event has been sold out for weeks. I wasn’t sure how I could find a replacement in such a short time. But then he said you’d offered to take his place and I was instantly relieved. You’re going to be great. The ladies are going to love you.”

  Conflict? Offer? Right. The guy had planned the whole thing. Probably had looked up that Britney trivia beforehand and knew one of us would take the bait. I could just see him right now. Sitting in his penthouse, laughing his balls off. Because that was what I’d be doing if the situation were reversed.

  Jasmine handed me what I thought at first was a long black trench coat. “What’s this for?” I asked.

  “It’s your cape.”

  “Ah, of course. I should’ve known.” It had a tall, stiff collar and a blood-red lining. “It’ll go perfectly with the rest of my costume.”

  “It sure will.” Without glancing south, she perfunctorily removed my robe, flung the cape around my shoulders, and fastened it at my neck. “Come on, Prince of Darkness. The ladies are waiting.”

  Except for the ridiculous background music (I was fairly certain it was the soundtrack to the latest teen vampire romance movie), the night went as well as could be expected.

  The painting instructor was a married wolf-shifter named Marlys, who taught art at Harmswood Academy. Her instructions were light-hearted and easy to follow, yet she was strict enough to keep the ladies from going off the rails. And professional, even when she had to tell me to bare more fang.

  Paint brushes in one hand, wine glasses in the other, the ladies sat behind their easels and worked, while I literally laid there, nearly naked, channeling my inner broody, vampire self.

  It was actually quite fun, though I’d never admit it to Julian. Jasmine and her employees were very attentive, going around the room, refilling glasses, including mine, and admiring everyone’s work in progress. All the compliments, which fed my male ego, weren’t half bad either.

  I had just moved into a different position on the chaise lounge in the center of the circle when the door opened behind me and a draft of cool night air ruffled my hair and flowing cape. I couldn’t turn to see who had come in, so I stayed still and hoped it wasn’t someone’s husband. A roomful of appreciative ladies, I could handle, but men? No thank you.

  An older woman in front of me stood up from her work station and gasped. “Oh my stars, honey! You’re here so soon.”

  I braced myself, expecting to hear a masculine voice. From the corner of my eye, I saw her rush over and pull someone into a warm hug. Not a man, though. A young woman.

  “I can’t believe it,” the older woman was saying. “Look at you. You’re all grown up.”

  “Hi, Aunt Sylvia.” Even though she spoke at barely a whisper, I had no trouble hearing her.

  “And beautiful too,” her aunt sniffled.

  My curiosity grew. I wished I could look.

  A few people in my line of sight had stopped painting and were looking over at the pair. Others were talking amongst themselves, the earlier hush in the room now gone. Curious, I started to turn my head, but Marlys clicked her tongue at me as if I were one of her pups.

  “Stay still,” she told me in no uncertain terms. She clapped her hands at the class to get their attention. “Ladies, we’re almost done. There will be plenty of time to chat in a few minutes.”

  The older woman, Aunt Sylvia, whom I vaguely recognized as a town resident, came back to her easel with her niece in tow. I let my breath out slowly.

  The younger woman’s blond hair was swept into a messy bun on the top of her head. She wore trendy blue glasses, red tartan lounge pants, a sweatshirt, and mismatched flip flops. Either she’d been in a rush when she got dressed or attention to detail wasn’t a priority. She had a small but voluptuous figure. The woman was a hot mess, emphasis on the hot. Although she appeared to be in her late twenties, she had a supernatural vibe about her, so she could be any age. Which also meant she wasn’t a clueless tourist with no idea that the supernaturals in town were real.

  Her aunt introduced her to the woman sitting next to her. “This is my niece, Penelope Bechtel.”

  The woman set down her paintbrush to shake hands. “So nice to meet you, Penny. Sylvia’s told me a lot about you. I’m in her knitting group.”

  The young woman smiled but stiffened slightly. “You can…uh…call me Penelope.” Then she turned to inspect her aunt’s canvas. “This is really good, Aunt Sylvia.”

  The aunt made a frustrated sound. “You don’t have to humor me, Penelope. It’s terrible.”

  If only her aunt’s workstation were located elsewhere, I thought with a sigh. I had no choice but to stare. Penelope’s curves were so lush they made my hands twitch.

  She looked up from the easel, her hazel eyes locking onto mine for an instant. I nodded the briefest of greetings. She lifted an eyebrow in return, smiled faintly, and turned her attention back to her aunt’s artwork. I found myself wondering if she was single.

  “This part,” she whispered, pointing to something on the painting, “seems a little out of proportion.”

  The aunt tilted her head, examining me, then her painting, with a critical eye. “Oh yes,” she said enthusiastically as she loaded up her paintbrush. “I can see that now. It’s funny how you can stare and measure and analyze something and still not see what’s right in front of you.”

  What part had she fixed, I wondered. And had she made it too big or too little?

  I glanced down at myself, hoping the rest of me wasn’t demonstrating my obvious attraction for Penelope. This banana hammock I wore, black with red fangs on the front, was far from forgiving.

  After the modeling session was over, I got a standing ovation and a few wolf whistles. No tips, though, thank God. Julian had been pulling my leg about that part. I bowed with a flourish of my cape, then excused myself. I had planned to remain in the back office until the last person left, but instead, I found myself dressing quickly and returning to the tasting room. People were milling about, wine glasses in hand, admiring each other’s artwork. Jasmine and her employees were helping Marlys gather up her supplies. Penelope and her aunt were near the door, talking to a few other ladies.

  I started to make my way over to them, but someone pushed a wine glass into my hand and ushered me to the wine bar where I ended up holding court.

  “You were wonderful,” gushed a female tourist with plumped lips and an orange sweatshirt that said Celebrate Halloween Daily in the Nocturne Falls font. “Just wonderful. And such a natural too.”

  “Yes, you were,” agreed her friend, a woman whose overly large purse could serve as a weapon in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Her sweatshirt sported a cartoon dachshund dressed in a costume that said Halloweenie.

  “Well, thank you, ladies. I really appreciate it.”

  “Would you like to see our paintings?” asked the woman in the orange sweatshirt.

  Not really, but I couldn’t tell them no. “I’d love to,” I said, risking another glance in Penelope’s direction. She and her aunt were talking to Jasmine now. It looked as though they were saying their goodbyes.

  “And a photo?” asked the one with the large purse.

  I sighed inwardly, giving up on meeting Penelope. It was probably just as well. Romantic liaisons with unsuspecting humans were much easier anyway. With supernaturals, things could get…complicated. A fact I learned very early on and hadn’t forgotten. Give me a clueless human female any day of the week.

  “No problem,” I said.

  Someone pulled out a Sharpie and soon everyone was lining up for me to sign their artwork, take selfies, and give critiques.

  “This one is….” I searched for the appropriate word as I smiled for the camera. Given my profession as an art dealer and appraiser, I had a deep well of appropriate adjectives. “Bold.�
�

  “Inventive.” “Vibrant.” “Daring.”

  It felt as if I’d signed more canvases and smiled for more photos than the number of participants here at Paint the Paranormal night. When the crowd eventually died away, I set down the pen. My poor hand was starting to cramp. As I debated whether to head to Insomnia to meet Julian or go to the office to return some phone calls, yet another canvas was placed before me. I paused and took a deep breath. Plastering on another grin, I spun around in my bar stool.

  My fake smile quickly turned real. It wasn’t a member of the class who stood before me. It was Penelope.

  “Got time for one more?” she asked, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. I couldn’t help but notice the flickering pulse at the base of her neck.

  I grabbed my pen. “Of course.”

  3

  Penelope

  * * *

  When I looked into the eyes of the vampire, I was struck by how handsome he was. Even fully clothed. He had a neatly-trimmed beard, dark hair that was just long enough to tousle, and engaging gray eyes. He wore a pair of tailored charcoal slacks, loafers, and a slim-fitting white dress shirt, open at the neck. Casual, yet elegant. If this was his interpretation of business attire, I was all for dress codes.

  I chastised myself for my shallowness. For all I knew, the man was a total tool. But like I said earlier, I don’t like to lie. Not even to myself.

  “Nice fangs,” I said, trying to make conversation as he signed Aunt Sylvia's canvas with the kind of fancy flourish you’d expect from a vampire. I tended to get nervous around really good-looking guys and often blurted out really stupid things. This was no exception.

  He frowned and ran his tongue along the top edge of his straight white teeth, then gave me a confused look.

  “I meant….” I jutted my chin at the painting, indicating the large fangs printed on the tiny briefs he’d been wearing.