How Knot to Marry a Vampire Read online

  “Oh. Those.” He looked relieved. He thought I’d meant his real fangs.

  The tourists of the Halloween-themed town believed him to be a regular human who had merely dressed as a vampire for the painting class, so it wouldn't be good if he were showing actual fang when he was supposed to be out of costume.

  I, on the other hand, had assumed he was real, given that we were in Nocturne Falls.

  Aunt Sylvia had confirmed it. She’d wanted to pack up her things when I arrived, but I’d insisted she stay and finish. I didn’t want to be more of an imposition than I already was. I could tell she was having fun.

  “Isn't he dishy?” she'd whispered to me earlier as I’d watched her paint. “He’s one of the town’s most eligible bachelors.”

  “He’s definitely physically fit,” I’d agreed, looking at his six-pack abs. It had felt a little weird gushing over a hot, nearly naked guy with one’s close-to-being elderly aunt.

  “That’s immortality for you,” she’d said.

  “What do you mean?” I’d asked.

  “Who’d want to live forever looking like a couch potato?”

  Point taken.

  When the vampire finished signing the canvas, he reached out a long-fingered hand and clasped mine. “I’m Luka.”

  A delicious tingle coursed up my arm and quickly spread to other parts of my body. I tried my best to ignore it. Instead, I focused on Ghost Reverend’s warning about not trusting strangers (always a good rule of thumb), and the fact that the man was probably thirsty.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Penelope.” I hoped he wouldn’t shorten it to Penny. I didn’t want to think less of him.

  “Yes, I know. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Penelope.”

  My relief at his use of my full name was replaced by confusion. “How did you…?”

  He tapped his ear. “Vampire hearing. It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

  Mortification shot through me. I should have known he could hear us. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know he was a vampire. It’s just that I hadn’t run into one in a long time and wasn’t thinking about the implications. I shot a dark glance at Aunt Sylvia, who was chatting it up with a few other ladies. She knew full well and obviously didn’t care.

  My glasses began to slide down the bridge of my nose due to the panic-induced sweat. I shoved them back up. “I’m sorry about—”

  “Nonsense,” he said, brushing off my apology. “I tuned you out when you started discussing proportions, anyway.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was serious or pulling my leg.

  “I didn’t want to know your conclusions.” His playful smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle. It also made my stomach do a little backflip.

  If he was lying, at least he was incredibly charming about it.

  “So, what brings you to Nocturne Falls?” he asked, handing me the signed canvas.

  “I’m going to be helping my aunt with her knitting store,” I replied. Which was true. I was an avid knitter and crocheter, and Aunt Sylvia did own a yarn shop.

  “A knitting store?” he asked, raising a brow.

  “Yeah, you know, yarns, knitting needles, crochet hooks. The whole nine yards.”

  He frowned. “I know what a knitting store is. What I meant was, is it new?”

  His bewilderment surprised me. As if he were a crafty/DIY type who should’ve noticed such a store and was confused because he hadn’t. I wasn’t sure if it was an act.

  “Heavens, no,” Aunt Sylvia said brightly, coming up behind me. “Charming Yarns has been here for years. It’s around the corner from the Hallowed Bean. You should stop in sometime.”

  I bit back a smile. Suave, handsome men like Luka frequented trendy restaurants, wineries, and museums in their free time, not quaint little knitting shops.

  Before he could reply, Jasmine rushed past us, grabbed Luka’s face with both hands, and kissed him square on the mouth. “Thank you so much,” she gushed. “You were wonderful. The ladies loved it.”

  “No problem,” he said, looking quite pleased with himself. Like a peacock that had just shown off his fancy feathers. Which, I supposed, he had. “But don’t ask me again. Once is enough to last an eternity.”

  Jasmine gave his cheek a familiar pat. “You loved being the center of attention, and you know it.”

  He growled something unintelligible, which made her laugh.

  I glanced at Aunt Sylvia, who gave a nonchalant little shrug. Guess he wasn’t one of Nocturne Falls’ most eligible bachelors after all.

  As I followed her out of the winery, I yawned and stretched my arms out in front of me. On the road for almost eighteen hours, I was dead-tired and couldn’t wait to climb into bed. Hitching the strap of my bag higher onto my shoulder, I thought about the cigar box tucked inside. Ghost Reverend’s warning, dulled for a short time by the wine and this crazy spectacle of a night, caught up to me again.

  Trust no strangers.

  Particularly devilishly handsome ones.

  Having slept till late morning like a cozy burrito wrapped in several handmade afghans, I stumbled into Aunt Sylvia’s kitchen and blinked at the glaring sunlight. I had one goal in mind. Coffee. And until then, nothing else mattered.

  “Look who’s alive,” Aunt Sylvia said in a tone that was way too cheerful and full of amusement for my un-caffeinated self. She wasted no time grabbing a coffee cup from the counter and filling it. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Just cream,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes under my glasses. “I’m trying to cut back on sugar.”

  She prepared my coffee and handed me the mug. I grunted a sound that was meant to be a thank you and took a sip. And then I took a few more. Mmmm. Perfect. The cobwebs in my brain were starting to clear.

  “Thanks for letting me crash here, Aunt Sylvia. I'd have called my mom, but I’m not sure where she’s at right now.”

  “You’re always welcome, Penelope. You know that.” Aunt Sylvia was no doubt holding back harsh words for my mom—her sister.

  When I was younger, my mother had had a major falling out with Aunt Sylvia and my grandmother over a man. She’d pulled me out of Harmswood Academy and moved us far away. The truth was, she had horrible taste in men but refused to admit it. She’d been married three times (though never to my father, whom she’d only dated for a few months), and she’d had so many boyfriends over the years that I’d lost count. If a bar were filled with a bunch of nice guys and one rotten one, I guarantee you she’d find the rotten one every time. She seemed to have a nose for them.

  Every summer, my grandmother used to send me money to take the bus to Nocturne Falls, where I would spend one glorious month with her, my aunt, and my cousins. Not only had my grandmother taught me to knit and crochet, but we did all sorts of grandma activities like baking, doing puzzles, and shopping—things my mother wasn’t into because they didn’t involve scores of men. Mom was stubborn, but at least she allowed me that trip every summer. To be honest, I think she’d been happy to get me out of her hair for a while so she could date without guilt.

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Grandma had died when I was in high school. I still missed her.

  “How are Bettina and Hans?” I asked. I hadn’t seen my cousins in ages.

  “Bettina is backpacking across Europe with her boyfriend, and Hans—” Aunt Sylvia hesitated. “You heard he got married, right?”

  My eyes went wide. “No!”

  “It’s true. He went to Las Vegas with some friends and fell in love with a really nice showgirl, a cat-shifter with gorgeous yellow eyes. They came back married and now live in Florida. He sells insurance, and she teaches dance at a fancy resort on the beach. They keep pestering me to retire there.”

  “You totally should, Aunt Sylvia.”

  She snorted. “All my friends are here in Nocturne Falls. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.”

  “You might meet a nice retiree down there,” I said with a wink. Aunt Sylvia had been a widow for many yea
rs.

  “Fiddlesticks. Besides, I have my shop to think about.” She grabbed the coffee pot and topped off our cups.

  “Speaking of the shop, shouldn’t you be there right now?” Unless it had changed, Charming Yarns opened at 10 a.m.

  Aunt Sylvia flicked her hand, brushing away my concern. “I asked Tabitha to put a sign on the door that said I'd be opening late today. You remember her, don’t you? She works at the library and drives right past the shop.”

  I nodded. Tabitha was a witch and a member of the local coven. “Sorry I slept in so late and messed up your schedule.”

  “Nonsense. Besides, business has been pretty slow lately, so I probably won’t miss any customers.” She ushered me to the dinette set near the sunny window, and we took a seat. “Now. Tell me what brings my favorite niece here. I’m pretty certain this isn’t just a social visit.”

  Fact was, I was her only niece. I took a deep breath and knew exactly where to begin. “It all started when I saw my first ghost.”

  To my surprise, Aunt Sylvia leapt to her feet and pulled me into one of her mama bear hugs. Her cushiony bosom smelled of coffee and perfumed talcum powder. “I’m so proud of you,” she exclaimed, squeezing me tighter. “You have the gift! Where were you when it happened? Who was the ghost? What did they want? Tell me everything.”

  A sense of relief washed over me as I slumped in her arms and hugged her back. I knew I’d made the right choice coming here. She would have all the answers and know what to do. Over coffee and warm buttermilk biscuits slathered with strawberry freezer jam (so much for my sugar ban), I told her what had happened. She listened attentively, nodding her head at various intervals, patting my hand from time to time, and tsk-tsking at the appropriate moments.

  “That’s a dandy of a first encounter,” she said when I had finished. “Bettina’s first ghost was a dog. So, where’s the cigar box now? I’d like to see this mysterious object.”

  I chewed the inside of my lip. “Do you really think we should look? What if it’s like…the Hellmouth or something? We open it up, and it sucks us in.”

  “We need to know what we’re dealing with, honey. Your ghostly visitor didn’t warn you not to look, did he?”

  I shook my head.

  “Very well, then,” she said efficiently. “He’d have told you. Ghosts are usually quite forthcoming.”

  I rose obediently and retrieved my knitting bag from the guest bedroom. Returning to the kitchen, I pulled out the cigar box from under my yarn stash and set it in the middle of the table.

  Without hesitation, Aunt Sylvia removed the rubber band and lifted the lid. Inside, wrapped in layers of tissue, sat a shiny, black beetle carved from stone. A thin layer of magic shimmered around it, like heat rising from a hot summer road.

  Aunt Sylvia let out a low whistle.

  “What is this thing?” I asked, lifting the object from the box to inspect it more closely. The carving was fairly simplistic, almost primitive. It was also heavier than I had expected, smooth and quite cool to the touch.

  It took her a moment to reply. “It’s an onyx scarab,” she said softly, almost to herself. “May I see it?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I started to hand it to her, but the moment the stone touched her skin, she drew in a sharp breath and quickly pulled her hand back.

  “Oh dear!” she exclaimed, blowing on the tips of her fingers.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s as hot as a fire poker,” she replied.

  “Hot?” I was confused. “It feels ice-cold to me. Like it’s been sitting in a freezer.”

  Aunt Sylvia’s brows furrowed. “Cold to you, but burning hot to me. Interesting.”

  “But…how? I don’t get it.” I set the stone back in its cigar box. I didn’t want to take any chances.

  “It’s obvious, my dear. You are the rightful guardian, and I’m not. That is some very powerful magic indeed.”

  I perched on the edge of my seat and stared at it. Ghost Reverend had used that same term. “Temporary rightful guardian,” I said, correcting Aunt Sylvia. “What is an onyx scarab, anyway? What does it do?”

  Her frown lines deepened. “I…I don’t know. I’ve only heard rumors.” She closed the lid abruptly, making me jump like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, then secured it with the rubber band again. “Let’s just hope the reverend’s people come for it soon.”

  I put the box back into my bag and asked the questions that had been nagging me. “How will I know who to give it to? What if I get the good guys mixed up with the bad guys?”

  Aunt Sylvia shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t know, honey. I’d like to ask Tabitha. Maybe she or someone in her coven knows about onyx scarabs.”

  A sense of unease settled in the pit of my stomach. “Please don’t tell anyone, Aunt Sylvia. The fewer people who know about it, the better.”

  “Are you sure? Tabitha is quite knowledgeable. She works at the library. If she doesn’t know, she can probably find someone who does.”

  The pit in my stomach turned into an ache. “Something is telling me, in no uncertain terms, that news about the scarab can’t get out. Not to anyone.” I thought about what had happened to Johnny and a sob caught in my throat. “It’s not safe.”

  I braced myself for her to argue with me. That was what my mother would’ve done. Her way and what she wanted always took precedence.

  But Aunt Sylvia was not my mother. Instead, pride radiated from her eyes. “You’re a Sensitive now,” she said, giving my hand a reassuring pat. “Your intuition is your sixth sense, and you’re wise not to go against it. I’ll honor your wish and not breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  “Thank you,” I said with relief.

  I tried to help her tidy up the kitchen, but she wouldn’t have it. “With all the crazy things you’ve been subjected to, Penelope, just sit and relax.”

  “But—”

  She wouldn’t let me continue. “You’re a guest in my house.”

  “An uninvited one.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, wiping the crumbs from the table with a soapy dishcloth.

  Aunt Sylvia was right about the crazy. I couldn’t believe everything that had happened to me over the past twenty-four hours. Funny thing was, the least crazy thing that had happened was meeting Luka. On a normal day, meeting a half-naked vampire at a winery under those circumstances would have been way, way out there. By yesterday’s standards however, it was ho-hum and mild.

  “So,” I said, trying to sound casual, “when did Luka move to Nocturne Falls?” He certainly hadn’t been here when I’d come back for Grandma’s funeral, otherwise I would’ve heard about him from Bettina.

  I thought about the way he’d languished on the settee with all those rippling muscles and how his swim trunks had barely covered him. Then there was that easy smile of his and that warm laugh. He’d been so gracious to all the women afterwards. The man’s patience was limitless. If that had been me, I’d have been out of there in a New York minute. Maybe he’d loved the attention like Jasmine had teased him about, but I could’ve sworn his eyes had hardened momentarily when she’d said that.

  Aunt Sylvia pursed her lips, thinking. “A year, maybe? I remember him donating a rare piece of art for the annual charity auction at Harmswood Academy. Went for big bucks.”

  “Art?”

  “He’s an art dealer and collector, I think. I hear he’s got quite an extensive collection at his mansion. He bought the old Bickford place on Phantom Lane.”

  How strange that someone so worldly and interesting would move to the town where I’d spent my childhood. It wasn’t exactly a mecca of art and culture. At least, not the Nocturne Falls I knew. I stewed on this for a few moments. It occurred to me that maybe things here had changed more than I’d realized. Or maybe it was because I’d never looked at this place through the eyes of an adult. You had to admit, a town that celebrated Halloween every day of the year was pretty damn awesome.

  But then again, he could’
ve moved here because of Jasmine. The pursuit of love could cause you to do some crazy things. Take Hans, for example. My geeky cousin was now married to a Vegas showgirl and selling insurance. Or my mother, for that matter. Why else would a self-avowed sun worshipper move to North Dakota in the middle of winter, dragging her seven-year-old daughter along for the ride? “But I luuuuve him!” Yeah, give me a break.

  As Aunt Sylvia gathered up her things, she told me to make myself at home while she was gone. “Extra towels are in the hall closet if you’d like to take a shower. There’s also egg salad in the refrigerator if you’d like to make a sandwich later. And molasses cookies in the freezer.”

  Great. My low-sugar self didn’t need to know that. I’d dreamt about Aunt Sylvia’s chewy molasses cookies even when they weren’t just inches away.

  “Oh, and I’ve got Secret Shadows recorded, in case you aren’t caught up.” It was her favorite supernatural soap opera.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her I hadn’t watched the show since my last summer in Nocturne Falls. I actually couldn’t believe it was still on. Even though it was pretty racy for us kids at the time, we used to plan our Tuesday nights around it. Grandma, Aunt Sylvia, Bettina, and I would curl up on the sofa with bowls of buttery popcorn and tall, frosty mugs of Grandma’s orange fizzies. Hans thought it was stupid. The show, not the food. Too much kissing. Not enough gore.

  “Wow, thanks,” I said. “At this rate, I’m never going to leave.”

  Aunt Sylvia opened the door and hesitated on the threshold. “Perfect. Hans’ bedroom is free.”

  I started to say I was kidding, but she walked out, closing the door behind her.

  4

  Penelope

  * * *

  The sun had already started to set by the time I got to Charming Yarns. Not only had I napped in the afternoon, but I’d also binged a few episodes of Secret Shadows. It felt good to do nothing for a change, but I’d also been hoping the Others would show up to take the onyx scarab. They hadn’t.

  The first thing that occurred to me when I stepped inside the shop was how much I had missed this place. The rows of cubby holes filled with colorful yarns. The mismatched upholstered chairs clustered in the middle—cozy seats where you could curl up and knit, crochet, or read a book. It was cluttered, but not overly so. Organized chaos, my grandmother used to say, and she was right. It was like stepping back into the best part of my childhood.