Chapter Fourteen
So there we were. The city had put all its financial eggs in one basket, tourism. But CIC Mutual was pressuring our business shells from the outside, while Camille sucked cash flow yolk from the inside. Crunching was inevitable.
Too many defaulted loans would kill the Sparkasse Bank, which would topple the whole town. Which would start a vampire war, top of the not-good food chain.
More personally, Oz, Wonderful Oz’s attendance was in the sewer and morale was even lower. If we were this pathetic closing night, we wouldn’t get to Milwaukee, much less Broadway.
Could things get any worse?
Yeah, I apparently enjoy flushing my head down Murphy’s toilet. Yay, swirlies.
“Get the hell out of my way! I saw this scarf first.”
“I had my hand on it. You get the hell out of my way.”
I sighed, gave up facing boxed sausage and shut the clanking cooler door to make my way to the combatants.
Were they big city nobs, no patience and less humanity?
I wish.
“All right Mrs. Gelb, Mrs. Gruen. Break it up.” I pushed them apart. They glared at each other, jaws jutting. The contested scarf fell to the floor. “I thought you two were friends.”
“I thought so too.” Mrs. Gelb’s jaw jutted so far I thought her nose would fall in. “I was wrong.”
“You’re no friend,” Mrs. Gruen blasted back.
“I’ve got more scarves in back,” I said. “You can both have one.”
“I wouldn’t touch it now.” Mrs. Gelb turned away with a sniff. “Not if she wants it.”
“Me either. Not if she does.” Mrs. Gruen stomped off for the door.
Then, to my everlasting hope, she paused. Sneaked a glance over her shoulder.
Mrs. Gelb gave her a stiff back with a side of cold shoulder.
Mrs. Gruen huffed out.
“How dare she?” Mrs. Gelb glared at me like this was my fault. Then she too stomped out the door, leaving me to pick up the scarf.
I brushed the dirt and indignity from it (okay, there wasn’t any real dirt, thanks to the Stieg broom fetish), and sighed as I folded it and returned it to the shelf. Meiers Corners matrons making scenes—worse, making messes. What in blazes was going on?
I didn’t know what had gotten into die Frauen’s morning Schnitzel-O’s, but whatever it was, I didn’t want it to get worse. I called Pop to bring out more scarves.
Proactive Junior, making sure things didn’t get worse. Yeah, next time I’ll just take a mallet to my head. It’ll be faster and less painful.
I was handing Hermy a jar of creamed Braunschweiger, the new Summer Spices collection, for Tiny to test when Twyla Tafel sailed through the door.
“It’s Armageddon.” Twyla slapped her hand on the counter. “I swear the whole city is going van Gogh, cut-my-ear-off insane. Did you hear what happened at Der Lebensmittelgeschaft?”
“The grocery store? No, what?” I got down a second test jar and opened it.
“Traffic accident. Mrs. Schwartzkeller cut off Mrs. Weiss with a wide right turn and a wider right gesture.”
“Parking lot?”
“Produce aisle. Knocked an entire display of casabas to the floor with her shopping cart. ”
I stuck a spoon in the jar and handed it to Hermy, then got Twyla’s order together. “A few smashed melons isn’t the end of the world.”
“No, but then they started a catfight.”
“I don’t believe it. Pillars of Meiers Corners society don’t spar in the produce aisle.”
“Spar? Try screaming and scratching and hair pulling.”
“That’s bad.” I watched Hermy offer a spoonful of creamed Braunschweiger (with chives) to Tiny as I bagged the city’s order. “But still not Armageddon.”
“It gets worse. The melons pulped into a muddy mess. Mrs. Weiss tore off Mrs. Schwartzkeller’s blouse and Mrs. Schwartzkeller ripped Mrs. Weiss’s skirt to her ass…and, well, both of them ended up with bruised tits and black eyes and tickets for disorderly conduct. The video’s already on YouTube.”
“Okay, that might qualify for a couple apocalyptic horsemen. Were they drunk?”
“Not alcohol, but Elena thinks they were jacked on some sort of psychedelic, though they swore they hadn’t done any drugs. But that’s not the worst of it.”
“You’re kidding.” I rang her order up.
“Elena fielded an armed robbery at the Alpine and Ruffles had a case of domestic abuse—not bedroom games getting out of hand but broken jaw battery.”
“Good heavens.” I stopped ringing and stared at her. “What’s going on with everybody?”
“Call the CDC. It’s an epidemic of stupid.”
I handed her the bag. “Strange that it started just when Fangs To You opened. Coincidence?”
“Maybe corruption is infectious.”
“Thank you, Typhoid Camille.”
The door bell tinkled, but before I could even hope for a shiver, Rocky ran in.
“Junior! I know you hate those things, but you’d never hurt my mother like this so please tell me it wasn’t you.”
Twyla grabbed Rocky’s shoulders. “Breathe, kiddo.”
She breathed, barely. “Someone shot my mom’s pink flamingo and stole her gnome!”
The flamingo wasn’t a crime, but stealing a gnome was just plain despicable. “It wasn’t me, Rocky.”
The bell rang again. Mrs. Blau stopped in the doorway, her expression outraged. “What are you doing?” She strode to the counter. “That is for babies.”
We all just gaped as she struck the jar of baby food out of Hermy’s hand.
Hermy blinked big eyes. “But Tiny is a baby. My baby.”
“Now look here.” Mrs. Blau grabbed Hermy by the snug sack straps. “Tiny is a cat. C-A-T. He has claws and whiskers and licks his butt.”
“He’s my baby.”
“Your baby died. And the sooner you realize that and get over it, the better!”
I reached out a hand. “Hermy—“
“He’s my baby!”
I’ll never forget the way Hermy’s face crumpled as she ran out.
It was the last straw. I had no idea why Fangs To You’s novelty hadn’t worn off, why Meiers Corners not only wasn’t returning to normal but getting worse. But one thing was clear.
Camille’s hold on us had to be broken.
Of course the question was, if not the free drinks, what was Camille’s hold? I needed more information.
I called Glynn that evening to get some background on her. They seemed to have some sort of history.
I told him about all the strange behavior and my belief that Camille was at the bottom of it. “I think she’s gone beyond just stealing our business. I think she’s stealing our souls.”
“Camille does like to corrupt,” he said reluctantly. “What if I said you were right?”
“Then I’d find some way to grass her ass.”
“Babi, no. We have no idea how she is subverting people. You need to stay away from her until we know more.”
“I can’t do nothing. These are my people. Meiers Corners is my city.”
“Your home,” he said softly.
“My home, yes, okay.” I blew a disgruntled breath. “I feel so helpless. We beat the kidnapping attempts only to find Camille had a plan to lure away the tourists. Even if we win back the tourists, I think she has another plan after that—to corrupt our people. Even if we save Meiers Corners, how do we know she doesn’t have another plan after that? And another?”
“Junior, shh. It’s okay.” His voice deepened, gentled. “One plan at a time. We defeated the kidnapper. We’ll win back the tourists.”
I shook my head. “That’s my job, not yours. You’re supposed to guard Mishela. I’m supposed to win tourists. Well, me and the show.”
“Your job is to stay safe. Mine is to keep you that way.”
“Hard to do after you leave town.” I gulped. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. If it makes you feel better, I’ll stay away from her, safe in my bedroom. Um…you could come over here.”
“My scent is on you, love. It needs to wear off. Something happened and I don’t want to remind Camille that you and I…well, it’s complicated.”
“It always is. I just promised I wouldn’t go anywhere for a while. Since I’m stuck here, you might as well explain.”
He sighed. “Friday, she smelled me on you. That wasn’t a problem because vampires have casual liaisons all the time. But if she smells me on you days from now, if that scent is actually stronger… Camille is not stupid. She’ll know you and I have gone beyond a casual liaison. She’s quick to exploit any vulnerability.”
He was staying away to protect me.
When I hung up, it was with a lump in my throat. I wished hard for vampire senses so I could smell him on my skin too, and be a little less lonely.
Tuesday was worse. Friendly waves were gone. Eye contact was a thing of the past. My mother put on I Pagliacci—not only tragic opera but one about clowns. Yeah, we were really wallowing.
I knew Camille was responsible but not how. The obvious thing to do, the thing I wanted to do, was head straight across the street and scope out Fangs To You. But Glynn wanted me to stay out of her way and I’d honor that if I could.
So I called my resources. Twyla promised info on Camille’s permits. Rocky said she’d check the connection between CIC insurance and Fangs To You. I tried to tease information out of the customers, but all they did was babble about free drinks and fizzy cheese curds.
Glynn called again that night but didn’t come. Um, come over…visit. Whatever. I did my usual routine but it felt flat, like a dieter getting a taste of real food and then being forced back onto pap. I’d only known him a week, but that didn’t stop me from a lifetime’s worth of wanting. Contrarily, I resented his being unavailable. Yes, he was doing it to protect me. Yes, he was leaving at the end of the show’s run. I was counting on it, needing it to get my feet and my rainbow dreams back under me.
But all I could think of was that Glynn and I only had a few more days together, and I wasn’t even going to get that.
Wednesday I got a call from Elena with orders to come to breakfast at the Caffeine Café. As a cop with a very sharp knife, a very big gun, and an even bigger gun, nobody except hubby Bo argues with Elena. I went.
At the café, Tammy led me upstairs to a private room I didn’t know existed, containing a single round table. Six women sat around the table, two-thirds of them pregnant and all involved in good-natured arguing.
Elena, Nixie and Twyla were on one side, brunette, blonde, brunette. On the other side were three blondes. Gretchen Johnson was Elena’s sister, with the looks of a cheerleader and a sweet, mothering nature. Liese Schmetterling was a computer geek, wholesome as a dairy maid, recently married to cover-hunk-gorgeous Logan Steel. And finally there was Liese’s mother, Hattie Stieg Schmetterling Gillette. (Also my aunt. As I mentioned, everybody’s related in the Corners to some degree or another, even the people who’ve just moved here. The genes rub off.)
“That’s all of us.” Elena pointed me to the last empty chair. “I hereby call to order the first meeting of V-spouses of Meiers Corners and Nearby Surrounds.”
“The door’s shut,” Twyla said. “We can use the word vampire.”
Pulling out my chair, I stopped. “Vampire spouses? Why am I here?”
“Because of Glynn.” Twyla said this, but everyone nodded.
“But…he’s leaving at the end of the week.”
“Su-ure he is,” Elena said. “Ring or not, you’re part of our world now. Sit.”
As I mentioned, gun, knife, and way-bigger gun. I sat.
Nixie started things off. “Okay, the beef on the table is as follows. Camille’s got her lacquered claws in our collective hides. Julian’s working his ass off to get a legal crowbar under her. Meantime, Scary Ancient’s got his undies in a bundle. Since he’s badder than Blade, we’re officially worried.”
Liese cleared her throat. “We don’t know that. The badder than Blade thing. None of us have ever met Elias in person.”
The door opened and everybody shut up. Tammy slid in with a tray of food and drink, including my regular order. Since she was part of the Emerson household, discussion started again.
“Liese, you work for Elias, right?” Nixie unwrapped a muffin, her third, from the paper wads on her plate. “You’ve talked with him on the phone?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Superman or Blade?”
“Um, Blade.”
“Blade or the Terminator?”
“The Terminator, I guess.”
“The Terminator or Elias?”
“Elias…oh.”
Having made her point, Nixie popped muffin in her mouth and moved on. “Nosy’s the ruinator behind Camille, hacking at MC tourism to chapter seven the city. That happens, Scary Ancient’ll start a war and our hubs’ll be front line.”
Aunt Hattie raised her hand. “Translation?”
“Nosferatu’s ruining our tourism, Mom,” Liese said. “To bankrupt us, make us ripe for takeover. The Ancient One won’t allow that, but it might put Meiers Corners in the middle of a vampire war, with Julian and the rest out front.”
“They’ll need all the help they can get,” Nixie said. “That’s us.”
Elena slammed her mug on the table. “We’d be more help if we were vamps.”
“That would be nice,” Liese said. “Not just for fighting. With us aging and them not, it’d give us happily ever after, emphasis on ever.”
“You know we can’t convert now.” Nixie rubbed her belly. “We couldn’t make rugrats as vampires.”
Elena’s sister Gretchen laughed. “That wouldn’t be so bad. My second baby was born in March, and I’m already pregnant again.”
That brought on a round of congratulations and frappe toasts. I leaned toward Nixie. “I thought vampires couldn’t get humans pregnant.” At least, that was what Glynn had said.
“Sure, if you and the vampire aren’t mates. Then nothing takes. But you are…” She pointed at her rounded belly. “Bang. Everything does.”
That sat me back.
Elena was still arguing. “Even after our kid’s born, Bo won’t make me like him. He won’t even try.”
“It’s really dangerous,” Liese said. “The chances of a successful turning are very low.”
“Steve turned,” Elena said, referring not to Shiv but to Gretchen’s husband. “Over a year ago.”
“But it was horrible. He was murdered by a gang of vampires.” Gretchen looked away. “He still has nightmares.”
“And I sympathize.” Elena rubbed her sister’s shoulder. “The thing is, as a vampire I’d be able to kill rogues without arming up like a SWAT team. For me? Totally worth it.”
“If turning were a sure thing.” Liese pulled out her smartphone and a stylus. “But it isn’t. I’ve been doing some research. It’s incomplete and I had to extrapolate parts instead of interpolating, which is always dangerous and my statistical app isn’t Steel Software’s but—”
“Eyes glazing over here,” Nixie said. “Bottom line?”
“Well…current turning rate assumes…hmm, a hundred forty-four million bites…seven billion humans…” Her stylus flew across the phone’s screen. “You have a better chance of getting hit by lightning.”
“That’s crap.” Elena bit her toast like she was the vampire.
“There’s a way to better your odds.”
Elena stopped mauling defenseless bread. “I’m listening.”
“If you’re eviscerated, that raises the chances to one in a thousand. Or if you have AIDS.”
“Eviscerated?” Twyla’s fork hand slowly dropped. “Like split belly, strewn guts? I don’t feel so good now.”
“You’re probably pregnant,” Gretchen chirped.
“What? I sure as hell better not be! Nikos would insist we get married, my sister would never let me hear the end of it—”
“Not to mention the mayor.” Nixie smirked.
Twyla swore, tossed her fork to the plate with a clatter. “Look, what’s the deal with turning and happy-ever-after? Why not just enjoy the now?”
“Hello,” Elena said. “Super strength, super senses, super speed?”
“Super sex.” Hattie grinned.
“Mother… I didn’t bring her up like this,” Liese said to no one in particular.
“What do other human-vampire couples do?” Gretchen asked. “Surely we’re not the first women in this situation.”
“Race said the Lestats use up their human lovers,” Hattie said. “‘Drink and screw until they’re through’. At least our guys nurture us.”
Liese covered her face.
“I don’t care,” Elena said. “After my kid is born, I’m making Bo turn me.”
“Elena, you can’t.” Gretchen thumped the table every bit as hard as her sister. “You’d have to die, and there’s no certainty you’d come through. We need more of a guarantee.”
“We need more information.” Liese uncovered her face. “Maybe Mr. Elias knows something.”
“Yeah.” Elena patted her hip. “Let’s shoot that ancient fucker and get him to talk.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Hello?” The door opened. Instant silence.
A tiny woman bustled in, all bust and hair. Behind her, Tammy hauled in a chair. “Thanks, sugar,” the woman said. “Free bikini wax for you.”
“Um, no thanks, Ms. Barton.” Tammy handed her a mug that smelled like full-throttle chocolate before shutting the door.
Dolly Barton, queen of the MC grapevine, had arrived.
To say Dolly was the town gossip was like saying J. K. Rowling made a little money on those quaint wizard-boy books. Dolly knew everything that went on, sometimes even before it happened. Some people said Dolly had WiFi in her head and that at night she spirit-walked as a webcrawler.
She was a seventy-year-old platinum-blonde dynamo, four foot eight, forty-two D, exactly like the country singer except older and shorter. She wore pink fifties diner-style uniforms and chewed a wad of gum as big as your head.
At her entrance, a tinkling bell rang in my head like her beauty shop. Pavlov instead of Freud. Or I’d backslid from the genital stage to the aural—ha ha.
“Hey Dolly.” Nixie was the first to recover her cool, but she rarely lost it. “Sup?”
“I heard about the meeting and thought I’d take a break from haircuts and mani-pedis.” Dolly twirled the chair to the table (she was small but strong) and sat, beaming at us. “What are we talking about?”
There was a lot of hemming and hawing because v-guys were secret and we needed to keep our mouths shut.
And Dolly was the Queen of Open Mouths.
Hey, oral-stage Freud was back.
“I was surprised you hadn’t invited me.” Dolly reached for the condiments basket, snapped up three packets of real sugar and tore them into her mug. I blinked. I was a whopping five-two and it only took a couple extra pounds to make me feel like a blimp. I wondered what Dolly did to work her calories off. Then I thought of the bedroom workout Glynn had given me…
Queen of Open Mouths. I decided I was better off not knowing.
“Gosh, sorry, Dolly,” Elena said. “But we’re just having a sort of—” she waved vaguely around the table. “Impromptu grade school reunion.”
“Hattie was in your class?” Dolly raised eyebrows at Liese’s mom.
“Uh…”
“Oh, pick up your jaws. You look like beached fish. I know about vampires.”
Whatever mouths hadn’t been open, dropped.
Elena went for her gun, stopped herself. “How… I mean where…or why…?”
“Always the detective.” Dolly’s eyes twinkled. “Stark, of course.”
“Solomon Stark?” I frowned. Of Stark and Moss Funeral Home, Solomon Stark looked the part of undertaker, as tall, gaunt and striking as a Tim Burton character—or if you don’t know Burton, think Spock from Star Trek in an Abe Lincoln hat. Or just think Abe.
“What about Stark…no.” Comprehension hit Elena’s face. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” Dolly calmly drank chocolate. “We’ve been lovers for fifty years.”
“Fifty?” Liese worked her smartphone. “But that would make you—”
“One hundred and two. I’ve been with Sol since my fifty-second birthday.” She smiled, a small, secret smile. “Don’t look a day over seventy, do I?”
“But what…I mean how…” Elena covered her eyes with a hand. “Scratch that, I don’t want to know.”
“I do,” Nixie said. “Julian waited over a thousand years for me. Doesn’t seem fair he gets me only sixty, seventy tops.”
Gee, what would happen if I stayed with Glynn for seventy years…no. I had New York and he had Wales, and while both were east of Chicago, there was this little matter of the long-distance swim.
“So gimme the 4-1-1,” Nixie said. “You’ve found a way for humans to become immortal, like vampires?”
“Vampires aren’t immortal,” I muttered.
Everybody looked at me. I flushed. “What? Glynn says they’re not. He made a big deal about it.”
Dolly laughed. “Well, this won’t make you immortal or even stop you aging completely. But it will keep you younger longer, and chase away the aches and pains when the old chassis does start rusting.”
“Spew,” Nixie said. “What’s the secret? Does it involve drinking v-blood?”
“Not exactly. But your lover can help you to heal faster, better.”
“How, exactly?” Liese’s stylus was poised, her eyes a bright blue.
“It’s a secret.”
Several women exchanged glances. Elena finally said, “More secret than vampires?”
“Yes.” Dolly leaned in, lowered her voice. “Even if your lover shows you, you must never speak of it. Not in euphemisms, not in code. Never, ever, not one word, not even among yourselves.”
Coming from Dolly, this meant something.
“Why?” Elena demanded.
“If the wrong people ever learned of it—” Dolly shuddered. “They’d die.”
“Who’d die?” Nixie frowned. “Us? The people who found out? Our vampires?”
“I can’t say any more.” Dolly rose. “If your lovers want to, they will show you.” And on that cryptic note she swept out.
“Huh,” Liese said. “Dolly Barton, keeping a secret. Who’da thunk it?”
“Looking like that at a hundred and two?” Gretchen sighed. “I’d like that.”
“Not me,” Elena said. “I still want to be a full-fledged vamp. Super strength and speed, plus a gun? That’s a no-brainer.”
“But no children,” Gretchen said. “Vampire women can’t have them.”
“Did anyone say why?” Liese asked, paging through her phone. “If the males can make babies, why can’t the females? I know the females have periods.”
“You do?” All eyes blinked at her.
Stylus paused over phone, she blushed. “I did some research with Logan’s female lieutenant. And, um, made a database.” Her blush faded. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that, Nixie. Since Julian has a female lieutenant too.”
“Never came up.” Nixie shrugged. “All I know is Julian says no female vamp’s gotten pregnant, but they don’t know why.”
Elena snorted. “They never know why.”
“Be fair,” Liese said. “They’ve been hiding the fact that they’re vampires for centuries. How would they do the research?”
“How do you do it?” Elena countered. “By asking questions, by looking at reality. By using your head. Know what? I bet they know. I bet it’s another secret.”
“You think Scary Ancient Fucker knows?” Nixie frowned.
“It’s like this anti-aging thing, which we wouldn’t have known about if not for Dolly.” Elena slapped a hand on the table. “This is exactly why we vampire wives need to stick together.” When Twyla cleared her throat, Elena amended, “Why we v-SOs have to stick together.”
“He may not know,” I put in. “I mean Elias.”
“Come on. He knows everything. He’s not telling us because he wants to fuck with our minds. Or because he’s keeping it back for control.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t ring true. Elias is a huge humanitarian, at the forefront of all sorts of charities. Why would he screw us behind our backs?” I was a newcomer to vampires, but in the business world, where a lot of people were out for themselves, Elias was one of the good guys.
Elena opened her mouth, then closed it. Then sat back. “I’m just saying.”
“And we hear you, Elena,” Liese said. “But Junior has a point. We already have philosophical differences with the Coterie. We don’t need to divide our own ranks by imagining disparity when it’s simple deviation.”
Nixie blew a raspberry. “You sound like Julian. English, please?”
Liese blushed, slid her smartphone into her purse. “I mean we already have enemies. Let’s not make more, just because they don’t think exactly like us.”
“Well, I’m asking Steve about this,” Gretchen said. “I want to keep young with him. I can’t believe Dolly’s over a hundred.”
“Me too,” Liese’s mom said. “Fifty is the new forty, but I’d love it to be thirty-nine.”
Nixie snorted. “Hell, if Dolly’s right, fifty will be the new twenty.”
“Which still doesn’t answer the dying thing,” Elena pointed out.
“But it’s a step closer.” Gretchen smiled and began to eat.
Twyla stopped me before I left, gave me a quick update on Camille’s permits, which were unfortunately all in order. I got back to the Haus just in time to open. Like the previous Wednesday, trade was brisk. I barely had time to practice and no time at all to think of another avenue for Twyla to try. I hoped I could let it slide a day.
Wednesday night we had a brush-up rehearsal. Normally brush-ups are incredibly fun, with the cast ad-libbing hilarious variations. But aside from Toto humping a potted scenery tree and getting splinters in his doo-dah, it was as dry as a chewing cardboard.
I talked with Rocky at intermission. She’d discovered that Camille was connected to some high mucky-muck at CIC but didn’t have a name. I have to admit I was less interested in who the connection was than whether I could break it somehow. Rocky said she’d look into it.
After the rehearsal, I was surprised to see Glynn waiting outside the prop room, not looking very happy at all.
I cast around, but he was alone. “Where’s Mishela?”
“Gone home with Emersons.” He scowled. “They all took great delight in reminding me you live directly across from Camille’s club. That walking home alone would be dangerous.”
“Friends are such a pain,” I agreed. “Happily married matchmaking friends are the worst. I promise not to put any moves on you.”
“You’re breathing,” he noted flatly. “That’s a move. Your heart beats. Another.”
“Tough to be you.” I tried not to smile as I headed out.
His eyes clamped shut. “Walking. Yet another, the worst of the lot.” He followed, eyes still shut.
“Poor baby. Aren’t you going to run into something?”
“I wish. Perhaps it would dull my senses if I smashed my face against the wall. But I’d still have the image of your graceful hips swaying. The memory of your luscious feminine scent.”
“Nice, but the grimace on your face kinda takes the poetry out of it. Maybe you should open your eyes anyway. To watch out for bad guys.”
His eyes snapped open. “I don’t need to see them to kill them.” The tips of his fangs flashed as he spoke.
“Aren’t they already dead?” I pushed through the back door into the warm May night, enjoying our banter.
“Destroy is a more accurate term. But kill is so much more satisfying to say.” He paused. “Junior.”
He sounded so hesitant I stopped. We weren’t playing anymore.
His eyes were off to the right somewhere. “I know I should take you straight home but…would you like to get some food at the Caffeine Café? I’ll buy.”
Wow, that was sweet. And if he really was having fantasies involving nothing but breathing and heartbeats, incredibly dangerous. “Love to, but I’m still burping up muffin from this morning. Elena called a powwow of all the v-SOs. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
Glynn stuck hands deep in his pockets and started walking. “Oh, I did. Mishela and Rebecca were cross that they weren’t invited. I pointed out the sun was up and got my head taken off for my troubles.”
“Not literally, I hope.” I fell behind, just to watch him. Tongue-worthy ass, but his shoulders were hunched and his head down. Maybe from the grief Mishela and Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm had given him, but maybe… Frowning, I caught up. “We can go somewhere else, if you want. Nieman’s. Still buying?”
Glynn sliced me a glance. “Am I that obvious? I would like to spend time with you. It’s dangerous, but…well, I can’t be in the same city as you and completely ignore you.”
I smiled ruefully. “We’re a couple of goofs, aren’t we? Don’t want to be together, can’t stay apart. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were in a teen angst flick.”
“Teen angst?”
I flung my arm across my forehead. “Oh, I love him. But he is a vampire. Woe is me, we are from two worlds, destined for agony and never to be together. Star-crossed lovers like Romeo and Juliet, Tony and Maria, Richard and Kahlen—”
“Alien and Predator?”
I dropped my arm and laughed. “Yeah.” Seeing the black marble facade of Fangs To You, I sobered. “But the danger is real.”
“It is.” Glynn took my elbow and escorted me across the street, dropping contact almost immediately. “From our enemies and our hearts. Junior, I don’t know if this physical attraction we have is love. But I do know it’s real.”
“Yeah.” My arm still burned where his fingers had pressed. “What are we going to do about it?”
“It’s up to you. I only want what’s best for you.”
“And me for you.” I turned to face him. “What’s best for us?”
“Junior…there is no us. Not yet. That’s what you have to decide.”
Whoa. This load of sausage was heavy, and I couldn’t even begin to calculate the costs. I needed to lighten up, pronto. “There’s an us tonight, at least until you pay for my soda.”
“There is indeed.” His lips curved. “Why don’t you stow your instruments? I’ll wait outside.”
“You got it.” I slipped inside the house and raced up the stairs as silently as possible, dropped my cases in my room and raced back out. As I flew past my parents’ landing, their door started to open.
“Junior—” Mom.
“GoingoutwithGlynnbebacklaterbye!” If it were important, it’d have been Dad. If it were really important, they’d call my cell.
Outside, I smiled to see Glynn waiting for me. “Hey. You didn’t run off.”
“I’d never do that. Besides, I owe you a drink.”
Time slowed as we walked together through the warm, sweet-smelling night. Meiers Corners flowers marched in military-sharp garden rows, but it didn’t stop them from perfuming the air.
We walked all the way to Nieman’s without talking, silent yet saying all kinds of things to each other. He matched my shorter stride, saying I care. My hand sought his, saying I need. His warm return clasp said me too. Our smiles said…oh, God. Our smiles said I love you.
We got to Nieman’s. The neon was dark and the door locked.
I stared. “This is impossible. They’re never closed.”
Glynn glanced north. “Camille’s club has been bad for Meiers Corners in more ways than one. You know the city better than I. Where to now?”
I was still stuck on Nieman’s being closed. That was just wrong. “Practically every block has a bar but none as good as Nieman’s. Let me think. Von Bier’s on Settler’s Square has a nice selection of specialty lagers, raspberry beer and such.”
“Isn’t that near your Uncle Otto’s?”
“Yeah, okay. Scratch that.” While I thought, his fingers threaded mine, parting them like his cock parted my… I cleared my throat. “Well, there’s the Alpine Bar and Retreat on the outskirts of town. But that’s a couple miles away. It’d take nearly an hour to walk—hey!” Glynn had picked me up.
Actually, he swept me into his arms, full romantic-hero style. I was so flabbergasted I didn’t protest when he kicked into motion.
He shot forward and buildings blurred and wind snapped and my braid fluttered behind us and I realized we were going fast. Faster than the five mph I jog, faster than the twenty-two a racer runs. Faster even than my bike.
After I got over the shock, it was exhilarating. “This is fun,” I shouted into the wind. Glynn smiled down at me, a soft little smile that said he liked making me happy. It should have scared me, but the sense of freedom, of speed, of enjoyment shared and so doubled was far too precious. I clasped arms around his neck and urged him faster.
We reached the Alpine in a couple minutes. The lights were on and cars were in the lot, but instead of stopping, Glynn careened around the place and spun out again, a starship slung by gravity into an even faster trajectory. He raced to the opposite end of the city and spun around Mr. Miyagi’s dojang, then flew even faster northward toward the AllRighty-AllNighty.
He probably could have run all night and I would have enjoyed it, but I said, “Aren’t you afraid someone will see you?”
“I should be.” He slowed to a walk. “Most people don’t understand how fast I’m going. But some do.”
After the exhilaration of thirty or forty mph (which doesn’t seem like a lot when driving, but try pacing a car on a bike and you’ll see what I mean), walking was, well, pedestrian. Me and my big mouth. “Sorry. I was having fun.”
“Me too.” He smiled down at me, still snuggled in his arms. I snuggled closer.
The blue of his eyes darkened. “Junior, don’t.” He shifted me as if to put me down.
But I didn’t want this closeness, this night to end. A fairytale, sure, and all fairytales have The End, but not yet. Not now.
I wrapped desperate arms around his neck and kissed him.
Wanting and waiting had taken their toll on me. My lips, tongue and teeth all got into the act, tripping over themselves in urgent touching, tasting, nipping.
He slammed me against the first open space, a broad tree trunk, and devoured me in return. Wanting and waiting had apparently taken an even greater toll on him.
Ever open a screen door in a storm and had the door torn from your hands? I was needy, but still only a-hundred-pounds-and-change of female.
He crushed me against the tree, drove his muscled thigh between my legs and impaled me with his tongue. He thrust so deep my jaw ached. His hands found my breasts, kneading, hefting, pinching, and the ache shifted to my belly. He pressed forward with his thickly muscled leg, grinding into my mons, and the ache exploded in my groin.
“Who’s there?” a voice rasped.
Glynn lifted his head, panting. Behind him I saw a patch of perfectly clipped grass, one of Meiers Corners’s many beautifully manicured (Nixie would have said ruthlessly manicured) lawns. A beam of light played across the green, flashing over a park bench. A Meiers Corners public park.
We’d been kissing and pinching and leg-pumping in public. Not quite as bad as doing it on the front walk but certainly exposed.
Exposed, and, as the circle of light swept nearer, about to be more so.
