Adventures of a Vegan Vamp: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (8 page)

“A person made of clay?” I asked. I’d once read a legend about a creature made of clay, and I thought that had been a golem.

“Not exactly clay. More like a person created from the flesh of others. Sounds disturbing—but you’ve probably met a few without noticing anything different about them.”

“Spiffy. Don’t suppose there’s any way to identify them?”

“Incredibly attractive. And there are the tattoos. They’re discreetly located, so you’d have to be up close and very personal to get a look.”

I tried to keep a straight face when he said it, because…yuck. Sex with someone made up of dead bits of other people. Oh, no no no.

“And the born enhanced?” I asked, trying desperately to wipe away the graphic image that had popped into my head.

“Wizards, few though they may be, assassins, and thieves all have closely related gifts and are thought to originally be from one bloodline. There’s an entire religious controversy centered around the question—don’t ask or you’ll step on toes. We’ve also got a few djinn in the Austin area, and coyotes.”

“Got it.” I didn’t have it—because coyotes?—but I would come back around to the Society members again. Other vamp things were much more pressing. “Can you do the thing with your fangs again?”

“Which thing?”

“The disappearing and reappearing fangs.”

He flashed his fangs at me again. Then they disappeared. “They’re retractable. Just hope they never get stuck. Speaking while fanged is a developed talent, and embarrassingly awkward in the learning stages.”

“Not a problem—I don’t have any.”

“Hmm, no. You may have no control over them, but you certainly have them.” With his thumb and forefinger, he touched the points on his mouth that mirrored the sores on my lips.

“Oh. Ooooooh.” I looked around the room, didn’t see a mirror, so I pulled a compact out of my purse.

“How human.” Wembley seemed amused. When I looked up in confusion, he said, “Vampires don’t shine, perspire, sweat—whatever you womenfolk call it these days. No need for powder—unless your skin is hideous.”

I looked up from my examination of my gum line and canines.

“Not you, little fluffy bunny. You have gorgeous skin.”

I couldn’t remember the last time someone had given me a compliment.

“And a gorgeous smile.”

“Thank you. Any reason I can’t see my fangs?”

“You probably don’t have a lot of control over them. Baby vamps rarely do—and you’re more baby than most this long after the bite.” He frowned. “And less.” He scratched his chin. “You’re an anomaly—so just be careful.”

Be careful—of what and how? But I nodded.

“Oh, and keep an eye out for burgeoning talents.”

Before I could ask about what I was on the lookout for, someone knocked at the door. Immediately thereafter, Alex entered the room. “Time to go.”

I tried to stand up, but the sofa had well and truly swallowed me. “Already? I have more questions.”

“It’s been two and a half hours. I have a lunch date.” Alex offered his hand.

“Oh—sorry. I didn’t realize…” I grasped Alex’s hand and he pulled me with no effort at all from the depths of the sofa. Again with the blinky light-flickering thing. I ignored it, since Alex didn’t seem to notice. “Wembley, you’ve been so kind.”

“No trouble at all. Unlike the very professional Anton, I have no card. Make sure Alex gets you my cell number. We’ll do this again—soon.” He raised his eyebrows and gave me an intent look.

“Yes. Absolutely. I’ll be in touch.”

There were so many things to talk about. The mysterious Lemann that Wembley seemed to dislike so much, what it was like being a vamp in Austin, what the Society was all about. Too many questions.

Alex was already at the door looking impatient.

“I’m coming.” And I scooted quickly through the door.

We reversed our path from earlier, heading to the shop.

“Who’s your date?” I asked. His face looked blank, so I clarified. “Your lunch date? A new girl or last night’s girl?”

“Ah. Last night’s. I should get at least a few more dates out of her.”

I tried not to look judgy, but it was hard when he’d basically said he’d get a few more shags out of her and then move on. That was what it sounded like, at least. Ick. On the other hand, I
did
ask.

When we walked through the shop, the same girl was manning the register, and she didn’t look like she’d moved.

In a quiet voice, I asked, “Don’t the employees restock or dust when there aren’t any customers?”

Alex shrugged.

“Wembley ratted you out. I know it’s your store.”

“That doesn’t change my answer. I don’t know and don’t care. If the place starts to look bad, I have a word, but generally everything gets taken care of. Why nitpick? They’re paid a little over minimum wage and are mostly just kids. They do a decent job, so what do I care if they occasionally play on their phones when no one’s in the store?”

“Huh. That’s not completely terrible reasoning.” It just never would have occurred to me. I looked around the store. He was right. It was basically tidy, and while I wouldn’t call it nicely merchandised, the hodgepodge mixture of items in the displays gave the place a kind of Halloween-flavored eclectic charm. “Actually, I think your lack of micromanaging might give the store some of its personality.”

He gave me a knowing look then opened the door for me. He called out over his shoulder, “See you this afternoon, Mandy.”

“Sure thing, Alex.” The door thudded shut on the last syllable.

Alex unlocked the doors to my Jeep remotely, but he still came around and opened the door for me. The guy might be sleazy, but he could also be polite and charming.

Once he climbed in, he said, “You going to tell me what the deal with the car is? Not to dis your choice, but I’m not sure I understand the abundance of excitement you’ve exhibited for it.”

I wrinkled my nose. He was annoyingly right. “I don’t really know. Wembley thought I might have a really low-level precognition gift.”

Alex barked out a laugh. “Wembley thinks everyone has a low-level precog gift. Anything less than mid-grade is hard to prove, and he’s desperate for the gift to still exist.”

“What, it’s on the endangered gift list or something?”

“Let’s just say I have my doubts about its existence. My point is, I wouldn’t put much stock in Wembley’s assertions where precog is concerned.” He grinned, but didn’t look at me—and if I had to guess, I’d say he was laughing at me. “Did you learn anything useful?”

“That you’re a wizard, and that’s super spooky.”

“Only to vamps.” His tone was wry, so no hot buttons there. Hm. Secretive yet not ashamed.

“That some guy named Lemann is the CSO and Wembley is really suspicious of him—but no clue why.”

“Sounds right.”

“That there’s some religious question of bloodlines and origin between the assassins, the thieves, and the wizards—but it’s hush-hush and should not be mentioned for fear of pissing off the lot of you.”

“Eh—that’s a little last century. But it’s never a bad idea to err on the side of caution with that one. But I asked if you learned anything
useful
.”

“Hey—the little bits and pieces are useful when you consider I have zero context for the world I now live in.” The low-grade ache of hunger in my stomach that I’d tuned out all morning was ramping up.

“Welcome to life as a Made.”

My stomach cramped with hunger. “Um, I need a smoothie.”

“What?”

“You’re going to have to be late for you date, becuz I need uh ssake.”

Alex started laughing. He tried halfheartedly to stop but then just busted out. “No problem.”

I flipped down the vanity mirror. Two tiny fangs protruded from my mouth. If I wasn’t careful, I’d reopen the small, almost-healed wounds on my bottom lip. So I kept my mouth very still while Alex laughed at me and my baby fangs.

It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if I hadn’t seen Wembley’s adult version. His serpent-like fangs had been wicked. Fear inducing.

Mine were more likely to be called adorable. Little fluffy bunny, indeed.

I closed the vanity mirror with a sharp snap.

“I’m sorry—but they’re so…cute.” And he laughed again. “I’ve seen new vamp fangs before, and I never thought I’d say that. But they’re so…darling.” He snickered.

I sighed. A loud, very dramatic, speech-replacing sigh.

“Right. Sorry. There’s a juice place just a few minutes up ahead. I was thinking you should give the mango spinach a try—decent calories and iron-rich. And”—he snickered again—“maybe you should start carrying a few spare cans of that supplement stuff that was littering your apartment when I picked you up this morning.”

I didn’t reply. What would I say, other than
you’re right
? And that would probably come out hissy and weird with the fangs.

Finally, he drove through and snagged a mango spinach smoothie for me. I sucked on that frozen juice, tiny baby fangs hanging out for all the world to see—if they had really powerful binoculars.

About halfway through the shake, my fangs disappeared. I didn’t feel them retract; they just weren’t there anymore.

“You are a nasty man to kick a girl when she’s down.”

He gave me a sheepish look. “They’re just so tiny. Like training wheel fangs.”

I glared, but my heart wasn’t in it. He was right. I couldn’t hang on to my mad, not after having seen Wembley’s grown-up version. “Uh-oh. Am I stuck with these? I mean, I don’t use them to eat. Will they keep growing even though I don’t drink blood?”

“Well, you’re about week out from the bite?”

“Give or take, sure.” Crap. Today was Tuesday. I could not forget to email work.

“I hate to tell you this, but your fangs are closer to day-old than week-old in size.”

“Wizards are up to date on the transformation process of vamps?”

His body stiffened, subtly, but the change was there. “You forget; I do emergency response.”

“Wembley says you’re also a kind of an enforcer for the Society. Is that true?”

“It’s not my job title anymore, but there’s an aspect of that in what we do.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye then back to the road. “Why?”

“Why? Because I want to know why you guys aren’t hunting down the perv who bit and turned me. That’s against Society regs, from what Wembley said.”

“You’re correct. It’s highly illegal.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “You’re not the only one.”

“I’m sorry—what?”

“There have been some deaths. In order to transmit the virus, a vamp has to bite deep and drink long. The deeper the bite and longer the drink, the greater the load of the vampire virus that’s delivered. And if the subject is immune and receives a large load of the virus, the body has an anaphylactic response.”

“Untreated, death results,” I whispered. “If I had the immunity to the virus that most people have…” I shuddered. “You guys have found the dead bodies of these other victims?”

“Not exactly. There are a few deaths that we suspect are related, all discovered through targeted research. Victims that appear to have died from untreated anaphylactic shock—all women, alone, late at night, with no known allergies. I suspect there are others we’re missing. There’s one case we’re certain of. She sought treatment from Dr. Dobrescu, just like you did—but she didn’t make it.”

I clasped my arms tight around my middle and sank deeper into my seat. “What are the police doing?”

“They haven’t connected the deaths, not that we know.” He seemed to give his next words some serious thought. “Anton should have brought you in.”

“Brought me in where?”

“To the Society.”

“Isn’t that basically what you’re doing now? With the meeting today and everything?”

“Not exactly. You’re not a member of the Society—you were a visitor today.”

“Ah.” I didn’t actually understand the difference, but it didn’t seem wise to say that.

“Membership has some small advantages. But really, if you’re enhanced, you belong. The delay is a troubling reflection of some members’ perception of this current crisis.”

“And by crisis—you mean the murders?”

He nodded.

“I did think it was odd that no one’s asking me questions. I haven’t filed a report with you guys or anything. How are you even investigating?” I was feeling more and more like a victim as we spoke. A victim who wasn’t looking at justice anytime soon.

“We know you went out with your friends from work on Tuesday, probably had two drinks, went home, and emerged from your apartment on Sunday in the beginnings of a transformation that should have killed you without supplemental blood feeding. Anton expected you to go home and quietly die.”

That summed it up. And made my blood boil—at least, the “quietly dying” part did. “How do you know all of that?”

“Your doctor, your credit card statements, you yourself.”

“And if Anton knew I was in distress, why didn’t he provide specialized medical assistance? He passed that number along with instructions to call in a few days. From what you’re saying, because he couldn’t be bothered to deal with me and was hoping I’d croak.” I could feel my heart pumping at double time. Anton was not a nice person. “Oh, and if I felt a murderous rage coming on, to phone you—that ER number. Oh. My. God. You’d have come and killed me, wouldn’t you?” My eyeballs started to itch from all the air and no blinking. I blinked rapidly.

“First, what help could the Society give you? You have an aversion to blood. Only blood sustains vampires—so far as we knew till you. Second, subjects are prepared for the transformation with information, but there’s no physical prep. It’s a sink-or-swim process, other than providing blood. And that fits with vamp tradition: the weak die.” He cracked his neck, staring straight ahead. “And I’d only kill you as a last resort.”

He was kinda sleazy with his lunchtime lays, and he laughed at me when maybe he shouldn’t—but I liked the guy. Besides being attractive, he was appealing in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. And that made his words hurt.

We drove for several minutes in silence, because I didn’t know what to say. I was weak. I was broken. I was expendable. No one wanted justice for me. Maybe for those other people—actually, no, not even for them. My happy was suffering several major blows. And I was hungry again. That smoothie had helped, but hadn’t knocked out my hunger entirely.