Dead Vampires Don't Date (5 page)

6. Got Fangs?

I placed the call to Morgan around nine thirty that night. Early July in Idaho means long days and Morgan doesn't think much of UVBGone.

We agreed to meet at
Got Fangs?
in half an hour. Since I had already dodged my Aunt's questions again, had dinner and taken Big Al for his nightly walk, I decided to get there early.

Last night's flyer advertised a decent band this evening. As it didn't look like I would have to bury any bodies tonight, a cold drink and a front row seat would be a nice change.

I slid a leather cuff over my wrist, checked my jeans, glittery green tank top and hair in the long mirror in my bedroom. I turned to the side.

Damn, that leftover manicotti had pushed me past my sometimes size ten.

I grabbed the pair of jeans that I wore way too often and changed. Thrilled that I could breathe again - and annoyed enough to cut the size tag out - I re-checked my reflection. A little more rounded, but still hot.

Yes, I am off men. That doesn't mean I can't torture them.

I handed Al a meaty flavored dog chew, kissed his currently Chihuahua-only head and left.

As I pulled into the parking lot behind
Got Fangs?
, I discovered my previous evening jitters had not fully left. An awful lot of dark, spooky shadows lounged menacingly between the bar and my car.

I told myself that I had buried a body last night. I told myself that I hung with vamps and other creatures of the night. I told myself not to be such a weenie.

Gripping my cell phone tightly in my hand - finger hovering over the speed dial for Morgan – I took off toward the bar.

Some of Morgan's vamp skills must be transferable because I
flew
around the side of the building. I managed to make myself stop only when I reached the corner for the front of
Got Fangs?
, and when I was
really
certain that nothing followed me.

Adopting an I-ain't-afraid-of-no-stinking-shadows attitude, I smoothed my top and sauntered around the corner. The expected line stretched twenty feet from the front door.

I took my time now that I had streetlights for comfort. A little extra swing in the hips and a casual toss of my curls completed the look as I stopped next to Tiny.

Larger than I figured Big Al had been in his former life, Tiny wore a silver wife beater tank with black sequins that formed a happy face in the center. Several white sequins made up the fangs and three large, red ones added the blood.

Since Tiny's chest stretched every single thread on the tank, which created an oval happy face, I thought the blood sequins were overkill.

Judging by the number of scantily dressed –
honey, a thong, and a napkin don't count as clothes
– girls giggling and hanging all over Tiny, I was obviously in the minority.

Tiny's coffee with a ton of coffee-mate bald head gleamed and flickered with the red light that wavered above the front door.

I had to hand it to Lolly. He knew his theatrics.

Tight black leather pants with a silver silk cord that crisscrossed down the side seam of his legs, allowed a peek of thick muscles and more smooth skin.

I must admit, I've thought of bringing a knife on more than one occasion. The only changes to Tiny's nightly outfits are the colors of the tank and the matching cord.

Barbie would love Tiny.

Too bad he was a gargoyle.

I lifted my hand to tap Tiny, but he stiffened and turned to face me before I could reach his massive shoulder. All immortals, no matter the species, have super senses.

Playing to our skinny audience, I let my hand fall on his shirt and trace the fangs instead. Petty? Absolutely. However, my tag-less jeans hugged my hips just a little too lovingly.

Several of the teeny-tiny, size zero girls glared daggers. I immediately felt better.

"Hey, Tiny." There was just a
hint
of suggestion in my voice. Honest.

Tiny's startlingly light grey eyes twinkled down at me. He'd benefit from my little act too.

"Hey yourself, Kate." He nudged the had-to-be starved, really young women to the side and opened the door for me. The squawks of outrage that accompanied this move so thrilled me, I kissed Tiny on his cheek as I headed in.

I wondered which one would get lucky tonight. From what I heard Tiny was totally inappropriately named. All over.

And gargoyles are known for their abilities to keep their girlfriends absolutely delirious despite the turning-to-stone during day thing.

I preferred a man to be around all the time, myself.

Strange that I would have those thoughts when I am completely off men. And were my eyes searching for large, hunky shapes in the poor lighting?

Crap.

I had enough to deal with right now. Dead bodies, big lies and love matches for Barbie are not little issues. I did not need to add a desire for someone big and be-horned as well.

Especially since I
knew
that could only end in misery
and
I was also fairly confident that he didn't just want me for my pretty face.

Maybe I needed to stop by that adult store down the street from my agency? My hormones were acting up again.

I maneuvered my way past the throng at the bar, spotted a vacant table close to the dance floor and the small stage and headed over. I waved cheerfully at Lolly as I pulled out the chair. He narrowed his eyes and pointed his finger at me warningly.

Jeez, you'd think he'd never had a fight in his bar before. Besides I heard that his business picked up after word got out about the whipped cream, chocolate sauce and champagne drenched t-shirts.

Never pick an HC bar to hold your human bridal shower I always say.

Well, I say that now.

I batted my eyes back at him. Lolly shook his head, but grinned. Morgan and I had paid for all the damages.

I caught Teri's attention. She's an immortal witch. I should just hate her on principal. She got to be part of the in-crowd, while I always had my hands pressed to the window looking in.

However, she's also one of the nicest witches I know. She's never held my mortality against me and she's Lolly's wife. I matched them before I opened my agency.

Teri smiled and held up two fingers with her brows raised. I shook my head and wiggled one finger. Occasionally, I meet other non-vamp friends here too.

The sound of a bass guitar turned me towards the stage. The band was starting to set up. They looked as cute as they had on their poster.

Lolly mixed up the bands between humans and the Non. His staff are all humanly-challenged, however. I could see his point. Some hinky things have happened at
Got Fangs?
.

An open bottle of beer with ice-cold condensation on the neck plopped down in front of me. I reached for my wallet. "No charge tonight," Teri's blue and green eyes smiled at me. Not blue-green, but one blue and one green.

I grinned back. "Really?" I casually scoped around for Lolly. He'd have a fit.

"Yep." Teri leaned down. "Lolly's in the back and I never did get a chance to thank you for all that business."

So the rumors had been true.

"Always happy to do my part." I lifted my bottle in toast.

Teri laughed out loud. "I know you are. Although you may want to wait another few months for the next time you and Morgan help out." She checked the other tables around us then whispered, "Lolly poured whipped cream mixed beer for almost a week." Teri laughed again.

She could. She'd had her hands on the chocolate sauce that night. Morgan and I had the whipped cream canisters.

I winced. No wonder Lolly had been so pissed. Still, I would have thought a warlock could solve a problem like that in no time.

Teri must have read my mind. "Turns out magic and Nitrous Oxide don't mix well together."

Well, that little tidbit had been left out of the Witches Manual. I couldn't recall using any magic myself that night.

Just lots and lots of whipped cream.

"Good to know." I nodded at Teri. Not every immortal witch would pass along information like that to me. In fact, I couldn't think of any other witch that would.

Teri winked and left. Lolly stood behind the bar watching us. He said something to her as soon as Teri stopped next to him. She topped him by a full head. It didn't make a difference to either one of them.

Teri bent and kissed him full on the lips before he could get going. Her tongue snaked out and I turned back to the stage.

They were so much in love it made various parts of my body just ache. It sucks to be a hopeless romantic cursed to fail in love.

The human at the table next to me gasped out loud. I checked my watch. She was right on time.

I watched her walk through the crowd in the same mirror I had observed the demon in the other night.

Morgan's long red hair flowed around her face caressing her pale, pale skin with every smooth step forward. She wore skintight black leather as usual, pants and a lace up bodice that left her shoulders bare. The contrast between her flame red locks, white skin and black ensemble was striking to say the least.

In addition to being drop dead gorgeous, Morgan had the unmitigated gall to be a size four. That should simply be outlawed in defense of all the rest of us.

As she got closer, Morgan's vivid green eyes blinked slowly. The man next to me groaned.

No one had the right to look like Morgan, especially since she'd been born way before implants, permanent make-up and plastic surgery.

I'd hate her with a passion if she wasn't my UDBF.

It occurred to me yet again as I watched her sultry approach that she could be a Morgan with an additional "a", possibly a "le," and definitely a "Fay".

She'd been born about the same time. I'd tested my theory a few times by asking her if she wanted to watch First Knight and The Mists of Avalon with me.

She'd just snickered.

I've never heard of that infamous enchantress turning into a vampire. Then again, the records from that time are sketchy at best.

I kicked out a chair seconds before she reached the table. Morgan slid into it. She somehow managed to make her every move appear like a bombshell during a bikini shoot – totally sexy, fluid grace.

The chair behind me scraped over the floor as the human tried his luck. Morgan shot him a look – bug under pin. It was all she needed. The chair scraped again and we were left alone.

Morgan removed a thin, scarlet thermos that hung from a hook on her belt, she set down the wineglass she'd snagged from the bar, twisted the thermos open and poured some blood.

We clinked bottle to glass. Social niceties settled, Morgan leaned over the table to whisper in my ear, "All is well with the royals."

I nearly fell off my chair. I'd tried all day to keep from dwelling on the dead body we'd buried the night before. I am truly gifted when it comes to pushing down all the bad stuff I don't want to think about, but even I had trouble dismissing that one. I must have seen the prince's face at least fifty times instead of the matches I'd picked for Barbie.

Now, I could relax a little. Maybe later I would even be able to walk to my car instead of run. What a huge relief . . . the look on Morgan's face didn't merely imply that I was totally missing something, it damn near slapped me across the face.

I took a long drink.

Okay, she'd said, "all is well with the royals." Great. If everything was okay and no one upset about . . .
the missing prince
.

Ah.

The prince was missing, no getting around that. Actually he was dead. Well, more dead, but regardless he was a prince. Someone should have noticed that he hadn't returned to the coffin.

Which meant that either no one in the royal United States vampire family had missed him – which is a really sad state of affairs for anyone –
or,
more than likely, they had noticed
and
had begun a quiet investigation of some sort.

Did I really think that burying a body would be the end of things?

Sadly, I think the answer was yes.

However –
first time burying a dead body
here. Not exactly part of my daily routine, so I'd cut myself some slack for the lapse in brain power and come up with a plan.

Probably the first thing I should have done.

I hate to play catch up.

"So," I began. Morgan arched a brow. I paused. I had no idea what to say next. I didn't even know where to start.

Morgan lifted her wineglass and took a hefty swallow. I watched her fangs come out as she savored the blood.

It hit me with all the subtlety of an atomic bomb. I just so happened to be sitting across from an expert in getting rid of unwanted bodies and plausible cover stories. Morgan had not survived all these years because she was an idiot.