Fangtabulous (10 page)

9

U
lric was just returning with a group when Rebecca and I made it back to Haunts.
A reed-thin girl, with wispy brown hair pulled back into a lopsided ponytail, was asking him a tell-all book’s worth of questions about orbs and energies and hanging on his every word
.

He shot us a look as we came through the door that said while he didn’t exactly
need
saving, he’d be eternally grateful for it all the same. That fit in perfectly with my plans, as I figured we had no time to lose in solving the Case of the Supernatural Strangler and getting the hell out of town.

“Ulric, thank goodness, just the man I need to see,” I said, abandoning Rebecca at the entrance. “Can we talk?” I gave the brunette an apologetic look. “Sorry, I need to steal him away.”

Without giving her the chance to protest, I pulled Ulric away by the arm, tucking mine in his.

“
Thank you
,” he said, letting out a huge breath. “I think she’s an aspiring Ghouligan or something. She had another question for every answer.”

“She wasn’t interested in the answers.”

“O-kay, I’ll bite,” he answered.

“She was interested in
you
.”

“Well, that explains the really nice tip. Anyway, I couldn’t just brush her off.”

My eyes sparkled. “You know, for a pain in the butt, you’re actually a pretty decent guy.”

He looked around surreptitiously. “Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my street cred.”

“What street cred?”

He clutched his hand to his heart. “You wound me.”

“Not yet, but give it time.”

“Oh, promises, promises. I don’t suppose you jumped in because you were crazy jealous and wanted me all to yourself?” he asked hopefully.

“Sorry.”

“Figures. What can I do for you?”

Well, that was unusually direct and helpful for Ulric.

“I need to talk to Olivia,” I answered. “As soon as possible.”

“So talk to her.”

“Since you know her, I think it might go better if you smoothed the way.”

He didn’t look too certain of that. “Suppose we could catch a drink afterward?”

Ah,
there
was the catch. I gave him a
look
.

“Right, you don’t drink. Except, you know … ” He dangled his index and middle fingers in front of his lips, simulating fangs. I slapped his hand down before anyone could see.

“Ulric!” I hissed.

He gave me that cocky grin of his. “What? I’m not complaining. In fact, I’m volunteering. Any time you want to give me a nibble, you just let me know. But remember, turn-about is fair play.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said wryly.

“So, is that a yes for later?” he asked.

“Yes to you coming with me to talk to Olivia. No to the rest.”

“Pity.”

The teeniest tiniest part of me agreed with that. I loved Bobby, but somehow that didn’t lessen Ulric’s pull, only how I chose to respond to it. I could well imagine that without my B-boy, Ulric would be dangerous. Maybe not to my health, but definitely to my equilibrium.

I gave him another look.

“I love it when you go all disapproving school marm on me. Makes me wish you’d hold me after school.”

See what I mean—I was
so
not the school marm type. The fact that Ulric brought it out of me … completely messed with the natural order of things.

It was Kari’s turn to ride to the rescue this time. Sort of, anyway. She found us and dragged me toward the front, breathlessly telling me that she had a new tour group ready to go and they’d requested “the girl who’d gotten strangled” as their guide. She was sure that if I acted it out for them, I’d make out like a bandit in tips. After seeing the zebra-striped girl fight for her life earlier, the thought of capitalizing on the killer-ghost made me sick. But a girl had to eat. Or, at least, she had to keep Brent and Eric in eats. And I did demand a roof over my head that didn’t sit atop four wheels. That sleeping-in-a-coffin crap you see on TV was just that—crap. Discerning vampires preferred beds.

I didn’t get back to the Haunts shop for over an hour, and when I did—strung out on nerves, wondering how many would be tweeting and blogging tonight about their photographically challenged tour guide—there was yet another group waiting for me. I barely had time to check my voicemail in between. I’d gotten one from Eric letting me know he’d received my earlier message. I’d just started to relax a bit when he added, “But if they’ve already uploaded the footage to some off-site backup, we’re sunk.”

Between that and all the pictures I’d been unable to avoid not-starring in tonight, sending Eric after the Ghouligans’ equipment was starting to feel futile. Oh sure, I could disappear, quite literally. But what about the others? Yup, responsibility sucked big chunks of strawberry through teeny tiny straws.

It was late when I returned with my second tour group. Nearly closing time. Bobby and Rebecca were nowhere to be seen. Kari was counting up the register and looking very pleased with herself, and Ulric was just emerging from the back. He’d changed out of his costume, into all black—from biker boots with silver spikes as trim to a leather jacket with spiky epaulets. In the dimness of the back hallway, his deep brown eyes were nearly lost beneath the flap of dark hair that obscured his face. For a minute, I wondered what he was hiding beneath the spikes and the hair and the humor.

“Wait right there,” I ordered, heading for the changing rooms myself.

“Are you sure you don’t want me in there with you?” he asked. “Then you could keep an eye on me to be sure I follow orders.”

I paused to glare, fighting the smile that wanted to ruin it all. “I know that
you
know that if you don’t listen, I’ll hunt you down.”

He grinned. “Could be fun.”

“Yes, but not for you.”

“Spoilsport.”

“I’ve been called worse.” Like
school marm
, but we weren’t getting into that again.

I hurried in to change. If we got out of there before Bobby returned from his tour, he couldn’t get on my case about not taking him along for backup. My heart ached. I felt like I was betraying him, stepping out with another guy, even if it totally wasn’t like that. I wanted the trust back. I wanted my Bobby back, and he hadn’t even gone anywhere.

When I emerged from the dressing room in my skinny jeans, long-sleeved scoop-neck tee, and fleecy jacket, Ulric was waiting for me with a smile and a proffered arm. “Shall we?”

I ignored the arm, since my tennies didn’t require the extra stability, and Ulric didn’t need any encouragement to think of this as a date.

Not to be outmaneuvered, Ulric grabbed my right hand and tucked it in his arm anyway, pressing it tightly to his body to keep me there. I shot him a look, and he raised a brow as if to ask what I was going to do about it. With or without vampirical enhancements, it wasn’t exactly a hard grip to break, but I let it go. After all, Ulric was helping me out. Might was well throw him a bone.

“Fine, you win,” I said, finally giving in to the smile that teased at my lips.

“I won’t even ask about the prize. I think I have that right here.” He patted my hand.

If I weren’t taken, it would have been charming. Okay, it
was
charming. But still …

He seemed to know not to push his luck, and instead started moving us toward the door.

The sound of a returning tour bounced around the building as we hit the street, and I sped up a bit to avoid running into them and their guide. Ulric didn’t say a word.

The brew pub was within walking distance, as was everything else in Salem proper, and we were there inside of five minutes. Between Haunts and Brews, we passed one cemetery, two witch museums, and a town square with a huge statue of a television witch sitting on the moon—from
Bewitched
, Ulric told me, and a huge bone of contention within the town. We also passed three restaurants, a hotel, and two magic shops, one seemingly dedicated to the darker side—based on the word “hex,” a prominent part of its name—and the other—crystal something-or-other—seemingly dedicated to the lighter.

As we stepped through the doors of the brew pub, Ulric dropped my arm and strolled up to the hostess stand. The woman behind it didn’t miss the move.

“She here?” Ulric asked, like there was only one person he could be referring to.

Apparently, there was. The hostess eyed him hostilely. “Why, you here to break her heart again?”

“She’s the one who—” Ulric stopped, took a deep breath, and continued as I watched with interest. Oh yeah, he and whoever—Olivia, I guessed—had history. “Is she here?” he repeated.

“She’d be gone already but for the table that won’t die. I ought to be calling them cabs any time now. You can go sit in her section and wait.” She turned the evil eye on me. “You with him?”

“Not the way you think.”

“Good.” But she didn’t let the approval seep into her voice.

“What was that all about?” I asked quietly as I followed Ulric around a chest-high wall into a back section of the pub.

“Olivia and I … had a thing. Her ex-boyfriend kept reappearing, twisting her up and getting her all conflicted. I ended the conflict.”

“You took yourself out of the running?”

“There comes a point where someone either wants you or they don’t.”

“Maybe she was confused.”

“Clearly.”

He positioned himself with his back against the wall of a booth so that he could sit more or less sidelong in the seat and watch the whole room.

Olivia, bearing a tray overloaded with coffees, pies, and brews, didn’t see us at first. She was focused on her table and on blowing her bright-blue streaky hair out of her face. The tray bobbled as a shifting lock of hair revealed Ulric lounging in her section. I thought for a minute that her table was going to be wearing their food. Then she recovered and pointedly ignored us as she delivered her goods—smiling, flirting, and catching a hand as it reached for her backside, definitely up to no good. She managed to return it to its owner with a smile, which was more than I could have done.

But the smile disappeared as she hugged her now-empty tray protectively against her chest and turned to us.

“What do you want?” she asked, eyes only for Ulric.

“Some of that pie, to start. Was that chocolate pecan?”

“To go?” she asked.

He pretended to miss her message. “Olivia, this is Gia. She’s a … friend … from back home.”

Olivia gave me a sour look. “An
ex-girlfriend
, maybe?” She glanced back at Ulric.

“Matter of fact, no. Look, I’m sorry if you think I’ve somehow wronged you.” To his credit, Ulric actually sounded sorry. “But that’s not why I’m here. I need you to talk to Gia. You know that girl who was attacked the other night, almost strangled?”

“I’m her,” I cut in.

Olivia’s eyes widened, and she lost her petulant look as she turned on me. “That’s awful! What can I do?” Then she held up a hand to stop me from answering and called out over the half-wall, “Marley, can you cover me?”

Marley popped her head over the partition, saw Ulric and me, and then skimmed right past us to focus on Olivia. “Sure thing.”

Olivia plopped down beside me, making me scootch in. “How can I help? Charm of protection? Warding spell?”

“Information,” I said, at the same time Ulric explained, “Olivia is a witch.”

“Cool,” I said. “So you can give your arch-nemesis chronic bad breath or hairy armpits or whatever?”

Olivia got a pained look on her face. “Why does everyone think the Craft is all love spells and curses?” It had to be a rhetorical question, because she kept right on. “I probably
could
, now that you mention it. Giving Ulric here a case of jock itch would be pretty satisfying.” Ulric squirmed and Olivia grinned, showing nice white teeth. “But it’s against our tenets.”

“Like?”

“First, do no harm.” Oh right, that one.

“So, you’re a Wicca witch. But there are other kinds, right? I saw a hex shop on my way over. That doesn’t sound like all sweetness and light.”

“It isn’t. That’s a darker magic. We don’t dabble.”

“We?”

“Me and my coven. So, what kind of information do you need?”

I was going to launch into questions about JC Theatrical Supplies, but since we were on the subject of magic …

“All this stuff with the spirits getting riled up, people being attacked—could it be a spell? Not a Wiccan spell, of course,” I rushed to add, “but something else?”

Olivia’s pale blue eyes, emphasized by the streak in her hair, narrowed at me. I thought that if she could shoot lasers out of her eyes, like the X-Men’s Cyclops—Bobby’s influence again—I’d be toast. “Do you
really
want to go there?” she asked. “Given the history of this town, do you actually want to start a new witch hunt by suggesting that magic is involved?”

Ulric put a hand over Olivia’s where it was clenched on the table, and she turned that laser-like gaze on him. “Move it or die,” she snapped.