La Vida Vampire (6 page)

Only the faintest snap of a twig preceded the panther before she emerged from the live oaks and cabbage palms snarled in grapevines and kudzu. Her trotting gait looked lazy, but energy hummed around her.

“Pandora,” Cosmil greeted as the big cat leapt the bowed steps to the rickety porch.
The vampire princess sensed the magick. She thought of Triton.

Cosmil clearly read the cat’s thoughts and smiled. “Excellent. Francesca will trust that sense, and by extension, you. When Triton comes…”

Cosmil did not finish the thought aloud. The spoken word was even more powerful than thought, and its energy more easily detected. Cosmil could not risk detection. Not now.

Pandora sat with a thump and licked a paw.
You are correct about the danger to her.

“The vampire killer?”

Aye, and another as well. A seeker.

Cosmil tensed. Omens had foretold the killer but no seeker. Fetid frog legs, he must know if this seeker meant her harm. He leaned forward in the rocker, level with Pandora’s amber eyes. “Did you read what is sought?”

Pandora tipped her head at him.
Justice.

“Is that all?”

Pandora sniffed.
The vampire princess does not smell dead, but she is not quite human.
Pandora had sidestepped the question, but that only meant she had no more to tell. Cosmil gave her a wry smile. “Neither are we, my friend.”

Of all the good he had accomplished over the ages as a wizard, Cosmil had also made mistakes. Miscalculations in spells that had led to the conception and birth of magical creatures he’d protect for the rest of his life. Pandora was the result of one such birth.

Triton was the result of another.

The time foretold had come. Triton must return to the ocean of his birth and reunite with his long -lost friend Francesca so that each might come into their full powers. As it was, Triton had delayed the trip long after he knew of Francesca ’s rescue—in spite of Cosmil’s spells of gentle persuasion.

The boy had grown more stubborn with age, but also more cautious. For that, Cosmil could not fault him. Especially not now as a dark force rose, an entity Cosmil called The Void when he dared name it at all. Like bilious black smoke, The Void concealed its identity while it fed on the powers of magical beings. The more unique those beings, the more power it derived.

Cosmil would move the moon itself to protect Triton and Francesca, for only through their reunion and the coming of their full powers might they help defeat The Void. There was time yet, six months, perhaps. But the sooner Triton returned…

Cosmil tugged on the sleeve of his black tunic and turned into the doorway of the house, considering which potions of high magick to prepare. Triton would not travel until after his shape-shift at the new moon, but he must arrive without incident. Pandora watched him go through slitted eyes, then bounded off the steps and loped to her favorite tree. She settled on a high, forked limb, one paw dangling, and closed her eyes.

FIVE

Old, scary vampire me is a ’fraidy cat?

Yep, I admit it.

The super meow of Super Cat—and her whiskered image appearing then vanishing at my window—made me jumpy all night. Every sound remotely feline, every shadow at the window, frayed another nerve and chased erotic thoughts to the far corner of my mind.

I kept after my design homework, but I was sidetracked more than I wanted to be. That the design program kept glitching on me didn’t help matters. I love technology, hate techno tantrums.

I usually only drink one six-ounce bottle of Starbloods a day, shortly after I wake up each afternoon. Tonight I downed one more during the early hours just to stay focused and ease my frustration. All that, um, protein wouldn ’t keep me from conking out when I was ready to hit the rack, but it steadied me enough that I finished my Craftsman cabinet drawing. The nourishment also eased the ache in my right arm where Stony had abused it. Odd that the spot bothered me at all, but what did I know about implant chips? Maybe it had worked itself too close to the skin surface. The weirdness wasn’t just about the computer or Cat. As a plain psychic human, I’d had similar feelings. Those jumpingout-of-my-skin something’s-happening-but-I-don’t-know-what feelings that drove me just as nuts now as they had then. I blamed it on full moons, new moons, changing seasons, you name it.

In truth, moon phases made my abilities stronger when I was human. As a vampire, my powers go haywire during full moons, deader than me during new moons. Don’t have a clue why the change, but it sure hadn’t made King Normand a happy vampire. I’d explained that psychics weren’t omniscient, but Normand the Nutcase had expected a perfect protégé princess, not a resentful rebel.

And though he was a royal pain, I never believed he was a real nobleman, much less a king. He’d hitched a ride on French ships with the soldiers who’d tried to hold Fort Caroline in what is now Jacksonville. When the Spanish slaughtered the French soldiers, King Normand moved south with his enclave of vampires and mortal slaves to settle outside the city gates. The Spanish soldiers, and later the troops of the British period, would’ve killed Normand sooner if they could’ve. My rotten luck they didn’t. I steered my thoughts away from Normand and back to tonight’s mind reading. Unprecedented since I’d become a vamp, so why had it happened? I’d read somewhere that the moon was moving away from Earth at the rate of 1.2 centimeters a year. Could that bit of distance lessen the moon’s influence over my psychic abilities? Wished I knew. Nothing is as scary in the light as it is in the dark. The sunshiny Tuesday morning dawned, and thoughts of the past and weird Cat faded. Picking up my sweet Chevy SSR with its aqua metallic paint job lifted my spirits, and so did stopping at Home Depot. Not to chew nails. To pick up a chandelier Maggie ordered and to ogle the playground of gizmos and gadgets. I returned to the penthouse and parked in the lot behind our building. Mostly it ’s bank parking, but each tenant gets one uncovered space. Since parking is hell anywhere downtown, I gladly paid for an additional slot. I mustered enough energy to brush my teeth before I fell into bed.

I slept dreamlessly and far later than usual, all the way to five thirty. Maggie breezed in looking as fresh in her blue gray business suit as she had this morning. She plopped her purse on the kitchen island just as I finished rinsing out a single Starbloods bottle.

She raised that brow at me. Or maybe it was at my butter yellow terry cloth robe and fuzzy dolphin house slippers —the kind with memory foam. I’m usually dressed by now.

“You look like something the cat dragged in. Have trouble sleeping?”

I startled at the
C
word but recovered and shook my head.

“That’s an advantage of being underdead. No insomnia.” I dropped the bottle in my own recycling bin. “What are you and Neil doing tonight? Is he still groveling?”

Maggie wagged her hand so-so. “If he shows up with dark chocolate or raspberry fudge, we may stay in. Did Home Depot have my chandelier?”

I nodded toward corner of the dining room. “Right there.”

“Hot damn,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “It’s playtime!”

She immersed herself digging into the box, and I went back to my room. Now that I was awake, the first order of business was to double-check my Craftsman cabinet design. I tweaked it for twenty minutes before I was satisfied and e -mailed it to my instructor. The same prof’s new lecture was posted online, so I hunkered down to read first the lecture, then the textbook. After that, I reviewed my notes for the landscape class and dreamed of the garden I’d create for my little carriage house. Since I tend to go off in the ethers thinking about design, I set an egg timer for seven thirty. A quick shower and I tackled my hair.

I hate to admit it, but if you ’ve seen
The Princess Diaries
, you’ve seen my hair. My flatiron won’t work Hollywood miracles. Would a straightening product help? Industrial strength? I could cut it, but I ’d had hair to the middle of my back for so long, would I feel freer with short hair or just terribly naked? Growing it back probably wouldn ’t be an option. I’d had Maggie’s cosmetologist, Julie, wax my eyebrows, and not one stray hair had grown back to ruin their shape. Maybe I should try a short wig for a while?

I swept my mop up in a thick bun but didn’t bother with all the hair spray. I’d live with the tendrils sticking out. It hadn’t been as humid today. Maybe there’d be no fog tonight.

Once again dressed in my Regency gown and ballet-style slipper shoes, I grabbed my shawl, key, and cell phone, this time putting them in a reticule one of Maggie’s friends had helped me crochet. Maggie was on the phone when I left, so I waved and headed out.

New night, new tour, same meeting place—the tour substation by the waterwheel, where a band was again in full swing at the Mill Top Tavern.

And, yikes, many of the same faces from last night. I ’d wanted to be a successful tour guide, but having this many of Monday’s group show up again? Too weird.

The newlyweds were back, and so was Gomer. Standing off to my right, Yolette in another semi–see-through outfit regaled Gomer with tales of Paris, while Etienne stood by looking bored. Gomer nodded at Yolette and drawled “Gol-lee” every now and then, but his gray eyes looked glazed. He wore different colors tonight but the same kind of clothes —a flannel shirt and polyester pants, with the sleeves, pant legs, and shirttails still too short.

To my left, Shalimar chatted with two middle-aged ladies I didn’t recognize from the night before. None of them wore the teal Jag Queen visors tonight, just knit pants that looked warm and snugly, and T-shirts that read ST. AUGUSTINE. Stony had dressed in black again and hovered about ten feet away from both little groups. He looked tense, alert, and determined, his eyes narrowing first on me, then shifting to Yolette.

I didn’t feel flattered that these people had shown up again. I felt stalked.

Especially when Etienne spotted me. He hurried over, seized my hand, and pressed a kiss on my palm. Yolette, I noticed, paused in pelting Gomer with her monologue to shoot a death-ray glare at Etienne’s back.

“Ah, Francesca,
enchanté
,” he said.
“Comment le charmant de vous regarde.”

I plucked
charmant
out of his effusively delivered comment and knew he’d said I looked charming or some such thing. I wasn’t bamboozled.

“Thanks,” I said, pulling my hand out of his grip and resisting the urge to wipe it on my skirt.

“We share more delights tonight,
oui
?” He smiled as if I found him clever and suave.

“If you find ghosts delightful,” I said repressively.

“I find you the delight,
ma petite
,” he bantered, stepping closer.

I frowned and stepped back. “Etienne, I don’t flirt with married men.”

“Ah, but Yolette and I,” he said, sliding nearer again, “we have the open marriage.”

“Well, it’s closed to me, and right now I have to collect tickets.”

For a heartbeat he looked annoyed. Then his brow smoothed. “But of course,” he said, flourishing two tickets as he bowed from the waist ever so slightly.

I’d accidentally read minds the night before and was tempted to purposely try it now. I might be able to psyche out what Etienne was up to other than making Yolette jealous enough to strip my hide. And making Stony stare daggers at us. But did I really want to know what either man was thinking? Probably not.

I
was
glad to have my cell phone—on vibrate mode, and ready to dial 911, if things so much as looked like they might get out of hand. Being responsible for mortals was not to be taken lightly, especially when my vamp powers were only so-so. I really didn’t want to get close enough to Stony to take his ticket. Didn’t care if he had one. I did want Etienne to stop following on my heels, so I inched toward the other five women who made up the tour. In various styles and colors of jeans, jackets, and tennis shoes, the thirty -to forty-somethings stood not far from Stony talking about—assuming my vampire hearing wasn’t on the fritz—bumping people off. Poison seemed to be the weapon of choice, though one especially sweet-looking lady wanted to use a kitchen knife on her victim. Who knew guiding ghost tours would be so dangerous?

I must have made a noise, because Knifer looked up and caught me staring. With a grin and a wave of her hand at the others, she said, “Don’t mind us, we’re mystery writers. We get that reaction all the time when we talk plotting in public.”

Ya think?
I almost said it aloud, but good manners prevailed. Then it hit me. Mystery writers. I love mysteries, and these women write them? Oh, joy! I’d discover new titles to search for, new authors to read!

I might’ve gushed about then, but it was time to start. I’d gush after the tour.

“Welcome to the Old Coast Ghost Walk. I’m Cesca, your guide. Please give me your tickets, and we’ll get started.”

“Are you really a vampire?” one of the writers asked. Her blonde flyaway hair shone an ethereal silver in the streetlights, and she poised a pen over a pocket-sized spiral notebook.

“Of course she is,” Shalimar answered, then gave me a little wave. “Hi, Cesca, I brought more friends to meet you. This is Barb and Darcy.”

“Thank you, Mrs.—” I racked my memory, but Janie and I hadn’t finished connecting all the Jag Queens’ faces with names.

“Millie Hayward, dear. Call me Millie.”

“Well, I’m honored you came back tonight with more friends, Millie.”

I smiled at the two new women, both gray -haired and grandmotherly while Shalimar Millie grinned and gave me their tickets. “I hope you’ll all enjoy the tour.”

“Do you mind if we record you?” another of the writers asked, this one with short salt-and-pepper hair that cupped her head like a cap. “We don’t want to miss anything in our notes.”

I hesitated because the tour company had taped audio and video tours that were for sale. But with Stony glowering in the background, maybe he’d behave if tapes were rolling. Couldn’t hurt, might help.

“That will be fine,” I said and took their tickets, too.