Always the Vampire

“And if she’s wrong?”


“Then I’ll put out the call to the Jag Queens and my bridge group. Daphne Dupree is doing your cakes anyway, and the rest of the gang will be happy to help with some last-minute hors d’oeuvres. Now, come on,” I said, extracting my hand. “Let’s open the new batch of RSVPs and get them recorded. Maybe they’ll all be regrets.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but we set to work. She read names while I checked them off the master list. The acceptances were accompanied by quiet groans, the regrets with little whoops, and the pile dwindled. Neil walked by, headed to the kitchen, and shook his head as Maggie slit open another envelope and chuckled.

“You won’t believe this, but Jo-Jo’s coming.” She waved the small rectangle at me. “And he’s offered to entertain.”

“Damn it to hell,” Neil swore, frozen at the kitchen threshold. “Tell me you did not invite that lame vampire comic.”

Jo-Jo had taken refuge with me in early August, escaping his Master in Atlanta so he could dive into showbiz. No matter that his jokes had been beyond bad to begin with, he’d quickly put a decent act together and caught the attention of a vacationing talent agent. The rest was history in the making.

“Jo-Jo’s earning a mint in Vegas and doing a movie, Neil,” Maggie said on a laugh, “so he can’t be that lame. Not anymore.”

“But you won’t let him do his act at the reception, right? If he juggles, I’m giving DennyK orders to stake him.”

“Your best man won’t need a stake. Jo-Jo will just be attending.”

“And on the upside, he won’t be munching at the buffet,” I added.

“Long as he doesn’t munch on a guest,” Neil muttered.

The fridge opened and closed, bottles clinked—beer bottles most likely—then we heard the back door slam. If Neil had grabbed beers, I hoped that meant Saber and Sam were back on the job.

“Poor Neil,” Maggie said, laughing as she pushed back from the table. “I don’t know if he’s nervous or just impatient to have the wedding over with.”

“And at nineteen days and counting, you don’t have a teeny touch of nerves?” I teased, following her into the kitchen.

“Only about the reception.” She pulled a gallon of sweet tea from the fridge. “Southern women are bred to feed the masses, but I’ve never hosted that many parties.”

“The housewarming party came off with food left over.”

“Yes, but we had fewer tables, fewer guests, and I wasn’t wearing a wedding gown. What if I knock over a whole table of food with my bustle?”

I hid a smile, grabbed two ruby-colored glasses from the cabinet, and set them on the counter. “All the more reason for your two bridesmaids not to have bustles, but don’t worry. I’ll tell the caterers to make extra-wide aisles, and you’ll be fine. The wedding will come off without a hitch.”

“Mmm.” She plunked ice cubes in the glasses and poured the tea, then turned serious. “Speaking of hitches, how is Saber? Still grouchy?”

I plopped into a kitchen chair. “He’s moody, edgy, and positively grim. And he’s hovered 24-7 since he got home Friday. It’s driving me insane.”

“You can’t get him to tell you what’s wrong?”

“No. He’s paranoid about my safety, but he won’t say why.”

“He’s always been concerned for your safety.”

“True,” I conceded as I stared at the crackling ice cubes in my tea.

Saber had insisted I have the security of the president and the pope combined—well, except for Secret Service agents and Swiss Guards. Even my cottage windows are UV reflective and impact resistant. Saber had wanted bulletproof windows, too, but those didn’t come with UV protection.

As for the perimeter alarm, in theory it was brilliant. Since my home sat near the back corner of the yard, weight-sensitive and supposedly weatherproof disks were buried in a series of halo-like rings around the sides and front of the cottage. Smaller creatures could scamper through the yard, but a weight of fifty pounds or more on a disk triggered the siren inside my house and at the monitored security offices. I’d dive into a hidey-hole through the escape hatch in my bedroom walk-in closet and wait for the all clear via a phone system in the safe room. And when I expected company or was out late, I simply disarmed the system. Good plan, imperfect execution. At least it had been the first time around.

Of course, now that Sam was “fixing” the system, the darn siren went off at the drop of an acorn. If he didn’t get the bugs worked out, I’d be ripping the alarm box off the wall.

“Hey,” Maggie said, bringing me back to the moment. “Maybe Saber knows something about your stalker, and that’s what’s bugging him.”

“I doubt it. I haven’t seen Victor Gorman in weeks. No, I think this has something to do with the sixteen days Saber was gone.”

“On the assignment to shut down vampire nests for the Vampire Protection Agency?”