La Vida Vampire

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 Tshirts 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.