Accidental Sire (Half-Moon Hollow #6)

“I was—I am. I am an English major.”

“An English major,” Jane said, frowning. “What were you planning to do with that? Teach?”

“I really don’t like kids that much,” I told her. “I thought maybe grad school, teaching at a college level.”

“Hmmm.”

“I know, I was not preparing myself for life postvampire or postgraduation,” I admitted.

“How would you feel about being my personal assistant?” she asked.

“Woefully underqualified.”

She waved my concerns away with a flick of her hand. “It’s not that complicated. You manage my schedule, protect me from seeing people I don’t want to see, answer some phones. I only ask because my last secretary, Margaret, was disturbingly loyal to Ophelia. And she’d been sabotaging my schedule, not reporting phone calls, not sending my expense reports to the finance department. I had to fire her in a way that involved the human and vampire police . . . and animal control. I need someone I can trust.”

“And that person is me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes,” Jane said, smiling and patting my shoulder. “I think you’ll do great.”

The corners of my mouth pulled back into a frown.

Jane sighed. “And as a signing bonus, I’ll let you video chat with your friends. I know how hard you’ve been trying. You deserve to be rewarded.”

“That is sort of manipulative.”

She nodded. “Yes, it is. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it.”

She patted my back. “Of course, if you screw up, I’ll make you work in the mail room.”

I shuddered. I’d heard about some of the mail room employees. They were not my people.

“Are we finished with this touching moment? Because I’m starving,” Jane said.

The other vampires in the room cheered.

We gathered around Jane’s dining-room table, where Jane ladled cups of blood from pots into fancy crystal punch cups. Jane raised her glass to our new jobs, which made that hesitant expression return to Ben’s face. I didn’t know what Andrea did to the blood, but it was one of my favorite things I’d tried since being turned, deep and fruity without being too sweet. Meanwhile, Jolene ate her weight in ribs, while Zeb ate . . . less than his weight in ribs. But smiled at Jolene like seeing his wife’s face smeared with barbecue sauce was the most adorable thing ever.

Despite the fact that the group was relatively huge, even I could see the obvious, loving connections among them all, the ease in the way they spoke to one another. They were family, the kind of family people chose to be with, instead of hoping for “unavoidable” overtime on holidays.

I wondered if I was going to have enough time here to feel like a part of it.



The very next sunset, Jane made good on her promise to let me video chat with Morgan and Keagan. She did insist that the conversation take place in her study, where she could supervise it, but I was so excited to talk to my friends I barely registered the invasion of privacy.

Jane’s study was a bit more weirdo-quirky than the rest of the house. There were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the room, every shelf stuffed with leather-bound first editions, mass-market paperbacks, softcover trades. And where there weren’t books, there were strange ceremonial bowls, a Ravenclaw mug with rusty-looking residue near the rim, Funko Pop! versions of Sansa Stark and Oberyn Martell, candles inscribed with symbols from Supernatural, a little framed quote from Persuasion, and, oddly enough, little pewter fairy statues, which she’d put in a glass case labeled with a small brass sign that said, “Unsellable Case of Shame.”

“You must do a lot of shopping on Etsy,” I said. I couldn’t help but notice that the space behind the desk, the area that would be visible to the laptop’s webcam, was blank wall space and a window covered with blackout curtains. Morgan and Keagan would be given no clues to where I was. And since they couldn’t see out the blocked window, they couldn’t even use the angle of the moon to triangulate my position, like they did on CSI. Not that Morgan and Keagan were that good at trigonometry, but I liked to think they could have pulled it off with help from the right Web site.

“I like to mix and match my fandoms.” Clearly excited by my heretofore unknown enthusiasm for something, Jane opened her laptop with a flourish. The Skype logo appeared. The familiar dink-dank-donk sounded as the computer attempted a connection. Ophelia’s pale, elfin face appeared on the screen, her features exaggerated by the very close company she was keeping with the camera.

“Ophelia!” I cried. “Sit back! You look like an old Busta Rhymes video.”

Ophelia rolled her eyes but moved away from the webcam. “Better?”

“Yes! How are you? I miss you!”

Ophelia gave me a pleased little smile, but she didn’t return the sentiment, because that wasn’t her thing. “I’m fine, other than straining my upper-body strength trying to hold back your friends so I can talk to you first.”

In the background, I heard Keagan squeal. “She’s so strong!”

“How are you adjusting?” Ophelia asked casually, as if she wasn’t restraining my friends.

“I’m sort of in control of my thirst, and I can outrun Fitz now without embarrassing myself. I’m living with Georgie, and she completely terrifies me but in a fun way.”

Ophelia’s brows rose. “That is a lot of information. Well, I have some people here who are yanking my arms off so they can talk to you.”

Ophelia stepped out of view so Morgan and Keagan could tumble in front of the camera like a couple of overeager puppies. Morgan yelped when Keagan knocked her aside. Keagan’s rounded cheeks nearly covered her baby-doll blue eyes as she grinned, waving both hands.

“Meagan!” Keagan shrieked. “Are you OK? We were so worried!”

“Back away from the mic, Keagan, you’re going to burst my eardrums,” I said.

“Sorry,” she said, moving away from the camera. “Are you OK?” she repeated.

“I’m OK,” I told her. “It’s not ideal, but it could be a lot worse.”

“Where did you go?” Morgan asked.

I raised my eyebrows. I hadn’t expected Ophelia to obey Jane’s order that she keep my location a secret. I was even more surprised that a little part of me appreciated it. I doubted very much that the Council would react in a nice, nonviolent way if the girls came busting into Half-Moon Hollow on a rescue mission. Sure, Jane was in charge of the region, but she could only spin a headline like “Coeds Torch Council Building in Freak Taser Incident” so far.

“I can’t tell you,” I said as Jane shook her head from behind the laptop screen. “I’m sorry. It’s all part of the agreement with the Council. I agree not to tell anyone where I am, they agree not to kill me in my sleep.”