Adventures of a Vegan Vamp: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (7 page)

A
lex escorted
me through a retail area filled with capes, fake fangs, tarot cards, religious votive candles, gemstones, witch hats, green and black hair dye, a display case with crucifixes, and yes—fake blood. He nodded at the cute teenage girl who was manning the register, and she waved back with a besotted smile.

I wasn’t the only one to find something enticing about Alex. Maybe it was his accountant turned bad boy looks. Hm. I wouldn’t have thought he would have such broad appeal.

I leaned down to get a better look at the shrunken head on one of the shelves. “This place has a bizarre combo of merchandise. Spiritual mixed in with kitschy sprinkled with Halloween festive.”

“And all in a store for a group that purports to ‘study’ paranormal and the occult. I know. Over time, the store has taken on a life of its own.”

“Right…” I backed away from a display case of stakes, holy water, and dried garlic necklaces. They didn’t
seem
dangerous—but what did I know about my new body? Maybe I was deathly allergic to garlic. Although they wouldn’t have something that was poisonous to vamps in a retail store fronting the Society. Would they?

I stepped on Alex’s foot. “Oh, sorry.”

Standing a hairsbreadth from my back, he grasped my upper arms and steadied me then stepped away. “That stuff can’t hurt you. Well, don’t fall on the stake, but otherwise you should be good.”

I could feel myself blushing. Which was ridiculous. How was I supposed to know what was dangerous and what wasn’t?

Alex was waiting patiently a few feet away next to a door marked “Employees Only.” Just like any other retail store.

“Sorry.” But I couldn’t help frowning at him, and I wasn’t sure why I was apologizing.

He didn’t comment, just opened the door for me.

As I stepped closer, I saw a security pad above the doorknob. Not quite like most retail stores, then. Alex must have punched in the code when I wasn’t looking. That was twice now that he’d been Mr. Stealthy where security systems were in question. I needed to quiz this Wembley guy about thief-assassin-wizards.

I took a breath and steeled myself for my first real-life vampire meeting. I had to stifle a giggle when I realized
I
was my first real-life vampire.

When I hesitated, Alex walked through the door, and I followed him into a dark hallway.

“The second door on the right. That leads to the lounge and the most likely place for Wembley to be waiting.”

I hesitated. “We’re not going to walk in on him partaking, are we?”

“In a bloody Mary, maybe.” When I refused to move forward, even with his hand at my elbow urging me forward, he added, “No, Wembley will not be consuming blood in any form. I told him about your phobia.”

“Not a phobia. A life choice.”

“It’s a life choice for you to avoid blood?” He walked to the door and opened it. “Come on. He won’t bite.”

“Ha-ha. So funny.” But it was just a little. And it got my feet moving.

I walked through the door and into another decade. I stumbled, caught my balance, and then stood still, blinking.

Oranges, pinks, and purples competed for dominance. The walls were a deep, rich shade of purple. The sofa was orange, with pink accent pillows. Candles of pink, purple, and orange abounded—but there were also blues and greens. A bright pink lava lamp, an orange beanbag chair, and purple bong complemented the decor. In the corner, all variety of colored beads hung from the ceiling, creating a curtain across the entryway into a small kitchen nook.

“Too much? It was my turn to decorate, and I couldn’t resist the urge to travel back in time.” A middle-aged, slightly paunchy, grey-bearded guy with longish hair and rose-tinted glasses spread his hands wide. “Jefferson Wembley, at your service.”

He didn’t offer his hand, so I followed his lead.

“Mallory Andrews.”

He indicated the sofa. “Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?” Before I could respond, Wembley turned to Alex. “Get lost, buddy. We’re going to talk about the Man, and I know how you get.”

Alex shook his head. “I need to do a little work, so you can catch me in my office when you’re done.”

After he left, I asked Wembley from the very deep seat of the sofa, “What exactly is it that he does?”

“He owns Bits, Baubles, and Toadstools.” At my confused look, Wembley said, “The shop out front.”

I rolled my eyes. Alex could have just said.

“He’s also one of the Society’s enforcers.”

I was still shaking my head at Alex’s annoyingly and unnecessarily secretive behavior when “enforcer” penetrated my brain. “I’m sorry—enforcer? I thought he was, like, the Society’s equivalent of a paramedic.”

Wembley’s eyes widened. “Sure. If you believe the man.” He dropped down onto the beanbag chair.

Wembley’s reasoning defied logic.

“Wembley—is that right? Or do you prefer Jefferson?”

“No one’s called me Jefferson since… I’m not actually sure that anyone has ever called me Jefferson. Wembley, please.”

“Right. Wembley. If by the man, you mean the Society, you do realize you’re chilling out in a lounge inside the Society’s headquarters?”

His shaggy eyebrows waggled, and he shifted forward in the beanbag chair. “You think it’s bugged?”

“No. I’m saying, for a guy who is against the man, you seem pretty comfortable in his lounge.”

Wembley chuckled. “L-e-m-a-n-n. Sounds a lot like ‘the man.’ He’s the CSO for the Society and who Alex reports to when he’s wearing his emergency response hat.”

“Emergency response? Oh…” I pulled Anton’s card out of my purse. Handing it to Wembley, I asked, “ER means emergency response?”

Wembley glanced at the front, flipped it to the back, then returned it. “That’s right. The number is answered by on-call staff. There are a handful of knights—enforcers—and the rest are administrative staff.”

“So what do these emergency response people do?” I didn’t get nearly the weird creepy vibe from “emergency response” that I did from “enforcer.”

“Ostensibly? They offer aid to the community when we can’t call the police.” Wembley squinted. “You do know we’re all hush-hush underground, right?”

“Yep. I got that. What do you
think
the ER folks do?”

“Well, with seven knights answering calls, I think it’s about cover-ups and cleanups—what else? Alex isn’t so bad, but knights are a sketchy bunch. All about swords and violence, retribution and order. That kind of thing.”

Something niggled in the back of my brain. “The hangings…”

“Hm. Yes. But you’re talking about lawful execution. I’m talking about what happens to those outside the formal justice system. Before it ever gets to a fair trial. But I could be wrong—you’re here, after all.”

I tried for a poker face—but failed utterly. I could feel my eyes get wide. “Why would I not be here?”

“Oh, back in the old days, the Society would have disappeared you.”

“But now they just ignore me and hope for the best? That hardly sounds like a good plan for the health of the community.” Great—I was talking like Wembley. Like I even knew who made up “the community.”

Wembley steepled his fingers together, a gesture at odds with his slumped posture in the beanbag chair. “I don’t think you were expected to survive. You’re an anomaly. If you don’t mind me asking—how exactly are you feeding yourself? You have an aversion to blood, correct?”

Every time I thought about blood, I had a flashback to the doctor’s office and that noxious smell.

“I’ve never been able to watch when my blood’s been drawn, but I’ve never actually been phobic. Then the doctor shoved a tube of blood in my hand, and I freaked out and dropped it even though it wasn’t mine and it was in a tube.” A shiver crawled across my skin. “Pretty sure that was all about Anton confirming something was up with me.”

He leaned forward. “Quite possibly.”

I shrank back into the depths of the sofa. “Uh…” I pointed as discreetly as I could at his mouth, where a wicked set of fangs had appeared. “Your, uh, you know…”

Quick as a flash, the fangs disappeared. “Ah. I was fasting—good for the spleen and all that—when Alex contacted me about this meeting. I’m somewhat susceptible to the odd suggestion right now. You were saying about the blood?”

There was still a glint in his eye at the mention of blood—but no fangs.

“Well, the odor was terrible. Noxious. I can’t describe it. I was too busy puking to take notes.”

“The smell of blood made you vomit. Blood certainly shouldn’t trigger an aversive reaction in a vampire. So fascinating.” He eyed me like I was a tiny little lab rat.

“That’s all you have to say? No explanations? Advice? Anything?”

Wembley smiled. “You’re here, so you’re obviously eating something. What’s keeping you going?”

This was certainly turning out to be less informative than I’d hoped. Was it too much to ask that my own people know how to keep me alive? And maybe share that information with me?

I sighed. “Vegan nutrition supplement shakes, orange juice, tons of water, and some coffee. Though after about three large French-press pots, I got a little loopy.” Looking around the room, I added, “It might be something you’d enjoy. I saw some weird stuff. But before that last pot—it was heavenly.”

“Hm.” Wembley gave me a curious look. “Not decaf?”

“You’re kidding, right? Why bother?” I tried not to look at him like he was a crazy man—but decaffeinated coffee? Why not just pee in a cup and drink that? At least that wouldn’t taste like some chemically manufactured cocktail.

“Well, most vamps would be trying to fly off the top of a very tall building by the second or third cup. Your reaction is odd, just so you know.”

“Oh.” I tried to remember what exactly I’d experienced. “My painting spoke to me, Great-Auntie Lula appeared—she was the key, because she used to drink Ensure shakes all day. Although Alex seemed pretty sure no real ghosts had been in my place. And there was the car alarm that smelled like burnt bacon, the neighbor’s music that smelled like lilacs, and the freaky feeling of falling when I opened the bathroom door. Generally, very trippy.”

“Interesting. Very, very interesting.”

I raised my hands in the universal gesture that meant: tell me what you know, you secret-hoarding devil.

“Yes, well”—again with the steepling fingers—“every vamp has certain talents that develop during the transformation. Perhaps you have a touch of precognition. Less common than telepathy—which also is quite rare—but they’re believed to be related gifts.”

“Precognition, as in seeing the future? It didn’t seem like that at all. Not like a vision or anything.”

“It’s typically very subtle. An unidentifiable preference for a specific seat in a restaurant that results in a glass of wine not spilling on you—that type of thing. It can be exciting stuff, even if it isn’t always useful.” Wembley waggled his bushy eyebrows again. “And in your case, you might get some decent mileage out of it if you’re getting those kinds of tips. Telepathy is a bit more straightforward, but again, usually only the lowest levels of talent occur—like getting a strong feeling that someone is angry or sad. You’re not getting any of that, though, are you? Just the precog, right?”

“Definitely no hints as to what people are thinking.” My experience with the Jeep came to mind. “I did have this bizarre urge to buy a new car. It makes me ridiculously happy to drive it. Not a clue why. Maybe the precognition you’re talking about?”

“That’s what I mean. You’ll just have to see if it develops into a more usable talent. Are there any other peculiarities that you’ve encountered?”

“No chocolate. Makes me retch.”

Wembley’s face drooped. “I mourn your loss. Vampires have no difficulty with consuming hot chocolate—dark or milk. I find both to be quite satisfying, but again, one must be mindful of the caffeine.”

“What about garlic and crosses and stakes?”

“Myths, but you are as susceptible to injury as before. Increased life span and some faster healing—but stop our heart, remove our head, or break our spinal column and that’s all she wrote.”

“Now this is useful stuff. Anything I absolutely should not do?”

“Let common sense rule. If it hurt your human body, it’s probably bad for the vamp version. Stay away from too much caffeine. Illegal drugs are usually a bad idea—although weed can be fun.” I shook my head, and he smiled. “Right, no weed.”

“And things I absolutely should do?”

“Keep yourself well fed—as best you can. A cranky vamp is no one’s friend.” Wembley shook his head. “A few bad seeds, and we all get a bad rap.”

“Alex implied that vampires weren’t universally all that well liked.”
Implied
seemed softer than the reality of his bald statement.

“Hmph. He can talk.”

I perked up. “Hey, what exactly is Alex?”

“He gave you the thief, assassin, wizard shtick, didn’t he?”

“Yes—what’s all the secrecy about? I’d think what kind of…” Monster? Creature? I bit my tongue before either of those slipped out.

“Person?” Wembley gave me a wide-eyed, innocent look. Then he grinned. “Kidding aside, we’re all people. Enhanced people with unique gifts, but simply people. At least, the Society members are. But as for Alex, he’s most certainly a wizard. Let your freak flag fly, says I.” Wembley flashed his fangs at me.

This time, it didn’t startle me, and I took a closer look. Not like human teeth. The points were much sharper. Interesting.

“How is being a wizard freaky?”

Wembley sheathed his fangs before he spoke. “You’re so adorably, naively cute. Like a little fluffy bunny.”

“Happy is a new gig for me. I’m trying to embrace it—so don’t screw with me.” And then I smiled at him, because I really was embracing my happy these days.

“A little bunny with fangs—even cuter. Wizards have access to arcane, dark power. Many of the other enhanced won’t mix with wizards. Although, truthfully, most of us don’t commingle well. There’s the born versus made divide, with each thinking the other is inferior in some way.”

“Born versus made—so I’m made?”

“You are indeed so lucky—” Wembley winced. “Sorry. I keep forgetting. Accidents are so rare these days. But yes, you are made—with a tiny dash of genetic predisposition. All vamps lack a common immunity to the vampire virus. Witches are made, as well as golems, and—”