Alien Interludes (39 page)

Then there was Patricia. Imagine a young Katherine Hepburn, circa 1930, with sleek shoulder-length black hair, cool and elegant in a silk button-down blouse and pleated slacks, the creases precisely where they should be. That’s Patricia.

Oh yeah, add her lily-white skin and almost black eyes which went red-rimmed when she removed her glamour. Along with the fangs that appeared when she wanted you to be afraid. She’s a vampire.

I was delighted to see them. “Hey, girls. I didn’t know y’al were coming on the tour.”

Only Lana could hear me, of course. “Brandilynn says hi,” she told the other two. She turned back to me, looking slightly to the right of where I stood. “Actualy, we just tagged along with the group because we needed to speak to you. Very nice job, by the way.”

Patricia nodded, her smile doing little to soften the predatory cast of her expression. Vampires always look like they’re on the hunt for something to suck the blood out of. If you can look at one without a shiver going down your spine, you’re a better woman than me.

Her voice was as chiling as a February midnight. “The dress is wonderful. Becky didn’t have anything with that many ruffles, but she would have loved it if she had.” Back when Patricia had been alive-alive and not undead-alive, she’d worked for the Sandersons as Rebecca’s secretary. She’d spent many winters in this cottage and loved it as one might a childhood home. Until this past spring, she’d used the grounds as her body’s daytime resting place. A skirmish with other paranormals had necessitated her to hide her coffin elsewhere.

I like Patricia a lot during the daytime when she’s a ghost like me. She’s loyal to a fault and a great friend to have. As a vampire … wel, I’m not a huge fan of vampires. Even now that I’m dead and don’t have to worry about them sucking me dry, they stil give me the wilies. I have to give Taylor al the credit in the world for her courage in having Patricia as a significant other.

Getting a compliment from Patricia-as-a-vampire was a gold star day. I burbled happily from the unexpected praise. “I probably should have stuck with historicaly accurate, but I can never leave wel enough alone.”

Lana smiled, her hot-pink lipstick clashing horribly with her orange blouse. One of these days I’m going to make her go shopping with me after I wrest ful veto power over her wardrobe and makeup choices. “You looked stunning, sweetie. We’re sorry to interrupt your fun, but Tristan would like you to go to the King George immediately.” My heart jumped with equal parts delight and nervousness. Tristan is Patricia’s older brother, my sweetie, and the head honcho of Fulton Fals’ vampire clutch. To say my feelings for him are complicated would be putting it lightly.

That he wanted my presence at night when he can’t see me told me something was not going wel. “What’s up?” Then I had a bad thought. “Is Dan okay?” Lana’s joly expression never faltered, always a good sign. “Everything is fine. Tristan just needs you to run an important errand for him.” Taylor frowned slightly. She always seemed so serious. “I’d hardly cal it an errand.”

Patricia touched her shoulder gently. Her fangs glimmered into view against her lower lip for an instant, a sure sign she was either thinking blood or sex. Probably both. Yikes. Her tone held a warning.

“We’l let him bring Brandilynn up to speed. It wil save time. Wil you join him right away, Brandilynn?”

“Sure. I showed up as Rebecca three times here this evening already. That should boost the haunted tour’s value.” Lana nodded to the other two women. “She said she would. Brandilynn, Isabela is waiting for you with Tristan.” I sighed. I realy hated being channeled by the living, but it was the only way to communicate with them without having Lana around to interpret for me. “Okay. I’l see you al later.” Time to materialize at Para Central, where Tristan conducted business when he wasn’t downtown at the county commission offices. The refined surroundings of Rebecca Sanderson’s sitting room smeared into a haze of lantern-lit colors for an instant before a paintbucket wash of gold and burgundy replaced it.

I appeared on the raised bandstand of the old King George Hotel’s balroom. Wel, I would have appeared if there’d been any other ghosts to see me. But no, it was al the living and the undead here in Para Central.

In its heyday, the King George Hotel had been the crown jewel of Fulton Fals, Georgia, which lies opposite the intracoastal from Goose Creek Island. The Big Fire of ’36 had destroyed the hotel, along with most of downtown. The current Fulton Fals was built on top of the old, leaving ruined structures crumbling in decay beneath the world of the living.

Some of the more wel-loved structures have their own afterlife, showing up to the dead in al their pre-fire glory. The old First Baptist Church, the original Fulton Fals Library, and the King George Hotel are such buildings.

Ford County Commissioner Tristan Keith, alive back when the King George originaly stood, has set about restoring the stil intact, though badly damaged, ground floor of the grand old hotel. He works out of here during the night, along with a staff of vampires, shapeshifters, gargoyles and a few supernaturaly gifted humans like Lana and Taylor. Most people don’t know about this place. Before I died, I had no idea there was a town beneath the town. Now it’s home to me and so many of the dead.

I looked around the old balroom, which was now more office space than a party place. Tristan and Patricia’s executive desks sat up on the bandstand. Large chandeliers hung overhead. The parquet wood floor gleamed. Burgundy walpaper with gold designs dressed the wals. It was a fancy business center for the three rows of utilitarian desks that marched across the room, manned by Tristan’s staff.

Paras of every type punched commands onto computer keyboards, answered ringing phones, and traded gossip over cups of coffee. Behind me, a giant dry erase board hung on the wal, every spare inch covered with scribbled notations of zoning issues, budget juggling to provide the local police with badly needed new patrol cars, and the bitter fight between the county and the city about the new jail’s location.

The city wanted it near the courthouses for security’s sake, which made sense, but that would put it right on the scenic waterfront near the parks and tourist-friendly downtown, a huge no-no for most of Fulton Fals’ residents and the county commission.

The balroom, or Para Central as I cal it, smeled of warm fur and dry reptilian scales. Underneath that was the hint of smoke from the long-ago fire, which was now familiar enough to me to be comforting.

Al that made little impact on me right now, because the first nice thing I saw was Gerald leaning against Patricia’s desk. He was her bodyguard and a very rare werepanther. Body-builder thick with muscle, this man-beast was absolutely gorgeous. An open denim vest displayed his dark mocha chest covered with subtle black markings to advantage. The fangs that indented his wel-formed lower lip were gleaming white. Black-furred triangular ears parted the tight cornrows of braids that hung down his very broad back. Green-gold eyes glowed in the darkness of his handsome face. Gerald was a feast of eye candy, and I was gorging.

It was odd to see him not hovering over Patricia. I couldn’t imagine anyone getting the best of her, but being the sister of Fulton Fal’s head vampire certainly put her at risk. She must have put her foot down hard for a girls’ night out tonight. Gerald looked bored and a bit morose as he perched on the edge of her desk, more like a puppy waiting for her return than a deadly werepanther. I suspected he was sweet on his mistress, a crying shame since she preferred to bat for the home team.

My ruminations over this hot hunk of heaven ended at the sight of Augustus heading towards me. My heart leapt at his approach. He and witches are the only living creatures I know of who can see me.

His voice was the sole unattractive thing about him. A squawking shriek, he’l never be a contestant on American Idol. But his words were poetic once you figured out what he was saying. Beaks don’t form words nearly as good as lips.

What I heard him say was, “Belubbed sabing grabes, bishun ub dordured byoodee.” What he actualy uttered in that shril voice to greet me was “Beloved saving grace, vision of tortured beauty.” I wrapped my arms around his neck in a heartfelt embrace as I tried to interpret his words. As usual, I wasn’t quite sure how much was compliment and how much was prophecy. Augustus is an oracle and usualy talks in riddles. I debated how to take his characterization of me as a ‘tortured beauty’. Griffins, half-lion and half-eagle, are hard to understand even when you get past their inability to pronounce letters like V and F.

A majestic creature, standing on al fours he stil comes up to my chin. I spoke into the softness of the feathers that covered his eagle’s head. “Hi, Augustus. Having a good night?” His rigid beak alowed no smile, but I sensed contentment from him just the same. “The cool air was swift against face and wing. I am invigorated by the briskness of harvest time.”

“You’ve been flying. I wish I could fly too. You make it sound so wonderful.”

A cold, elegant voice flowed over my ears, bringing a thril of fear along with desire. “I take it you’re talking to Brandilynn and not yourself, old friend?” I straightened and looked at my boyfriend. Wel, the vampire aspect of my boyfriend. I love Tristan Keith with al my heart during the day when his body is dead and he’s a plain old ghost. But when he’s a vampire, al sharp with hunger, I’m a little freaked out.

Okay, I’m a lot freaked out. Vampires are scary.

He’s gorgeous whether man or vamp. Tristan has hair as black as night, cut short in an elegant 1920’s ‘do. Already handsome, the predatory aspect of his fanged self lends dangerous charm to his wel-formed features. If GQ ever wanted to put a vampire on their cover, Tristan should be at the top of the list. He dresses wel in custom-made suits that flatter his lean muscled frame. Tristan has never had to drink pouched or bottled blood. The groupies line up for him.

A smal, wel-padded Hispanic woman stood behind him. She looks like the best mom in the neighborhood, the one whose house al the kids gather at for milk and cookies. I thought she might be somewhere in her forties, but she’s got one of those ageless faces where it’s hard to tel. She might have been anywhere from 35 to 60. She radiates kindness.

She sat down in a leather chair in front of his desk. “I wil prepare myself.”

This was Isabela, my channel. I sighed. I like Isabela, but I don’t like using her body. It’s weird and uncomfortable. When I’m inside her, I see both the real world and the spirit world, which can play heck on my equilibrium. Fortunately, Para Central is the same in both realms. As long as we didn’t go for a walk anywhere, I wouldn’t be too off-kilter.

I watched her close her eyes. It didn’t take long for her body to relax completely and the light lines in her face to smooth out. She’s a pro at this. I went to her and sat down on top, as if to give her my Christmas list. Instead of landing on Isabela’s lap, I ended up inside her. The heaviness of a corporeal body settled over me like a suffocating blanket. I felt a twinge of her in the back of our shared mind, but she was very quiet. When Isabela is channeling, she’s unaware of what’s going on. Lucky her.

I opened her eyes and looked up at the black-eyed vampire looming over me. “I’m here.”

He smiled, a little human warmth creeping into his pale face. “How is your haunting of Sanderson Cottage going?” It was at his request that I’d been giving Haloween thrils to tourists at his former employer’s home. My payment for being al spooky was staving off boredom. Being dead gives you a lot of time on your hands.

I told him, “It’s fun. Patricia liked my dress. What’s up?”

“I need you to replace Dan for a little while spying on the Beasts.”

Oh, this definitely sounded interesting. One of Tristan’s campaign promises at the last election was to clean up Fulton Fals’ crime problems, and the Beasts Motorcycle Club was at the top of his list.

Composed of violent were-critters, the Beasts were suspected of everything from blackmail to murder. As organized as any crime syndicate, the Beasts had chapters al over North America, Asia, and Europe.

Even little ol’ Fulton Fals has a group of about three dozen getting up to heaven knows what.

My other boyfriend, Dan Saling, had been spying on the Beasts for weeks now on Tristan’s behalf. Dan is like me, a ful time ghost. As to why I have two boyfriends … wel, that’s a Brandilynn-inspired mess. Neither man is thriled about sharing me, but they’re putting up with it. For now.

First things first. Playing spy sounded fun, especialy since weres can’t see ghosts. No real danger there. “Sure. What am I doing?”

“Just keep your ears and eyes out for anything unsavory.”

“By unsavory, you mean ilegal?”

Tristan’s eyes narrowed. His fists clenched and opened, clenched and opened. Good heavens, what had his dander up tonight? “The leader of the Beasts is very careful, even among his own people. Only his closest lieutenants know anything about what his exact undertakings involve. The majority of the group is mainly concerned with colecting protection money, beating up others, murder, the smaler time stuff.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “Murder is smal time?”

He scowled. “For this group, I’m afraid so. Gerald, wil you fil Brandilynn in?”

I stared at Tristan. He was on edge tonight, his usualy cultured voice snapping words like whips.

Before I could cal him on it, tal, dark and purrfect (hey, I never claimed to be funny) stepped forward. As if the werepanther wasn’t sexy enough, Gerald’s deep roling voice sealed the deal. Cool and smooth, it was the kind of voice you’d want to rub al over your naked body.

He smiled, his catman face wearing it wel. I realized I rarely saw this hired muscle smile. “Hi Brandilynn.”

“Hi Gerald. You doing okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.” His ears twitched this way and that, forever patroling for trouble. His nose, hinting at the triangular shape of the big cat he turned into on occasion, flared as he tested the air, as if he tried to scent me on Isabela’s body. “Here’s the lowdown on the Beasts. They’re organized crime, pure and simple. Human trafficking, drug and arms smuggling, contracted kilings … you name it, they do it. They swear loyalty to their organization above al else. Once a part of the Beasts, no one leaves, not alive anyway.” I couldn’t help myself, not even in Isabela’s body. I batted my eyes a little and made her voice high, light, and happy. Flirt should have been my middle name. “What a lovely sounding bunch.” He went down on one knee in front of me, like he was going to propose. Of course he was only being polite; he knows ful wel it’s hard for a spirit to move around in a channel’s body. That’s why I stayed sitting, and he was doing me the kindness of sinking his six feet plus frame down to where I wasn’t breaking Isabela’s neck to look him in the face. But boy, it made my heart go pitty-pat to have such a handsome man at my feet.