Dead Vampires Don't Date (8 page)

11.
My Big Aha Moment Or Oh Shit.

The phone rang. Again. I ignored it. Again. I'd texted Aunt Tabitha when I got up instead of my usual phone call to check in and let her know that I was okay. She needed it confirmed verbally. I wasn't ready for that.

I had completely maxed out my lying quotient for the next decade.

After my meeting with Ivan the night before, I'd added several herbs to my tea this morning and I had my Book of Spells in front of me. I simply needed a bit more time – and a little magic – and I'd be able to handle . . . at least a phone call with my Aunt.

I took another quick gulp of my tea. A cup of coffee in addition wouldn't hurt either.

I'd been going over my Book of Spells for over an hour and I still could not find a
How to Lie Really Well
spell. The best that I'd come up with were some healing and/or a few shielding possibilities.

Hence the added herbs and tea again.

I had this uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach that this would all be a hell of a lot easier if I had not dropped out of the Wiccan Academy at fifteen.

Mom and Aunt Tabitha had told me over and over again that I would regret it. They pointed out that it was just a few more years. Couldn't I survive the taunts and exclusion just a little longer?

My fifteen-year-old mind couldn't conceive of a time when I would ever fit in, much less a time when I would have to survive on my magic.

Oh, to be able to go back and chat with that witch.

Right now I was just thankful that I had kept my textbook all these years.

I ran my finger over the Gemstone Shielding spell once more. It wasn't exactly intended for what I planned to use it for, but then again that's the magic of magic.

And I was desperate.

I'd gone to bed with a horrible thought and it had stayed with me all through the night. No delicious dreams of demons for me. I'd had visions of blood, torture, screams and tiny furry bodies being ripped into pieces.

I'd woken with the same horrible thought.

I
was going to have to find out who killed the Prince.

I didn't like the idea. It sent a case of the serious willies down my spine. I would prefer another option. Any other option. However, I was now officially SUSPECT NUMBER ONE. If I wanted to continue building my business, and more importantly, stay alive, then it was up to me to find the murderer.

Ivan had made it fairly clear last night that I was the only person in his sights. I wanted to be well removed from his field of vision.

Forever.

This evening, after I bolstered myself with spells and charms, I planned to call Morgan. I'd use her inside knowledge of vampires to find out all I could about the Prince.

That was it. The sum and totality of my entire plan to find a killer, stay alive, keep my business and eventually find a match for Barbie.

I know. I know. I could see all the holes in it too, but every good witch detective has to start somewhere. And I preferred to start and end alive.

Tiny claws scratched the floor behind me.

"Mornin' Doll."

I quickly closed my spell book and swiveled to greet him.

"Good morning, Al." I pulled him onto my lap. He licked my lips. I smooched his head. "How did you sleep?"

I checked the clock as I stood and headed towards the front door. Just after eleven. I hoped my restless night hadn't bothered him. It had taken me quite a while last night to get him calmed down as a Chihuahua. I didn't want to start up again with the hit man this morning.

"Good." He yawned.

I left my door open, tightened my grip on his warm body and went down the stairs. I set him down outside then turned away as he headed over to the large willow that straddled my front yard and that of the neighbor to the right.

Neither one of us said a word as he took care of business.

These were the moments we both ignored in our relationship. He might be a tiny Chihuahua, but he had the heart - and frequently the mind - of a large, cold-hearted killer.

The least I could do was look away when he peed and pooped on my front lawn.

A few minutes later, he nudged my ankle. I picked him back up and we went upstairs. He yawned several times. Big Al is not a morning dog.

"Whatcha workin' on?"

I turned from filling his bowl with a splash of coffee, to find him standing on the table, with his head tilted as he checked out my Book of Spells. I didn't know if he could read.

Thank the Spirits I had closed it. I couldn't imagine the mischief he would cause if he decided to try a spell. The Love Spells were located near the Protection Spells and I knew he'd jump all over that in a heartbeat.

The very last thing I needed right now would be to find myself in love with my Chihuahua.

I set his bowl on the table and moved my spell book out of the way. Al took several laps at his black coffee. I eyed his furry little head for a minute.

"I'll be right back." I took the book and headed into my office. On the third row from the bottom of my bookshelf I had a large false book cover, "Ancient Hieroglyphics." I set my book of magic inside.

Al was just finishing his coffee when I walked back in. I never gave him much. He weighs five pounds. But I can't start my mornings without at least one shot of caffeine either.

His eyes were much more alert and I was glad that I'd removed the book before he woke up fully. It was bad enough that he now knew I had it.

"You workin' on a new spell or somethin'?" He glanced down the hall from where I'd just come. He might be a very small dog, however the speculative glint in his eyes was quite alarming.

I made a mental note to make a scentless spell in the front room before I left. Perhaps even move the book up a few shelves, although I didn't think he could actually reach the third one.

"Or something," I agreed. I sat down in the chair so we were closer to eye level. "I'm in a bit of a bind."

His lip curled and a low growl rumbled up through his chest. "Tell me who it is and I'll take care of it."

There was no way I planned to tell him the whole truth. Al has no fear and Ivan no pity. Still I had to give him a heads up.

"Actually it involves the Vampire Prince."

Al sat back on his haunches. "I thought he was dead? How is he botherin' ya?"

"He's not." I tried to figure out the best way to explain. "However, I am the last person to have seen him alive. And he was a Prince." Al's ears twitched. "Someone came looking for answers last night."

The deep growl came back.

"It's fine." I said in a rush. My supplemental herbs were working already. "No one tried to hurt me." Yet. "But I don't think he is looking at anyone else for the reason behind the missing prince. So I'm going to do a little detective work."

Al's little mouth dropped open. He snapped his jaw shut and just eyed me for a minute. "You gonna find out who killed the Prince, Doll?"

Even my Chihuahua was skeptical of my plan.

I snatched up his empty bowl and stalked over to rinse it out in the sink. "Yes, I am." I turned and glared at him, arms braced behind me.

He cocked his head. Our stare down lasted maybe two minutes. "Okay." He raised his little shoulder. "I can shadow you. Make sure ya don't get hurt while you ask your questions."

If he stayed somewhere in the background, he would be out of the line of fire. I was okay with that.

"You got your stakes on ya?" I turned so he could see the knife harness and the three stakes I had strapped to my back.

“Good."

I waited for a follow up to his grunt, but he jumped down onto the chair then to the floor and wandered over to his food dish. I microwaved a leftover meatball, cut it up and he settled down to eat breakfast.

Hmmm. Maybe it was time to call my Aunt.

The phone rang on cue.

"Hi, Aunt Tabitha."

12. The Thing About Suspects . . .

I struggled to zip up the tight leather bustier. Leather is obviously made to be worn by size zeros. I was at least ten sizes too big for it.

I know, I know. I've mentioned on "some days". What I really should have said was on a really good day.

This was not a good day.

I yanked at the zipper, cursing Morgan under my breath the whole time. Oh, what the hell.

"Shit!"

"Doll? You okay?"

My fingers cramped. I let go of the torture device and smoothed my hand down the matching red leather pants, easing out the tension. I'd managed to stuff my ass into one half of the stupid outfit. You'd think I'd be able to handle the upper portion.

I honestly didn't think I'd be able to breathe, much less question suspects, if I zipped the bustier all the way up.

"Doll?"

"I'm fine Al." My voice came out higher pitched than normal and slightly breathy. "I'll be out in a minute." I waited until the patter of his tiny claws disappeared.

"Shit." I whispered it this time.

Taking shallow breaths, I turned towards my mirror. If this was as bad as it felt . . . I'd have to give some serious reconsideration to my plan.

My jaw dropped.

No wonder Morgan wore leather all the time. It looked freaking amazing. Even on my much bigger body.

The shiny, supple material smoothed out all of my bumps and held them together in a way that added a lush voluptuousness to my curves. The bustier shoved my breasts front and center, while the dark red color contrasted oh-so-nicely with my pale skin.

I cackled softly. If the suspects we were going to question tonight were men – human or otherwise – I'd have all the answers I needed.

Now, all I had to do was maneuver the zipper up another two inches, take small sips of air and avoid chairs. I might look amazing right now, but that image would suffer if I ripped a seam while maneuvering onto a seat.

I flexed my fingers a couple more times, propped my left hand under my right elbow for added help and grabbed the small metal tab. Tugging with both arms, the zipper slid slowly upwards. The leather squeaked in protest. I stopped.

I peered cautiously over my shoulder in the mirror.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

A small two-inch vee – give or take an inch – outlined the middle of my back. To the casual observer it probably looked deliberate. A sexy flaunt.

I shifted from side to side, leaned forward and back. The sexy flaunt held. Whoopee.

I grabbed the matching belt and buckled it around my waist. Thank the Spirits we were going to an S&M biker's bar. No one there would question the accessories dangling from my hips - a matching bullwhip, three small silver knives, two wooden stakes and a small pouch that held my ID, credit card and lipstick.

Luckily I'd put on the three-inch lace-up boots before I'd done up the pants.

I twisted a small section of my curls into a loose knot near my temple and slid another miniature stake, topped with a blood red flower, into the mass to hold it.

Perfect.

Leather, sex, and a backup piece. What more could a girl ask for?

****

I'd kill for a stool. After the near fiasco of getting in and out of my Mini Cooper, I
knew
I wouldn't be able to sit without major adjustments. And a possible ticket for indecent exposure. A bar stool with long legs and an easily accessible seat cushion with no bending involved, I could manage.

Unfortunately, all the stools were up at the bar and we were in a dark corner in the back, about as far away from relief for my aching feet as we could get.

Morgan swore this was where we needed to be. I swore right back.

"Damn it, are you sure that's the guy? They all look the same."

Morgan smirked. "I thought I was supposed to be the one saying "all mortals looks alike"?"

"It's dark, smoky and about the only difference I can see are the sizes of the outfits." I was getting an entirely different view of my UDBF.

I don't know when or how often she came here, but Morgan obviously knew the bar quite well. Another guy wearing a spiked dog collar paused in front of us.

"May I serve you, Mistress?" He didn't look her in the eye, nor did he crack a hint of a smile.

"Not tonight Tommy."

His shoulders slumped. He pressed his wrists together in between the cutouts in his leather vest. Both of his nipples were pierced with rather sturdy looking hoops.

I did not want to know how those were used.

"Are you certain, Mistress?"

"No, Tommy." Morgan's answer cracked over his body like a physical whip. He actually shuddered.

I turned to glare at her. Morgan could be cold, but I'd never seen her be so rude. She winked at me.

Poor Tommy. I wondered if I should take him somewhere and apologize. Morgan's fierce rejection had stopped him in his

tracks. He trembled a foot away, unable to move. I felt horrible. Morgan obviously knew him and how sensitive he was.

  Why would she be so casually cruel?

I couldn't see him as a stalker or a nuisance. He didn't appear to have any backbone at all. He was tall and extremely well built - shockingly so for his demeanor. With his physical appearance I would have assumed he would have a major ego. Maybe his leathers had built in muscles like batman's outfit? Or maybe he wore high heeled boots and . . . I jerked my head back up so quickly my jaw snapped together.

Tommy had a major boner.

Morgan snickered.

Tommy shifted his large frame in my direction. "May I serve
you,
Mistress?"

"Uh . . ." I'd never felt so out of my league with the mortals.

"Leave us." Morgan leaned forward to growl in his face. Tommy moaned. I blushed.

I needed to get out more. There were obviously some extremely weird – and highly kinky – places that I knew nothing about.

"You can stop blushing. He's gone."

"You and Tommy . . ." I trailed off, uncertain how to finish my question.

Morgan grinned. "Me and Tommy."

I honestly couldn't decide if I was shocked or envious. Like I've said, I don't have a problem with kinky sex, I just don't have that much experience with it.

I watched Tommy walk away. I really should get out more. It looked like there might be more than one answer to my cursed love life. This bar might be a couple of towns over, but it was still within driving range. A little over an hour's drive and I could have a tasty little Sub worshipping my . . . uh, feet. Or fifteen minutes by broom.

"The Prince liked Tommy, but he won't have any answers for us." Morgan pointed a red-tipped nail to a spot about twenty feet away. "That's the guy we want."

"I thought the Prince was straight." I stumbled in my heels. Morgan caught my arm.

"That line blurs after a few centuries." She tugged me along towards a big guy with his arms around two different women. "Or decades."

"Oh." It made sense I guess. After a hundred years one could get tired, or bored, of the same old, same old.

The demon flashed through my mind. I had an itchy feeling that several hundred years could pass and I would still be addicted.

"Petey." Morgan raised her voice to be heard over the crowd and music.

The Whipping Post
had a lot in common with
Got Fangs?
. Both bars catered towards an exclusive clientele. Both were decorated in dark colors - although that appeared to be more for helping to hide some of the things taking place in
The Whipping Post
than for a dramatic flair.

A slap rang out in the shadows barely ten feet away.

And both bars liked loud music.

I desperately ignored the slapping and moaning and focused intently on the okay rendition of "Ring of Fire". No one could compare to Mr. Cash, but these guys were all right.

Petey lifted one hand from the brunette's large breast and waved.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Mistress Morgan." He clutched the large breast again and gave it a squeeze. The brunette groaned. "Who's your friend?"

Petey's black eyes looked me up and down, taking my measure. I thrust my shoulders back. I wore red leather and was a serious Witch Detective - and current poser of a dominatrix. Don't fuck with me.

Apparently it worked. Petey gave me a slow nod.

"This is Mistress Kate." Morgan squeezed my shoulder. I nodded in my best regal-bitch-in-leather manner.

"We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions, Petey." Morgan nodded at Petey's arm adornments. "About Xavier."

Petey straightened. He let go of the women, gave them a gentle push towards the bar with a whispered order and turned his full attention back to us.

"Xavier, huh?" Petey directed his question towards Morgan. "That's a pretty damn big nest, Mistress Morgan."

I cleared my throat. Petey locked eyeballs with me. I didn't like it, then again I hadn't liked much of my life the past few days either.

"Actually, I'm the one with the questions." I dug deep into my acting background. Somewhere, someone must have acted the part because Petey didn't bat an eye.

Dominatrix Mistress Kate at your service.

"I'm thinking of adding Xavier to my," I paused, "Entourage." Morgan wiggled beside me, but didn't say anything. "I do thorough background checks on all my . . ." I stalled. My brain went blank.

"Pets," Morgan supplied.

Who knew my best undead friend would turn out to be such a help with dominatrix issues?

I smiled, fingering the handle of my bullwhip. "Can you help me?" I leaned forward slightly as if in anticipation of Petey's response, my breasts bounced gently and Petey's eyes zeroed in.

I may have to consider wearing leather for all my important interviews.

Another slap and moan rang out in the dark. I controlled the urge to flinch. Petey's eyes remained locked on my upper torso. I sincerely hoped he was considering my question and not simply indulging in idle fantasies.

"Mistress Kate is very discreet," Morgan stated. "I will vouch for her."

At that, Petey raised his gaze. "Let's sit at my table. We can talk there." He motioned us forward to a large unoccupied table. As crowded as
The Whipping Post
was, I figured this really was his table. Trust Morgan to know the best and most powerful Dom in the S&M bar.

We sat - Morgan and Petey plunked down, while I wiggled and squirmed and prayed and generally held my breath. It worked.

Petey flicked a finger at a waitress. She wore a pale, pink, sheer baby doll top over a pair of jeweled pasties that barely covered her nipples. Considering how large the jewels were, I was surprised the tape actually held.

"How may I serve you?"

Petey ordered a Rum and Coke, I requested a beer, and Morgan asked for a Gin and Tonic. Morgan ordering a drink shocked me more than the waitress' outfit.

We'd never gone to a fully human bar together.
Got Fangs?
suited us as a perfect hang out, as well as allowing Morgan to simply be Morgan.

Every once in a while, it strikes me that I'm not the only one who has a hard time fitting in.

We listened as the band start up "A Boy Named Sue" while we waited for our drinks. I scoped out the scene a bit more. To say that I was completely out of my element would be a massive understatement. I had no concept of the, ah – culture -
here at all.

After my explanation and the brief recap of Ivan's visit, Morgan had agreed with me. It's one thing to be advised that you are the
only one
on a suspicious suspects lists and quite another to have your best friend confirm it. That raised my "Oh Shit" factor several notches.

Morgan doesn't believe in wasting any time either, hence the leather outfit and our current location. Prince Xavier of the United States Vampires had been a regular member of
The Whipping Post
for the past several months.

The waitress returned with our drinks. She leaned forward to set them on the table and I held my breath. No way could those pasties actually stay on . . . unless they were screwed on.

OMG.

Ouch. I flinched on her behalf. She noticed and gave me a small wink before sauntering off to another table. I'm a cursed witch who has one foot in two different communities. Who am I to judge?

"What would you like to know about Xavier?" Petey watched me over the rim of his drink.

"As much as you are willing to tell me."

Petey frowned. "If it was me, I wouldn't bother with Xavier." He flicked his hand towards the large crowd. "There are plenty of better Subs."

I nodded, sage and tough Dom that I pretended to be. "I'm still interested in Xavier."