The Care and Feeding of Stray Vampires (40 page)

I blushed a little and regretted the bitch-brow. I’d forgotten how muddled my manner of speaking was compared to
my new neighbors’ Southern twang. My accent was vaguely Boston, vaguely Irish. Nana Fee had tried to correct my lack of
R
’s in general and attempted to teach me Gaelic, but the most I picked up were some of the more interesting expressions my aunts and uncles used. Mostly the dirty ones. So I spoke in a bizarre mishmash of dialects and colloquialisms, which led to awkward conversations over what to call chips, elevators, and bathrooms.

“Oh, right,” I said, laughing lightly. “Boston-born and raised.”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

Jed looked at me expectantly. I looked down to make sure I hadn’t forgotten some important article of clothing. “If you don’t give me your name, I’m just going to make one up,” he said, leaning against the counter. “And fair warning, you look like a Judith.”

“I do not!” I exclaimed.

“Half-dressed girls who climb me like a tree are usually named Judith,” he told me solemnly.

“This happens to you often?” I deadpanned.

He shrugged. “You’d be surprised.”

“It’s Nola,” I told him. “Nola Leary.”

“Jed Trudeau,” he said, shaking my outstretched hand. “If you don’t mind me sayin’, you look beat. Must’ve been a long flight.”

“It was,” I said, nodding. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just go back to bed.”

There was a spark of mischief in his eyes, but I think he picked up on the fact that I was in no mood for saucy talk. His full lips twitched, but he clamped them together. He held up one large, work-roughened hand. “Hold on.”

He disappeared out the back door and I could hear his boot steps on the other side of my kitchen wall. He returned a few moments later, having donned a light cotton work shirt, still
unbuttoned. He placed a large, cold, foil-wrapped package in my hands. “Chicken-and-rice casserole. One of the ladies down at the Baptist church made it for me. Well, several of the church ladies made casseroles for me, so I have more than I can eat. Just pop a plateful in the microwave for three minutes.”

I stared at the dish for a long while before he took it out of my hands and placed it in my icebox. “Do local church ladies often cater your meals?”

“I don’t go to Sunday services, so they’re very concerned about my soul. And I can’t cook to save my life. They’re afraid I’m just wasting away to nothing,” he said, shaking his head in shame, but there was that glint of trouble in his eyes again. He gave me a long, speculative look. “Well, I’ll let you get back to sleep. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks,” I said as he moved toward the door. I locked it behind him, turning and sagging against the dusty curtains covering the window in the door. “If there are any greater powers up there—stop laughing.”

I massaged my temples and set about making my tea. Jed seemed nice, if unfortunately named. And it was very kind of him to give a complete stranger a meal when he knew she had nothing but angry forest creatures in her cupboards. But I couldn’t afford this sort of distraction. I’d come to the Hollow for a purpose, not for friendships and flirtations with smoldering, half-dressed neighbors.

Just as I managed to locate a chipped mug in the spice drawer, a loud, angry screech sounded from somewhere left of my stove. I turned and fumbled with the locked kitchen door, yelling, “Jed!”

We hope you enjoyed reading this Pocket Books eBook.

Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Pocket Books and Simon & Schuster.

or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com