Bled & Breakfast (6 page)

Despite being both perplexed and annoyed at his vanishing act, a sliver of worry worked its way under my skin. He’d better not be doing anything dangerous right now that might attract the attentions of murderous alpha witches.

Luckily, it wasn’t too far a walk from the inn. It was just after ten o’clock, and there were plenty of people at the club. Mulligan’s was a large English pub–style bar with dartboards, lots of beer, and karaoke after dark. As I entered the establishment, the lilting sounds of those who were completely tone deaf met my ears.

I’d been encouraged to sing karaoke once at an office party when I was a personal assistant a few years ago. I’d had one too many tequila sunrises, and . . . let’s just say, Christina Aguilera had no reason to feel threatened.

The lesson I learned that night: If you’re going to take an embarrassing risk, try to ensure there are no video cameras present. It was the last time I allowed my inner diva free. I’d kept her locked in the basement ever since.

The bar was elbow to elbow with both locals and tourists. I scanned the many faces, searching for a sign of Thierry, but didn’t spot him. My level of worry rose a few notches.

I pulled my cell phone out and texted him again.

WHERE ARE YOU???

When there was no immediate response, I shoved it back in my purse. Since I was here, I might as well have a drink and try to relax. The bartender came over when I finally made it to the bar.

“What’ll it be?” he asked.

“Margarita, please,” I said, after noticing that it was the special of the evening. If I couldn’t get palm trees and a beach for my honeymoon, at least I’d get a vacation-worthy cocktail.

He disappeared and returned a minute later with my order. I paid him and sipped on the fruity drink.

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice said to my left.

I froze. I recognized that voice. It belonged to a witch.

Slowly, I turned to see Miranda Collins standing there, giving me a dirty look.

Definitely a witch. Definitely with an ax to grind about Owen. Miranda was a woman with anger issues.

And definitely a suspect, although I doubted she’d be so blatant with her hatred just before she made him go splat.

But I could be wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time.

I forced a smile on my face, one that didn’t show off my fangs. At first glance, most people would immediately assume bad dental work, not vampirism, but why risk it?

I needed answers. And Miranda Collins was going to give them to me.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I’m Sarah Dearly. It’s nice to meet you . . . Miranda, right?”

“You’re best friends with Heather.” She said it like it was an accusation.

“I just said that so you’d stop picking on her.” My smile held, hopefully making me seem friendly and disarming. I tried not to think about the fact that this woman might have the ability to kill me with a death spell at any moment. “I only met her yesterday.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re honest.”

“To a fault, really. My husband says I’m a lousy liar, so I suppose I don’t have much choice in the matter.” My thoughts went immediately to Thierry. My phone hadn’t sounded to alert me that he’d sent a text reply to let me know his whereabouts. Worry churned in my gut.

The VIP vampires had gone missing without a trace. Just vanished. Poof.

Thierry, where are you?

“Your husband . . . ,” she began. “The tall, dark-haired, gorgeous man you were with at Heather’s?”

“The very one.”

Her glossy red lips thinned. “I didn’t realize he was married.”

“I’ll forgive you for flirting this time. I don’t get violent until the second offense.” I followed it up with a smile so she’d know I was just joking around. Mostly.

She looked down at my ring finger to see my three-carat diamond and gave me a tentative smile. “You’re a lucky woman.”

“I like to think so.”

Then she burst into tears.

Okay, didn’t expect that. I grimaced. “What? Was it something I said?”

“No, no.” She waved a hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to seem so weak, but sometimes it’s hard to hold it together.”

I patted her awkwardly on her shoulder while I downed the rest of my margarita in one icy gulp. “Anything I can do to help?”

She slowly gathered herself, wiping her face with the sleeve of her yellow blouse, succeeding in smearing her mascara. “You must think I’m a horrible person, after . . . after that scene in front of Heather’s.”

“I reserve total judgment until I’ve gotten to know all the parties. I mean, I know you had something with Owen.”

She rolled her eyes. “That waste of space. You know, he’d be smart to leave Salem altogether with the number of women I know want to tear a strip off his hide.”

My ears perked up. “Really. Like who?”

“Name her. Everybody’s got a grievance against that jerk.”

“And you?” I watched her carefully for her reaction. “You actually don’t seem too upset by his reputation.”

“Oh, please. It stung, of course, but that loser’s meaningless to me now. Besides, I’m used to disappointment from men. Ever since high school and . . .” Her jaw clenched and she signaled to the bartender for a drink. “And that bitch, Heather McKinley.”

I’d known Heather for a little over a day, and “bitch” was not a word I’d use to describe her. At all. “What did she do?”

She grabbed hold of the edge of the wooden bar so tightly I thought she might get a splinter. “Let’s just say she’s not as sweet and innocent as she might want you to believe. Maybe you should ask her sometime about Jacob Black.”

I blinked. “The werewolf from
Twilight
?”

She snorted. “No. He was my boyfriend in senior year. Heather and him ran off on prom night, leaving me there looking like a fool.”

Well, well, well. So if Miranda’s trot down memory lane was true, the innocent, toad-loving innkeeper wasn’t nearly as innocent as she might have me believe. At least, according to Miranda Collins, rival witch. Very interesting. Not necessarily relevant to the topic at hand, but interesting.

“People make bad choices when they’re teenagers,” I said with a shrug. “Believe me, I’m no exception.”

“Let me guess . . .” She swept a glance over my short shirt, bare legs, and high heels. “Cheerleader, right?”

My shoulders sank. Most people, especially those who’d hated their high school years, had preconceived notions of ex-cheerleaders. I didn’t exactly fit the typical mold of endlessly popular bubblehead. Well, not the endlessly popular part, anyway. “Don’t judge. It was a small school. Somebody had to deal with the pom-pom situation. If it helps, I was a really sarcastic cheerleader. My cheers were only half-cheerful.”

“Good to know.” The bartender brought her a drink, placing it in front of her on a coaster. Since he knew what she wanted merely from a wave in the air, I assumed she was a regular here.

A glance and a sniff told me her regular drink was a double scotch on the rocks.

She downed it, then signaled for another, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Owen Harper is meaningless to me. I hope that guy dies a slow, painful death.”

If she was the murderer, she certainly wasn’t trying to appear very innocent.

“Did you know his secret?” I asked tentatively.

“Owen had a lot of secrets.” She jabbed a drunken finger at me. “You want to know his biggest one?”

“Um . . . I might already know it.”

She swiveled her glass, watching the ice cubes spin around. “He read
Cosmopolitan
magazine every single month, cover to cover. He even had a subscription. He thought reading up on what women want would help him score all the better.”

Seemed like it helped him, if you asked me. He wasn’t my type, but there was no argument that he’d been a popular guy around town. “So he subscribed to a women’s magazine. Okay. And you think that was his biggest secret?”

“Sure.” She gave me a sharp look. “Why, what do you know about him?”

“Oh, nothing important, I guess.”

“Unless you mean the vampire thing,” she said, flicking her hand. “Like,
whatever
.”

I glanced at my bare wrist. “Oh, would you look at the time. My husband should be here any minute.”

I hoped he would be. Otherwise, I needed to keep looking for him. I couldn’t stay here any longer. I wasn’t finding out anything useful—other than Miranda’s drunken apathy about Owen’s vampirism.

“I should go. I came here to try to meet somebody new, but I’m not into it. I mean, I know I look good. Never looked so good in my life. I could get anybody I want.” She downed her second drink even quicker than she had the first.

I had to admit, it wasn’t just drunken bragging. She had a flawless complexion and perfect blond hair. She could pick somebody up—if that was what she wanted. “Well, it was nice talking to you.”

She pointed at me, her eyes half-closed. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve been cursed, you know? Like I do everything right, I get what I want, and it’s still the same crap.”

Cursed. That was something a witch could do. That is, if Miranda wasn’t being euphemistic. “You don’t think somebody really cursed you, do you?”

She scoffed. “The only one who would try would be Heather. And that try-hard witch doesn’t have enough magic in her to . . . to . . . well, she just doesn’t. That’s all. It’s kind of pathetic, since I know her mother had serious skills.”

So Heather might have the inclination but not the skills to work some dark magic. Then again, I’d had some high school rivals I would have been happy to turn into warthogs if given the option. “Is that why she isn’t allowed to join your coven?”

Miranda’s open expression shuttered, as if she’d just realized she’d been openly talking about magic with a stranger. The look was enough to chill me. “Did Heather tell you I was in a coven?”

I shifted uncomfortably on my bar stool. “No. I don’t remember who mentioned it.”

I could lie when I had to. Not everybody was an expert lie detector like Thierry.

Speaking of . . . I pulled my phone out of my purse and glanced at the screen. Still no reply.

“It’s not a coven,” Miranda insisted. “It’s a book club.”

A book club. I nodded solemnly. “Of course it is. I have no doubt.”

“Covens are not allowed in Salem. There are rules, you know.” She scanned the surrounding area as if fearful someone might overhear us.

“Actually, I don’t know. I’ve met a couple independent witches in the past, but none who are part of a . . . book club.”

“Whatever.” She pushed off her stool. “Treat that husband of yours right, okay? There are plenty of women who’d be happy to step in and take care of that hunk if you’re not doing a good enough job.”

She’d just called Thierry a hunk. How retro. “Thanks for the warning.”

With a mischievous smile returning to her lips, she turned away from the bar and disappeared into the crowd.

Well, that was a waste of time. I didn’t learn anything new. No new suspects, no new information.

Other than the fact that Heather might have been a boyfriend-stealing hussy ten years ago.

I quickly called Thierry’s cell number, but it went directly to voice mail.

“If something bad has happened to you,” I said after the tone, “I’m going to be furious.”

I tossed the phone back into my purse, swallowing back the lump in my throat, and got up from my seat as the next karaoke song started. It was “Islands in the Stream.”

That poor guy, whoever he was. He could not carry a tune to save his life.

I turned to look at the stage and at the man holding the microphone.

After that, all I could do was stare.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I whispered.

It was Thierry. Onstage.

Singing.

Really, really badly.

T
he lights shone on my husband, the sometimes dour and almost always serious centuries-old master vampire, as he sang into the microphone while perched upon a wooden stool. Same dark hair brushed back from his handsome face, same strong jawline, same dark slashes of eyebrows above piercing gray eyes. Same tailored black suit
, Italian leather shoes, and glint of his platinum wedding band.

For three and a half minutes I stood there, stunned. My mouth literally hung open like a carnival game waiting for a little kid to try to pitch a rubber ball in to win a prize.

When the song finished, I tentatively approached the stage. He stepped down, and several people at the tables close by slapped him on his back and told him he’d done a great job.

“Thanks,” he replied. “It’s always been one of my favorite songs.”

I drew closer. “Thierry?”

His gaze met mine. “Sarah, I’m glad you’re here.”

“So . . .” I began as another eager singer jumped onstage ready to rock. The intro of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” began to swell. “You like karaoke? This is something I actually didn’t know about you.”

“You don’t know everything about me, do you?”

“That is an understatement if ever I’ve heard one.”

He spread his hands. “I know it might have looked a bit silly to you, but I figured when one is in Rome . . .”

“One should sing Bee Gees songs? Or was that the Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton rendition?”

He smiled. “If you want to have a go next . . .”

“No, no. That’s quite all right.” I cleared my throat, eyeing him curiously. What was up with him tonight? “You left the room without telling me. Then you ignored my text and call. Not cool. You worried me.”

His smile disappeared. “I wanted to come here right away and didn’t know how long you’d be. I knew you’d be right behind me.”

I was about to make a bigger deal of this, tell him how he couldn’t be so reckless with a murderous alpha witch loose around town, but he seemed so relaxed that I began to doubt that it was as important as I’d made it out to be.

Still, I hadn’t liked it at all. Communication was the cornerstone of a successful marriage. I think I’d heard that on
Dr. Phil
once. That man knew his stuff.

“Okay, let’s forget it. Anyway, I talked to Miranda a minute ago,” I said, hitching my purse strap higher on my shoulder. “I think she’s off the list of suspects.”

“Suspects . . . for Owen’s murder?”

“No, for being a local fashion disaster. Of course for Owen’s murder.” I hooked my arm through his and gave him a cautious look. “I think we need to go back to the inn. Now. You’re acting kind of strange.”

Kind
of strange?

“Am I?” He shrugged. “I feel fantastic.”

“Once we get out of Salem tomorrow, I think everything will be better. We can reassess and regroup before contacting the Ring with a nonprogress report.”

“Get out of Salem . . . right.” He nodded. “Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Put plenty of room between us and this place. Figure things out from a safe distance.”

I looked up at him, frowning. “Exactly. So let’s go.”

He didn’t argue or try to request another song. We left the bar and walked silently back to the Booberry Inn.

“Hey, Rose,” he said as we passed by the living room toward the stairs.

“Good evening, Thierry,” she responded. “Enjoying Salem’s nightlife?”

She was still knitting. It looked like a warm, colorful afghan for one of the beds upstairs. I’d always wanted to be more crafty, but I’d once gotten a paper cut from my scrapbook that literally required stitches. I took it as a clear sign from the universe
not to scrapbook
.

“Love it.” He put his arm around my shoulders and tugged me closer to his side. “My wife and I are retiring for the evening.”

She nodded. “Sleep well.”

“Sure thing,” he replied as we moved up the staircase.

Sure thing?

Had I just entered Bizarroland?

Finally we were in our room. I locked the door and turned to face him. “Okay, spill. What’s up with you tonight?”

He watched me carefully. “Nothing. Why are you asking me that?”

“I don’t know, it’s just . . . you seem—I don’t even know how to put it.” I wracked my brain. “Not normal.”

His smile stretched. “I think you’re imagining things, Sarah. I’m the same as always. I know the karaoke might have thrown you off a little, but don’t you think I might have a few whimsical quirks to my personality that you were previously unaware of?”

“No,” I replied honestly. “I know you pretty well, Thierry, at least personality-wise. You don’t sing. Or tell jokes. Or use excessive modern slang. Or smile even half as widely as you are right now.”

He laughed and pulled me into his arms. “Maybe I’m more fun than you thought I was.”

“Fun is a good word. A word I’m totally open to.” Maybe the threat of the Ring coming after him for his missing memories had made him remember that life was precious and every day should be an adventure.

Nah. This was something else entirely. Call it a gut feeling.

Thierry did not have whimsical quirks. Period.

“So what’s the problem?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” I was utterly perplexed. “Maybe I’m overreacting.”

“I promise, if it bothers you that much, I swear I’ll never sing again. Scout’s honor.” He raised two fingers. “Am I really
that
bad of a singer?”

“Yes, you really are. No offense.”

This didn’t make his broad smile slip even a fraction. His gray eyes actually sparkled with amusement as he raised his brow. “Now”—he moved toward the bed and picked up the black silk teddy I’d taken out of my suitcase earlier—“this looks promising.”

“It’s my Vegas lingerie. Ready and waiting for this honeymoon to kick into high gear.”

“And here we are.”

I glanced away from the scrap of lace and silk to meet his now heated gaze. “And here we are.”

He approached me again, sliding his hand around to the small of my back, and pulled me closer. “You in sexy lingerie. I can’t think of a single thing hotter than that.”

“Okay.” Something was
seriously
wrong here.

What in the world had gotten into Thierry tonight?

He smirked. “Mr. and Mrs. de Bennicoeur. The ancient and grumpy meets the young and beautiful—and sparks fly. We’re like soul mates or something. Right? Kiss me, baby.”

I dodged his kiss before it hit its target. “I don’t believe this.”

The realization that had been circling like an approaching storm slammed into me with the force of a hurricane. He hadn’t been behaving like himself at all ever since I found him at that karaoke bar. I hadn’t understood why, figured he was just having an off evening. He looked the same as always, but he acted totally different.

There was only one reason I could think of.

I gasped. “You’re not Thierry!”

“Uh,
wrong
. I am.” He sent an appreciative look toward the vanity mirror and raked a hand through his hair. “I mean, look at me, all tall, dark, and fangsome. I’m
totally
Thierry.”

“No, you’re not.” I stared at him, stunned, until it finally hit me. My hand shot to my mouth. “You’re . . . you’re Owen!”

Total silence filled the room for a heavy moment.

He raised his index finger as if ready to make a valid point, but then his hand dropped to his side. “It’s not going to help me very much if I keep trying to argue with you on this, right?”

I staggered back from him until I hit the wall. A framed picture of a field of daisies crashed to the floor.

“Oh, my God! Owen, what the
hell
is going on here? What are you doing? You’re possessing Thierry’s body!”

Thierry’s normally restrained and unreadable expression turned sheepish—definitely a look I’d never seen from him before. “This seems to be the logical conclusion.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” I pointed at the door in a furious thrusting motion. “Get out of my husband right now!”

He spread his hands. “Can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can!”

Now he looked at his hands, back and front. “No, I’m in here, like, pretty solidly. And just for the record, it’s not as if I was even trying to do this in the first place. Before, when the three of us were talking in here, I disappeared. I went to this cold, dark place with nothing to look at. So boring! And then, shazam, I was looking out from Thierry’s eyes. I had nothing to do with it. It just happened!”

I grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket and stared up into his eyes. “Thierry, are you in there?”

Owen frowned. “Nope, I don’t think so. I can’t hear a thing.”

“And you were just going to pretend to be him? Until when? After we’d slept together?”

He grimaced. “Putting it like that makes me sound kind of sleazy.”

I let out a cry of outrage. “You’re disgusting!”

“What can I say? I’m a man! I have needs!”

I dug my fingernails into his arm. “Bring Thierry back and get out of his body.”

“Sorry, but I don’t know how to do that.”

Panic twisted around me like magical vines, tightening until I could barely breathe. Somehow, some way, Owen had possessed Thierry’s body. And Thierry himself was currently AWOL.

It must have happened while I was in the shower. This was why Thierry had taken off to go to the karaoke bar alone. Because he actually hadn’t.
Owen
had.

Grabbing his arm, I pulled him with me out into the hallway to find Heather. I didn’t know which room was hers, so I just started pounding on every door.

“Heather!” I yelled. “I need you! Right now! Where are you?”

Finally, she emerged, bleary-eyed, from the last room. She pulled her powder blue bathrobe tighter around her. “Sarah, what’s wrong?”

“The séance you did last night to summon Owen’s spirit,” I began.

“What about it?”

“It worked.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “It did?”

“This”—I yanked on Owen’s borrowed sleeve—“is the result. Owen’s spirit is now possessing Thierry’s body.”

Her eyes grew as wide as saucers. “You have got to be joking.”

My heart pounded. “Nope. No joking. Not even feeling the least bit humorous right now, actually.”

She looked up at Thierry’s face. “Owen? Is that really you?”

He eased away from my viselike grip. “You did a séance, Heather? For me? That’s so nice!”

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You and me both,” I grumbled. “You need to fix this. Now.”

Her face had lit up. “This is a miracle. Owen, it’s really you?”

He nodded. “The one and only.”

She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

Normally, I might find this endearing. The girl with the crush gets her chance for closure with the vampire she’s in love with. However, my patience had worn right to the breaking point in a matter of minutes. “As heartfelt as this reunion is, and I hate to sound overly bossy, but it’s over. Right now.”

She finally turned to me. “It is?”

“Yes! Thierry’s gone.” I tried very hard to calm myself. This could be fixed. It would all be put right again quicker than ordering a pizza. “Look, I don’t know how possession works. I’m not even an expert on vampires, let alone ghosts and spirits. All I know is that you need to do something to get Owen out of Thierry’s body and return him to normal.”

Her joyous expression faded at the edges. “Oh. Um, how am I supposed to do that?”

This was not what I wanted to hear at all. “I hoped you’d know.”

“I don’t think Thierry would mind if I borrowed his body for a little while,” Owen said, disconcertingly in Thierry’s voice.

I tightly gripped the railing that looked over to the main floor. “How long’s a little while?”

He shifted in his Italian leather loafers. “I’d prefer if we leave that open-ended.”

I shook my head violently. “No way. I’m sorry about what happened to you, Owen. Seriously, I am. But I can’t allow this. I know you would have kept pretending to be him if I hadn’t figured it out.”

He grimaced. “I guess I’m not very good at acting dour.”

All that was needed here was a little direction and I could get this back on track. “Heather, you need to do another séance. You can summon Owen’s spirit right out of this body.”

I thought for a moment she might resist. After all, her dream vampire had just been resurrected into the body of another tall, handsome man. Hopefully she’d changed her vixen ways since high school. Since all I had to go on was Miranda’s scotch-colored word, I was willing to give Heather the benefit of the doubt.

Finally, she nodded in agreement. “We can try.”

A wave of relief splashed up, currently only ankle high. “Good.”

She went to wake her grandmother, so we could all gather around the round table just as we had last time. Even Hoppy was there.

Owen, in current possession of Thierry’s body, looked depressed.

“This sucks.” He pouted.

I didn’t like seeing a pout on Thierry’s face. He might be well-known for his glower, but he never pouted. “I know. But you have to see this is wrong. Right?”

His pout deepened. “Yeah. I can’t steal a body. Especially if there are witnesses.”

So if there
weren’t
witnesses, he would be fine and dandy with keeping a stolen body?

“If I can be the one to see the silver lining in this, it
is
a tangible sign of your burgeoning powers, Heather,” Rose said excitedly. Her white hair was up in curlers, and she wore a zippered purple velour robe. “I’m proud of you, honey.”

Heather wrung her hands anxiously. “Yeah, well, it didn’t exactly work like I thought it would.”

“Could the séance last night have done this?” I asked. “Like, on a delay since it took so long for his spirit to even show up?”

Rose nodded. “Certainly. The spirit world is a vast one. Sometimes there are issues with travel to the afterlife.”

I had that problem with a travel agent once. This, however, wasn’t as simple as being stuck at an airport all day after a missed connection.

Thierry
,
wherever you are,
please be patient. I can fix this.