How to Party with a Killer Vampire (9 page)

The pulley!

But this wasn’t part of the rehearsed scene.

I watched helplessly as Jonas flailed in the air, hanging only by the wire he’d been attached to before taking the stage area. Kicking his legs and flapping his arms, he looked crazily comical, not at all fearsome or frightening the way Lucas had intended—except maybe to Angelica, who watched in horror as he swung overhead, frantically trying to grab on to a nearby tree limb.

Meanwhile the invasion of the living dead was in full force. Bodies leaped from headstone to headstone like mutant monkeys. It was hard to tell the girls from the boys, with all of them dressed in similar costumes and makeup, but I thought I recognized at least two of the people: Trace and Lark—the young man and woman I’d seen the previous night—the night Spidey died.

What were they doing here? They’d known about the party, but we’d specifically asked them to stay away. Still, this parkour event seemed planned, not spur of the moment. Was it some kind of antiestablishment demonstration? Were they trying to make a point?

I hustled over to Duncan, who stood transfixed, watching the traceurs seemingly fly from monument to monument, dazzling—and frightening—the party crowd.

“What’s going on, Duncan? What are they doing here?”

He shrugged, but I could tell he knew more than he was letting on.

“Duncan! Tell me. What’s this all about?”

“I don’t know, Presley. Honestly. I told Trace I couldn’t be involved, since I was working for you. But I guess they decided to do it anyway.”

“Do what? Ruin the party? Why?”

Duncan looked at me. “Don’t ask me. Ask . . .” He scanned the crowd, then nodded toward a very irate producer who was trying to chase after the graveleapers.

“Cruz? What does he have to do with this?”

“I guess you’ll have to ask him.”

I couldn’t ask Lucas Cruz what was going on, because at the moment he was running around like the proverbial movie mogul with his head cut off, trying to get Jonas down. The security guards, once they’d shaken off their stunned reactions, were chasing the zombie traceurs who continued to leap from gravestone to monument like risen spirits.

I looked around for Brad, thinking if anyone could put a stop to this, he could. But I found him standing in a corner, watching the theatrics. I gave him a “WTF” look, then suddenly knew why he wasn’t reacting.

Sirens filled the air.

Brad held up his cell phone and smiled. He’d called the cops—on my party.

I guessed he didn’t really have a choice. At least they’d scare away the interlopers—or should I say interleapers. This was no time for playing with words. I had a party to rescue.

Three Colma police squad cars pulled up and six officers jumped out. It must have been a slow night in the City of Souls to warrant three units. Brad greeted them at the entrance to the party and gestured toward the zombies, whose numbers were diminishing.

As the officers fanned out, shining their flashlights into the dark cemetery that surrounded the party scene, the crowd began to relax and conversation picked up again. Apparently, the police had added even more entertainment to the event. Delicia and Rocco caught my signal to pour more drinks, but when I looked in the direction of the DJ’s turntable, I saw that Duncan had disappeared from his spot. I headed over to Berk and asked him to fill in as DJ. I just hoped he hadn’t brought along any of his underground rap music and would stick with the lineup I’d prepared.

By the time the cops left, thirty minutes later—with no arrests—the interruption seemed to be nearly forgotten. The guests were back to mingling while enjoying Rocco’s chocolate graves, aka red velvet cake covered in chocolate icing and topped with a Ghirardelli chocolate headstone. The flowing red wine helped.

“Interesting party,” Brad said, sneaking up behind me. “But then, when you’re in charge, they’re all interesting.”

I slugged down half a glass of merlot. “Yeah, well, at least no one died this time,” I said. “Can’t always say that, can I?”

Brad opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. “Don’t answer that. It’s a rhetorical question.”

He didn’t. Instead, he asked, “How’s Cruz? Last I saw him, he was telling some of the guests the leapers were all part of his party plans. That guy will take credit for anything.”

“I’m sure he was just trying to calm them down. And besides, what’s a party without a little drama?” I took another swig of wine and licked my lips.

“So where are the stars?” Brad asked. “They seem to have disappeared along with the traceurs.”

I glanced around. There was no sign of either Angelica or Jonas.

Were they off consummating their secret affair?

I blushed. Where had that thought come from? Too much wine? Before I started daydreaming about what it would be like to do it in a cemetery, I said, “I don’t know. Duncan has vanished as well. Probably ran off with his grave-walking friends. I thought I recognized Trace and Lark under that zombie makeup, but when I tried to ask Duncan about the party crashers, he just shrugged and said, ‘Talk to Cruz.’ ”

Brad’s knitted brows told me he was as puzzled as I was. “I guess you’d better ask him then, after he’s done holding court.”

I nodded. “I’m a little worried about Duncan. Losing his friend Spidey, and then this invasion of the body snatchers. I’m sure he knew about it. I wonder if he knew about Angelica and—”

I clapped a hand over my mouth.

“Jonas,” Brad said, finishing my blurted sentence. “Yeah, you’d have to be blind not to see they’ve got something going on.”

I stared at him in awe. “You knew?”

“It’s obvious. The way they avoid each other except when they’re doing a scene together. Even then, they rarely make eye contact even when they’re running their lines. So you suspected it too?”

“No . . . actually, I saw them—by accident—over there”—I pointed—“in that secluded section of the cemetery. At first I thought it was just Jonas, but then I saw Angelica with him. When I got to them, she was crying; then she ran off. That was when Jonas admitted they were having an affair. Believe me, I was stunned.”

“You know she’s married, right?”

I stared at him. How did he manage to know everything? “I suppose that was obvious to you too?”

“You didn’t notice that guy hovering around her, watching her every move?”

“I thought he was her bodyguard.”

Brad harrumphed. “Tall and lean? Doesn’t exactly have the bodyguard build, now does he?”

How naive was I? “I suppose you also know she has a stalker.”

Brad was silent. He blinked several times, then cocked his jaw.

“You didn’t know!” I said. “I can’t believe you didn’t know this too!”

“How do
you
know she has a stalker?” Brad said.

“Jonas told me.”

“What did he say?”

“Just that Angelica’s been getting texts and e-mails and phone calls and stuff like that . . .”

Brad crossed his thick, bodyguard arms over his chest. “Have they called the police?”

“Jonas said Angelica doesn’t want to involve the cops. It might get out to the media—that she’s married. But none of this is my business anyway. I’m just the party planner, remember?”

“Yeah, but what happens at your parties doesn’t always stay at your parties, if you get my drift. . . .”

I didn’t. I was too busy trying to figure out what, if anything, this had to do with the party crashers who had come and gone. And why things like this always seem to happen to me.

 

Around midnight, as the party began to wind down and the last guests finally straggled off with their party favors—photos taken of them in their vampire costumes standing between Jonas and Angelica—I began my favorite part of an event—the cleanup. While most people dread the aftermath, I love it because it gives me a chance to think about the highlights of the party, how it all miraculously came together, and what I’ll do next time to make it even better.

In this case, probably not host it in a real cemetery.

I was popping balloons when Lucas Cruz came over, drink in hand. He, like many of the last guests, was a little tipsy. But it was his party, and he could drink if he wanted to.

“Great party, Presley,” he said, slurring my name.

“I hope you enjoyed it, Lucas,” I said as I packed up a box of garlic necklaces. “Sorry about that mishap with the party crashers.”

“No sweat.” He waved it off as if it were a pesky fly. His drink nearly became airborne. “I just told everyone it was part of the event, and they bought it.”

“Well . . . good. If you’re happy—”

“But,” he added with an evil glint in his eye, “just wait until I get my hands on Duncan.”

That was my cue. “Yeah, about that. Duncan said to ask you about those traceurs—the parkour guys? He seemed to imply that you were responsible for having them here. Did you arrange for them to come and frighten the guests a little more?”

Cruz looked at me as if he’d just discovered I was the Bride of Chucky. “Good God, no! Why would I do that?”

“
Uh
. . . maybe to add a little more drama. Get your name on the news. After all, that reporter from
Gossip Guy
was here. Maybe you thought it would make good TV. I just wish you’d let me know, that’s all.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Cruz huffed. “The party was going to be great as planned, especially with that scene between Jonas and Angelica, and his taking off in the air as he was supposed to do. I didn’t need a bunch of thugs running around adding to the theatrics. Where did you get such an idea?”

“Like I said, Duncan told me to talk to you.”

Cruz laughed. “Traceurs. You mean poseurs, don’t you? Bunch of kids thinking they have superpowers and can walk tall buildings like Superman. I know who they are. They’re a bunch of punks who aren’t grateful playing extras in my film. They wanted to come to the party too.”

“That’s what this is all about?”

Lucas’s face flushed. “Look. I needed some extras for the movie, and I asked Duncan if he had any friends who might be interested.”

“And he offered Trace, Lark, and Spidey?”

Lucas looked exasperated. “I guess those are their names. I only used them a couple of times. They were paid the standard rate. They should have been grateful. But when they found out I was having this wrap party—I suppose Duncan told them—they expected to be invited! As if I would invite extras to the wrap party. No way.”

It was beginning to make sense. “So they crashed the party, hoping to ruin it for you.”

“I suppose. But I’ll tell you this—Duncan Grant will never work in this town again.”

With that cliché, Lucas staggered off to check on his own staff, also busy collecting their gadgets and gear.

By half past midnight, almost everyone had cleared out and gone home. Delicia offered to drive my mother home, so Brad stayed and helped me with the final packing up.

“Great party,” Brad said, zipping up his black leather jacket. “In spite of a few glitches.”

The night had grown colder and I zippered my own hoodie over my black dress. “Well, as I said, there were no real dead bodies—only the costumed kind. Can’t ask for more than that.”

Just as I finished loading the last box of plastic coffins into Brad’s Crime Scene Cleaners SUV, I heard a low shriek coming from up the hill, where the pet section of the cemetery lay. Brad and I looked at each other. He pulled out a flashlight he kept in the SUV and shined it into the darkness. With all the party lights removed, the only light came from the moon and what looked like a trailer up on the hill.

Brad headed in the direction of the sound.

I grabbed his arm. “Don’t!”

“What, are you suddenly superstitious?” he whispered. “Someone’s out there. They may need help.”

“It might be a wild animal. With rabies,” I said, trying to stop him from rushing into danger. I thought about Spidey and shivered. I had a bad feeling about this, but I wasn’t about to stay by myself. Grabbing on to one of his jumpsuit belt loops, I trailed behind him, trying not to trip over the uneven ground and chunks of broken headstones.

“It came from over there,” he whispered, and pointed up the rise, still in the direction of the pet cemetery. “Listen . . . I hear someone. . . .”

It was true. I also heard someone. Mumbling? Or ranting. I had a hunch who it was.

As we neared the pet cemetery, where the property seemed better kept than Lawndale’s, I saw a figure sitting cross-legged at the crest of the hill. He was chanting something I couldn’t make out, repeating words over and over and rocking his body back and forth. Finally, I caught a few words that sounded like “pestilence, death, pestilence, death.”