The Dangers of Dating a Rebound Vampire (15 page)

Laughing, I shuffled through the stack of books on the table. I couldn't help but feel I was missing something. I was approaching the problem all wrong, but I couldn't figure out why. I stood up from the table and wandered into Jane's magic section. Nola carefully vetted all of Jane's magic texts, for fear of providing the wrong book to an irresponsible practitioner. All of the “dangerous” books were kept in a special storage case, for which Jane had the only key. But those titles were more along the lines of
How to Flay Your Enemy Alive with Your Thoughts
and
Magical E
xsanguination for Fun and Profit
. Not exactly the droids I was looking for.

I needed to spend more time around non-nerds.

I tapped my fingers along the spines as I scanned the titles in the magical history section.
Witches of Salem: Fact and Fiction
,
History's Most Disappointing Magical Politicians
,
Sorcerers of the Ancient Egyptian Royal Court
,
and at the end of the shelf, bottom row,
Magickal Families of the Old World
.

Unlike the slick, soft-covered editions on the shelf, the book was old, battered, and bound in mottled blue linen. The gold lettering was practically worn off the cover. Jane would consider this book gently loved. I opened it and scanned the pages, which listed the most prominent European magical families by country, how they started, and what they were up to at the time of the 1912 printing date. It was sort of funny that this was basically the same thing we were doing for the vampires, just the old, dusty beta version. (I would never ever let Jane hear me say such a thing.) A piece of information floated up to the surface of my brain.

Renart
.

According to the Council records, the Renart family started in France, and its members were interesting enough to be on a Council “watch list.” I flipped to the index, looking for the Rs. The Renart family was listed on page 326, and it merited several paragraphs:

Known for their memory charms and ability to persuade those around them through creative cursework, the Renarts lived quite comfortably in Haute-Normandie for generations. Members of the family were rumored to have dabbled in necromancy toward the end of the eighteenth century, ostracizing them from the magick
al community. The family moved to the Louisiana territory under enormous pressure from other magickal families and disappeared into the mundane populations of America.

Mundane? That was unnecessarily hurtful.

The colorful surroundings of the shop, my friends' voices, everything faded away as I tried to connect all the dots in my head. So the Renarts messed around with necromancy and got booted out of an entire continent. Somehow they were connected to this Linoge character and his violent outbursts. Did messing around with vampires' brains count as necromancy? Violent outbursts, memory issues . . . Nik. This had to be connected to Nik's fugue states. If Marie Renart, the first in the line of Renarts, was Linoge's girlfriend, she could have diddled with his brain so he had violent feeding episodes he couldn't remember. Could one of Renart's descendants have messed with Nik's brain? Had it happened here or while he was traveling? What were the parameters of the curse?

I pulled out my phone and opened the photo I'd taken of the Renart watch list. It ended in 1968 with the birth of a Jennifer Renart in Paris, Illinois, a tiny town only two hours' drive from the Hollow, but there was no date of death listed. Had Jennifer managed to shake her vampire tail and die a peaceful, unobserved death? What had happened to the last Renart?

Jane carefully cleared her throat, peering over the top of the bookshelf at me while she stirred her bloodychino. “There's another option you haven't considered.”

“Does it avoid an explanation in which someone is sneaking into Nik's room every night to steal his hair? Because I will jump on it,” I told her.

“Cooperation,” Jane said gently. “What if Nik isn't as magically manipulated as he seems to be?”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don't know, plausible deniability? He doesn't want to admit that he's involved, so he uses the ‘Oh, I don't remember, baby, I was under an evil curse' excuse. So he gets whatever rewards are involved in doing his master's bidding plus whatever, er, rewards, you might be giving him.”

“I refuse to accept that Nik is knowingly involved in all this,” I told Jane sternly. “Besides, you were the one who said he doesn't want to hurt me.”

“From what I
could see
, he doesn't,” she said, throwing her hands up. “But as Miss Worst-Case Scenario, I am pathologically required to put that out there. I just want you to be careful, Geeg, that's all. You're one of the last remaining humans in our little family. I want to do whatever we can to protect you.”

“Well, I appreciate it, but cut it out.”

Jane nodded. “Duly noted.”

“And while we're on the subject of office awkwardness, we found this for you,” Andrea said, handing me a paperback with a stark black, white, and red cover.

“
The Office After Dark: A Guide to Maintaining a Safe, Productive Vampire Workplace
,”
I murmured. Almost every subject in the table of contents pertained to my workplace issues: “Dealing with hostile, fanged supervisors,” “How to report issues with human coworkers without looking like a vampire pet wannabe,” and “Personal safety at the office.” I turned on Jane. “You couldn't have given this to me a few weeks ago?”

“Honestly, we didn't think you'd need it. We thought you would adjust better to the undead work environment,” she said, making Andrea snort.

“That's not funny,” I told all three women as they laughed at me.

“It's a little funny!” Jamie yelled from the back of the shop.

•   •   •

I arrived home a bit later
to find Iris in full preparation for date night. She and Cal were going to try a new vampire-friendly dinner theater in Murphy. They hadn't had an evening alone since I'd moved back home with all of my, well, let's just say issues. I was actually looking forward to having the place to myself for the evening, and not just because I felt so profoundly guilty for intruding on their marriage to the point where they had to schedule time together. I was planning to veg out, eat some of the Ben & Jerry's Phish Food I'd saved for a special occasion, and tend to some much-needed personal grooming that I'd neglected over the past few weeks. There would be plucking, moisturizing, and exfoliating. A lot of exfoliating.

“Gigi,” Cal said, his tone far too casual as he stepped into the hallway, struggling with his necktie. “You're home on time.”

“Yes, and I was exactly where I said I was, all night. There was no reason for Iris to call the bookshop to check on me,” I said, gently batting his hands away so I could fix his tie. And yes, I had no right to be indignant when I had, in fact, lied to him about being with my coworkers when I was with Nik the night before. But I'd worry about that when and if he ever found out about it.

“I wasn't checking up on you. I needed to check with Jane about . . . business-related things,” Iris called from the bathroom, where she was carefully brushing out her coffee-colored curls.

“Smooth, Iris, really smooth,” I called back. “Look, I get that you guys are worried. And I know it comes from a place of concern. I love you, and I appreciate that you want me to be safe.”

Cal pursed his lips. “I sense a ‘but' coming.”

“Yes, as in, I'm going to kick your butt if you don't stop treating me like a little girl.”

Cal wrapped his arms around my shoulders, resting his chin on top of my head. “I won't apologize. I love you as much as any brother could. I worry for you every time you step out the door. I feel pride every time I hear someone at the office talk about the fantastic work you're doing. And I want to murder every single male who looks in your direction, even if it's an old friend. I know that we've embarrassed you and made things difficult. I don't want to cause you distress. But I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it makes you temporarily unhappy.”

“I know.” I sighed. “I know you love me. And I forgive you for the embarrassment and unhappiness.”

“Thank you,” he murmured into my hair.

“Eventually,” I added.

“I knew that was coming.” He sighed.

“Is Nik really so bad?” I asked.

“Under normal circumstances, I would say no,” Cal said. “But I'm having a hard time looking past the lurking and the lunging.”

“So, if we were able to determine why Nik is attacking me and put a stop to it, you would be OK with me dating him?”

There was a long moment of silence above my head, making me look up at my brother-in-law. He was chewing on his lip and had a spacey trying-to-do-long-division-in-his-head expression on his face.

“Cal?”

“I'm trying to find a way to answer that question that won't result in you chasing after a ‘cure' for Nik's condition or Iris being upset with me for letting you date a man hundreds of years your senior.”

I squirmed guiltily in his arms, because I was already chasing after a cure for Nik, and Iris was going to be upset with Cal any way he answered the question. I felt another pair of arms sliding around my waist and Iris's head settling against my shoulder.

“Oh, good, we're hugging again.” She sighed. “I ­really hate it when we disagree, Gigi. And unlike Cal, I will apologize for making you unhappy. I've just been responsible for you for so long I'm having a hard time adjusting to the idea that you've grown up.”

I turned my head and kissed Iris's forehead. “It's OK, Iris. I love you, too.” Both vampires squeezed me simultaneously, which was enough to make me wheeze and cough. “Ribs cracking!”

Iris sprang back while Cal raised his arms. I finally got a good look at Iris's apricot-colored sheath dress and her sky-high Iron Fist heels imprinted with little peaches and skulls. It was a far cry from the sensible, stain-proof outfits she'd worn as a human. “Wow, you look hot, Iris! And that's ‘hawt' with a ‘w,' like the young people are saying these days.”

Iris preened while Cal gave a low whistle. “Well, you don't have to sound so surprised.”

“I'm not. I'm wondering if I would finally have the coordination and ankle strength required to wear platform heels if I get turned.”

“Don't even joke about that, Geeg.”

“I'm just saying. My shoe collection could use some perking up.”

“I will buy you some wedges,” Iris told me. “You could always come with us tonight, you know.”

“Because me joining you on your date night isn't pathetic or counterproductive at all. You've had these plans for a week,” I told her. “Just go. I am going to take a bath, indulge in total control over the TV, and catch up on some sleep. These night hours are really getting to me.”

Iris made a motherly clucking noise, cupping her hands under my chin so she could check for dark circles under my eyes. “Poor thing. Well, enjoy your vegging. I have lip gloss to apply.”

She strolled across the slick polished floor with far more grace than I could imagine in my lifetime. Cal, I noticed, was watching her, too, but in a lecherous manner. I slapped his chest. “Dude. That's my sister.”

He scoffed. “That's my wife. I get to ogle; it was in the vows.”

I shuddered. “Gross.”

•   •   •

I stood at the door
and waved as Iris and Cal pulled out of the driveway. The moon shone brightly over the gardens, casting long, eerie shadows through the flowers. My phone beeped from my purse. I locked the door and armed the security system before grabbing it. I had a text notification from a number I didn't recognize.
Hope you have a nice weekend. Big plans
?

The area code was local, but it could have been a wrong number, so I ignored it.

I jogged up the steps to my room and the phone beeped again.
No plans?

“Let's see, girl home alone, mysterious text messages from an unknown party, there's no way this is the opening setup for a creepy serial-killer movie,” I muttered, dropping my phone onto my dresser. “I will not engage in your potentially deadly mind-buggery, sir.”

I double-checked the security system, though, just in case. I indulged in a long, hot bath, swirling with essential oils Iris had pressed from her own garden, rosemary and geranium and calendula. I soaked until I was as limp as a noodle, with not one thought of my tragic personal and professional lives. I gave myself a pineapple enzyme facial, pumiced my feet and elbows, and shaved everything worth shaving. By the time I slid into my pajamas, I was smooth and sweet-smelling.

I walked into my bedroom and found another text waiting for me.
Are you there, Gigi?

So, not a wrong number, then. Who would be text­ing me from a number I didn't recognize? I was ruthless about updating my contacts. I even had Ophelia saved under “Evil Empress.”

Could it be Nik? He'd “confessed” that he had a cell phone, but he'd never given me his number. I would consider that a red flag, trust-wise, but I never needed to call him. He always just popped up whenever I needed him. The texts didn't sound like him. They lacked his flirty wit. But a lot of people didn't sound like themselves in text speak, right?

Cautiously, I picked up the phone and typed in a message that wouldn't be embarrassing, in case it turned out to be a polite catching-up text from Pastor Neely, who was
not
saved in my contact list.
No big plans
.
You?

Hoping I hadn't just made an enormous mistake in terms of horror-movie survival, I popped in the latest remake of
The Lone Ranger
. It had nothing to do with the fact that the guy who played the lead looked a lot like Nik, thank you very much. I climbed into bed and formed a nest of pillows for the perfect loafing position. My phone beeped again.
No, but maybe we can change that?