I snorted.
“You are the wind beneath my wings?” he offered.
“If you start to sing, I will bite you,” I growled. “So, when are you planning to do this?”
“As soon as possible. Jolene has been waiting a long time to be, um, married,” he said, struggling with the choice of words.
“Last single cousin in her pack?” I asked.
Zeb looked embarrassed. “Well, wolves mate for life, so…”
“So she’s never…wow,” I marveled.
“Yeah.”
I wanted this for Zeb. A nice woman who, after lots of time, and possibly medication, I would able to share Zeb with. Not in a gross way. Jolene was someone who was dealing with her own “special circumstances.” Someone who would be able to understand my special circumstances and embrace them instead of making Zeb find new “normal” friends and join a progressive dinner club.
So, why was I being a jerk about this?
“We were sort of hoping you would be the maid of honor,” Zeb said. His expression made it clear that he knew how I felt about wearing another bridesmaid’s dress. “We both know you’d be the best man for me, anyway. And Jolene has too many cousins to choose one without causing a blood feud.”
I made a distressed little noise. On the other side of the window, Jolene’s million-watt smile beamed. I would worry about the fact that she had heard our entire conversation later. “But I barely know her.”
“She likes you. And this would be a great way to get to know her,” Zeb said in his special “I’m making a point” voice. “By the way, her colors are peach and cornflower blue.”
Dizzied by thoughts of giant butt bows and matching shawls, I stammered, “But—but I can’t do this again—”
Zeb tipped his head, all smiles and Precious Moments eyes. “I love you.”
“Dang it, Zeb. That’s not fair.”
16
Because vampires tend not to trust perceived bias in human media sources, they depend largely on “word of mouth” to stay informed of current events. This can lead to a localized and somewhat limited world view.
—From The Guide for the Newly Undead
With Fitz safe and sound, I threw myself into my work. It had taken me just a few nights for Mr. Wainwright to leave me unsupervised. I think once someone returns your wallet to you, cash intact, four times, it tends to cement your faith in that person’s character. I wasn’t returning the same wallet repeatedly. It was various wallets from over the years that I found misplaced all over the shop. Mr. Wainwright had to be public enemy number one on the credit-card companies’ frequent-card-loser watch list.
Mr. Wainwright never had to worry about my productivity in his absence, though I did take frequent breaks to study the books. I had missed that smell, old paper and starched cover canvas. Cozied between the crowded shelves, my feet propped up on a stack of Encyclopedia Demonica, and my nose buried in a first edition of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, it was like returning home after a long exile. Mr. Wainwright, who lived in a little apartment above the shop, had a hard time getting me to leave in the mornings. I wanted to wallow in the old volumes, some priceless, some cheap reproductions, all housed together in a mishmash. I had a purpose here. I belonged. The books needed me.
The cowbell on the shop door rang, jolting me out of Geneva circa 1818. I dashed for the door, eager to help a live customer…or, really, any customer. A pulse wasn’t necessary.
I found Ophelia the Teen Vampire Queen perched on the counter, wearing a black velvet minidress and silver go-go boots, flipping through a copy of From Caesar to Kennedy: Vampires and Their Clandestine Political Influence throughout History.
“Ophelia?”
She snapped the book shut and gave me what I’m sure passed for one of her warm smiles. “Jane, nice to see you. I was pleased to learn that you’d found another job. From what I hear, you need some constructive ways to fill your time.”
Suddenly aware that I was surrounded by literary chaos and covered in an inch-thick layer of shop grime, I wiped my hands on my jeans. “How did you know I work here?”
She hopped off the counter and gave me a wry look. “We know everything, Jane.”
The way she said that was unsettling, implying not only that the council seemed to know every detail of my life but that they knew things that I was trying to conceal. And so far, I wasn’t trying to conceal anything from them, so this was distressing.
I cleared my throat and tried casually to sort through some remaindered ritual candles. “Can I find something for you, or are you just browsing?”
“I thought I made the reason for my visit clear with that comment about constructive use of your time,” she said pointedly.
“I know, I was trying to gloss over it.” I sighed, turning to her and crossing my arms. “Would you mind just asking me the questions this time instead of yanking the answers out of my cortex?”
“I didn’t bring Sophie along, because she assures me that you are a terrible liar,” Ophelia said, stretching her lips into a thin smile. “Don’t mistake this as a compliment. I merely came by to let you know that the investigation into Walter’s death continues. In fact, it has become far more interesting in the last few weeks as rumors of your behavior just after your turning have come to our attention.”
I thought back to the night I rose, running through what I did and what could be construed as a vampire faux pas. “OK, so it was a mistake to try to feed from my friend, but Gabriel stopped me. Zeb wasn’t hurt. In fact, he has no memory of that night, so no harm done.”
“I don’t know who this Zeb person is, and I don’t particularly care. I am referring to the widely circulating public opinion that you and Walter were involved in a passionate affair, ” she said, the hint of a smirk giving her youthful features a cruel, unnatural twist. “That he broke it off because you were too possessive and ‘clingy.’ And that you attacked him at the Cellar and set him on fire in a jealous rage.”
“Why—why—why would anybody say that?” I stammered. “Why would I get involved in a passionate affair with anybody right after turning, much less a passionate affair with Walter? And what do you mean by circulating public opinion? Does that mean a bunch of vampires are sitting around gossiping about me?”
“Our social circles tend to be rather limited but close-knit. We do enjoy it when a little excitement spices up an otherwise dull conversation,” she admitted. “And once you are the subject of a story our community enjoys repeating, it’s difficult to convince the tellers that it’s less than the absolute truth. It’s a fault of our species.”
“You all sound like my mama and her friends.” I leaned heavily against the counter. “I don’t know which part is worse, that people think I set Walter on fire or that they think I dated that mung bean.”
“As you know, if these stories were true, the council would be far less sympathetic to your case. We can support self -
defense or a legitimate battle to the death. But we can’t just let vampires run around throwing matches at each other because of lovers’ spats.”
“Trust me, it’s not true,” I told her. “I’d never met Walter until that night, and he’s the one who attacked me, not the other way around.”
“I’d hoped as much,” Ophelia said. “You seem to have better taste. On that note, you should also know that there are certain stories circulating about you and Dick Cheney, stories that were told with a bit more zeal.”
“Stories about our being bosom companions with no hint of sexual tension whatsoever?”
There was the nasty little smile again. “Stories about the two of you committing indecent acts in the bathroom at Denny’s.”
“What?”
“And the photo booth at the mall. And the Sanderson crypt at Oak View Cemetery.”
“Well, that’s just in poor taste,” I complained. “None of those stories is true, either.”
“You wouldn’t be the first young vampiress that Dick Cheney has…charmed,” she said, her smile fading.
“I haven’t been charmed,” I insisted. “My relationship with Dick is nothing more than a budding friendship based on ridiculously inappropriate banter. Where is all this stuff coming from? Why am I suddenly the Lindsay Lohan of the vampire set?”
Ophelia shrugged. “If they behave themselves, new vampires slip unnoticed from one group to the other, quietly accepted by the vampire community. But you seem to have an enemy. Someone is trying to keep you alienated from other vampires, to keep them suspicious of you. I can’t track the rumors back to a specific source; it’s always something heard from a friend of a friend of a friend, which is typical for the Hollow. Did stories like this follow you around when you were living?”
“No. I mean, other than the typical mean girl stuff in school. Mary Rose Davis accused me of pleasuring our school football team with the aid of Jell-O products, but she was just angry that I beat her for Beta Club treasurer.” Ophelia obviously was not prepared for this mental image and did not respond. “Oh, and Craig Arnold told everybody he ‘made me a woman’ in the back of his pickup after Homecoming. The truth was he was finished before he could get my panty hose down, and then he threw up on my dress. But he told everybody in our grade he’d given me the ride of my life…oh, and that I was frigid and lay there like a dead fish.”
Ophelia glared, tilting her head at me. “I’m sorry, was that an attempt at bonding with me because I appear to be a teenager?”
I sighed. “Generally, I was well liked when I was alive. Not exactly popular but certainly not the target of slander and possible public execution. And I haven’t had any run-ins with anybody since I was turned, except, of course, Walter.”
“Until you can figure out who might wish you harm, I would advise you to keep a low profile. Avoid situations that can be misconstrued. Don’t give us a reason to question your actions further.”
