Elvi was blow-drying her hair when Mabel knocked at the door and shouted something. Frowning, she turned off the hair dryer and called, "What?"
"Are you almost ready?" the woman said impatiently.
"Yes, yes, I'm coming." Elvi quickly began to wrap the cord around the dryer, her gaze sliding longingly over the tub as she did. She'd taken a shower but would have preferred a bath. Elvi loved her tub. It was a large, spa tub with water jets. She'd spared no expense in purchasing it, figuring she deserved it. After all, she'd had to give up her lovely, king-sized bed for a coffin; a luxurious bath seemed only fair.
At the time, Mabel hadn't been at all sure if she should be bathing or showering. After all, there was never any mention of Dracula ever bathing. However, after a lifetime of good hygiene, Elvi refused to go without, dead or not. If her skin began to slough off when wet, then so be it. At least it would be clean dead skin.
Fortunately, that hadn't happened. Elvi had been showering and bathing for five years without any unusual repercussions that she could see. Thank God.
"We're running late," Mabel called out.
Rolling her eyes, Elvi set the hair dryer in the cupboard, crossed to the door, and opened it.
"Of course we're running late. You let me sleep in," she pointed out testily, stepping into the bedroom with just a large bath sheet wrapped around her.
"That's gratitude for you," Mabel muttered, shoving a glass of blood into her hand. "Drink this and then get dressed. I laid out the new dress on your bed."
Elvi raised her eyebrows as she gulped down half the cold, thick liquid, then lowered the glass to point out "I don't have a bed, Mabel. I have a coffin. I only wish I had a bed."
Making a face, Mabel took away the half-empty glass and gave her a push to get her moving. "Dress."
Elvi moved toward the casket in the center of her large, nearly empty room, her shoulders slumping miserably. God, she missed her bed. A king-sized, deluxe model, she and Harry had picked it out together shortly before his death. It had been like sleeping on a cloud. Now she slept in a crate.
Elvi scowled at the dark, walnut casket as she paused beside it.
Catching her expression Mabel said, "Maybe Brendan can do something with your coffin to make it more comfortable."
Her scowl deepened. She'd already put a bedcover in it. Anything else would make it so she didn't fit, or nearly, and she found it claustrophobic enough without making the interior smaller.
"I doubt there's anything he could do," she said, not wanting Mabel to bother the local funeral home director. The man had already gone to great trouble, layering the bottom with dirt from both Mexico and her garden, and then installing a special liner so that the smell and dirt didn't seep through the satin. She didn't want to trouble him further. Elvi hated to be a bother.
She pulled on the dress Mabel had set out, tugged it into place, then peered down at herself and grimaced. It was new, but very much like all her other work dresses. Long, black, and sleek, it had a low neckline and was form-fitting all the way down to her knees where a slit started, allowing some movement. It would restrict every step she took and flash a good deal of lower leg as well.
This was another of her pet peeves. The wardrobe of the undead. It just didn't suit her style at all.
"I wish I didn't have to wear these stupid dresses," she muttered, reaching back to do up the zipper.
"Everyone gets a kick out of them." Mabel brushed her hands aside to take over the task. "It's what they expect."
"Hmm," Elvi murmured. "Would they ever be disappointed to see me running around here in jogging pants and T-shirts."
"You can't do that this week," Mabel told her firmly. "We have a full house of guests."
"Do we?" she asked with surprise. After that fateful trip that had ended Elvi's life, she and Mabel had gone into business together, starting a Mexican restaurant they'd called Bella Black's. The name had been Mabel's idea. It had also been Mabel's idea to sell the house she'd once shared with her deceased husband and move in with Elvi, who lived just three very short blocks from the restaurant. It had made things much easier for both of them. Still, with just the two of them, the house had echoed with emptiness and soon Mabel was suggesting they turn the old Victorian mansion into a bed-and-breakfast as a second income in case the restaurant floundered and failed.
Not that such an event was likely. Bella's was busy every night of the week, thanks to Elvi's status as a sort of town mascot. Still, Elvi had spent the better part of her marriage as a housewife. She enjoyed cooking and looking after others. She might not be able to eat anymore, but Elvi could still cook and did so every chance she got. She loved to touch and smell the food she could no longer consume, and watching others enjoy her efforts was as close as she could get to enjoying them herself. So, they'd renovated the old, Victorian manor, finishing the attic and putting in three bedrooms with en suite bathrooms there, and then named it Casey Cottage after Elvi's daughter.
The only trouble was that most of the guests were locals who stayed at the bed-and-breakfast simply to be able to say they'd slept in the home of a vampire. They had certain expectations as to what a vampire should look like and how they should behave, thanks to shows such as Elvira, Mistress of the Dark and so on, so she was forced to wear these ridiculous outfits at the restaurant as well as when they had guests at the bed-and-breakfast. Which was most of the time. The Mistress of the Dark had a lot to answer for, in Elvi's mind. Including the fact that everyone now called her Elvi rather than Ellen, the name she'd been born with, or even Ellie, which was what most of her friends had called her before she died.
"Here, don't forget your bells."
Elvi grimaced as she took the anklet laced with bells. They'd been a gift from Mabel right after her turning. She'd claimed she thought they were charming, but Elvi knew the truth was they kept her from sneaking up on the other woman and startling her. Mabel had never admitted it, but Elvi knew she had been somewhat frightened of her after her death. If not for their long friendship and her loyalty, Elvi might have been lost. So she'd worn the silly bells home and continued to wear them as they both adjusted to the changes in her life.
Besides, it was all supposed to fit her image as a sultry vampire. Elvi didn't feel sultry in the getup, she just felt ridiculous. But she donned the item without protest. The townspeople were the only reason she'd survived this cataclysmic change, and their patronage at her restaurant gave her the ability to make a living. If they wished to see her in black gowns and bells, then that's what they'd get.
"Ready?" Mabel asked once Elvi straightened.
"I have to put up my hair," she said.
"Leave it down tonight," Mabel suggested.
"But-"
"It looks better down."
Sighing, Elvi ran her fingers through her hair, wishing she could look in a mirror and be sure it wasn't all wild. But everyone knew vampires didn't have a reflection, although she still had directly after her death. Thinking it must be something that happened gradually and not wishing to see this last proof of the loss of her humanity, Elvi had removed the mirrors from her bedroom and bathroom. Understanding, as always, Mabel had then removed the mirrors in the rest of the house, leaving only the one in her own, and in the guest bathrooms and bedrooms. Elvi had to depend entirely on others to be assured she looked all right.
"Do I need makeup?" she asked.
"You never need makeup," Mabel said dryly. "But put on some of that wine-colored lipstick. It looks good on you."
Elvi moved into the bathroom to do so, sliding the tube along her lips from practice in the absence of a mirror.
"Perfect," Mabel pronounced when she returned to the bedroom. "Come on."
Elvi was silent on the way to the restaurant, her gaze taking in Mabel's pale face and shadowed eyes with concern. The woman had claimed she'd let Elvi sleep in because she'd seemed weary, but Mabel had been looking pale and weary as well lately. The woman was sixty-two years old and should have been easing her workload. Instead, between the restaurant, the bed-and-breakfast, and the daytime chores she did that Elvi couldn't do, she had more to do now than ever before. It worried her.
Mabel wasn't just her friend she was a lifeline. Without her, Elvi was sure she wouldn't have survived what happened to her and constantly fretted over what she'd do when age finally claimed the other woman, an issue that was constantly on her mind lately. They'd already lost both their husbands and several friends to death's grasp. How many more years could Mabel evade the reaper? Elvi was hoping for at least twenty, but that was if they were lucky. If they weren't, she may have much less. The thought depressed her.
"Here we are," Mabel said cheerfully as she parked.
Elvi unbuckled her seat belt and slid out of the car to follow her to the back door of the restaurant, her gaze moving briefly upward. The sky overhead was star studded and clear, without a cloud in sight, and she thought that it must have been just as clear a day, with the sun baking down and warming everything.
The sun was something else Elvi missed terribly. She'd always been a summer person, enjoying the sun and the flowers, trees and grass it encouraged to grow. Now she could only enjoy those flowers and trees by the solar lights that lined her garden. If asked, she couldn't have honestly answered which she missed more, food or sunlight.
Her gaze shot forward as Mabel opened the door and a wave of noise poured over them. It sounded like the diners were right there in the kitchen rather than off in the front of the restaurant. Elvi had never heard it so loud.
Frowning, she slipped past Mabel and crossed the kitchen to step into the small hall between the front and back of the restaurant. She peered with amazement through the beads, stunned at the number of people crammed into the dining room beyond.
"Dear God, this must be some kind of fire hazard," she muttered.
"That's what the fire chief said when I showed his family to their table," Mabel said with amusement. "He warned me the next time we think we'll have such a large turnout, we have to put tables on the sidewalk or something."
Elvi nodded absently, not surprised Mike Knight hadn't insisted they shut down now. The party was in honor of his son. Mike was the head of the small fire department for the town and the sort of man always happy to lend a hand to friends and neighbors. He was a popular fellow, as was his charming wife, Karen. Their son, Owen, took after them. The number of teenagers present along with the adults attested to that. It looked to Elvi as if nearly half the town was there.
"I know the upper floor isn't done, but maybe we should open it up to make it a little less crowded," Elvi murmured, ignoring the hunger that was rising inside her as her gaze slid over the mass of humanity. Crowded as the dining area and bar was, the air conditioner couldn't keep up with the heat generated. It was hot, people were sweating, and their scent was a wave rolling over her and making her teeth ache. That half-glass of blood hadn't been enough. She should have finished it off, she realized with worry.
"I already did." Mabel leaned closer to gesture up to the balcony running around the upper floor where nearly as many people were milling about.
Elvi stared at them, but her senses were completely attuned to Mabel and she found herself inhaling slowly and savoring the scent. Mabel was a type-II diabetic, her blood always just that tad sweeter than others despite the medication she took, and sweeter blood was yummy blood as Elvi had learned the few times she'd fed from her friend when she'd first turned and had no other recourse. She allowed herself to enjoy the aroma until she felt her teeth shift, then moved quickly away from Mabel with a moan.
"You're hungry." Mabel eyed her with concern. After five years, she recognized the signs. "I should have let you finish the glass of blood I brought you. Should I get you another glass now to tide you over until the cake is ready?"
Elvi considered it, but shook her head. She found biting others somewhat distressing, it made her feel like an animal, but the hungrier she was, the less distressing it was. She could wait and said so.
Mabel nodded, but her gaze moved to the workers in the kitchen, Pedro and Rosita, who did the cooking, and the waitstaff who were bustling back and forth and in and out of the room.
Clapping her hands to get their attention, Mabel said, "Anyone who isn't needed in here, stay out. I want only Elvi, myself, and of course Pedro and Rosita in here." She smiled briefly at the Mexican couple who did the cooking, then added, "I'll put the finished orders on the table in the hall as they come up and you can place the new orders there for me to collect."
Elvi felt herself relax as the waitstaff emptied out and sent a grateful smile Mabel's way. It wasn't the first time she'd ordered everyone but Pedro out of the kitchen. It was a precaution she took on those rare occasions when Elvi was hungry. The gesture was appreciated.
"I'd better get moving on that cake," Elvi murmured, stepping away from the beads and turning to head back into the kitchen. "Maybe I should make two tonight. I don't think one will do for that crowd."
"I was going to suggest it myself," Mabel admitted.
Nodding, Elvi set to work.
"Who is it?" DJ rose up in the booth, craning his head around in an effort to see who had entered the restaurant. He wasn't having any success.
"No one we know," Victor assured him. On the outside of the booth, he merely had to lean to the side to see the tall, thin young man standing by the restaurant entrance.
The boy was glowering at the crowd now eyeing him as curiously as they'd eyed Victor and DJ moments ago. He couldn't have been more than twenty by Victor's guess and was dressed in the Goth fashion with baggy black pants, a billowing black shirt, and studs around his neck and wrists. His hair was long and pure black, obviously dyed. He was also unnaturally pale.
Makeup, Victor thought, noting the black lips and piercings everywhere.
"Is he one of us?" DJ asked as he gave up trying to see and sank back in the booth.
"A wannabe," Victor grunted. Dismissing the youth Brunswick was talking to, he settled back in his own seat. "A Goth costume, makeup and a bad attitude."
"Not surprised," DJ murmured. When Victor raised an eyebrow, he added, "Well, none of our kind is likely to answer a newspaper ad for singles."
"Hmm," Victor murmured noncommittally. It was his opinion that one never knew what others might do. He'd seen stranger things in his life.
"If she really is one of us, she'll spot him for a wannabe right away," DJ said with unconcern. "Of course, she-"
Victor glanced at DJ curiously when the man cut himself off abruptly. Spotting the startled look on his face, he asked, "What is it?"
"I think that iguana just moved," DJ said with a frown.
Following his gaze, Victor peered at the bright green statue of the family of iguanas. Closer now, he could see that it was actually two adult iguanas with two smaller ones riding on their backs. All of them were stiff and still and Victor shook his head at the other man's moment of whimsy. "Don't be ridiculous, it's a statue."
"No, I'm sure I saw-"
"You can sit here with these two men."
Victor glanced up to see that Brunswick apparently hadn't picked up on the fact the boy wasn't for real and had ushered him to the booth.
"Vlad, this is Victor Argeneau and DJ Benoit," the officer introduced as the younger man slid into the booth. "Gentlemen, this is Vladimir Drake."
"Vladimir Drake?" DJ echoed with a wince, and Victor knew exactly what he was thinking. Being a wannabe was bad enough, but some things just showed poor taste.
"Yeah, you got a problem with that?" the kid asked defensively, then challenged, "Besides, what kind of name is DJ for a vampire?"
"It's short for Dieudonne Jules," DJ said mildly. "It's usually easier for people to use DJ."
"Dieudonne? As in 'God-given'?" Vlad sneered, obviously knowledgeable of some French, but then this was Canada. "And Benoit is short for Benedictine, isn't it? That means blessed." His mouth twisted. "A vampire with the names 'given by God' and 'blessed'! Yeah right."
DJ glanced to Victor and commented, "I'd think he was a name aficionado and smarter than he looks, but I read his mind."
Victor smiled faintly. He too had read the boy's mind and discovered that while Vlad knew the translation for Dieudonne from years of French in school, and his real name was Benedict. He had looked it up years ago and found the meaning as well as read the diminutives, including Benoit. He'd made everyone call him that for weeks afterward until some other trend had caught his eye.
"Yeah, sure you've read my mind," Vlad said with obvious disbelief. "I bet you two aren't even real vampires."
Victor ignored the challenge, his eyes sliding to Brunswick who still stood to the side of the booth, watching this interaction with interest.
"You show me yours and I'll show you mine," DJ said mildly.
"Show my what?" Vlad asked with a laugh. "You want to see my dick? You're not vampires, you're gay!"
Victor reached out to place a hand on DJ's arm as he sensed him stiffening, and then turned slowly to face the boy. He stared at him long and hard until the boy began to squirm on the opposite bench seat, then Victor opened his mouth and let his teeth slide out. He let them stay there briefly, long and sharp and pearly white, then slowly retracted them and closed his mouth.
"Holy shit!" Vlad gasped. He'd gone pale beneath the makeup and was now trembling in his seat. Apparently, for all his posturing, he hadn't been at all prepared to meet a real vampire this night. By Victor's estimation, the boy was seconds away from relieving himself right there in his pants.
"Run along home, little boy," he growled, losing patience. "This is the big league and you're missing more than the balls needed to play here."
Vlad hesitated for barely a heartbeat, then scrambled out of the booth and hurried toward the exit at nothing short of a run. Victor leaned out to watch him. The minute the wannabe reached the door, he slipped into his thoughts and made him pause while he wiped his mind, replacing his true memories with more mundane ones of a disappointing meeting with an overweight, old wannabe named Elvi.
Satisfied that Vlad wouldn't be running around Toronto screaming about vampires loose in the streets of Port Henry, he mentally urged him out the door and sat back in his seat.
"At least there's one less bed to find," Brunswick commented as he watched the door close behind Vlad. Then he slid into the opposite seat and peered curiously at Victor, "Could you really read his mind?"
Victor raised an eyebrow at the question. If Elvi was truly one of their kind she should have the skill as well, and Brunswick, who claimed to be her friend, should know it. Then again, it could make mortals uncomfortable to know they could be read and controlled. Such knowledge might put a strain on a friendship and she might have kept it to herself.
Before he could decide whether it would cause problems or not to admit he could, another lull hit the conversations in the room and Brunswick glanced toward the door. "Another one. We'll talk later."
Victor watched him slip out of the booth and then leaned to the side again to get a look at the latest arrival. He cursed on spotting the tall, fair-haired man who'd just entered and was now surveying the restaurant.
"Who is it?" DJ shifted in the booth, half raising from his seat again to see, despite it not having worked last time.
"Harpernus Stoyan," Victor answered, his gaze locked on the tall, blond German dressed in cords and a casual shirt.
"Harper?" DJ asked with surprise. "Here? How did he-?"
"The same way we did, I imagine," Victor muttered, settling back in his seat when Brunswick began to lead the man to their table.
"You think he actually answered the ad?" The younger man sounded so amazed that Victor had to roll his eyes. This was another sign of DJ's youth... if not in age, then at least in thinking. He himself had long ago learned that once an immortal reached a certain stage, there was little he wouldn't do to find his lifemate. Victor himself wasn't far from that stage. Unfortunately, he'd already found, loved, and lost his lifemate, and didn't hold out much hope that there was another out there for him.
"This is-" Brunswick began as he reached the table. It was as far as he got since Harper had spotted the occupants and recognized them at once.
"Victor! DJ!" he exclaimed. His surprise quickly turned to chagrin and he shook his head. "Fancy meeting the two of you here. It looks like I'll have some competition."
Brunswick's eyebrows rose. "The three of you know each other?"
"We're old friends," Victor admitted as he slid out of the booth to shake hands with Harper.
"Well, I didn't expect that," Brunswick admitted, then glanced past them toward the door and sighed once more. "Number four of six."
Harper and Victor turned to peer at the latest arrival, both of them scowling when they saw who it was.
"Edward Kenric," DJ muttered, spotting the man as he too got to his feet beside the booth. Unlike the rest of them, Edward had apparently thought a Mexican restaurant meant black tie. He was dressed to impress in a tux, his light hair slicked back from his patrician features.
Brunswick's eyebrows rose at the distaste in DJ's voice. "I take it this is someone else you know?"
"Oh, yes, we know him," DJ admitted, then added under his breath, "the pompous prick."
Brunswick smiled faintly, but merely asked, "Is he one of you?"
Victor almost said no in hopes the police captain would invite the other immortal to leave. It would be one less complication in this case. However, just as he opened his mouth to answer, he thought to check Brunswick's thoughts first and found that he'd nearly made a very large mistake. The officer had already guessed from their reactions that Edward was one of them; the question wasn't to see if he was, but to see if Victor would answer honestly or take advantage and try to eliminate what Brunswick thought was competition for the hand of the unknown Elvi.
"Yes, he's one of us," Victor answered and then pointed out, "the booth is starting to get a bit crowded. Maybe you should sit him somewhere else."
"Preferably far away," Harper concurred.
"Seating him in the parking lot would be good," DJ suggested.
"The parking lot is full at the moment," Brunswick said with amusement. "I think I'll just sit him here with the three of you. After that we'll have to maybe move to a table, though. That is, if the others are for real as well."
Before anyone could comment, he turned and headed off to greet Edward.
"You should have lied and said Edward wasn't one of us," DJ muttered as they watched Brunswick go. "Now we're going to be stuck with the bastard."
"No, he shouldn't have." Harper settled himself on the far bench seat of the booth as Victor and DJ returned to their side. "It was a test. Brunswick had already guessed Edward is one of us. If Victor had said he wasn't, he would have been the one to go," Harper announced, proving he too had read the man's thoughts. He then glanced toward the door, his eyebrows rising. "Isn't that... what's his name?" Harper frowned. "Damn... Alessandro something."
"Cipriano," Victor muttered, having leaned to the side to see that yet another immortal had entered the restaurant and now joined the conversation between Edward and Brunswick. Like the rest of them, Alessandro had dressed more casually for this meeting. While he wore a billowing white shirt, it was tucked into tight blue jeans.
"Cipriano's all right," DJ commented. "Only one more to go, then. Maybe once he's here, we can finally meet this Elvi."
"There are six of us altogether, then?" Harper asked with interest.
"Five. I'm just Victor's driver on this trip," DJ corrected, then added, "although there was a sixth, but he was just a wannabe and skedaddled pretty quick when Victor showed his fangs."
Harper chuckled, and then something at the door caught his attention again.
"The last has arrived," he announced, eyes narrowing. "He's not one of us, but there's something..." He paused, frowning, and then said, "There's something wrong. He's difficult to read, his thoughts are chaotic."
Victor leaned out to peer at the final man. The fellow looked normal enough with brown hair, average looks, and wearing a corduroy jacket over a casual top and dress pants, but when Victor slipped into his mind, he found a miasma of rage and disconnected thoughts. His name was Jason Lerner and Victor had just managed to find his way to Lerner's true intentions in being there when Harper said, "He's quite mad. He's here to stake Elvi, not see if she is his lifemate."
"That was his intention," Victor murmured, sifting through the thoughts swirling in the man's head. "But Brunswick has just introduced Edward and Alessandro as immortals and he's thinking they'll do for a target."
"Shit," DJ muttered, rising up in his seat, desperate to see now.
"I don't think Edward or Alessandro have bothered to try to read him," Harper murmured. "Can you control the man, Victor? I can't, but you're older, maybe-"
Harper's voice died as Victor suddenly leapt to his feet and started for the door.
