“I’m not one to say I told you so.” Jane sighed. “But I’ll sing it. I toooooold you soooooo!” She finished on one knee, fanning her fingers dramatically.
“The jazz hands are completely unnecessary,” I told her. “Especially since I am here as a customer. Do you have any books on plants and the supernatural?”
“First of all, jazz hands on a vampire are rare enough to be appreciated under any circumstances,” she said, popping up from her position at a speed that would have caused permanent damage in a human. “And yes, we have a whole section on gardening.” She led me to the front of the store, between an old rack of Tales from the Crypt comics and a large framed picture of Jane and Mr. Wainwright at the old counter. Jane had added several “family” photos in the last year, spread here and there throughout the shop with a careless touch, giving it a feeling of familiarity. There was a picture of Jane and her human best friend, Zeb, who also happened to be Jolene’s husband. Another showed Andrea and her husband, Dick Cheney, arguing over the espresso machine, which Andrea protected with the fierceness of an agitated mother bear. There was a group shot from Andrea’s annual “Ugly Christmas Sweater” Holiday Party. This one included Jane’s darkly handsome husband, Gabriel, who seemed less than thrilled to be sporting a sweater vest crawling with bell-wearing elves. Although she didn’t have much retail experience, Jane had an eye for setting up the sales space. Everything drew the customers in, made them feel connected and comfortable.
I felt a bit envious of their little family. They were perfectly welcoming anytime I saw them. But I didn’t have much time to spend with them. I didn’t have much time for friends. I’d never made the transition from pooling pizza and beer money with my roommates in the dorm to Girls’ Night Out and Sunday brunch. It was a sad, strange realization to know that a seventeen-year-old was your only real source of companionship.
What was I going to do when Gigi left for college? I would come home every night to an empty house. There would be no volleyball games, no last-minute rushing to buy supplies for procrastinated science-fair projects, no midnight pizza or dramatic reenactments of high-school soap operas. A bizarre hollow sensation had me gripping the nearby shelf for support.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Jane asked, nudging me gently.
I blew out a breath, nodding shakily. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
Jane grinned at me. “My kind of book shopper.”
She piled several books into my arms, from recent softcover editions to old linen-covered tomes. I wobbled under the weight of them, so she helped me toddle toward the coffee bar. I took a seat at the bar, where my cappuccino was waiting for me, and tried to determine which books I needed.
“So, you’re taking your gardenin’ to a whole ’nother level?” Jolene asked as I immediately eliminated a leather-bound hardback called Man-Eating Plants of the Amazon.
The reading group had adjourned, promising to read something a little more romantic next month. I used their noisy, happy departure for an excuse not to reveal too much about Cal. But as soon as the shop door closed, Jolene was back to looking at me expectantly.
“Just a little research for a friend,” I said, picking up Botanical Aromatherapy and Psychic Abilities. “He doesn’t know anything about botany, and he’s trying to find some information about which plants have effects on vampires. Like garlic, for instance. I’ve noticed that it does not, in fact, burn you alive, contrary to what The Lost Boys would have us believe.”
“Well, that’s what you get for getting your vampire survival tips from Corey Feldman,” Jane said archly.
“It’s more of a stinky-breath issue,” Andrea added.
“How’d you get close enough to Corey Feldman that you know what his breath smells … oh, never mind.” Jolene chuckled.
Jolene was an odd duck. She was beautiful in a fierce, exotic way—auburn hair, flashing green eyes, sharp white smile. Jane told me that she was once bitter about being replaced as Zeb’s “best girl” by someone with a clear genetic advantage … but then she consoled herself with the fact that Jolene’s braying backwoods twang could peel paint. It was a small consolation, especially when she was such a genuinely nice girl.
I opened a copy of Bizarre Botanicals and Their Uses. I muttered, “Devil’s claw. Bloodwort. Marrow root. Why do they insist on giving these plants such scary names?”
Jane shrieked. “Augh!”
“What?”
She shuddered and slammed the book shut. “I just got a look at eyeball plants.”
“Jane has a thing about eyeballs,” Jolene said, rolling hers.
This started a good-natured argument about the group’s various obscure phobias, including Jane’s fear of clowns and puppets. After a few minutes, I narrowed my choices to Imperfections of a Perfect Creature and The Natural Versus the Supernatural, a guide to the plants, metals, and minerals that had physical effects on supernatural creatures. And A Guide to Ancient Poisons.
“You would tell me if you were planning to use something I sold you to kill someone, right?” Jane said, clearing her throat. I waggled my hand as if I might consider it. She threw a novelty voodoo doll at me. At least, I thought it was a novelty doll.
“I’ll take them,” I told her. I pulled out my purse, but Jane snapped it shut and pushed it back into my hands. “Oh, your money is no good here.”
“Jane, one of these books looks like an antique,” I said, holding up Ancient Poisons, with its weathered green cloth cover.
“You helped me survive wedding-dress shopping with my relatives,” Jane countered. “And you managed to distract my mother during my reception so she was unable to force-feed me cake. You don’t pay here, ever.”
“Thanks, Jane,” I said, hugging her.
“So, I was thinking,” Jane said, squeezing me gently, “that we need to go out for drinks sometime. You know, a Girls’ Night Out. I feel like we don’t get to spend enough time with you. With Gigi leaving for school, you need to get used to ‘adult time’ again.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. Sometimes it was a pain in the butt hanging out with a mind reader. She arched an eyebrow at me.
I thought, Heard that, too, huh?
She nodded.
Know-it-all psychic.
She grinned cheekily.
Meanwhile, the spoken conversation around us continued, our companions unaware of Jane’s mental maneuverings.
“I don’t like your Girls’ Nights.” Andrea pouted. “One of us always ends up questioned by the authorities.”
“Well, who told you to dance on that cop car?” Jolene countered.
“You’re the one who dared me to do it!” Andrea snapped.
“It was in motion!”
Andrea cried, “I borrowed Jane’s bad-decision dress. I had no control over my actions!”
“We’re burnin’ that dress,” Jolene muttered.
Jane smiled serenely, as if there wasn’t a live production of Jerry Springer occurring behind her. “So, this friend that you’re doing the research for, how long have you been … seeing each other?” she asked delicately.
I gasped, hoping that Jane hadn’t seen much of Cal inside my head. I doubted that she’d take the information to the Council, but I didn’t want her to get into trouble with Ophelia on my account. The problem with spending time with Jane was that the minute you realized that she could be listening to your thoughts, you automatically started thinking of all of the things that you shouldn’t think about in her presence. When I was embarrassed over a minor account-balance hiccup with the bank three months before, I learned to recite lists of plant identifications in my head when she was around. It took her a week’s contemplation to ask why I was mentally cursing at her in Latin.
“We’re not dating so much as spending a lot of time together.”
Andrea’s lips quirked at my disaffected tone. “And you don’t seem very happy about it.”
I groaned and dropped my head to the counter. Jane chuckled and patted my back. When I looked up, she’d pulled out the little pink crystal-encrusted flask I kept for bridal emergencies and was waving it in front of my face. She flipped the cap open, and I could smell the alcohol fumes rolling over the lip.
I scowled at the little yellow crystal bee winking at me from the corner of the flask. “I don’t know if vodka is going to improve this situation.”
“Would it make you feel better if I mixed it into your coffee?” Jane asked sweetly.
Behind her, I heard Andrea whip out a little pocket digital recorder and murmur quietly, “Consider adding alcoholic coffee specials to the menu. Investigate licensing issues with the state.”
“OK, so if you won’t drink, you might as well spill,” Jolene said. “Jane’s gonna drag it out of you anyway. She has … evil ways.” She shuddered.
“Fine. I will admit it. I am spending time with a vampire. And sometimes he’s so funny and sweet … and, guh, sexy as hell. But then there are times when he just makes me so angry I could stake him out for the sun to handle. He makes all of these decisions for me, like I’m not even there!” I exclaimed in a tone that had Andrea and Jane sharing a look of amused recognition. “It’s like he thinks he can protect me from the whole world just by—what are you smiling at?”
Jane and Andrea snickered simultaneously. “OK, the mind-meld thing is becoming a little unnerving,” I complained.
Andrea gave me a smile that I hadn’t seen since my mother gave me the “birds and the bees and your changing body” lecture. “Welcome to life with a male vampire.”
“The most dangerous of all boyfriend species,” Jane intoned solemnly. “You’re being Nightengaled.”
“Most dangerous.” Jolene huffed and said something along the lines of, “Clearly, you never hung out with my pack.” Which didn’t make any sense.
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a client.”
Jolene pouted prettily. “But you are havin’ sex with him, right?”
I knocked a clay, acorn-shaped plaque from the bar, only to have Andrea pluck it from midair before it hit the ground. Vampire reflexes would be so handy to have.
I stammered, “Wh-why would you say that?”
Jane tsked. “You have that ‘I’m having the best sex of my life, but it leaves me emotionally conflicted’ look. We’re familiar with that look.”
“I lived that look for the first six weeks after Dick moved in,” Andrea said in a tone so candid that I expected to see a blush on her pale, undead cheeks.
“Until about two months before the wedding,” Jane said, raising her hand.
“Does it get any better?” I asked.
Jane grinned. “The sex?”
“No!” I exclaimed as Andrea cackled. “The emotional conflict. Pervert.”
Jane shrugged, pouring another cup of coffee for Jolene. “That depends on you and your friend. Honestly, it’s difficult having a relationship with a man who thinks he needs to leave you out of the loop to protect you and is generally unfazed by threats of murder. Trust me, I nearly lost Gabriel because of his pigheaded protectiveness. And there’s not much you can do, except refuse to put up with it. Fight back. If your friend is anything like Gabriel or Dick, he wants you to challenge him.”
“To a duel?” I asked.
“No, in the bedroom—and everywhere else. Stand up to him. Assert yourself. You’ll feel better about the relationship, and he’ll respect you more,” Andrea insisted. “One of the reasons Dick liked me was that I was the first girl to turn him down for anything since he was human.”
