Last Vampire Standing (2 page)

I scanned our own yard and took a head count. The cookout crowd had thinned considerably. Not many people to protect from a threat—if it came to that—and they mingled near the front gate, well away from the hedge. Maggie and Neil circulated among the dozen or so neighbors and friends still chatting in small groups. Mick and Janie, my coworkers from Old Coast Ghost Tours, waved as they headed off to work the late shift. Those two had danced around each other for months, until a terrifying brush with Ike’s fangs bonded them at a deeper level. Now they were openly dating, and they sure made sweet pheromones together.

Millie Hayward and two of her senior friends, Grace and Kay, picked at the Death-by-Chocolate cake on the dessert table. Thinning gray hair aside, these were not your typical old ladies. For one thing, Millie and her cohorts were fanatic fans of the Jacksonville Jaguars football team, and usually wore teal visors with JAG QUEEN embroidered on the bands. For another, their oversized summer purses bore the outlines of the hand-guns they carried.

Dior and Chanel? Nope. The Jag Queens shopped designers like Smith & Wesson. When all three ladies bustled my way, the blood odor thinned as if the lurker moved away from the hedge. I had a sense Smelly moved toward the street that fronted Maggie’s house but I felt no menace. Still, I quick-stepped farther from the hedge to meet Millie’s Shalimar-perfumed hug.

“Cesca, what a great party!”

“I’m so glad you could come.”

I included Kay and Grace in my smile, but Millie is my favorite. I couldn’t help but love her, even if Saber had briefly suspected her of murdering the French Bride.

“We were just talking and remembered Barb can’t make the Jaguar preseason game next Sunday night,” Millie said. “You want to come with us and use her ticket?”

“We’re wearing T-shirts to spell out J-A-G Q-U-E-E-N-S at the games this year,” petite Grace Warner said. “We need you to wear Barb’s
E
.”

“We tailgate before the game, though,” Kay Sims added in a rush, “so plan to leave by four. If you’re up by then.”

“I’m up, but I’ll have to check the ghost tour schedule to see if I’m working,” I warned them. Millie patted my arm. “That’s fine, dear. Just let me know as soon as you can.”

“Yes.” Grace nodded like a gray-haired bobblehead doll. “Because we’ll have to find another
E
if you can’t go.”

“I understand,” I assured her.

“Of course, if you have to work,” Kay added, eyeing Saber as he strode our way, “perhaps your young man would like the ticket. Does he like football?”

“He wouldn’t wear Barb’s T-shirt,” Millie scoffed, and then cocked her head. “Would he?”

“I’d rather see him paint the
E
on his bare chest,” Kay whispered as Saber reached us. He flashed one of his swoon-inducing smiles. “Hello, ladies. How are you tonight?”

If the Jag Queens had been carrying fans, we’d have had a tropical storm-strength wind going. As it was, batting eyelashes stirred a swirling breeze around me.

“Why, hel-lo, Mr. Saber,” Kay flirted. “We were just talking about your—”

“Big
E
,” Grace cut in, then blushed.

Saber’s brows arched. “My big what?”

“We were discussing,” Millie said repressively, “Jag tickets.”

“Aaah. Do you ladies need some extras?”

“No, no. Well, we’re off for more cake, aren’t we, girls?” She grabbed me for another hug and a murmured “Later.”

Saber’s head cocked as he watched them hustle away. “What was that about?”

“Old ladies don’t lose their sense of lust. Did you know that?”

“Sure,” he murmured as he slid an arm around me. “I figured
that
out with you.”

“I am
not
old,” I said firmly, my slow heartbeat stuttering into triple time.

“Of course you’re not.” Saber’s warm lips nibbled a path from my ear to my neck. “Only two hundred and thirty or so.”

I angled my head to give him more room to tantalize. “I’m—ooh there, yes—only two hundred and twenty-eight, and you know it.”

“I do,” he whispered, nipping me now. “It was hell getting all those candles on your birthday cake.”

Normally I wouldn’t want to trip Saber and beat him to the ground, but I’m sensitive about my age because, well, I’m the older woman. Besides, we did have guests.

“Saber,” I breathed.

“Hmmm?”

“Your lips say seduction, but your words are about to get you smacked.”

His chest rumbled with a chuckle, and he patted my behind.

“You ready to go set off the fireworks?” His eyes sparkled with double meaning.

“Give me five minutes to clean up a little more.”

“You’re up all night, Cesca. Can’t you clean when we get back?”

I leaned into him and smiled. “Not if you want some private fireworks later.”

He gulped. I love it when he does that.

“I’ll just go get March and Balch,” he said, backing away. “We’ll load ’em up and get on the road.”

“The detectives are coming with us?”

“Who do you think will keep us out of jail if someone calls the cops?”

“Good point.” Shooting fireworks just any old time
was
illegal.

Since Maggie had made the welcome speech, I stepped to the center of the yard to make the good-bye announcement.

“Attention, everyone. Attention please.” I waited for quiet, then said, “Maggie and I sincerely thank you for being a part of our housewarming. If you want to grab a last-minute snack, please do. Otherwise, we’re ready to hit the beach for fireworks.”

Just then, an eerily pained howl that sounded a lot like
“Noooooooowaaaaaait”
rose from the front yard. A dark blur streaked through the gate and across the lawn to throw itself at my feet. When the blur crystallized, a lanky form in navy blue slacks and a stained yellow polo shirt was kissing my toes.

Six weapons clicked to fire-ready. I knew without looking that three of the guns belonged to the Jag Queens, two to the detectives, and one to Saber. His off-duty .40-caliber Glock.

I didn’t have time to worry if the Jag Queens would get arrested for packing heat. I didn’t have time to worry what the neighbors thought. I didn’t have time to worry what the vampire’s greasy blond hair was doing to my pedicure. Yes, a vampire lay prostrate at my feet. Nothing but a vamp moved as fast as he had, and even a tiny whiff confirmed he stank of sour blood.

“Unless you want to get shot,” I said steadily, “don’t so much as flinch.”

“N-not moving,” he stammered.

“Good. Now, who the hell
are
you?”

A long moment later, he angled his head to peer at me.

“Would you believe, a part of your destiny?”

TWO

003

“Forget who he is,” Saber shouted. “Step away.”

I kept my gaze on the vampire. Part of my destiny? My Aunt Fang, if I’d had one. Still, he’d snagged my attention.

“It’s okay, Saber. He’s not a threat.”

“You can’t be sure of that. Please, Cesca, move.”

“We’ve got a clear shot on the right,” March said.

“Same on the left flank,” Millie chimed in.

I looked up to find Detectives March and Balch and the Jag Queens fanned out ten feet away, frozen in shooting stances. Our remaining guests gawked from the front gate. Saber alone eased toward me.

“Just give me a minute, guys.”

I narrowed my eyes at the vamp and tried to read his thoughts. No dice. Fear tumbled in his brain like clothes in my dryer, but that’s all I could sense.

“Mister, these folks aren’t kidding around,” I said firmly. “State your name and business. Fast.”

“Are those guns loaded with silver bullets?” he choked out.

“Some of them are. The rest of the bullets will just hurt like hell.”

Very slowly, he craned his neck until I saw part of his dirt-smudged face through the fall of stringy hair. Boyish was my first impression of him, but his amber brown eyes carried the weight of age and pain.

“Jo-Jo the Jester.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“My name. It’s Jo-Jo.”

“Jo-Jo Jester?”

“Jo-Jo
the
Jester. A court jester, at your service, my lady,” he said with a slight dip of his head. “May I rise? Looking at you like this is making my eyes cross.”

I glanced at Saber, who now stood to my right. The rest of the posse still had Jo-Jo in their gun sights.

“He needs to stand up,” I said.

“I heard.” Saber scowled and motioned with his gun. “Crawl backward ten feet, then get to your knees.”

Jo-Jo the vampire jester—and how many things were wrong with
that
picture?—did exactly as Saber instructed. Even when he was kneeling, I could guess Jo-Jo to be six feet tall. His polo shirt was more brown than yellow on the front. Were those bug splat spots? A slash wound on his forehead was raw and festering. Small wonder he’d asked if the bullets were silver. From the looks of it, someone had been at him with a silver knife—the only reason a vamp cut wouldn’t have healed. He held his arms slightly out from his lean torso, palms up, as if to show he’d come in peace. Saber’s expression said he wasn’t buying the innocent act.

“Now what,” Saber said, words slow and measured, “do you want with Cesca?”

Jo-Jo snorted. “To me, she is not simply Cesca. She is Francesca, Princess Vampire, Most Royal Highness of the House of King Normand.”

My stomach flipped. My breath stopped. Warmth drained from my body faster than blood from a slashed vein. How did this vampire know my full, formal title? The one Normand had so ceremoniously conferred on me. Every vamp who knew me by that name should have died—really died—over two hundred years ago.

Jo-Jo hadn’t been in Normand’s court. I remembered the bad old days all too clearly, when Marco Sánchez had kidnapped me, and the so-called King Normand had turned me. I recalled the face of every vampire in that court, had tasted the blood of every wretched human slave.

Absolutely no one—human or vampire—should know my title. So how did Jo-Jo know it?

“Cesca, you okay?” Saber asked.

I snapped to the present, swallowed past the pain, and nodded. We had nervous guests waiting, fireworks to shoot. Maybe a vampire, too, if I didn’t get answers fast.

“Jo-Jo,” I said, willing my voice steady and my body warm, “Saber asked you a question. What do you want?”

He squared his shoulders. “If the royal princess would but grant my boon, I seek political asylum.”

That
jerked me back to my normal self.

“Only a country can grant political asylum, so you might as well leave.”

“Wait,” he said, fear on his filthy face. “How about sanctuary? I will be your slave, live only to serve you, my princess beneficent.”

“Slavery has been outlawed for a couple of centuries.”

“A servant then?” he pressed, his expression pleading. “I do housework. Even windows, Your Vast Wonderfulness.”

I looked down at my size-four green cotton shorts and matching scoop neck spaghetti strap top. I am
not
vast.

“I don’t want a servant,” I said, not bothering to keep huffiness out of my tone. “This is the US of A. Land of the free—”

“Home of the taxpayer,” Jo-Jo interjected.

“Say what?”

Jo-Jo’s sharp chin went up. “It’s a line from my comedy routine.”

Saber shook his head. “With jokes like that, you
do
need protection.”

“That’s what
I’m
saying,” the vampire agreed. “And if you’ll put the cannon away, good sir, I’ll tell you why.”

“A straight answer would be refreshing,” I snipped.

“All right, stand up slow and back up another pace or two,” Saber demanded as he turned partly to me. “Cesca, be ready to do your thing.”

My “thing” is pulling aura, the way I fed while I was trapped underground for two centuries. Of course, I only sipped from a man here, a woman there, but, in the extreme, I can drain enough energy to render a human or vampire helpless. I didn’t have to test my skill on Jo-Jo. He did as asked, and Saber signaled to the backup crew to holster or purse their weapons. Saber held his at his side.

“So spill,” I said. “What do you want from me?”

Jo-Jo sketched an elaborate bow complete with a hand flurry that made me imagine he held a frilly, befeathered hat. I had a quick vision of him in a full jester’s costume and frowned. Was he planting that picture, or was I reading his memories? The moon phases didn’t fritz out my psychic senses as much as they used to, but still, I couldn’t read Jo-Jo’s mind, which would’ve been handy to find out how he’d learned my better-forgotten title.

“My princess, you see before you, sadly misplaced in time, a jester of some former renown. I served the courts of—”

“Jo-Jo,” I cut in.

“Yes, Most Royal Mercifulness?”

“Fast-forward. Why do you want protection?”

He deflated faster than a blowfish. His shoulders slumped, and he actually seemed to age.

“The short of it is,” he said, meeting my gaze with haunted eyes, “I’m a marked man for leaving the nest in Atlanta.”

A twinge of empathy pierced me, but I didn’t let it show. I knew full well the Vampire Protection Agency allowed nests of under thirty vamps to exist, but countered, “Nests are supposed to be against the law.”