Dead Vampires Don't Date (4 page)

4.
Lies I Told My Aunt.

I woke the next morning sweaty and totally turned on. I'd dreamt of big demons and hot, kinky sex.

It shocked me.

Not necessarily the hot, kinky sex part, but that I
hadn't
dreamt about blood and death.

Instead, vivid visions of myself handcuffed to a bed while a certain demon ran the edge of his horn down my throat, along my sternum to . . .

Wow. I sat up, hands pressed to my flaming hot cheeks. My heart pounded in my chest. Thank the Spirits Morgan wasn't around.

I'm not opposed to kinky sex, although I haven't really had that much experience with it either. As long as a person doesn't have their kinky sex in the middle of the street where anyone can see, or possibly participate in, then I really don't see the problem with it.

My aunt and I are friends with a coven in the Bible belt so I realize I'm probably in the minority with that. That's okay. As a mortal witch who is also part of an immortal community, I'm used to being in the minority.

I do prefer my sex to accompany a relationship, which is a total catch twenty-two in my case since I'm cursed to fail in love.

It's a familial curse. Affecting the last three generations. I'd say lucky for those other ones and beyond, but they're still missing and luck is a relative thing.

After several failed relationships – two that I came close to falling for - until they died – I'd finally conceded and decided to give up on men and love for good.

Hence my new "no men" motto.

That, sadly, left me without sex period. The kinky kind included. Which the big demon brought to my immediate attention. He was like my own personal, well, demon. A true test to my will power.

Why I was even stewing over this I really didn't know. Witchy intuition aside, I doubted I would ever see him again. I had more important, murdered and illegally buried things to worry about.

Ah. That's why I had the demon on my mind. The Great Sublimator at work.

My alarm began to beep. I turned it off. Ten in the morning. I had an interview with a human at eleven. I really needed to quit scheduling my appointments so early. What's the point of owning your own business if you can't set decent hours?

I got up, careful not to disturb the Al mound under the covers. We keep really late hours and he likes to sleep until noon.

After taking care of business and brushing my teeth, I studied my hair in the mirror. The majority of it hung down past my shoulders. One large clump stuck out at a mostly right angle.

I needed a cup of coffee before I dealt with this.

I'd almost made it back to the bathroom, steaming cup of the Essence of Life in hand, when my phone rang.

Back to the kitchen. I squinted at my caller ID.

Hell.

The phone rang again.

I considered a silencing spell, but my aunt would know if I worked my magic on her call.

"Hi, Aunt Tabitha."

"Good morning dear. How are you?"

I pondered several different responses.

"Good." I couldn't see the lie in that. My first important client might be dead, but I wasn't.

"Wonderful. And how did your interview go last night? Is the prince as handsome as they say?"

She'd gone right past the wading pool and into shark infested waters. I did not want to lie to my aunt. 1. I hate lying and 2. She is my only relative.

My mother, Samantha, had died seven years ago and their parents had long since passed. My father had been killed before I was even born – familial curse, remember – and we'd lost all those other generations.

"Umm." Still hedging my bets.

"What is he looking for in a wife? Did he promise to tell everyone about your agency?"

Aunt Tabitha is incredibly proud of my agency. Most of our family has been in the entertainment business. Sketchy work that. My mother did make it big for a few years in the sixties when she starred in the TV show Bewitched.

I know, I know. The credits claim Elizabeth Montgomery, but it was really my mother, Samantha. She'd been dating the director and he needed an actual witch for the show. They didn't have the budget for special effects.

They used mom's name for the character since she couldn't remember the name they'd picked. Hazel, I think. Little known bit of television lore there.

Most witches have names that end with a soft "a" sound like Samantha or Tabitha – and yes, they had to call the daughter in the show by my aunt's name for the same reason previously mentioned.

I think mom picked Kate for me in an effort to somehow break the curse. So far, no luck.

Mom stashed most of her earnings in a savings account for me, which I used to open my agency. Ever since she had passed away, Aunt Tabitha had taken her role as doting aunt Very Seriously. I loved her all the more for it.

I took a small sip of the hot coffee. A mix of white and red caught my eye over the rim. There's a dumpster several blocks from my work that I could use to dispose of last night's evidence.

I opened my mouth to fess all, when it occurred to me that if I admitted to the interview that left me as one of the last people to see the prince alive – or at least not totally dead. Possibly THE last person. Excepting the murderer, of course.

Which left me as SUSPECT NUMBER ONE.

And here I'd just been worried about getting rid of the body so it wouldn't hurt my business.

Murder is absolute hell.

If
I became a suspect, then not only was I a target, but if anyone came after me, they might go after my aunt too.

Vampires are nothing if not thorough in their vengeance.

"Actually, Aunt Tabitha, he never showed up." And the lies began.

"What? He didn't?" Her outrage came through loud and clear.

"No. I have no idea what happened." For someone who had never consciously lied before, I was pretty good.

"Well, did he at least call and make another appointment?"

"No. Not a word. Although I guess he could have left a message after I left." Acting really did run in my veins. An actor may not have been impressed, but I certainly was.

"Well, I should hope so. He is a prince after all. You expect better of royalty."

My aunt comes from a different generation that didn't appreciate the royal divorces and drunken exploits that abound these days.

Our coven is mortal, but we do tend to live very long lives. My aunt had been in the crowd at Queen Elizabeth's wedding. Queen Elizabeth the first, not the second. She looks maybe forty now. My aunt, not the Queen.

"Mmmhmm." I hemmed. My newly found ability to lie had fled like a cat burglar with the Crown Jewels. The royal thing appeared to be seeping into my brain.

"I've gotta run Aunt Tabitha," I said. "New appointment at eleven. Still have to shower." My sentences were practically running on top of each other. I could feel my stomach start to churn.

"Well, all right dear. I'll pick up Al when he wakes up at noon. Let me know what happened to the prince."

"Sure." Never in a hundred million years.

I hung up the phone. My coffee splashed dangerously close to the rim. I set the cup carefully on the counter to wait until my hands quit shaking. I'd only made one cup and I couldn't manage without coffee and with the lies as a package deal first thing in the morning.

If anyone had asked me fifteen hours ago what my life was like I would have answered in an upbeat and obnoxiously cheerful way. Now . . .

If he wasn't already dead, I'd consider doing the prince in myself. Just on principal.

5. Witch Meets Barbie.

As I slid my key in the lock of the front door to
Love Required
, my neck began to tingle. One of those silent warnings that hits you unexpectedly, but you know to pay attention to it.

I surreptitiously scoped out the street. I must admit I'm not great at being surreptitious. My head swiveled back and forth like I sat court-side at a Wimbledon match.

Actually, it was more like one swivel. That demon is rather hard to miss. His size alone calls attention. And the lumpy grey skullcap appeared out of place, due to the fact it was knitted and it was July. It might be cool in Idaho during the evenings, but midmorning brings out the sweat.

All of that, plus the fact he wasn't even trying to be subtle. He leaned casually against a lamppost on the other side of the street. Bare arms crossed over massive chest, his vest this morning a deep espresso. The position of his arms widened the lower section of the deep brown leather, exposing a good deal of skin and muscle.

My hormones had the same reaction the rest of me did when I saw a good deal. Especially one on brooms. They squealed.

I'm not an easy witch, but there are just certain demons that will do it to you every time. This one did it for me. And then some.

Of course, I wasn't about to let him know that. I turned to fully face him and then matched his pose as I leaned against my doorway. My arms pulled my black shirt just a little too snugly over my stomach. I eased my arms slightly forward. Much more comfortable that way. It had nothing to do with the change in the way my shirt now draped. Really.

The decorative flag that hung from his lamppost cast a shadow over the demon's face and neck. The exact details of his features remained a mystery.

At least that was the excuse I used while my eyes roamed freely over the rest of him. Yum. Yum. Yum. I lived in a small town and I can tell you they just don't grow demons like that around here.

We studied each other for several minutes. A couple of trucks roared past. A small flock of birds flew by overhead. Down the street a door slammed.

As if deciding he had given me plenty of time to grow increasingly self-conscious and wrapped in knots over his presence alone, the demon slowly straightened. How he knew me so well already, I haven't a clue.

He took three steps into the street when he stopped. I had no plans to walk towards him. I was quite content to let him do all the work.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a cellphone. He answered the call with his eyes on me the entire time. The sunlight played over his face, but again I found myself simply lost in his gaze, in the depths of amber. Mesmerizing. Powerful. Dangerous.

His eyes narrowed abruptly. We were too far apart for me to hear anything he said, but I had the distinct notion he was not happy with the person or creature on the other end of the phone.

A second later he hung up. A sort of frustrated desire settled into his gaze. My stomach fluttered in response.

"I will see you later."

He turned and stalked over to a large, black pick up. He'd headed off down the road before my brain started up again.

Sweet Glinda, his voice matched the rest of him. Dark, confident and all yummy masculine perfection.

Wow. I needed to grab hold of my wand and get a serious grip. Yes, he was a hot demon. Probably literally. And yes, he pretty much embodied every fantasy I had ever had. I knew he would definitely star in all the future ones.

Still, a good witch knows not to let her hormones rule her head. Or the rest of her body. Things just did not add up with him. If he'd simply been interested in a date, he would have introduced himself right away. Something more was going on. Demons don't leave hell very often.

I needed to keep my wits about me and my magic close.

****

The bright morning sun highlighted the buttery blonde locks of my client as she opened the front door, turning them into a whipped spread of pure silk. I'd sort of thought that gleaming hair occurred on the front cover of People after a great deal of airbrushing.

Her perfectly coiffed, flat ironed, shoulder length, golden blonde, straight-from-her-parents hair, really did shine.

I wasn't sure which direction my curls were headed in today.

She wore a crisp white blouse with a shell pink sweater she had tied by its arms over her shoulders. It matched her cotton candy lipstick perfectly. Her short skirt was one coordinating shade of pink darker.

Long, sleekly tanned legs extended down to – I leaned slightly forward over my counter – end in a pair of pink and white sneakers.

I'm not making this up.

I tried to subtly smooth out the shirt I'd put on moments before Al woke up early and leapt enthusiastically into my arms as we shook hands. I brought her into the office I reserved strictly for humans.

I muttered a minor truth spell behind her back as she proceeded into the room. Just to be on the safe side. I've never met anyone so perfectly put together, aside from a Hollywood starlet and I've never actually met a real-life actress. Mom doesn't count. She wasn't acting. She was a witch.

No doubt about it. My client was human.

She sat gracefully in the wing chair across from my desk. My human only office mirrored the other one with a few minor changes in the details. The photos in this office depicted human couples of varying ages and ethnicity. I'd left my family symbol off and this wall remained blank, but still gorgeous in the deep wine color.

The chairs carried the same symbols for truth, love and money. Magic works on everyone.

My client set her pink and white insanely matching purse on the table and crossed those killer legs. My chair squeaked in protest as I thunked down. I slid my dirty biker boots into the well of my desk.

"No offense, Ms. White, but you hardly look like you need my services."

I know I shouldn't try to run off my clients – especially not before I received at least
some
money – but really . . .?

In utter fascination, I watched as a deep rose entered her perfect upper cheekbones. Even her blush matched. How did she do that? Maybe I could get her to teach me. Oh, right. Why bother? No men.

"Oh, thank you Ms. Storm. You're too kind. Please, call me Sandra."

I actually peered around her to see if tiny blue birds planned to show up at any minute and sing in delicate harmony as they fluttered charmingly around her - her voice was that melodious.

Sweet Glinda.

My client was Cinderella and Barbie combined.

I was screwed.

Prince Charming had come out of the closet, begun wearing minuscule leather S&M outfits and transferred to the demon realm years ago. I was pretty certain that Ken had moved to Omaha.

****

Several hours later I had my list compiled of Sandra White's desires in her true love. I'd written down five things.

She liked blondes - probably the matching thing – athletes, a steady income, someone well-educated and with good manners.

That was it.

Her list of dislikes started with a "lack of humor" and ended with an "overabundance of nose hair". I understood now why she needed my help. Picky didn't begin to describe her. She had more issues than a diva who stayed
out
of jail.

I was with her on the nose hair thing though. Yuck. How could you kiss someone with hair sticking out of their nose? I'd never be able to focus in on the lips, just the un-contained strands as he moved closer and closer . . .
Ack!

One of these days I might want to look into some type of serious questionnaire. But why bother? I'm a witch. Like I'm really going to take the written answer over my own instincts. People lie all the time. Magic doesn't.

I pulled out two of the large binders I kept in my bottom drawer. I'd organized them into different client categories.

Men went into one binder, women the other. I'd sub-categorized from there down. Gay vs. Hetero; Serious vs. Using me as an Escort Service and then into groups under the appropriate Charms.

In the magical realm of love, my clients fall under different Charms – very close to the Astrological chart a lot of humans rely upon, but more accurate. Dead on in fact.

When a client comes in, I work the spell for deciphering their Charm. Once I have that, it's sort of like matching the pieces in a jigsaw puzzle.

Humans would relate it to trying to match Aries to a Gemini – a fairly good match; or Aries to Cancer – not recommended.

Under Charms, a fairly good human match translates into ten plus years of marriage - considering the divorce rate these days, damn near eternal love. Not recommended . . . well, for the HC that usually ends in a death sentence for one of the clients.

I try to avoid matching any of my clients with Charms that are not recommended for each other.

A little Charm spell, a dash of magic and my own instincts – have I mentioned that my family coven is known for its ability to find true love? Our own personal love curse aside of course.

We've matched couples for our entire three generations. I just do it for money now.

Sometimes I can decipher a human's particular Charm right down to the smallest detail. I've never had a match go wrong when I'm that accurate. Actually, I've never had a match go wrong period.

Except for that one zombie . . . oh, that's right. He died.

Then again, I've only been in business for a couple years. Still, marketing is marketing, and I'm not one for letting a little detail like that not make it to the giant red and black sign on my front door.

"Ninety-seven percent match success rate!"

Okay, I did fudge it by three percent. You just know someone will try to sue you over one hundred percent these days. Never mind that it's true.

I slid my notes on Barbie - Sandra White - as well as her photo into the binder for women. I set it aside and pulled out the binder for men.

I flipped to the section I wanted, studied the five men in this particular Charm group and decided on two. I wasn't thrilled with either.

I could use a few hundred more clients. Then I wouldn't have to stuff most of the binders with pictures from magazines. It looks great for the clients, but limits my actual selections.

I put the binders back in my drawer, locked it and set my two choices out flat on my desk.

I mumbled a truth spell. Pretty much what I thought, they were both okay, but not great. I wanted more for Sandra than the six point two years of marriage staring up at me.

She might be nauseatingly coordinated, but I loved Barbie as a child. Heck, sometimes I walk down the Barbie aisle in Wal-Mart just to see what she's up to these days.

Did you know Barbie is a major player in several different academic and industrious fields? She also recycles.

I picked up the phone to place my calls. Maybe the perfect guy - or hunky demon - would walk into my office sometime soon?

One could always hope. Curse or no curse, I certainly do.