Just One Bite (25 page)

“And then you’re going to pop the question?”

“Damn straight. Just as soon as I do communion. And maybe pop a few more Rolaids. And definitely have a couple more drinks.” His voice took on a desperate note and my heart clinched. “Maybe I ought to forget the whole thing and just dedicate myself to killing vampires and Others.”

“Nonsense. You need someone to have fun with and make babies with and grow old with.” And, more important, someone to distract him from killing vampires and Others.

In particular, a certain fabulously dressed blond matchmaker in desperate need of an exorcism.

“Getting married is the right thing to do,” I went on. “You owe it to yourself. You owe it to your mother.”

“She did go through seventeen hours of labor.”

“Band-Aid,” I reminded him. “Don’t think about it,” I told him. “Just rip the sucker.”

“Right. Bye.”

“So what about the exorcism?” I asked after I slid the phone into my purse. “Can you do it?”

“That depends. While we take on cases that don’t meet the specific documentation requirements of the church, we still require proof of the possession. Father Duke will have to meet with the person to determine authentic possession.”

“And then?”

“If the person is truly possessed, he’ll do the exorcism immediately. So”—he pulled out a small black day planner—“let’s just take a look and see when he can meet with you. How about next Friday?”

“How about tomorrow?” When he shook his head, I added, “This is urgent. This isn’t just some nasty demon.”

“He’s wanted by the Prince brothers?”

“You know about Ash?”

“Of course we’ve heard of Ash Prince. He’s completely at odds with everything we stand for. We’re into preserving human life and salvaging souls, while his main goal is to maintain law and order. Satan’s law. If he wants this demon, your friend is as good as dead.”

“Which is why you have to schedule something sooner. My friend,” I started, and he flashed me a strange look. “That is, my assistant doesn’t have much time.”

“Let’s see.” He eyed the planner. “We’ve got a eulogy tomorrow evening, but I suppose I could set it up after that.”

“I’ll take it.”

He scribbled frantically. “There. It’s all set. We’ll meet here at the diner and you can follow me to Father Duke’s home. He’ll do the exorcism there if warranted.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here’s a list of instructions to follow prior to the ritual and a consent-and-release form.”

“I thought this was unofficial.”

“Officially unofficial,” he corrected. “Father Duke has to protect his interests.”

I scribbled my name and was just handing the form back to Father Bryce when Fergie started singing again. I pulled out my phone while Father Bryce added his signature to the form as a witness.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Vinnie said. “I’ve got the ring and I tried to pull it out of my pocket, but then I got sidetracked with a meatball sub and now everyone’s busy talking and, well, I’d hate to butt in.”

“I’ll be there in five.” When Father Bryce arched an eyebrow, I covered the phone and whispered, “My blood slave.”

“Really?”

I grinned. “No. Just a little vamp humor.”

I know, I know, but I couldn’t resist.

“A friend of mine is having a birthday party for his mother and I promised to stop by,” I told the young priest after I hung up with Vinnie and stuffed the instructions into my purse.

“Teresa Balducci?” Father Bryce asked.

“You know her?”

“She’s one of our most devout members at St. Anthony’s. She helps out with the weekly bake sale and heads a clothing donation for a nearby women’s shelter, and she even organizes the monthly spaghetti dinner for the clergy. The woman’s a saint. Please give her my best and tell her Father Duke was planning on attending tonight with Father Paul. Until the throw-up incident.”

“I’ll relay the message.” I gathered up my purse and pushed to my feet. “So we’re on for tomorrow night?”

He gave me a solemn nod. “We’re on.”

Twenty-four

S
ince I didn’t make it a habit of partying with the local clergy (forget popping a few Xanax—my mother would down the whole freakin’ bottle), I bypassed the front walkway of the two-story colonial and headed around the side of the house.

It was a nice house in one of the better Newark neighborhoods, with several feet of carefully manicured lawn and a six-foot-plus fence separating one lot from the next. The moon hid behind the clouds and so the shadows were thick alongside the house. Definitely a prime opportunity to do my best Peeping Vamp impersonation.

I thought so until I felt a prickle of awareness ripple down my spine. I turned and caught a flash of red light peeking through the slats between the fence.

The light disappeared in a blur of blue polyester.

“Who are you?” demanded an old, crackly voice.

“A friend of Vinnie’s,” I blurted. “And Mama Balducci. I thought I’d slip around the back and surprise everyone,” I rushed on, explaining why I was skulking in the dark instead of waltzing up the front walkway. “It’s her birthday.”

“Birthday my ass,” the voice muttered. I heard the squeak of rubber soles and the creak of wood and a silver white updo peeked over the top of the fence.

The hair was teased and coiffed and a good twelve inches tall.

I watched as the hair grew higher and higher.

Okay, make that a good fourteen.

Finally a creased forehead appeared, followed by a pair of night-vision goggles sitting on brightly rouged cheeks.

No, really.

A red light beamed in the center between two mirrored round lenses, which made her look like an ancient fly and blocked my BV view into her thoughts.

“That party is just an excuse,” the woman went on, “to get the whole neighborhood together to make a bunch of racket and disturb my sleep. Why, the whole thing’s been keeping me up all evening. I couldn’t even watch
Wheel of Fortune.
”

I could barely catch the occasional sound of laughter and a very faint “Moon River” playing softly in the background, and I’ve got preternatural hearing.

No way was this geriatric fly—whose wrinkled face looked even more ancient than her hair—hearing a thing.

“You would think the police would have shut it down when they came out the first time,” she went on. “Or even the second. But nooooo. They stayed for pasta first, the bastards, and then came back around for dessert.” The silver updo bopped in confirmation. “You can bet your hind end I’m filing a complaint with Internal Affairs just as soon as they open tomorrow morning. In the meantime, it’s up to me to keep things on the straight and narrow. Fifty years,” she muttered. “I’ve been putting up with this crap for
fifty
years.”

“The Balduccis have a lot of parties, do they?”

The forehead wrinkled even more. “What’d you say your name was again?”

“Actually, I didn’t say. But it’s Lil. Lil Marchette. I own a dating service in Manhattan. You might have heard of it. Dead End Dating?”

“I don’t get to the city much.”

Ya don’t say?

“Well, if you ever do.” I slipped her a DED card along with my standard bribe when I needed to get out of a sticky situation and my vamp charm wasn’t enough. “Call me. I’ll give you a free profile and set you up with three prospective matches.”

“For free? Why on earth would you do that?”

Because you’re annoying the hell out of me and sucking up my time when I’m in a hurry and I’d do anything—anything—to shut you up. I smiled. “Our senior citizen special.”

“Are you trying to say I’m old?”

And sort of scary.

Not that I was scared, mind you. Vampire equaled superior shitkicker. But if I hadn’t been a BV…We’re talking
night-vision
goggles. I could only imagine what she used those for when she wasn’t spying. Maybe burying bodies in the backyard or something.

I swallowed and gave her my most charming smile. “Did I say senior?” I tried for a convincing laugh. “I mean
single
discount. You are single, right?”

“For the past twenty years since Merv kicked the bucket, the bastard.”

“Perfect. Then you’re totally available for the special. As personable as you are, I’m sure I’ll have no trouble finding you the perfect man. And speaking of personable, why aren’t you partying it up with the rest of the neighbors?”

“I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Like lurking around the bushes?”

“You want me to climb this fence and kick your ass fifty ways til Sunday? I can do it. These new orthopedic shoes have aluminum toe reinforcements on account of my grip ain’t what it used to be and I drop things a lot. One kick in the shin and you’re old news, just like that dress you’re wearing.”

Wait a second. Did she just…Did I hear…Oh, no, she
didn’t.

“Where’d you get that?” she went on, the goggles bobbing. “A garage sale?”

I…She…It…My mind raced for something to say that didn’t involve a four-letter word or several big fat tears.

Easy. She’s old and severely fashion-challenged (we’re talking powder blue
and
polyester). It couldn’t be easy.

I bit back several choice replies and considered sending her a nice, persuasive
You’re not a mean, cranky, nosy bee-yotch. You’re nice and sweet and you think I’m the hottest, most well-dressed hottie you’ve ever seen.
But she was wearing the goggles. On top of that, she was female and could probably barely remember sex, much less lust after it. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m just here to have a little fun.”

“Make sure you tell Teresa she’d better keep all that
fun
to a respectable level or I’ll head over there and stick my foot up her—”

“It’ll be the first thing out of my mouth,” I cut in. “Seriously,” I added when she stared me in the eye with that stupid red beam. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Okay, like I was already dead so it didn’t really count. But it’s the principle of the thing, right?

“Are you one of them floozies Vinnie’s always bringing home?” She swept the beam from my pink-tipped toes peeking through the tips of my Jimmy Choos, clear up to the fab highlights I’d had done just last week. “You look like a floozy to me.”

First off,
nobody
said floozy anymore.

Second,
floozies
didn’t drop a small fortune for sea-salt facials and Swedish massages at Christine Chin once a month. Unless they were filthy rich floozies, which would make them escorts. We’re talking an entirely different tax bracket.

And third…why the hell was I kissing the fly’s ass when I should be doing a search and rescue for Vinnie?

Oh, yeah. Skulking in the dark. Low profile. Preservation of the entire BV race.

“I love your hair,” I blurted. “Is it natural?”

“Smartass.” She snorted. The red beam shifted. Wood groaned. The hair disappeared.

I listened to the
clop-clop
of her shoes and waited for the screech of the screen door. Turning, I picked my way through the thick bushes a few feet until I reached the nearest window.

A basement ran along the bottom of the house and pushed the first floor several feet above ground level. Even with five-inch stilettos, I wasn’t tall enough. I pulled good old levitation out of my bag of vamp tricks, floated up a few inches, and peered inside.

The living room was packed with people.

Some sat on the overstuffed sofa and chairs, others milled around a massive dining room table decked out with every sort of pasta known to mankind—ravioli, manicotti, lasagna, angel hair. A huge platter of meatballs—make that
seven
platters—dominated the center of the table, while the bowls of pasta edged the perimeter. The coffee table overflowed with gifts. A banner that read
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MA
! hung from one corner of the room to the next.

My gaze swept the sea of faces until I spied Carmen. She sat on the sofa next to a short, gray-haired woman with plump cheeks, a wide smile, and a flower-print dress.

Teresa Balducci.

I knew it even before I noticed the miniature black Yorkie that sat on her lap. Or the large crucifix that dangled around her neck, along with a St. Benedict medal and a few others I didn’t recognize.

The doorbell rang. The old woman handed the dog to Carmen and pushed to her feet. She waddled to the front door, much to the objection of everyone else, including Father Paul. The old priest urged her to sit down and save her energy for emptying bedpans at the senior center the following morning.

“Nonsense. I don’t even think of that as work. It’s a pleasure just to help out those less fortunate.”

Yikes, the woman
was
a saint.

Mama Balducci pulled open the door to an elderly couple. The man carried a large gift-wrapped box that contained an in-home spa treatment for bunions and a doggie toy for the Yorkie.

FYI—I’m not Superman, folks (blue and red and yellow? So
not
my best color combo). It’s just that the old man had wanted to keep the spa treatment and the truth flashed in his eyes when he handed over the gift.