Tantalize (14 page)

It was hard to tell, but I thought the ’dillo was Travis.

A squat beige candle was burning on my nightstand. Garlic scented.

“Quincie, it’s you!” Clyde sat up to look at me. “We just heard you come in, and we kind of panicked —”

“Kind of.” I stayed where I was, back to the door, fighting to calm myself.

“He shifted,” Clyde continued. “I cut the lights, and —”

“Played dead?” I raised my chin. Kieren often said dominance was the foundation of most exchanges between mammals. The higher up the food chain, the more complicated the game. In my own bedroom, having been scared out of my wits, I was not feeling inclined to defer.

“We thought you were him!” Clyde went on.

It took me a minute to process that. “My uncle?”

“The vampire!”

I should’ve guessed. “And what are you again?”

Clyde shut his eyes like he was about to go catatonic, so I took on the kind of voice a vet might use while administering annual shots. “Easy.” The words felt idiotic, but . . . “Some of my best friends are werepeople.” My best friend. “You can tell me.”

“’Poss, ’possum,” Clyde replied, rising. “I’m a wereopossum. I can play dead in human or ’possum form. That’s . . .” He pointed. “Travis. He’s a werearmadillo.”

I’d figured that much out. “Kieren sent you.”

Travis uncurled and bobbed his bulky head.

“We’re supposed to vampire-proof your house,” Clyde explained. “We started here, in your bedroom, and thought we’d work our way out. We would’ve asked first, but nobody was home and Kieren said it was an emergency, so —”

“How did you get in?”

Clyde shrugged. “The front door was unlocked, which isn’t very safe. Vampires have to be invited in, but there are all kinds of other —”

“Yeah, I know.” What was with Uncle D? I wondered, not for the first time. Didn’t he have the good sense to be afraid?

Sidestepping the stinky, sticky fluids, I paced the floor of my bedroom. My nice, normal, sensible bedroom, the one I hadn’t bothered to redecorate since I was about twelve. A full-size canopy bed with a calico-print bedspread, matching nightstand and dresser in an eggshell ivory, moth-chewed Oriental rug that clashed with the bedspread, a rattan chair. And Travis . . . God, I’d never seen a wereperson in animal form before.

Something occurred to me. “Vampire-proof it how?”

Holding up the spray bottle, Clyde answered, “Holy water for the window panes, and in the bag, we’ve got —”

“What’s in your other hand?” I asked.

“Uh.”

“Are those my
panties
?”

“Well,” Clyde replied, “we might have gotten a little distracted.”

Oh my God. “And where the hell is Kieren?”

“Investigating something at school that will just blow —”

“You,” I said to Clyde. “Put. My underwear. Down.

“And you,” I told Travis, grimacing at the yuck on my hands, “fix yourself.”

Glancing down, I noticed the shredded boy-clothes, recognized them as remnants of what he’d worn to work. “No, wait,” I said. “I’m going to grab some of my uncle’s things and bring them back here. Then I’m going downstairs so you can do whatever you need to do to become a fully clothed, boy-shaped sophomore again.” I pointed at the bag on the floor, the one with a Celtic cross half falling out of it. “Take that with you.”

After Travis and Clyde collected their antivamp kit and left, I blew out the garlic-scented candle, cracked my windows, cleaned the floor, showered, scrubbed the tub, and then decided I’d feel better with some protection handy.

But the gun I’d inherited from Grampa Crimi? Gone. I’d always kept it in my chest at the foot of my bed, beneath the Mexican blankets. I double-checked between the folds to be sure.

Kieren had warned me against carrying it, bringing it to work. Because the gun couldn’t protect me, he’d said. Because it could be taken away.

K
ieren’s truck pulled up alongside me as I was walking to school the next morning. I’d gone the long way, through the residential neighborhood, to think.

“Hey,” he called from the driver’s seat, “get in.”

I kept walking. I hadn’t called or e-mailed him last night, hadn’t counted on seeing him until I got to school, hadn’t figured out yet what I wanted to say.

“You’re mad?”

I didn’t slow down.

“Yeah, Clyde called me when he got home. I’m sorry, Quince.” He stopped and leaned over to open the passenger side door. “I’m trying to apologize.”

I didn’t get in. “They were in my bedroom!”

“They weren’t supposed to do that, just go into your house like that.”

“Clyde was rummaging through my underwear!”

Kieren’s expression became dangerous, possessive. It was clear Clyde hadn’t bothered to mention that tidbit.

I pressed. “I want my grandfather’s gun back.”

He narrowed his eyes. “The gun?”

“Don’t play dumb,” I replied, lowering my voice as a jogger sped past. “You knew where I kept it, you sent in your little friends, and now it’s gone.”

“Quince, please get in the truck.”

“No.”

He killed the ignition, got out, and joined me on the sidewalk. “Did you see them take it?”

“No. But they had a bag with them. It was probably in the bag.”

Kieren put his hands on my shoulders. “I did not take the gun. I swear to you I didn’t. I didn’t ask Clyde or Travis to take it either, but believe me, I’m going to talk to them this morning about a few things.”

I shrugged him off, tired of touching that only went so far.

“We’re going to be late for school,” Kieren said.

“I’m not going.”

“But —”

I turned around, started walking. “I’m going to work instead.”

“What about the gun?” Kieren called.

As if he didn’t know.

When I stormed into Sanguini’s kitchen, Brad was seated at the island reading
A Taste of Transylvania
from The Eclectic Ethnics Series. “Something wrong?” he asked.

I stopped in the middle of the room, realized I was standing exactly where I’d . . . where Kieren had first discovered Vaggio’s body, and jumped back. “Men suck.”

Brad seemed to consider this. “Not all men, just the really good ones.”

I folded my arms, unappreciative.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Brad asked, so solid, secure,
there.

I took the stool next to his. “Why does everything have to change?”

“Not everything does,” he replied. “Some things are forever.”

I mulled over how Kieren was going to leave me, how I wasn’t sure I could trust him anymore. “Not in my life.”

“Maybe,” the chef said, “it’s your life that’s the problem.”

I thought again about Kieren, how long I’d pined for him.

Maybe Brad was right.

I
had to give Brad directions to Barton Creek Square Mall, just south of downtown, off MoPac, the gateway to the western suburbs. It was our latest expedition in search of a vampire chef ensemble. Neither of us spoke from the back door of Sanguini’s until we reached the
primo
parking space near the movie theater.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you probably think I’m neurotic, but let’s just go.”

“Something wrong?” Brad asked from the driver’s seat, his hand on the key.

Inside waited a Nordstrom, a JCPenney, a Sears, two Dillard’s. An Abercrombie & Fitch, Eddie Bauer, and untold shoppers.

It was possible that we might be able to find something Brad could wear at one of the various retail outlets. But it would be mass-produced, easily copied, and potentially familiar to any Tom, Dick, and Hernando who strolled through the door.

Like minestrone, not special enough.

“Too risky,” I said. “We can’t have some random customer show up looking like your twin.” I upped the air-conditioning. “You know, I hate to say this, but I’m starting to think a vampire restaurant in Austin makes no sense. Why would a vampire want to live here anyway?”

“Your uncle was brainstorming that with me the other day,” Brad replied, turning the radio on to an old Lyle Lovett song. “For media interviews. You know, PR for the restaurant. The way we figure it, because sunshine weakens vampires, most masters have avoided the Southwest. That means it’s a power vacuum, a growth opportunity. Plus, humans have been moving to this region in big numbers, and hunters tend to follow the herds. Not to mention the live music, a thriving downtown, bats.”

I fought a smile. “You said only really old vampires could turn into bats.”

“But that’s the thing about vampires,” he said. “Eventually they will get old enough, and the natural bats would make swell camouflage. Besides, vampires are a fringe population, and Austin is a tolerant place. Think about those people here who’re campaigning for undead rights. That wouldn’t happen in most Texas cities. In College Station or Amarillo, locals would come after any known vampires with blowtorches.” Brad shifted the SUV into reverse. “Where to now?”

“Um.” With only three days left, I was running out of options. Fast.

A moment later, turning onto the frontage road, Brad suggested, “Why don’t we stop by my place? I’d love to show you what Ian and Jerome have done with the remodel. We could share a bottle of wine, celebrate the breakthrough in the case.”

“The case?”

“The murder investigation,” he clarified. “Didn’t you hear? APD announced today that they were close to making an arrest.”

It was news to me. I’d had drinks late last night with Brad, skipped school this morning, and hadn’t talked to Kieren since yesterday when we’d fought about Grampa Crimi’s gun. Kieren. . . . I hadn’t checked my cell for messages every five minutes, hadn’t checked my e-mail every fifteen. But God, how I’d wanted to.

“Quincie, aren’t you pleased?” Brad asked, looping around to Highway One North. “That nightmare will be over soon.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” I replied, trying to sound calm. Were the police planning to arrest Kieren? I wondered. No matter what, I’d loved him so long.

“How about my invitation then?” Brad countered. “It’s a beautiful old house. Not as beautiful as you, but I think you’ll like it.”

Clearly, Brad was hoping we’d do more than check out the carpentry. It dawned on me again that he was technically a grown-up and I wasn’t quite one, though our age difference was no more than that between, say, a freshman and a senior.

Still, Uncle D seemed to approve. And I’d never bonded with anyone so fast, maybe because . . . Lately, life had been so uncertain, and Brad shared my love for Sanguini’s. With Vaggio gone and Kieren going — which maybe was for the best — Brad was inviting me in. I said, “I’ll take a rain check.”

F
or the last couple of days before the debut party, I blew off school to help with last-minute whatever. But Brad had pushed me aside as taste tester in favor of Uncle D, and they got psycho secretive about the new menu, hushing whenever I peeked into the kitchen. It was so annoying.

“Oh, come on,” I’d begged. “Tell me. Let me try something.” Uncle D was the boss, but didn’t both of them need my opinion? It was like they thought I was only there to run errands, answer phones. “Just a little bite.”

They’d laughed like it was the funniest thing I’d ever said. Uncle D had poured me a placating glass of Cabernet, and Brad had offered to serve me a sampling from the final menu tonight, September 12. The suspense was killing me.