You’ll Understand When You’re Dead: Broken Heart Vampires Book 12 (3 page)

“What makes you think she means Jason?” asked Jessica.

Natalie grasped the paper and turned it over. A scrawled note was on the back. Eva read, “Mr. Burnside is cute, single and dead. Date?”

Then underneath in a different ink and handwriting: “You need therapy.”

“Let me see that.” Jessica took the note and looked at it for a long moment. “Jenny wrote the therapy part. She writes the letter E all weird. And she’s also well known for her sarcasm.”

“I wonder where she gets that,” said Eva, smiling.

Jessica laughed.

Eva turned to Natalie. “Have you talked with her about this? Asked her what’s going on?”

Natalie tucked the paper back into her purse. “No. Kimmie’s been trying to rebel, and I’m attempting to support her efforts.”

“Teens are strange creatures,” said Eva. “One week they’re in love, the next they’re not. You don’t really know if the poem is about Jason.” She looked thoughtful. “There are two boys in that class whose names begin with J.”

Natalie perked up. “That’s great. Maybe she likes one of them. What are their names?”

“There’s Jefferson. Well, he goes by his middle name, Hayden. He’s intellectual. Nice and quiet. Likes to wear ties to class. Excellent student. His dad is Elliot Wickham—you know, the biologist who works with Stan?”

“Is that the guy who got too many gamma rays and turns green when he gets mad?” asked Jessica.

“No. That’s the Hulk. Elliot is a vampire from Iowa.”

“Who’s the other kid?” asked Natalie.

“He’s smart, too. Tall. Enjoys the color black.” Eva stared at her pie. “He only has three facial piercings.”

Natalie winced.

“His real name is Jeremiah,” continued Eva. “But he insists everybody calls him Jackal.”

“Jack-hole.” Jessica smirked.

Natalie put her fork down ignoring Jess. “Seriously? Jackal?” She wanted to be the buoy in Kimmie’s stormy attempts at rebellion. Keeping an open mind, not allowing Kimmie’s antics to overwhelm her, and staying away from huge doses of Valium had been part of her crusade to remain a “cool” mother. Letting her only child date a boy named Jackal, though, would be the true test of her motherhood. She sunk lower into the booth. “Oh, give me strength.”

“Two more years, and then it’s time for college,” said Jessica.

“Are those zombies?” Eva stared out the large window of the café.

Natalie looked outside. Five zombies who used to be girls, given the rotted dresses still dangling from their corpses, and five zombie guys, dressed in shredded suits, faced each other on the street.

“Crap. Not again. The last time we had a zombie outbreak, I ended up with spaghetti in my hair.” Jessica scooted out of the booth, and Natalie and Eva followed her outside.

To Natalie’s amazement, the ghost cow wandered between the zombies, who didn’t seem to notice it, and then it disappeared.

Ten zombie screams echoed into the night.

Oh, shit.

B
Y THE TIME Patsy and Matt
reached downtown, the zombies were in the middle of the street. Patsy nearly curbed the Mercedes as she parked. “They’ve never ignored my commands before. I’m the fucking queen.” She cocked her head. “Is that Abba?”

Matt listened. “Yeah.
Waterloo
, I think.”

They were too late.

The zombies had already started their newest brand of terror.

Matt saw Natalie, Eva, and Jessica standing outside the Broken Heart Café. He and Patsy joined them, and they stared at the shambling zombies. The Abba song echoed downtown, courtesy of Jessica’s iPhone.

“What the hell are they doing?” groused Patsy.

“I think it’s a dance contest,” said Jessica. “They were doing it without music, so I thought I’d help.” She grinned. “I hope couple number three wins.”

Matt watched the zombies dance. Each couple was attempting different moves, but since zombies lacked coordination, they sorta shuffled around each other. One guy’s arm fell off, and he picked it up, and held it in the air like a baton. His partner groaned her approval.

“Lord-a-mercy,” muttered Patsy. “All right, y’all. Help me corral them back toward the cemetery.”

“Aw. Can’t we wait to see who wins?” asked Jessica. One glare from Patsy, and she lifted her hands in surrender. “All right. Sheesh.” She turned off the music.

S
INCE NATALIE WAS Family Amahté
, too, she helped Patsy guide and direct the zombies back to the cemetery. They were reluctant to say the least. Finally, though, they returned to their graves, and Patsy was able to command them to “stay there, damn it.” Thank goodness for vampire strength. They got the corpses re-buried in no time at all.

When it was all said and done, Natalie was ready to go home and get the cemetery dirt off her shoes.

“I can give you a ride,” said Matt.

“My car’s downtown,” said Natalie.

“Then I’ll drop you off there.”

“Thanks.” With a smile and a wave, she said good-bye to the other vampires, who all piled into Patsy’s Mercedes. She saw the looks she got because of Matt and knew the next time she saw her friends, questions would be asked. She got into Matt’s black Jeep and strapped in.

The drive to her car only took a few minutes, and they rode in comfortable silence. Matt pulled up behind her minivan.

“Thanks again.”

“Any time,” said Matt.

“I didn’t forget about your pie,” said Natalie.

“Neither did I.” He grinned.

She wanted to melt against him again and feel his lips on hers. She wanted to be touched and loved and—
whoa
. She reigned in her libido and got out of the car before she did something really stupid. Like shackle a hot stranger to her for a hundred years.

“’Bye, Natalie,” he said.

She waved and watched him drive off.

Why did the man have to be so damned appetizing?

M
ATT SAT CROSS
-LEGGED on the reed mat, trying to center his thoughts. Unfortunately, his attempts to calm his chi—not to mention his hormones—were not working. He needed to take an out-of-body trip to Connecticut to see what Vera was plotting. He didn’t believe for an instant that she wanted to help Patsy or Broken Heart.

His thoughts drifted to Natalie.

Her bow mouth.

Her sparkling brown eyes.

Her soft skin.

“Fuck.” Matt opened his eyes. He needed to detox his mind, but he couldn’t with the thoughts of the pretty vampire baker consuming him. Matt rolled to his feet. He might as well raid the refrigerator and catch some television. Ignoring the robe draped over the dresser, he left the bedroom and went into the kitchen. With the AC cranked up, goose pimples rose on his flesh, but he liked it cold in the house, especially since Oklahoma summers were hellishly hot.

Opening the fridge, he peered at the sparse offerings. He needed to go grocery shopping. Tomorrow. He settled for an apple and milk, though as a rule, late night jaunts required junk food, not good-for-you stuff. As he poured the milk, he heard a rustling sound outside the back door.

Stray cats, he thought. He usually put leftovers out for them. He grabbed a bowl of tuna salad from the fridge and sniffed it. The smell didn’t make him gag, so he figured it wasn’t science experiment material yet. Opening the back door, Matt bent over and placed the bowl on the porch. The bordering bushes on the right shook fiercely.

The foliage parted, and a female figure tumbled backwards and hit the concrete with a thump. A black baseball cap rolled into the yard. Chestnut hair tumbled around the woman’s pale face. He leaned closer as a pair of baleful brown eyes glared at him.

“Natalie?”

“I brought your pie,” she said.

“Were you hiding it in the bushes?” He looked around. “Where is it?”

“Here you go.” She rolled over and Matt saw the remnants of an apple pie. It was flattened against the sidewalk, the crust mere crumbs and the apples nothing but juice.

“I’m gonna cry.” If nothing else to keep myself from laughing.

“I’ll make you another one,” she said. “But you’ll have to come to my house to get it.”

“Deal.” He watched her get onto her hands and knees. Pie decorated her backside like a Pollock painting. “Why don’t you come inside and clean up?”

“Yeah.” She turned, dusting off her pants, and then straightened. Her mouth dropped open. “Oh. My. God.”

Matt whirled around, but the kitchen was empty. Turning back, he stared at Natalie, wondering if she’d hit her head. “What?” he said. “What is it? A spider?” He dusted at his shoulders. “I hate spiders.”

“You’re naked,” she said, her voice going hoarse. “Very, very naked.”

Matt looked down. Oh damn. He was naked. He’d forgotten. “I was meditating.”

“Oh,” Natalie said. “That doesn’t explain it at all.”

Matt pushed open the door. “Come inside. I’ll get dressed, and then I’ll help you get the pie off your shirt. Unless, of course, you had other plans for me?” He waggled his brows.

A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips. “Sorry. I only came over to kill your apple pie and make a fool of myself.”

“That’s what all the girls say.”

She laughed. “Okay, Lothario. Go get some clothes on already.”

Matt hurried to the bedroom and put on a pair of jean shorts and a tank top. He grabbed an extra T-shirt for Natalie and showed her to the bathroom. When she returned to the kitchen, she wore his gray T-shirt, which hung down to her knees. He liked the way she looked in it.

“You want me to throw that in the washer?”

Natalie glanced down at the bundled shirt in her hands as if she’d just realized she was still holding it. “No, thanks. I appreciate the loaner.”

“No problem.

“Are you going to tomorrow night’s festival?”

Matthew nodded. “Patsy said it would be a good time.”

“It is. I’ll have a booth there.”

“Will there be zombies and ghosts?”

She laughed. “You never know.”

They stared at each other. The silence thickened, and for a moment, Matt envisioned a life with Natalie. It stretched out before him, a glittering promise of love and passion. He swallowed the sudden knot in his throat.

When the air conditioner kicked on, they both jolted, then grinned at each other sheepishly.

“I should go.”

Matt didn’t want her to leave. “I’ll help you at the festival.” The offer was casual and surprised him as much as it obviously surprised her. He cleared his throat.

“I’m going, anyway,” Matt said. “And then I can fend off any ghost suitors who show up.”

She laughed. “I feel bad about your pie and interrupting your meditation. I’m sorry about this,” she paused, apparently trying find the right word, then said, “inconvenience.”

“It’s not inconvenient when a beautiful woman stumbles onto my porch. Only when she leaves too soon.”

Natalie’s brown eyes flared with desire.

His blood stirred. If the way she kissed was any indication of bedroom passion...
stop thinking that way, Dennison.

“What time do you want me at your house tomorrow night?” he asked. “I insist.”

“Okay.” Natalie stood. “Festival starts at eight, and I need to be there at seven.”

“I’ll be early.”

“Thank you. Good night, Matt.” Her soft voice sent another hot-punch of lust into his gut. He blew out a breath.

“Would you like me to walk you home?”

“No. It’s just a couple of blocks.”

She went to the back door and opened it. As she slipped outside, he stood and watched through the window as Natalie picked up the abandoned cap and sauntered out of his backyard.

What was it about Natalie Haltom that drew him like a moth to a flame?

He shook his head. He should probably try meditating again, but what he really needed was a cold shower.

“
T
ILDA REALLY BLEW it
,” said Kimmie. She ate some more popcorn, tossing a few kernels at Jenny who was busy painting her toenails purple.

“Hey, stop it. This stuff isn’t dry yet.”

“Where are the men?” she asked. “The dating throngs? The horny vampires!”

“Gross.” Jenny looked up. “It’s been a whole day, Kimmie. Maybe you should be glad nothing’s happened.”

Kimmie flipped restlessly through a tattoo magazine. Spending the night at Jenny’s had been her idea. Mostly, it was self-preservation. She didn’t actually want to be around when Tilda’s spell started working.

Kimmie put aside the magazine. Doubt niggled at her. “I’m wondering...do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

“No,” said Jenny. “Which I’ve told you about a million times. Luckily, I’m just an unwitting accomplice.” She capped the bottle and handed it to Kimmie. “It’s too late now. The spell is cast. Your mother is going to kill you. But I’ll sing
Amazing Grace
at your funeral.”

“Don’t you dare,” huffed Kimmie. “It’s
My Chemical Romance
or nothing at all.” She considered it, and then added, “Or anything by
The Cure
.”

“You’ll be six feet under. What do you care?”

Panic fluttered in her gut, but Kimmie forced herself to relax. “Mom will be too in love to be mad at me. Besides, I’m her only child, and she wouldn’t risk jail for the pleasure of murdering me. Jails are filthy, and Mom hates dirt.”

“Whatever, dead girl.”