Author: Molly Harper

I snorted.

“That came out wrong,” he acknowledged, chuckling. He took a sip of his coffee and smiled that warm, crooked smile.

I waited for my nerves to kick in, to start spewing nonsense words and fidgeting. But it seemed that all of the embarrassment and shyness I’d felt before in Adam’s presence had melted away.

Sitting there with Adam was … quiet, restful. There was no dire emergency looming on the horizon. I didn’t have to monitor every expression, every word, carefully to keep from upsetting him. And I didn’t feel tempted to look inside his head, because his feelings were pinned right on his sleeve.

“It was nice of you to drop by with this … now lukewarm coffee.” I chuckled while I sipped.

His dimples flashed. “Well, I do what I can. Other than panic attacks stemming from spit-up, how have you been?”

“It’s … complicated.”

“Vampire stuff?” he asked.

I considered. Of all of the things I was dealing with—a distant and secretive boyfriend, my potentially murderous step-grandpa, the possible mental breakdown of my best friend, his mother’s attempted jumpstarting of my defunct biological clock—none of it had much to do with me being a vampire. “Not really.”

“But I could see how being a vampire would be, you know, complicated. I mean, where do you get your blood?” he asked. “And what time do you wake up every night? Is it difficult for you to be around people without wanting to feed on them?”

“Are you writing some sort of book report?” I asked, making him flash that mile-wide grin.

“I’m just curious,” he said. “You never know whether what you read in the news about vampires is true. But it seems you have to make so many adjustments, just to function.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” I told him. “OK, yeah, it is, but it’s worth it, especially if it means I can stay here, in my home.”

“But you could do anything, go anywhere.”

“This is where I want to be.”

Nonplussed, Adam asked, “How did this start? How were you turned?”

“It’s not a story I tell most people,” I said.

Adam seemed offended that I considered him “most people.” “Why not?”

“If there was a very special episode of I Love Lucy, where Lucy was turned into a vampire, she’d probably use my story. Let’s just say I didn’t have any choice. It was either death or this. I’m fortunate that my sire happened to be there.”

“This sire, is that the guy you’re seeing?” he asked.

I nodded. It was so weird to discuss this with him, the touch of jealousy tainting his otherwise clear tenor.

“Is it serious?” he asked.

I stared down at my coffee cup, ashamed that I was unable to answer. I didn’t know where I stood with Gabriel right now. Was it unfair that I didn’t want to give Adam the impression that I was totally unavailable? Was I just using his unabashed interest as a convenient excuse to look for a way out of an uncomfortable, uncertain situation with my sire? Why did I feel so guilty for thinking that way when Gabriel’s actions were so suspicious?

Why couldn’t I be a Marianne instead of an Elinor? Just live in the moment and take what I wanted from life? Why did I have to think everything through? Elinor is a pushover. She lets everyone else act any way they please, leaving her to clean up their messes without complaint. Marianne may be misguided and silly, but at least she has some fun every once in a while.

Adam took advantage of my silence. “If you can’t answer, that probably means something.”

I nodded, still unable to add anything to the exchange.

“Well, if something changes or you decide that you’re … I just want you to know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I’d like that person to be me. Damn it, that made no sense. I’m sorry, you just make me a little nervous,” he admitted. His blush brought a flood of deep, healthy pink to his cheeks.

“I make you nervous?” I was strangely pleased by that. After all, he’d made me stutter and drool for most of my adolescence. Turnabout was fair play.

The blush that had subsided only a few seconds before rushed back into his cheeks. “Well, yeah. I like spending time with you. I’m grateful that I’m getting to know you again. I don’t want to screw this up.”

I was able to tamp down my instinct to squeal. I had some cool, flirty speech prepared about Adam playing his cards right, but he suddenly stood up, took my face in his hands, and brushed a quick kiss across my cheek, leaving a tingling path where his lips had touched my skin. He was so warm, vital, full of life. He smelled like sundried cotton and peppermint, though I imagined that last part was probably just doggie shampoo. The pattern of his hands seemed burned into my cheeks, branding me. How could I have forgotten how warm human men were? It was like sliding into a bone-softening hot bath at the end of a long, blustery day, comforting and sweet. He pulled away from me and smiled. I sat stunned, watching him cross to the kitchen door.

“Just think about what I said, Jane,” he said as he stepped outside. “Give me a call sometime, even if it’s just to talk. I want to see you again.”

“I will,” I promised before I had a chance to filter my response. I seemed to be channeling the teenage Jane, who had no impulse control or loyalty to Gabriel.

Adam took care to close the door quietly, but somehow that tiny snick woke Nevie up and had her squalling.

I sighed and thumped my head against the counter.

By the time Mama Ginger saw fit to return, I’d changed six more diapers and spent an hour cleaning substances I’d rather not describe out of my carpet. There were suspiciously permanent-looking stains on my new couch. I was not a happy camper.

“Are you crazy?” I demanded as Mama Ginger opened my door. “What is wrong with you?”

“What?” she asked, peering into the bouncie, where Neveah dozed peacefully. “She’s fine. I knew she would be.”

“What if she’d gotten sick?” I hissed. “What if something went wrong? I didn’t know how to get in touch with you. I am covered in baby spit-up. My house smells like compost!”

“But honey, doesn’t she make you want one of your own?” Mama Ginger held up the baby like a prize cut of meat on display.

“If anything, you’ve confirmed for me that I don’t need to have children,” I said, and from the bottom of my heart, I knew it was true.

“But Janie, I only did this to show you that you need to stop playing around. Stop with this silly singles lifestyle. A different man every night. Working in some adult bookstore. You need to settle down. Stop pretending you’re happy, and just tell Zeb how you feel.”

“I’m not pretending,” I said.

“Well, I think I need to have a talk with this Gabriel character and tell him what he’s doing. He has to know he’s standing in your way,” Mama Ginger insisted. “He has to know he’s keeping you from your one true love. If it wasn’t for this boy, this Gabriel, you and Zeb would be free to be together.”

“But Zeb is in love with Jolene.”

“I don’t want to hear that, Jane. I know what’s best!” she cried, gathering the baby’s stuff and making a dash for the front steps. “You’ll see.”

“Mama Ginger, stop,” I said in the most powerful persuasion voice I could muster. “Stop it right now. You will stop this campaign against Jolene, and you will accept her into the family. You will make her feel welcome. You will never again mention the idea of Zeb and me as anything but friends.”

Mama Ginger swiped at her ear as if there were annoying insects buzzing there. I guess vampire powers were nothing against the determination of an angry mother-in-law-to-be.

“And I don’t work at an adult bookstore,” I shouted out the door as she bustled Nevie off the porch. “I work at an occult bookstore. There just happens to be an adult video store next door.”

I watched as Mama Ginger’s taillights disappeared into the darkness.

“This is not good.”

16

Werewolves express many emotions through physical contact—joy, rage, a need for comfort. Prepare to be hugged, snuffled, snuggled, or possibly licked.

—Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were

“Hello?” I called, propping a delivery box against the counter long enough to get the door shut. It had been locked, which was unusual. And Mr. Wainwright never left deliveries out front. There was too much crime in the neighborhood.

“Mr. Wainwright?” I called. Technically, it was my night off. I wasn’t supposed to come by the shop, but Gabriel had called me from the Nashville airport to let me know that he’d be returning to town that night and wanted to talk. I didn’t want to be home waiting for him. Despite my protests to the contrary, I didn’t want to have whatever conversation Gabriel had planned. As unhappy as I was with his evasiveness, I knew the truth would hurt worse. So I was using work as a defensive shield.

The shop was empty, eerily so. I cast my senses out and found nothing; no vampire presence, no humans.

Around the corner of the counter, I could see a pair of brown loafers poking out from a pile of seventeenth-century manuscripts on vampire feeding patterns.

“I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t try to move anything by yourself,” I said to the feet as I set the box down.

The silence seemed to buzz in my ears, slowing my ability to hear, to respond.

“Mr. Wainwright?” My boss lay prostrate on the floor, the books covering him like a crazy quilt. His eyes were closed, his face serene, as if he’d just lain down for a nap on the floor.

“Nonononononono,” I murmured, my numbed fingers searching for a pulse under his cold parchment skin. “Please, no.”

I wailed, my hot tears blinding me. “Mr. Wainwright! Please wake up! Please!”

Using what little I could remember from first-aid class in Girl Scouts, I shoved several books away and tilted Mr. Wainwright’s head back. I wiped my running nose and breathed through the sobs. I blew into his mouth. I pushed down on his sternum with both hands and shrieked when I heard something snap. I’d broken something, probably one of his ribs. I continued to pump his chest, praying to bring something back.

“Please!” I screamed again, burying my face in his shirt.

“Jane, dear, it’s time to stop that. As much as I appreciate it, it’s too late.”

I looked up and locked eyes with the former Mr. Wainwright. He was wearing the same gray cardigan and brown corduroy ensemble as the body lying on the floor, only more transparent. He smiled gently.

“Mr. Wainwright?” I whimpered. “What’s going on?”

“To a young woman of your intelligence, Jane, I would hope it would be obvious.” I shook my head, still sniffling. “I’m a ghost, Jane, have been for, oh, six or seven hours now.”

He held up his hand, examining the way the light filtered through it. “Look at that.”

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“Well, you were right about my not moving boxes by myself. I knew there was something wrong the moment I picked it up. I had all of the classic signs—shooting pains in the left arm, crushing sensation in the chest, shortness of breath. I just keeled over.”

“I’m so sorry. I should have been here.”

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t blame yourself. I was an old man, and I lived a good, long life. And you made me very happy during my last months. You’ve become very dear to me, Jane. I hope you know that. I was never meant to have children. But I like to think that if I had a daughter, or a granddaughter, she would be like you. Good Lord, is that really what my hair looks like?”