There were stranger romances in Half-Moon Hollow, but I couldn’t come up with an example off the top of my head.
The reading of Mr. Wainwright’s will had been full of surprises. I’d received a token from the old sweetheart: a silver claddagh ring that had belonged to his lost love. I’d only attended the reading to support Jane; I’d never dreamed that he would leave me a remembrance. Dick was none too pleased that said remembrance would burn and blister him upon contact, but I liked the idea of keeping him on his toes.
We were keeping the new developments between the two of us . . . between the two of us. Jane would find out that we were edging toward coupledom soon enough. She had plenty on her mind, what with her grandmother being engaged to a ghoul and Mr. Wainwright leaving her the shop. The bequest had knocked her flat on her rear. She’d expected a rare book or two, but her former boss had changed his will and left her the whole shop.
Jane was overwhelmed and grateful and had been agonizing over what to do with the place for days. The shop had just barely broken even the last few years, and Jane had no significant retail experience. But she also knew how difficult it was for vampires to find employment in the Hollow, particularly vampires with such book-specific skills. Jane also anticipated some resistance from Emery, the nephew languishing in South America under the impression that he was Mr. Wainwright’s sole heir. But ultimately, after a very stern heart-to-heart with him, she’d decided to keep the place open.
I was happy for Jane, who was currently upstairs in Mr. Wainwright’s former apartment getting another pep talk from her ghostly mentor. With most of the dust and debris cleared, I could see the potential in the place. There weren’t any independent bookshops in the Hollow, so with the right product and personal touches (and by somehow convincing the customers that there was no adult bookshop next door), Jane could do very well.
Meanwhile, I had my own employment issues to work out. At twilight, as I was leaving for the shop, I’d opened my front door to find Sophie standing on my stoop wearing jeans and a sweater. I’m not sure if it was the casual wear or the appearance of someone so closely associated with my recent violent trauma, but I recoiled at the sight of her. And wished desperately that Dick hadn’t decided to stay away for a few days to “give me some space.” Damn his considerate, but absent, ass.
“Sophie!” I cried, stumbling back into my apartment. “What are you doing here?”
All of Sophie’s slick Euro-cool charm had disappeared as she glared across the threshold at me. What the hell? She couldn’t be pissed at me over the Darla incident. I hadn’t told a soul besides Dick. And I was hale and healthy thanks to my undead nurse, so it’s not like there’d be repercussions for her. So why was she giving me the face-melting death glare?
From behind Sophie, a tall, slender brunette teenager stepped out of the darkness. She was wearing velvet hot pants, a peasant blouse, and a floppy straw hat. Because head Council official Ophelia Lambert believed that a jailbait-worthy outfit wasn’t an outfit unless it had a theme. I’d never actually seen Ophelia commit an act of violence. The rumor about her use of an enemy’s femur to club said enemy and then stake him out for sunrise was enough to secure her reputation among undead and living alike. She only had to look at a vampire sideways and they hopped to do her bidding.
And considering the additional rumors about Ophelia’s past entanglements with Dick, I had to wonder whether I was about to suffer some vampire version of a spurned ex-girlfriend beatdown. That still didn’t explain Sophie’s jeans, though . . .
“Sophie, I believe you have something to say to Ms. Byrne?” Ophelia prompted her, while leaning against my porch railing.
Sophie sighed. “It seems I was hasty in dropping you off at your home the other night. I didn’t follow protocols to secure your health and well-being before leaving you. And for that, I owe you an apology.”
This speech was delivered with all of the energy of Matthew McConaughey on Quaaludes.
“And?” Ophelia said, nudging her with an elbow to the ribs.
“And please accept this extremely exorbitant check as a symbol of my sincere regret,” Sophie deadpanned as she held out a creamy linen envelope.
I reached out tentatively to take it, fully expecting her to grab me in some sort of wrist hold and rip my throat out.
Sophie gave me one last glare before asking Ophelia, “Am I done now?”
Ophelia gave her a frosty smile. “Quite. I’ll see you at the next meeting.”
Sophie strode off the porch without so much as a backward glance. I turned toward Ophelia. “What just happened?”
“I’m sorry that Sophie dropped the ball so dramatically. She knows better,” Ophelia told me. “But she’s always been a bit oblivious to human needs. I doubt she realized you were in danger of being drained until you were nearly dead. And she figured as long as you were walking around, you’d be fine. Also, she had a dinner party she was trying to get to and didn’t want to be held up.”
“Yes, how inconsiderate of me, taking up so much of her evening,” I muttered.
“She’s been removed as Darla’s foster sire, if that makes you feel any better.”
“That does, actually.”
“Dick arrived at the Council headquarters after your disastrous appointment, angrier than I’d ever seen him. When my secretary tried to stop him from marching into my office, he tossed her desk into a wall and walked right in. I’d never seen him show anything but oozing charm toward a female, so I had to admit I was intrigued. After explaining the state he’d found you in and how Sophie was responsible, he informed me that I needed to ‘put my boot up Sophie’s ass’ or he was going to do it for me.”