Dead End Dating (5 page)

Nina Number Two, aka Nina Wellburton, was the brunette half of the duo. Her father had made his fortune in female sanitary products—made Moe’s sound good, didn’t it? Nina Two supervised the accounting department in New Jersey where her father’s production facility was located and wouldn’t dream of dropping an obscene amount of money on a handbag. “You can’t eat a handbag,” she always said. “You can’t eat those shoes.” Nina Two was a closet penny pincher.

Ouch.

But what can I say? We grew up together. We’re best buds. Not to mention, she was one of the few vamps I knew who wasn’t self-indulgent, which made her different from the pack, which made her like me.

But with less attractive hair, of course.

I deleted the message and waited for the second.

“You won’t believe what Nina did.” Pause. “All right, so you’ll believe it. She threw away a month’s salary on a
purse.
I mean, I know it’s a Louis Vuitton, but there is such a thing as self-control.” Worried sigh. “She has no control. She’s floundering in a sea of addiction, and I think we need to plan some sort of intervention. I mean, we
are
her best friends. It’s our duty to pull her back from the brink of destruction.” Thoughtful pause. “I’ll call back when I come up with a plan. Oh, and I hope work is going well.”
Click.

I deleted the message and waited for number three.

“It’s Nina again. Where
are
you? You have to see this purse. I stopped off at Nina’s and showed it to her and she flipped, as usual. She’s been staring at spreadsheets too long. She obviously can’t appreciate a work of art when she sees one. I think she’s repressed. She’s practically locked up in that office of hers all night. I think we need to save her from herself before it’s too late. Maybe we can sneak into her office, fire up her computer, and do a screen saver with the latest Dolce and Gabbana ad. It features this silver lamé top and a pair of studded hip-hugger jeans and…”

The cab pulled up in front of my building just as I deleted message ten—a detailed plot from Nina Two to kidnap Nina One from the Waldorf and take her to a Shoppers Anonymous meeting.

My apartment was located in a renovated duplex on the east side of Manhattan. The building itself was dark and quiet. There was no doorman to pull me from the car and pay the cabdriver for me. No front-desk man ready to carry my bags and punch the button on the elevator. There wasn’t an elevator, period. Just several flights of stairs that led to the fifth floor and a long hallway with only two doors, one on either side.

I hadn’t met the woman across from me, but I’d heard she was an accountant. Single. No children. No pets. She smelled like cheap perfume and ate a lot of Thai food.

I paused at my door and my ears prickled.

“…on the national front, the number of missing women continues to mount. Just three days ago, Candace Flowers disappeared from her Chicago area home. That makes a total of nine women to vanish in the Windy City in the past two months alone. A whopping number that surpasses the recent string of kidnappings in Los Angeles…”

She also slept with the television tuned to CNN, the volume turned low so as not to disturb the neighbors. But I wasn’t the average girl next door, and I heard everything loud and clear.

Zzzzzzz…

Okay, so she snored, too.

Sliding my key into the opening, I twisted the lock, turned the doorknob, and flipped the switch just inside. Warm yellow light pushed back the shadows.

The place was about the size of my closet in my parents’ penthouse over on Park Avenue—they still kept digs in the city even though they now spent most of their time at their estate in Connecticut. Rather than small, I liked to think of it as quaint. Cozy.

All right, all right. It was
small,
but it was all mine—at least for the rest of the month—and it was just a few blocks from Dead End Dating.

Of course, all mine also meant
all mine.
As in no eternity mate. No boyfriend. No platonic roommate. Not even a cat.

Not that I wanted any of the above. I was happy with my life. Extremely happy. Wildly, fantastically happy.

Yeah, yeah. So I’m not
that
happy. But I’m working on it. First my career, then my own love life (an eternity mate who adores me and a half-dozen little vamps with my sense of style).

I set my purse on a small antique phone table I’d talked my mother out of when I’d moved a few weeks ago. Along with a sofa and two chairs. Unfortunately, the sofa took up half my living room, and I’d had to return the chairs for lack of space. My parents had bought heavy-duty blinds for every window as a housewarming present. I’d splurged on some Egyptian cotton sheets that were now calling my name from the king-size bed that took up my entire bedroom.

I was halfway undressed by the time I walked across the room to the blinking answering machine that sat on the floor next to the spot where a chrome and glass Huervo dining room table would eventually sit
if
my work with Francis panned out and I started raking in the dough. (Hey, a girl could dream.)

I punched the blinking button with my toe and my mother’s voice filled the room.

“Your father has called you three times and you haven’t called him back.”

“Because I know what he wants,” I said out loud.

“Midnight Moe’s has been good to us,” the message went on. “I know it’s not exactly a glamorous business, but it’s lucrative.”

Guilt—oh, wait, that was my mother’s voice—followed me the few steps into the kitchen where I opened my itty-bitty refrigerator and surveyed the contents. I reached past a styrofoam Starbucks container, four juice boxes, and a six-pack of Diet Coke and pulled out what looked like a bottle of red wine.

The label read
BOTTLED ESPECIALLY FOR GARNIER’S GOURMET
, an upscale deli and bakery located in the Village. Garnier’s offered their human customers the widest selection of French cheeses in New York, and their vamp clientele a civilized, and discreet, alternative to dinner.

“…trying your father’s patience,” my mother went on. “He’s been so upset that he actually forgot to trim the bushes on the east side yesterday, and you know he
always
trims the east side…”

My father always trimmed the bushes on the east side because they bordered the neighboring estate owned by one Viola Hamilton, president of the Connecticut chapter of the Naked and Unashamed Nudist Sisterhood, aka the NUNS. The NUNS were a group of female werewolves and, therefore, the plague of the great state of Connecticut as far as my father was concerned.

Viola hosted the sisterhood’s weekend meetings, and so she liked the bushes high and full to maintain her privacy.

And my father liked to piss her off.

“…he’s terribly upset about this whole plan of yours. And so am I…” my mother went on.

I uncorked the bottle, poured a glass, and nuked it in the microwave. Settling on the sofa, I took a sip. My tongue quivered at the first drop. The liquid teased my taste buds, slid down my throat, and worked its way through my body. Warmth rushed along my nerve endings. While it wasn’t the same rush that came from drinking from a flesh-and-blood human, it was just as satisfying.

Sort of.

“…know how embarrassing this is for us? What with you living in that hole in the wall? And finding eternity mates for a living? My word, you can’t find your own. How are you supposed to find one for someone else?”

Forget the sipping. I downed the glass before my mom could point out the fact that I hadn’t had a real date since my great-uncle Gio took the plunge with mate number four—his three previous mates had all met with untimely deaths, and so eternity equaled about a hundred years in Uncle Gio’s world.

My parents were convinced my uncle had just had a rotten string of luck, but I knew the truth. While Uncle Gio was rich, cultured, and good-looking, he was also one of the few vampires with a bad sense of humor. I’d heard my uncle tell enough knock-knock jokes to suspect that my aunt Jean hadn’t just fallen three stories onto a flagpole by accident. Ditto for Aunt Gwen, who’d mistaken a bottle of holy water for her favorite Chardonnay, and Aunt Monique, who’d mistaken a bulb of garlic for soap and dropped about two dozen into her nightly bath.

“…let me introduce you to Stella Burbank’s oldest son. His name is Paul, and he’s got a very impressive fertility rating. He’s absolutely perfect for you. Or he will be if you forget this crazy idea and let your father give you a real job—”
Click.

I’d crossed the room and hit the off button with my toe. I punched delete and turned toward my bedroom.

I already had a real job and it felt…good.

I was tired, my mind in a mental scramble from thinking so much, and I was exhausted. A smile played at the corner of my mouth. While I’d been ready to drop more times than I could count—from dancing all night at one of my favorite haunts, or having a midnight gabfest with my girlfriends—this was different. I felt as if I’d actually
done
something tonight.

I checked the blinds to make sure they were secure; while I wasn’t going to go up in smoke from a little indirect sunlight, it was murder on the complexion. I crawled into bed, pulled the covers up to my neck, closed my eyes, and conjured my most favorite fantasy—me, the beach, a few margaritas, and Orlando Bloom.

Oh, and a pink Donna Karan hand-stitched bikini with conch shells dangling from the straps.

Now,
that
was a fantasy.

“…I
t’s your destiny to work at Moe’s…”

My mother’s voice peeled back the blanket of happy I was currently buried under and slid into my ears.

“…not to mention, it’s your duty. You’re a Marchette. We
are
Moe
’
s…”

Sleep tried to suck me back under, unwilling to give me up before sunset. I could still feel the exhaustion in my body. A feeling that only eased when night fell.

“…even your cousin Victor is stepping up to do his share. He called your father just last night. He’s the last person I expected to hear from since he’s still mixed up with whatshername…”

“Whatshername” referred to Victor’s wife, Leeanne. Leeanne came from a long line of werevamps. And what, pray tell, is a werevamp? Think Dracula meets the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood. See, a long time ago one of my ancestors jumped ship and got jiggy with a werewolf. Then, before anyone could say boo, said vampire ended up pregnant. Who woulda thunk it? Anyhow, the rest is history, and now there’s an entire race of vampires/werewolves running around the planet. Or corrupting it, as my father would say. The only thing he hated more than werevamps were made vampires. My family is
so
totally into the we’re-better-than-you-are-because-we’re-the-elite-race mentality.

Not that the fuss everyone had made had stopped Victor. He’d fallen hard and fast for Leeanne—proof beyond a doubt of the big L. That’s love, not lust. Then again, I suppose it could be lust as well. Or just lust all by its lonesome. Those werevamps
were
majorly irresistible (boy, did I know that one firsthand). To make a long story short, Victor hooked up with Leeanne five years ago, and the family disowned him. Until now. My father had such a soft spot for anyone wearing lime green.

“…he’s had divided loyalties in the past, but he obviously knows what he should be doing. He’s family and family sticks together. They don’t pack up and move out on some crazy matchmaking whim…”

A dream, I told myself. I was still sleeping the sleep of the dead, and the voice echoing through my head was just my imagination. No decent, respectable, sane vampire would be up before sunset—

Just as the thought struck, my eyes snapped open.

Hey, we’re talking my mother here.

“…but it’s your life and you have to live it as you see fit. Though I can’t begin to fathom how you could possibly be happy in that cramped hovel you call an apartment day in and day out. But if you want to break your father’s heart, that’s your business. The least you can do is meet your father’s financial advisor. He’s perfect for you, dear. Call me and I’ll tell you more.”
Click.

I squinted at the clock sitting on the floor near my bedroom door. I still had fifteen blessed minutes and my eyelids knew it. They fluttered, trying to creep shut on me.

I fought back the urge to bury my head beneath the pillow and forced myself from between the sheets. The decent, respectable, sane vampire comment pushed into my head, but I quickly dismissed it. This was totally different because I wasn’t bugging the hell out of anyone.

I stumbled toward the small window that flanked the left side of my bed. Careful to stay off to the side, I pulled the cord and lifted the heavy blinds. Fading sunlight spilled into the room. I turned and hopped back beneath the pile of blankets. Settling my back against the headboard, I hugged my knees to my chest, pulled up the covers, and stared past the foot of my bed to the mirror that hung on the wall opposite me.

Here’s the deal…While I can’t waltz outside in the direct light of day, staring at its reflection is a totally different thing.