I wrinkled my nose against the stench, willed myself calm, weighed my options. The intruder couldn’t be Ike, big kahuna of the Daytona Beach vampires. He was the type to make a grand and spooky entrance. Besides, I had a truce of sorts with Ike. He stays out of my town, and I stay out of his.
I focused and inhaled again. No, the lurker definitely wasn’t Ike. He traveled with his entourage, including his second-in-command, Laurel, who radiated putrid hate. This was someone else. Someone whose scent I didn’t recognize. Okay, so, options. I’d been honing my vamp powers—well, speed and strength anyway. I was supposed to come into all sorts of powers when I was no longer a virgin, or so the French Bride killer had insisted. But, hey, the guy was a sociopath, de lusional, and, according to Saber, had tapped into some way obscure, completely bogus vampire lore. When the power faerie failed to smack me with her wand, Saber insisted I practice the powers I did have. He even taught me some slick self-defense moves, which meant I could whip over the hedge and out Mr. Smelly in the flutter of an eyelash. But wait. Vamp speed spooked humans. We might not have a village uprising, but why risk our delicate relationship with the neighbors? Never mind another outburst if Hugh Lister heard a vamp had been skulking in his backyard. He’s the kind of villager who just might take a torch to my house.
I scanned our own yard and took a head count. The cookout crowd had thinned considerably. Not many people to protect from a threat—if it came to that—and they mingled near the front gate, well away from the hedge. Maggie and Neil circulated among the dozen or so neighbors and friends still chatting in small groups. Mick and Janie, my coworkers from Old Coast Ghost Tours, waved as they headed off to work the late shift. Those two had danced around each other for months, until a terrifying brush with Ike’s fangs bonded them at a deeper level. Now they were openly dating, and they sure made sweet pheromones together.
Millie Hayward and two of her senior friends, Grace and Kay, picked at the Death-by-Chocolate cake on the dessert table. Thinning gray hair aside, these were not your typical old ladies. For one thing, Millie and her cohorts were fanatic fans of the Jacksonville Jaguars football team, and usually wore teal visors with JAG QUEEN embroidered on the bands. For another, their oversized summer purses bore the outlines of the hand-guns they carried.
Dior and Chanel? Nope. The Jag Queens shopped designers like Smith & Wesson. When all three ladies bustled my way, the blood odor thinned as if the lurker moved away from the hedge. I had a sense Smelly moved toward the street that fronted Maggie’s house but I felt no menace. Still, I quick-stepped farther from the hedge to meet Millie’s Shalimar-perfumed hug.
“Cesca, what a great party!”
“I’m so glad you could come.”
I included Kay and Grace in my smile, but Millie is my favorite. I couldn’t help but love her, even if Saber had briefly suspected her of murdering the French Bride.
“We were just talking and remembered Barb can’t make the Jaguar preseason game next Sunday night,” Millie said. “You want to come with us and use her ticket?”
“We’re wearing T-shirts to spell out J-A-G Q-U-E-E-N-S at the games this year,” petite Grace Warner said. “We need you to wear Barb’s E.”
“We tailgate before the game, though,” Kay Sims added in a rush, “so plan to leave by four. If you’re up by then.”
“I’m up, but I’ll have to check the ghost tour schedule to see if I’m working,” I warned them. Millie patted my arm. “That’s fine, dear. Just let me know as soon as you can.”
“Yes.” Grace nodded like a gray-haired bobblehead doll. “Because we’ll have to find another E if you can’t go.”
“I understand,” I assured her.
“Of course, if you have to work,” Kay added, eyeing Saber as he strode our way, “perhaps your young man would like the ticket. Does he like football?”
“He wouldn’t wear Barb’s T-shirt,” Millie scoffed, and then cocked her head. “Would he?”
“I’d rather see him paint the E on his bare chest,” Kay whispered as Saber reached us. He flashed one of his swoon-inducing smiles. “Hello, ladies. How are you tonight?”
If the Jag Queens had been carrying fans, we’d have had a tropical storm-strength wind going. As it was, batting eyelashes stirred a swirling breeze around me.
“Why, hel-lo, Mr. Saber,” Kay flirted. “We were just talking about your—”
“Big E,” Grace cut in, then blushed.
Saber’s brows arched. “My big what?”
“We were discussing,” Millie said repressively, “Jag tickets.”
“Aaah. Do you ladies need some extras?”
“No, no. Well, we’re off for more cake, aren’t we, girls?” She grabbed me for another hug and a murmured “Later.”
Saber’s head cocked as he watched them hustle away. “What was that about?”
“Old ladies don’t lose their sense of lust. Did you know that?”
“Sure,” he murmured as he slid an arm around me. “I figured that out with you.”