Russell just shook his head and said, “We did have to use a little mind control with the movers. They were a bit alarmed when they saw the blood on the hotel mattress.”
Dante grunted and nodded as he took a bite of his toast, apparently not surprised. Once he’d chewed and swallowed, he said, “Thank you for handling it.”
“It was no problem,” Russell assured him, and then cast Francis a teasing look and said, “Francis likes to shop.”
“Shopping for mattresses is not my idea of the fun kind of shopping,” Francis said with a sniff, then smiled at Mary and added, “Now clothes shopping for you, though? That will be fun.”
“Clothes shopping?” Dante asked slowly.
Mary smiled with amusement at his expression. He looked as pleased at the prospect as she would at the idea of visiting the dentist.
“Yes, clothes shopping,” Francis said with exasperation. “Just look at her, Dante. Mary needs clothes.”
Dante didn’t look convinced. Mary wasn’t surprised. Joe had always hated going clothes shopping too. Taking pity on him, Mary said, “Dante doesn’t have to come with us. He could head back to the hotel and get some more sleep while we shop.”
“No,” Dante said at once. “I will come with you.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, thinking it would probably actually be nicer for her if he wasn’t there, looking miserable and bored.
But Dante nodded firmly. “I will accompany you.”
“Mary, honey,” Francis said with amusement. “Now that he has found you, Dante probably will not let you out of his sight for . . . oh . . . a good century or so. We will just have to deal with it. Although,” he added, turning to Dante. “Your coming with us means I will finally get the chance to tweak your wardrobe a bit.”
“Tweak my wardrobe?” Dante asked, stiffening, and then he shook his head. “My wardrobe is fine.”
“Everything you own is black,” Francis said at once with a shudder that showed his opinion of that. “We need to change you up from faux funeral to fashion fabulous.”
Dante scowled at the suggestion. “No. If I let you dress me, I would end up looking like one of the Village People.”
Mary blinked at the comment, surprised at the reference to a band that had been around in the seventies. It reminded her that while he looked too young to know the band, he wasn’t.
“You wound me,” Francis said with irritation. “I have better taste than that.”
“You are wearing pink,” Dante pointed out and Mary had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the comment. It wasn’t that long ago Dante had been wearing her pink joggers and flowered T-shirt.
“That comment just shows how much of a Neanderthal you are,” Francis assured Dante. “This is salmon and—” Pausing abruptly, he turned to stare at Mary wide-eyed. “Really? Pink joggers and a flowered—Oh, my, those did not fit him well at all, did they?”
Mary’s eyes widened incredulously, and she found herself covering her forehead with her hands as she realized he was plucking the memory and image right out of her mind.
“That will not help,” Francis informed her, and then added apologetically, “But I shall endeavor not to see and hear the things you are projecting.”
Mary lowered her hands slowly, her eyes narrowing. “The things I am projecting?” she asked. “Plural?”
He nodded, his expression almost pitying, and Mary’s eyes widened.
“What kinds of things?” she asked with alarm.
“Oh, you know,” he muttered, suddenly seeming fascinated with the food on his plate. Picking up the end of a piece of bacon, he turned it back and forth on the plate from one side to the other. “Things you have seen . . . and done . . . and stuff.”
When Mary then glanced to Dante, he grimaced and gave a slight, almost apologetic nod.
“You are not the only one. Dante is projecting too,” Francis said reassuringly as if that should make her feel better. “Like we said, it is a new-life-mate and new-turn thing. It will pass eventually.”
Mary stared at him with dismay. If she was running around projecting images of her memories, things she’d seen, and the stuff she’d done . . . Good Lord! She couldn’t even look at Dante without thinking of him naked or all the things he’d done to her and they’d done together. That meant that, basically, her mind must be projecting what amounted to homemade porn.
“Pretty much,” Francis agreed as if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. “But as I said, it will pass eventually.”
“How long is eventually?” Mary asked at once.