The Accidental Vampire(2)

"Mabel, there are six bathrooms in this house with showers and tubs. Use one of the

others."

"But—"

Elvi closed the door on her further protest and moved toward the coffin, but paused

when her eye caught the time on the digital clock on her dresser. Whipping back

around, she yanked her door open and scowled at Mabel's retreating back. "It's nine

o'clock!"

"So?" Mabel sounded miffed and kept walking.

"So why didn't you wake me up at eight o'clock like I asked?"

"Because you haven't been sleeping well, and you're exhausted, and I decided to let

you sleep in… rather kindly in my opinion, but then I'm a kind considerate person…

unlike some people who won't even try to talk to a bat for a dear faithful friend."

Elvi scowled over the attempt to put her on a guilt trip, and then ground out, "Mabel,

its Owen's birthday today. I have to make a cake and see to the decorations, and—"

Heaving out a long‐suffering sigh, Mabel paused and turned to face her. "I saw to the

decorating earlier and then came home for a shower for the festivities. I was going to

wake you after I'd showered. As for the cake…" She shrugged. "They'll wait. The party

can't start without you."

When Elvi just stood glaring at her, Mabel waved her away. "Go on. Go take your

shower. I'll get dressed and then come help you get ready since I can't shower."

"Call Animal Control," Elvi growled, refusing to feel guilty, then slammed her door shut.



"I just can't believe it. An immortal advertising in the Wanted Items ads in the Toronto

Star! Unbelievable."

Victor threw DJ a glance tinged with irritation. If the younger immortal hadn't been

driving the BMW they were both in, he would have cuffed him in the head. As it was,

all he could do was mutter in response, "I gathered that the first time you said it, DJ…

which was two hours and over a hundred repeats ago. I get it. Stop saying it."

"Sorry, but…" DJ Benoit shook his head, sending his shoulder‐length, sandy‐colored

hair flying as he repeated, "I just can't believe it."

Rolling his eyes, Victor turned to peer out the tinted car window at the passing night.

They were speeding down the highway on the last leg of a two‐and‐a‐half‐hour

journey, flying past the bright rights of vehicle after vehicle, leaving them behind with

little concern for getting a ticket. Victor didn't protest or criticize. Time obviously still

held the younger man in its thrall, making him impatient and eager to get the journey

over with. Given more time, DJ would realize there was no need to rush; time was not

an adversary to be beaten by their kind.

"I mean, in the Wanted Items ads," DJ said, drawing his attention again. "Like a male

vampire was a bike you could buy or something. What was she hoping to gain from it?"

"Presumably, a lifemate," Victor said dryly.

"You can't find a lifemate like that," DJ protested at once, then added uncertainly, "can

you?"

Victor shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

"Yeah, but… Surely she must have realized she'd draw the ire of the council.

Advertising for God's sake! That's a major faux pas. We're not supposed to draw

attention to our people."

"Hmm," Victor grunted. "Our best hope is that any mortals who saw it will think it's a

joke or that the ad was purchased by some unfortunate soul with a twisted mind."

"A whackjob," DJ muttered, and then nodded firmly. "That's probably what she is too.

She has to be. I mean, come on. None of our kind would be this stupid."

Victor refrained from pointing out that the man had believed it just moments ago and

spent the last two hours bemoaning the fact that one of their kind had advertised in

the newspaper. He simply let him change his tune as he liked. For himself, Victor's

mind wasn't made up. He was content to wait until he met the woman.

"What do you think?"

"About what?" Victor asked.

" Is she for real?" DJ asked, apparently still on the fence about what they were dealing

with here.

"How would I know?" He asked with irritation. "I don't know a thing about her. You're

the one who answered the ad and has been sending letters to her for the last three

weeks."

"E‐mails," DJ corrected. "We really have to drag you into the twenty‐first century,

Argeneau. If you'd had a computer and knew how to use it, you could have done the e‐

mailing rather than have me do it."

"Which is precisely why I don't intend to get one," Victor announced pointedly. "So, as

you are the one who corresponded with her, you tell me. What do you think? Are we