“Just let me back out, and you can climb into your mom-mobile,” Wade sniped, slinging his leg over his bike. I sincerely wished that wasn’t as sexy as it was. Maybe he would have one of those dorky full-face shield helmets that made him look like Darth Vader. Nope, no such luck. The half-helmet, black with a flaming motorcycle wheel painted down the side, just made him look hotter.
“It’s always a pleasure to see you,” I told him, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Remember, red lights are for quitters.”
Wade backed out of the space with the Fred Flintstone shuffle, then started his bike. Under the roar of his engine, he was muttering some rude words he thought I couldn’t hear. I smiled, waving as I opened my door.
I sighed, starting my own engine. I wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but it made me smile. I never talked to people like that, much less attractive men. I was not a firecracker. One of the things my late husband had liked most about me was what he called my “sweet nature,” which boiled down to me not complaining about his shenanigans and letting him do whatever he wanted. I did not simultaneously flirt with and insult attractive men on motorcycles. It was Wade’s fault, I told myself. Becoming a vampire couldn’t have changed my nature this much. There was something “special” about his personality that activated the rude, reckless bits of my DNA.
Maybe I should have let that chivalrous vampire slap him around after all.
5
You will have to find a way to make compromises with your child’s living relatives. It’s a difficult process, but remember, one day those difficult relatives will be dead, and you will not.
—My Mommy Has Fangs: A Guide to Post-Vampiric Parenting
I was probably the first vampire ever to say this, but God bless the World Council for the Equal Treatment of the Undead. By the time I arrived home, Jane had already heard about Kaylee’s defection through the Hollow gossip mill and had sent a trusted Council-approved sitter to my house to wait for Danny to wake up. Petite, with chicory-colored skin, wide brown eyes, and a cloud of dark, perfectly spiraled curls framing her face, Kerrianne union was the divorced mom of a fifth-grader at Danny’s school. Her mother, Diana, lived with her, so she was free in the mornings to come over and help Danny get ready for school, then carpool both kids.
I’d met Kerrianne in passing at a few school events, but I’d always been in such a rush that I hadn’t made time to get to know her. But now, sitting at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee clutched between her hands like a predawn lifeline, Kerrianne was brusque and no-nonsense, like Mary Poppins in a “Purple Rain” T-shirt.
“I won’t be starting this early every day,” she told me. “But I figured you’d feel better goin’ to bed knowin’ who’s taking care of your baby.”
“You’re not wrong,” I told her while I packed up. “I really do appreciate your coming over at the last minute.”
“Well, a job is a job, and the Council is a good employer to have,” she said, stirring her coffee even as I leaned away from the brew. I was sure it smelled heavenly to her human nose, but to me it smelled like Danny’s socks marinated in raw sewage. “They don’t trust anybody, so once you pass their crazy stringent background checks, you’re golden. They pay a fair wage, and they pay on time. I earn enough from part-time work that I can take care of my daughter.”
“And you don’t mind working for vampires?”
“Aw, hell.” Kerrianne snorted. “They’re not any more evil or violent than the average human. At least they’re up front about what they want. And did I mention they pay on time? That’s a big priority for me.”
“You mentioned,” I said, laughing softly as I taped up a box of kitchen stuff.
“I don’t mind working for you. I figured you seemed pretty nice at those PTA meetings, and you’d probably carry that through to your unlife. From what I’ve seen, people who were assholes when they were alive stay assholes when they’re vampires. Besides, we’re on the prize solicitation committee for the Pumpkin Patch this year, so we might as well get to know each other.”
“Argh.” I groaned. The prize committee was in charge of calling area businesses and asking for special lots for the festival’s raffle and silent auction—gift certificates, free services, and, occasionally, special perks like sports tickets. I’d served on the committee last year. It was like being a telemarketer, only a telemarketer who was asking for really annoying loans. People started ducking me at the grocery store. I took a bottle of Faux Type O out of the fridge and glugged it down without warming it. “That is the worst.”