The Single Undead Moms(50)
That was right. I’d asked him to bury my purse with me. Because I didn’t want to have to go back to the motel for it. The absolute absurdity of our situation hit me with full force, and I burst out laughing. I giggled until tears ran down my cheeks, and I had to brace my hands against my knees to keep from collapsing to the gravel. He watched me, his head cocked to the side as if he’d never seen someone laugh before.
“That is such a weird sentence to leave someone’s lips.” I sighed, plunking my butt down on the steps. He slid down next to me with much more grace. I put an appropriate amount of distance between us as I wiped at my eyes.
“Our relationship did have a strange beginning, didn’t it?”
“We don’t have a relationship,” I told him.
“I’m your sire.”
“In the eyes of the Council, Jane Jameson-Nightengale is my sire. You’re like a biological parent without any rights. You’re a vampire deadbeat dad.” That particular phrase, I noticed, made him cringe. “Now, what are you doing here?”
“I just want to see how you are. I’ve never made another vampire before. I didn’t expect such a feeling of obligation about your well-being. Not knowing how you’re doing left me feeling unsettled.”
“Well, I’m doing just fine. My bloodthirst is well under control. I haven’t had one violent outburst. I’m keeping my at-home business running, and I’ve only lost a client or two. I’m practically a functional member of undead society.”
“I knew you would turn out well.”
“Because you learned so much about me in the time between meeting me in a cheap motel and biting me?”
He shook his head. “Your ad, the one you put on the Internet. I could tell, just from the way it was written, that you were a decent person. Desperate but decent. Decent people generally turn into decent vampires.”
“I’ve heard that from Jane.”
“Decent vampires have to be careful, however. You could be seen as weak by other vampires.”
“Jane mentioned that, too,” I told him. “So who are you, Finn Palmeroy? Jane has made a few unflattering comments, but I think I should consider the source a bit biased.”
“Thank you for that.” He cleared his throat. “What do you want to know?”
“Why did you respond to my ad? How did you even find it? Do you plan on invoking some sort of weird sire privilege that involves me killing someone or not spending time with people you don’t like?”
“That’s a really broad scope of sire privileges,” he noted.
“I like to cover my bases.”
“I don’t know if I should tell you all that. A guy likes to have a bit of mystery about him.”
“Trust me, you’ve got mystery by the pant-load,” I muttered, making him snicker.
“OK, I can tell you that, like Dick, I’m an entrepreneur. I use my connections to help people find what they need, no matter how obscure. This was my line of work before I was turned, and let’s just say that my being turned stemmed from a miscommunication with a client. The market was a bit more diverse before we came out of the coffin, but I have a few special skills that help me along.”
“We’ll just ignore the fact that the word ‘miscommunication’ was in invisible air-quote marks, and I’ll ask, skills like what? Is it your vampire power? What is it? Is it weird, like being able to guess what’s in a sealed envelope or talk to squirrels?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “That would be telling you.”
“It’s not the ability to guess underwear colors, is it? Because that eyebrow waggle is making me wonder.”
“Air of mystery,” he whispered.
“And why did you answer my ad?”
“Because I don’t have the chance to do the right thing very often,” he said. “And that’s all I’d like to say for now.”
“Will you expand on that in the future?”
“When the time is right.” He nodded and twined my fingers together with his. “So I have a question for you. Are you ready?”
I shifted in my seat and nodded. “Shoot.”
“What was your last meal?”
“What?” I cackled. “That’s the big personal question you want to ask me? Of everything you could ask, that’s what you want to know?”
“Come on.” He chuckled. “Your last meal. You knew death was coming. You planned it out. I mean, everybody asks themselves, if they were on death row, what would they choose as their last meal? It’s like a personality test.”
“What was yours?”