Page 4 of Vampire's Vixen

Rogue vampires were rare, but they could prove deadly and I wasn’t ready to either live for a gazillion years, or to be drained and tossed out in the dumpster like yesterday’s garbage.

The Northwest Vampire Collective kept an eye on any rogues they heard of, and they also kept rolls of vampires who officially lived in the area. While the organization’s home base was in Moonshadow Bay, run by a vampire named Val Slater, every city in the area had a contact. And in Midnight Point, that contact was named Zandre.

I’d done my research and was reassured that Zandre was on the rolls, that not only was he the city rep for the NWVC, but he also ran one of the few nightclubs in the area, and that he primarily used bottled blood, rather than bloodwhores. In other words, he was one of the vampires who worked within society than against it.

And now he wanted my help.

Even though vampires made me nervous, I had only managed to secure one other client since I’d opened my doors last month, at least as a matchmaker. Even then, Brenda Kline had met her match in a roundabout way, though it tied into her being my client so she gladly gave me credit for matching her, and I gratefully took her recommendation.

I finished making our lattes and carried the tall mugs over to the kitchen nook, which was actually a booth, just like in a diner. Astra brought over our food and settled down opposite me. I pushed her cup across the table to her. I eyed my plate.

“I’m hungry,” I said, sniffing. The aromas rising from the plate made my stomach rumble.

“So am I,” Astra said. She paused, then added, “I hope you didn’t mind me telling you to keep silent about your experience last night. You can talk about it later, but until you’ve discussed it with the high priestess, it’s something you need to keep to yourself. And Crystal, since she hasn’t gone through her quest yet, needs to go in without any preconceived ideas.”

“I can understand that,” I said. “But I can’t wait to tell you what happened.” I speared a sausage link with my fork and bit it in half. The flavor exploded in my mouth and I let out a happy sigh. “I love food.”

Astra laughed. “So do I. All the women in our family do. Although my parents were sticklers about proper etiquette. They cared more about the décor than the food. Their idea of Sunday dinner was two thin slices of roast, one scoop of mashed potatoes and gravy, a spoonful of roasted vegetables, and a roll. Then a sliver of cake for dessert. All served at the dining room table with full crystal, placemats, and true silverware. There’s nothing wrong with that—dinners were a beautiful affair. But eating can be fun and enjoyable, not just a formal gathering.”

Astra seldom mentioned her parents. I’d never met my grandparents, although when I was young, every year they sent me a ten-dollar bill with a generic card on my birthday. But there was no other contact. No calls, no checking in to see how I was doing, especially after my parents died.

“Do you think they care that I was born?” I asked, feeling very much like a child asking a taboo question.

“I think… I think they cared, but they were so angry at your mother for marrying Johann. And then, when your parents were killed, they blamed everything on your father. Well, and on her. If she hadn’t married him, she would have come home and behaved and still be alive…that sort of thing. I remember when I told them about the crash.” She rested her fork on her dish, sobering.

“What did they say?” I asked. I’d been seven when they died and my aunts took me in.

“Do you really want to know?” Astra asked. “Think about your answer.”

I sighed. It was going to be bad, that much was apparent. “Yeah, I do want to know.”

Astra licked her lips. “Well, Sara and I flipped a coin for who was going to tell them. We knew it would be bad. I lost, so I called them that afternoon. I asked them both to come on the phone and they did. I told them that Marika and Johann had been killed in a plane crash while they were on their way to the UK for a second honeymoon.”

She paused, sighing. “Your grandfather just stayed silent. Your grandmother, however, said, I guess that’s what she gets for taking up with a vagabond. Well, she made her bed. Now she’s died in it. I was crying and my father told me to pipe down.”

I dropped my fork. “He said what? What the hell? His daughter had just died?—”

“I know, I know,” Astra said. “I never said my parents were good people. My mother, at that point, asked whether they’d be expected to take you in. I told her that Marika appointed me your official guardian in her will. And a good thing that was, too, otherwise you might have grown up with my parents. And that wouldn’t be good for anybody, all the way ’round.”

I finished my breakfast, then tapped my lips with my napkin. “I’m so glad my parents thought ahead. I don’t think I could have managed growing up with Grandma and Grandpa. They were so angry at my parents, they would have transferred that to me, as well.”

“I think they would have. Anyway, you see why I never go home. Sara never did, either. I still talk to my sister Cassandra at times, but she’s not the most pleasant person. I miss Sara, though. When you’re twins, even fraternal ones, there’s a special link that grows between you. At least, there was in our case.” She pushed back her plate. “I’ll do the dishes. You run on to work. I fed Miss P. when I fed Dahlia, so she’s fine.”

“No wonder she’s snoozing,” I said, glancing over at one of the cat trees we had. Miss P. was conked out on the top perch. “Okay, I’m almost sorry I asked, but I guess it’s better to know what kind of people you’re dealing with. I’d better get moving. I’ll see you later, probably in the afternoon, before I meet with Nightshade. I’ll grab a burger or something before class.”

“Goodbye, dear. Drive safe and don’t let your grandparents get you down. They’re inconsequential at this point,” she said, waving as I headed for the living room.

CHAPTER THREE

Midnight Point had just finished the Imbolc Festival, which celebrated reading, writing, art, music, and healers. It occurred to me that I should run a Valentine’s Day special, given my focus was on love. I still had the rest of my morning latte, so I decided to drop over to the Mocha Express come afternoon. Besides, the lines were long and I didn’t like crashing to the front, even though Crystal never minded.

I parked my new Evergreen Vega in front of the shop and slid out of the SUV. Insurance had come through without much of a problem after the accident. Though it hurt to see the depreciation that only a couple years brought. But it was enough to where I could easily add a few thousand for the new car.

The SUV was on the smaller side, but it had plenty of room for passengers and to haul things, and most important, it had AWD—all-wheel drive. It made it easier to navigate on ice and snow, or when it was raining, the latter of which happened most of the year here.

I’d named my new car Suzy, after Suzanne Vega. I’d grown up listening to her and other women singers, thanks to my aunts.

“You stay put,” I told Suzy, patting her on the driver’s door. She was beautiful, I thought, a gorgeous royal blue color that straddled the line between blue and purple. I’d put reflective stickers on the back and sides, so that in the dark it was obvious that something was on the road.

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