Page 26 of Toadstools and Vampire Kisses

I immediately scowl, not wishing to be reminded of his confusing behavior. “Right, we won’t discuss that then,” I mutter. “All right. I’m getting up. I’ll be dressed and downstairs in just a few minutes.”

My mother beams as she stands again and gives my shoulder a pat. “I will be waiting just outside in the garden. You can join me there when you are ready. Just try not to take too long. Things are due to get started any minute now.”

I mumble my agreement as I watch her walk to the door; I nearly cackle, however, when she opens the door and curses.

“Adeon, for gods’ sake, ten minutes wouldn’t kill you.”

“I was merely waiting patiently for you to finish, Katherine. I didn’t even listen in,” the dragon’s deep voice rejoins with a note of offense. “I am not comfortable when you are out of my sight with this crowd here.”

“Family and guests,” she corrects with a titter of laughter, the tap of her high heels carrying down the hall. “But if you insist on hovering, come on then. I’m sure I can find some way to put you to use.”

“I can think of a few ways,” he replies, pulling my door shut behind them.

I hold my breath, choking back my laughter until I am sure that they are out of hearing range. Only then do I let it out, smothering it in my pillow as tears stream from my eyes. If mother thinks she is doing anything to discourage her dragon suitor, she is very much mistaken. But then again, very few can get Katherine Durmont to do anything but what she wants. No doubt she is secretly enjoying and milking every bit of pleasure out of their bizarre courtship.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I stand and make my way to the shower. True to my word, I take only a few minutes to wash and throw on a skirt and a sweater. The garden party is not as formal as any of the dances, and being outside is the best excuse to dress in something more comfortable. Running a comb through my hair, I grab my glasses and head out.

Despite how much I just want to disappear right now, mother is right that I would be even more put out and upset if I just stayed in my room feeling miserable while everyone else has fun. I’ll just avoid Reynard and try to have a good time. It is not like I get to see our coven members or my cousins as much as I would like, living as far out as I do. Reynard is nothing to keep me locked in my room as if there’s something wrong with me.

Walking at a quick clip, the heels of my boots loud in the nearly empty house, I make my way to the garden where I can hear hushed laughter. With the sun already beginning to descend, the shadows of the garden are long, giving everything the appropriate spooky ambiance around the hedge maze that had been planted by some great-great grandparent as a symbolic path into and out of the otherworld. Within it are copious flower beds, most of which will be slipping into hibernation about now with the cool October temperatures. It’s surprising to see an eerie fog drifting along the ground at this time of the day, and I find myself staring at it curiously as I approach the maze.

The mist not only drifts over the ground but also seems to reach forward with long, ghostly fingers. I can tell it’s a hit from the whispered nervous laughter coming from the guests at the mouth of the maze. I wonder which of my cousins is responsible for this. Whoever it is has outdone themselves. I didn’t even know we had anyone in the family this accomplished at weather magic. No doubt Mother is thrilled with the effect. Considering that I spent the better part of my first day here setting enchantments around the garden for the event to encourage the plant life to behave with certain illusions, I must admit that the unusual weather pattern is quite the cherry on top.

I am staring at the mist so intently, trying to puzzle out its origins, that I don’t note the presence that falls into step beside me until Reynard’s deep voice races up my spine with an electric pulse of awareness.

“Do you like it?” he murmurs. “I overheard your mother speaking of getting a fog machine to artificially create such an ambiance. It seemed unnecessary and inefficient compared to what I could do so easily.”

My heart jumps at the warm brush of his breath on my skin. “You did this? Why?”

I sense his shrug. “Why not? It seemed important to your mother. I was delighted to be of assistance.”

I don’t know why I feel so disappointed. Was I somehow secretly hoping that he did it to impress me? I hate the spark of pleasure I feel in his presence despite being ditched for Sarah. It makes me feel desperate for his attention when I barely know him. And that’s what pisses me off. I can handle the embarrassment—I just hate the way I suddenly feel like I come to life the moment he speaks to me or how much I obviously hoped that he made this big gesture for me. It’s pathetic.

“I’m sure that my mother loves it,” I say woodenly. “Speaking of my mother, she’s waiting for me, so I’d better hurry. I hope you enjoy the Haunted Garden.”

I mentally congratulate myself for sounding civil as I pick up my pace, eager to escape my discomfort. I bite back a frustrated groan when I note from the corner of my eye that Reynard is effortlessly keeping in stride with me as if he didn’t even notice any change in my speed.

“You did not tell me what you thought of it. Is it too heavy? I was not sure what would cross the line from melodramatic into unpleasant.”

“It’s perfect,” I admit. “It adds just the right ambiance. Everyone already loves it from what I can tell.” I tip my chin at the small crowd looking around with interest and none too few smiles.

Reynard hums softly with pleasure. “I am glad. Besides, I did promise you a glimpse of what I can do.”

I scoff a little at the way he tacks on that latter part in after thought, as if our conversation the other day had any bearing on it at all. I cut a sharp look at him and startle at how gray he appears at this moment. He always looked pale before, but now he’s a light gray, and his facial features seem sharper with a more pronounced jaw and cheekbones that puts him on the scary end of attractive. He meets my eyes, and I catch the silver glow of the light reflecting off of them like most nocturnal predators. A soft sigh escapes from between his lips.

“You are angry,” he observes.

“I’m not angry,” I mutter. “Not at you, anyway.”

His frown deepens. “With whom are you angry? I can speak to them if you like.”

This time, I can’t restrain my groan as I come to a stop and turn to him as he draws to a halt beside me. “Look, it’s not your problem, okay? If you must know, I’m mad at myself and my obvious lack of self-control.”

His frown lightens a little as he looks down at me, something like understanding crossing his face. Whatever he thinks he understands, he is wrong. He can’t truly know how I’m feeling.

“Do you think that I am feeling in control right now?” he asks, giving me a speculative look. “Because I assure you that I do not. I have not felt any control since arriving here.”

“Seems to me that you were pretty decisive last night,” I mutter. “Or were you so out of control when meeting Sarah Goodwin that you couldn’t help ditching me?”

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