Sucker for Love: The Dead-End Dating Novel Read online

  My defenses went on full alert. “These are Egyptian cotton. Sort of.” She shook her head and I stiffened. “The good sheets are dirty. I haven’t made it to the Laundromat yet.”

  “Well, that explains why you’re naked.”

  “Maybe I was having hot, random sex with strangers,” I heard myself say. Hey, a vamp’s gotta have her pride and my mom was much too quick to buy the Laundromat excuse. “A really hot, handsome stranger.”

  “If only.” My mother cast a glance around her. “You know, if you would just take your father up on his offer, you wouldn’t have to live like this. Not only is the salary good at Moe’s, but we just added dental.”

  “My fangs are fine, Ma.”

  “And maid service.”

  “I like cleaning. Really.”

  She didn’t say anything. Instead, she gave a disdainful little sniff that made me feel like I should be starring in The Biggest Loser.

  “Did you drive all the way from Connecticut just to criticize me?”

  “Don’t be silly, dear. I can do that over the phone.” She shook her head. “Someone has to stop your brother from making a tragic mistake that he will regret for the rest of his afterlife. Your father and I are headed over to Park Avenue right now to talk some sense into him.” She nailed me with a stare. “And you’re coming with us.”

  My mom needed me. As terrifying as the thought was, it was also sort of sweet. In a weird, twisted, Mommy Dearest way. My ego perked. “I’m the moral support?”

  “You’re the distraction, dear.” She flicked an invisible piece of lint from her sleeve. “First, we’ll try to persuade him with a nice fat, juicy raise. If that doesn’t work, we’ll throw in a four-week, all-expense-paid trip to Hawaii. And if that doesn’t work, I’m going to slip these into the human’s drink.” She held up a small silver packet of pills.

  “Please tell me those are vitamins.”

  She shook her head and gave an evil grin. “Birth control pills, dear. I got them from Millicent Von Waldenburg, who got them from her son, Ivan. You remember Ivan?”

  “Isn’t he the one who slicks his hair back?”

  “It’s a classic look, dear. Think Frank Langella.”

  “Or the Fonz.”

  She gave me a pointed glare. “You’re much too picky, Lilliana. You’ll never find a decent eternity mate if you don’t bend a little. Ivan is a fabulous prospect. His fertility rating is an eight and he’s got several nice real estate investments that are paying off heavily.”

  “I’m not going out with Ivan.”

  “Of course you’re not.” She waved a hand at me. “You’re going out with Remy.”

  Remy Tremaine was the chief of the Fairfield Police Department and the perfect born vampire. He had a fabulous fertility rating, a smoking body and a nice side business providing bodyguards for the rich and famous. We’d grown up together, terrorized each other and, more recently, had our very first official date.

  And our last.

  I’d explained about Ty and given the spiel about how I’d still like to be friends. While Remy hadn’t bought it (made + born = not a chance in hell), I’d set aside the few feelings I had for him and moved on.

  My mother obviously hadn’t gotten the email on that.

  “Remy and I are just friends,” I told her for the bizillionth time.

  “We’ll see,” she said in a voice that never failed to strike fear in the hearts of frightened villagers and send yours truly running online to MyTherapist.com.

  “Ivan is feeding off this gynecologist from Queens,” she went on. “When he heard what Jack was contemplating, he got them for me. Your father and I aren’t the only ones up in arms over your brother’s poor judgment. The entire born vamp community is outraged. They understand, of course, that it’s not Jack’s fault. He wouldn’t willingly betray his species. He’s just powerless against such strong magic.”

  “For the last time, Mandy is not a witch. She’s a medical examiner.”

  “She comes from a long line of witches, and you know what they say.”

  “Live and let live?”

  “The snake doesn’t slither far from the egg.”

  What?

  “She’s mesmerizing him, all right,” she went on. “But her powers are nothing compared to ours. Now get up and get dressed. Your father is waiting downstairs in the car.”

  I gave her my most apologetic smile. “Gee, I’d love to help save Jack and the pristine Marchette reputation,”—not—“but I’ve got a schedule full of clients.” An even bigger not.

  I wasn’t spiking my sister-in-law’s tea with Yaz. For one thing, Jack and Mandy’s baby plans were none of my business. Two? I actually liked Mandy. And three, I wasn’t climbing out of bed in my birthday suit even if my mother had seen it all before.

  She hadn’t seen it in a good 488 years. Nor had she seen the heart-shaped tattoo I’d had done the day before I’d lost my virginity and stopped aging. It wasn’t the greatest tat (think small wagon, a vial full of henna and an ancient gypsy rather than a state-of-the-art shop, sterilized needles and an Ed Hardy wannabe), but it was mine and it summed up my romantic personality.

  “Why don’t you take Nina and Rob?” I suggested. When my mother didn’t look the least bit excited over the prospect, I added, “Nina was just saying to me last night how anxious she is to get to know you.”

  “That’s ridiculous. We’ve known each other for ages.” My mother picked at another piece of nonexistent lint. “She grew up with you.”

  “You know her as the BFF of your one and only beautiful, vivacious, über hot daughter. You don’t know her as the potential mother of your first grandchild. There’s a huge difference.”

  That got her attention. She nailed me with a pointed stare. “What are you talking about?”

  I shrugged, gathered the sheet tighter and wiggled my way toward the edge of the bed. “Just that she’s a born vampire and Rob is a born vampire and things have been going pretty great between them. The next logical step is for them to move in together. Maybe open a joint bank account. And maybe, you know, possibly pledge their eternal commitment to each other.”

  Actually, the next logical step for Nina was to dump Rob, because her longest relationship to date was just under six weeks and she had a huge fear of waking up one evening and feeling as if her afterlife had passed her by while she’d been stuck having sex with the same vampire.

  Likewise, Rob usually jumped ship just after seven weeks, or right before the Moe’s Memorial Day Dinner Under the Stars, whichever came first.

  What, you might ask, is the MMDDUS? Take one lush Connecticut estate, add a fireworks display, an all-you-can-eat chicken wing buffet (for the humans) and at least three dozen Hooters girls (for the vampires), and you get the picture.

  Rob had a thing for orange shorts, as did every other male vampire on the Moe’s payroll. Hence his sudden need to be single and a total jerk-off when May rolled around.

  Until then …

  “They’re definitely getting serious.” I nodded. “Commitment vials, matching coffins, monogrammed blood bags—the works.”

  She looked like one of Satan’s hounds who’d just caught a whiff of a runaway soul. “I suppose we could make a detour by Rob’s.” Before I could blink, I heard my apartment door open and close and, poof, she was gone.

  I hurried to the door, threw the deadbolt and turned to glare at Killer, who sat curled up on the sofa.

  “You could have warned me when she got here.”

  What do I look like? A watch dog? I don’t do loyalty or protection or any of that crap. I’m a cat, i.e., snotty, selfish and hungry. He blinked. Speaking of which, if I don’t hear the can opener in the next five seconds, things are going to get ugly.

  “I’m trading you in for a cocker spaniel.”

  Yeah, yeah. And I’m the next Miss Congeniality. Get moving, sister.

  I glared and then headed to the kitchen. I know, I know. I should let him starve. But I needed all the
good luck I could get and I had a feeling animal cruelty wouldn’t score me any brownie points with the CEV Upstairs. Unless I was sucking said animal dry.

  I contemplated the notion all of five seconds before opening a can of Kittylicious and dumping it into Killer’s bowl. Then I spent the next hour doing hair and makeup and trying not to think about Esther.

  Ash was right. She was probably off with Mr. Visa having hot, wild sex and sucking each other dry. When she finally came up for air, she would call and explain the couch incident. He’d spilled a drink. She’d spilled a drink. They’d both been having an emo moment.

  Something.

  I had absolutely nothing to worry about.

  My head knew that. Unfortunately, my gut wasn’t buying it. It kept nagging at me, insisting that something was wrong.

  A feeling that grew stronger as I left Killer parked near his scratching post with strict instructions not to pee or barf on anything, locked up my apartment and headed for the office.

  Ash was waiting for me when I walked into Dead End Dating. He wore a gray button-down, faded jeans and scuffed brown biker boots. While there was nothing designer about his clothes, his buff bod was the stuff Calvin ads were made of.

  Not that I noticed that sort of thing since I’m officially “involved” with Ty.

  All right, already. So I noticed. I’m involved, not dead.

  Okay, so I’m technically dead, too, but you get the point.

  I ix-nayed the lustful thoughts that rolled through my brain, dropped my purse on the corner of my desk and sank down into my chair to brace myself for what I knew had to be bad news.

  Ash paced the floor in front of my desk, his mouth stretched into a thin line, his brow furrowed.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said.

  What’d I tell ya?

  My stomach hollowed out despite the three Rock-stars and extra-large glass of O+ I’d chugged before leaving my apartment. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  “I’m afraid it’s worse than that.”

  “What could be worse than dead?”

  “Torture. Then death.”

  Yep, that would be worse.

  “We did a background check on your guy,” he went on, “and it turns out that his name isn’t Justin. It’s Mordred Lucius.”

  “Why does that sound familiar?”

  “Mordred was the evil knight who fatally wounded King Arthur. This isn’t any relation. At least, none that I can put my finger on. He isn’t a demon either. He’s a very powerful warlock.”

  “A male version of Glenda the Good Witch?”

  “Only if Glenda traded in her Lollipop Guild membership and joined a satanic cult.” Ash shook his head. “This guy is into black magic. I did some checking once I found out his name and it seems he can be traced back at least eight hundred years.”

  “He didn’t look a day over twenty-five.”

  “That’s the point. It turns out he was ousted from his coven for performing illegal rituals. I talked to the vice-president of the local AWW, who told me—”

  “AWW?”

  “Association of Witches and Warlocks. This Mordred was convicted of plotting to perform a human sacrifice to preserve his own youth. The AWW outlawed the ancient Mayan ritual over one hundred and fifty years ago when they decided to mainstream with the rest of society. They didn’t want any of their members causing bad PR and so they banished him. Obviously mutilating and killing humans is much too high profile for their tastes.”

  “But Esther isn’t human.”

  “Technically, no. But she’s still a vital entity. One with enormous power and energy. If he kills her, he not only absorbs her youth, he soaks up her immortality, as well.”

  “Meaning?”

  “She’ll be the ultimate sacrifice”—his words were low and serious and my stomach flipped—“because she’ll be his last.”

  “If he wants eternal youth, why not just find a born vampire to turn him?”

  “Vampires have limitations.”

  Tell me about it.

  “No sunlight,” Ash went on. “No pigging out at Shoney’s.” Ash shook his head. “This guy is greedy. He wants the best of both worlds.”

  “And Esther is his ticket.”

  Ash nodded. “We went by his place. He punched in his security code a half hour after you called me last night. It looks as if he left the hotel and stopped by his apartment to pack up a few things.”

  “He’s going somewhere.”

  Ash nodded. “The ritual requires that he make the sacrifice on his birthday which, according to my sources, isn’t until next Friday.”

  My curiosity piqued and my mind started to race. While I knew Ash was a badass demon, I’d yet to realize the extent of his powers. I knew he could read minds because he was forever dipping into mine and I couldn’t help but wonder what other tricks he had up his sleeve. “Scrying cup? Tarot cards? Magic 8 Ball?”

  “Driver’s license.” He didn’t miss my disappointment because he added, “I only use the Magic 8 Ball for special occasions.”

  “Very funny.” I swallowed the sudden lump that had jumped into my throat. “So why kidnap her early?”

  “Nabbing her in advance gives him time to prepare the sacrifice. He’ll start by starving her first to cleanse her system and then he’ll slice and dice slowly. A little skin here. A little skin there. She won’t be able to heal if she isn’t eating, which means she’ll suffer appropriately—”

  “I really don’t want to hear this.”

  He gave me a strange look.

  “Not that I can’t take the blood and gore,” I blurted. “I love blood and gore. It’s just that I don’t want to hear about what might happen. I’d rather live in the moment, and at the moment she’s alive.” At his pointed stare, I added, “Right?”

  He nodded. “That’s the assumption we’re going on.”

  “Which means we have time to find her if we can figure out where he took her. Can we figure out where he took her?”

  “The ritual requires that the sacrifice be made at a place of supreme power.”

  “Like an ancient burial ground?”

  “No, this is more personalized. It has to be at a place of supreme power for the individual warlock. A place where Mordred has been. A place where he felt extremely powerful. Unfortunately, we don’t know where that is at this time, but we’re running a check on all outgoing flights at JFK and La-Guardia.”

  “Do you really think he checked a trussed-up vampire with baggage claim? Or worse, used her as a carry-on?”

  Ash shrugged. “We’re also contacting the local charter companies, train stations, local cabbies and rental car companies.”

  “Crawling into a cab with an unconscious vampire in tow? Wouldn’t that be much too conspicuous?”

  “For most. But he’s a powerful warlock. He could easily work a spell to make her invisible or glamour any eyewitnesses.”

  “So why even bother asking around? He’ll make sure no one remembers anything.”

  “Probably. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last two thousand years, it’s that everyone slips up once in a while. Witch, warlock, vampire, werewolf, demon—they all make mistakes. Not often, but it only takes one time. A chink in the armor, so to speak. What?” he added when I just stared at him as if he’d hauled his pants up to his armpits.

  “You’re two thousand years old?”

  “Give or take a few hundred.” Before I could ask any more questions, his cell phone rang. He took one look at the display and said, “It’s Zee. I really have to go.”

  “Is it about Esther?”

  He shook his head and pressed a few buttons before sliding the phone back into his pocket. “Another case I’m working on. Listen, I’ve been checking into this because you asked me to, but I have to bow out now. It involves sorcery and magic, which puts it out of my jurisdiction.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a white business card and handed it to me. “This is the name of the investigato
r who’ll be heading up things. If you can think of anything else about last night, anything you might have forgotten, just give him a call.”

  “Merle N. Ambrose?” The name echoed through my head and the pieces started to click. “Merlin? The Merlin?”

  He grinned. “He’s a good guy. We go way back.”

  “How far?”

  “First cousins.”

  My brain rifled through all the history lessons I’d endured at the hands of a strict tutor named Jacques. “But I thought Merlin was the son of the Devil?”

  “Nephew,” he replied as he reached for the door.

  Which meant that Ash was a chip off the old Big D block.

  “Later.” He gave me a quick wink and disappeared before I could voice the thought out loud.

  Merlin.

  Mordred.

  The Devil.

  Esther.

  Mayan sacrifice.

  The info whirled in my brain and I had the sudden urge to heave. I was a sucker for happily-ever-afters, not death and destruction. Even more, I was nursing some major guilt for introducing Esther to this guy in the first place.

  I drew a deep breath on the off chance that it might ease my panic and tried to calm the frantic beat of my heart.

  Think positive.

  Yes, the situation looked grim, but that didn’t mean things couldn’t turn out. There were a whole ten days before next Friday. Plenty of time for the good guys to find some valuable clues, pinpoint Esther’s whereabouts and save the day. She was alive at this moment. Maybe, possibly, in severe pain, but still alive.

  I held tight to the hope, tamped down on the sudden anxiety that churned in my stomach and focused on the four messages sitting on my desk.

  Message number one? A born vampire by the name of Clarice Harlow Montgomery who was desperately searching for that perfect someone. Namely another born vampire with at least a ten fertility rating (she needed off the charts to balance out her less than impressive orgasm quotient which measured a measly three, which explained why she needed me in the first place). She’d attended last night’s ball with high hopes of finding Count Right. Instead, she’d gotten drunk and ended up in bed with The Wolf-man. She was now revolted and blaming yours truly because she’d gone from being a sophisticated, happening vampere to a lowly were ho (her words not mine).