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I gritted my teeth, barely able to move my head enough to look Cal in the eye. “Do the smart thing, Cal.”
Mr. Marchand moved to strike. I clenched my eyes shut, tucking my head into my shoulder.
“Petal!” Cal shouted. “The password is Petal.”
Cal’s password was Paul’s booty-call nickname for me.
Mr. Marchand’s grip relaxed. I sighed. “Not funny, Cal.”
“It’s a little funny,” Gigi muttered, wincing when I elbowed her.
Gigi slumped against me, shrinking away from John’s coos and assurances that she would be just fine now.
Mr. Marchand swaggered over to the laptop and tapped the keys. A little bell tone indicated success. He grinned widely. “Excellent.”
A few more taps and clicks, and Mr. Marchand was even more pleased with himself.
“Thank you very much.” He chuckled. “You have been very helpful. But I am afraid that you’re about to meet with an unfortunate accident.”
“Well, I, for one, am shocked,” John said smarmily.
Mr. Marchand pulled a packet of donor blood from a little red Coleman cooler by the table. He chose one of several carefully labeled syringes arranged on a white cotton pad, then jabbed it into the packet and shook it thoroughly. “I made a special purchase of AB negative for you. I wouldn’t want your last meal to consist of synthetic blood.” Mr. Marchand shot a sympathetic look at Gigi and me. “Well, I suppose it won’t be your last meal.”
“No.” Cal growled, shrinking away as Mr. Marchand held the packet to his lips. Mr. Marchand gripped his hair and shoved the bag into Cal’s mouth. He struggled, trying to spit the blood out, to wrench his mouth away, but Mr. Marchand was pouring it down his throat, forcing it down.
“Oh, this is bad,” I murmured as Cal spat and coughed.
“What? What’s bad?” Gigi asked.
“What are you doing?” John demanded shrilly. “You promised I could keep the Scanlon girls.”
“The Scanlon girls are about to fall victim to the unfortunate poisoning-related attacks,” Mr. Marchand said blithely, as if describing our lunch plans for the next day. “I stumbled upon him attacking these poor young ladies on the side of the road after Ms. Scanlon’s van broke down. I had no choice but to stake him. No loose ends, John.”
“No! I will not allow it!”
Mr. Marchand sniffed. “Don’t you talk back to me, boy. Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”
John shot back, “Don’t forget that I’m four hundred years older than you.”
“And yet you act like a petulant child denied a treat.”
“Don’t call me a child!” John yelled, stamping his foot.
While they argued, I felt a gentle tug at the tape behind my back. There were warm, steady hands quietly cutting through the tape and peeling it away.
I looked over my shoulder. Ben Overby held a finger to his lips and shushed me.
“What?” I shrieked as Gigi clapped a hand over my mouth. We all glanced over at the arguing vampires, who hadn’t noticed my surprised squawk.
Gigi’s tape was already removed. She was subtly rubbing the circulation back into her wrists. When my hands were free, I slowly sat up, watching Mr. Marchand and John arguing.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered as Ben freed my hands. “How did you find us?”
“Not important right now,” he whispered, eyeing the vampires warily.
Pushing Gigi behind him, Ben helped me to my feet. Moving faster than I should have on wobbly, cramped legs, I grabbed handfuls of geranium leaves and crushed them, rubbing the oil over my hands and face.
“Here,” I said, pulling more leaves loose and rubbing them over Ben’s and Gigi’s perplexed faces. “Ben, I want you to take Gigi and get to an area with a lot of people. Take my phone out of my bag and dial the number marked ‘Ophelia.’ Tell her to get to Waco Marchand’s place as soon as possible. If that John prick tries to talk to you, I want you to think of anything but what he’s saying. Think of geometry formulas, lines from Avatar, anything but the bullshit that’s coming out of his mouth.”
