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Then there was Peter Crown, who, as far as I could tell, had never smiled. His special vampire talent seemed to be maintaining a really bad mood for centuries. Mr. Crown didn’t contract with my service, because, as he told me, he didn’t trust a human to get his dry-cleaning right, much less his complicated blood selection.
I didn’t like Mr. Crown.
A Colonel Sanders look-alike improbably named Waco Marchand was possibly the only person on the Council who didn’t creep me out entirely. He was a kind, grandfatherly sort of man, who just happened to have fangs. He smelled pleasantly of hair tonic and carried peppermints in his pockets. I was 90 percent sure I recognized him from a Confederate memorial statue downtown.
And last but certainly not least, Ophelia Lambert. The willowy brunette was wearing a red cardigan and plaid kilt that made me think of wildly inappropriate schoolgirl uniforms. She usually dressed a bit more outrageously, in carefully themed costumes. Her theme was most often “jailbait.” But since she’d started dating Jane’s ward, Jamie, she’d tried to appear a bit more like a nice girl. The femme-fatale bit made Jamie uncomfortable.
Council members were assigned to their precincts regardless of origin, so Ophelia’s and Sophie’s “Continental” presence was unremarkable. I could only guess that Peter’s grumpiness had gotten him kicked out of all of the other Council regions.
As they approached the porch, I took a deep breath and tried to focus on keeping my heart rate even. I smiled sweetly. “Hi, Ophelia, how are you? Sophie, Mr. Marchand, Mr. Crown. What brings you here?”
“How are you on this lovely evening, Miss Iris?” Mr. Marchand chuckled, bending over my hand and kissing it. He had lovely old-fashioned manners, reminding me of my great-uncle Harold.
“Fine, thank you.” I barely resisted the urge to curtsy. It was a near thing.
“I see we caught you in the middle of yard work.” Mr. Crown sniffed, surveying my ratty clothes and the crushed foliage in my hands.
“Well, with my schedule, I have to fit it in whenever I can,” I said pleasantly, although the dismissive tone in his voice set my teeth on edge.
Ophelia cleared her throat. “We need to ask you a few questions, Iris.”
I kept my expression blank, except for a slight frown. “Sounds serious.”
Mr. Marchand patted my hand. “Oh, no, dear, just strictly routine.”
“Well, it’s such a nice night. Why don’t you all have a seat on those benches in the side yard, by the roses? Can I offer you something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” Mr. Crown said, looking bored as he scanned the windows of my house. I bit my lip, unsure of what to say next. Ever the social buffer, Mr. Marchand made a few polite comments about the clever arrangement of the garden. I nodded absently, praying that Cal was smart enough to stay out of sight. I didn’t think I’d be in physical danger if the Council found out that I was lying to them, but my business would definitely suffer. My hands began to sweat, the warmth of my skin intensifying the aroma of geranium oil in the air. The smell seemed to distract Mr. Crown, who wrinkled his nose and stepped away from me.rted. “Oh, like I’m able to trust you?”
“You trust me enough to bring me into your home, which I am absolutely sure is a first for you.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Has any other vampire seen the inside of this house?” he demanded. When I bit my lip and crossed my arms over my chest, he smirked. “I didn’t think so. You know, it’s rather hypocritical to work for vampires but think that you’re too good to be ‘directly involved’ with our world.”
“I don’t think I’m too good!” I exclaimed. “I’ve just found that with a few rare exceptions, like Jane, you aren’t trustworthy. Vampires put their own interests first, no matter what the cost. If it came to a question of my well-being versus your survival, I would be drained faster than you could say ‘collateral damage.’ ”
“As opposed to humans, who are so generous and selfless.”
“I’m not saying we’re perfect, but at least we don’t eat people.”
He muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I said, some of you do!” he exclaimed. “Humans are just as destructive and selfish and shortsighted as we could ever think to be.”
“Well, you used to be human, so—so, suck it!” I yelled, flustered and sputtering.
He arched an eyebrow. “Suck it?”
“Not my most mature comeback,” I conceded, before adding hastily, “or an invitation.”
He smirked again. “You don’t strike me as the type that plays hard to get.”
I seethed. “Well, I can arrange striking you very soon.”
“Has anyone ever pointed out that you tend to use violence to solve problems?”
