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Jane stared at me for a long while. “I want to believe you. The idea of Mr. Wainwright having a child and a grandchild makes me very happy. And I don’t think you have any bad intentions here. But you need to understand that we’ve been burned before by someone claiming a connection to Mr. Wainwright. Do you mind if I ask what brings you here now, after all these years?”
I gave an equal measure of considerate staring. “That’s a really long story, and I’d like to wait until your shop is cleared out.”
Nodding, Jane blew out a breath and sank back into her chair. “Well, hell, I wish Mr. Wainwright had stayed around now.”
I frowned. “I wish that he’d lived, too. I would have liked to meet him.”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” she muttered.
4
Never overestimate any supernatural creature’s sense of humor.
—A Guide to Traversing the Supernatural Realm
Andrea was staring at me. Hard.
I wouldn’t say that my new vampire friends “detained” me, but it was made quite clear that any attempts to leave would not be met with friendly handshakes and an exchange of e-mail addresses. With the customers cleared out, I was sitting at the coffee bar, trying to suss out exactly how much I should tell them. Since they’d kept me from dinner, Jane was nice enough to provide me with something called “lemon bars,” an odd cross between a biscuit and a custard pie. And Andrea was staring at me. It wasn’t an angry stare. She seemed to be looking for coded messages in my eyelashes. I started to blink in odd patterns while I chewed on lemon bars, just to see what happened.
Nothing, just more staring.
“Should we wait for Dick?” Jane asked, pulling the “Closed” sign over the front door of the shop.
Andrea gave me a quick, furtive look. “Um, Dick has a business meeting. I’m not able to reach him.”
“Why do the words ‘business meeting’ seem to be in unspoken subtext quotation marks?” I asked.
“My husband,” Andrea told me, in a tone that brooked no further discussion. “You’ll meet him later.”
“All right, then.”
Jane moved behind the bar as if she were going to make more coffee, until Andrea hopped over the counter with vampire speed and chased her away from the large, shiny cappuccino maker. Jane pouted a bit and plopped into the seat beside me. Andrea gave me a sweeping hand gesture and said, “Floor’s all yours.”
I straightened in my chair, clearing my throat. “ ‘Once upon a time’ is the best way to start, yes? Well, once upon a time, there was a happy little family in the wilds of Ireland, practicing what they called magic. For years and years, they kept the locals happy by caring for the sick, taking care of ailing livestock, and keeping the crops fertile. Even through the Inquisition and the witchcraft trials, the villagers kept peace with the family, because they needed them to prosper, and vice versa. You would think the lack of pitchfork-toting townsfolk would keep the family safe, but of course, in stories like these, there are always problems.
“It boiled down to a difference of opinion on magical policy. The family had always operated under the tenet of ‘do not harm.’ But a small branch of the family grew tired of being ‘servants’ to the locals. They argued that the family should take a firmer stance, domination instead of appeasement. They seemed to think that we should be leading the people around us, instead of working with them—through force, if necessary.”>“She lost a bet,” Jane said, grinning evilly at her companion. “Every time she hears my full name, she has to say that. Do not try to out-trivia me, Andrea. You have no one to blame but yourself. Which reminds me, I need to have that plaque updated.”
“I could have sworn Nicholas Nickleby’s sister was named Sarah,” Andrea muttered.
“Her name was Kate,” I said, just as Jane did.
“Oh, hell, there’s two of you,” Andrea groaned, marching behind the counter. “I’m making myself a bloodychino.”
“Bloodychino?” I asked, turning toward Jane, who was giving me a speculative look.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, Andrea has figured out how to make coffee drinks more palatable for vampires.”
I lifted my brows. Andrea was fair-skinned, but she didn’t strike me as the vampire type. She was so put-together and polished. It was as if someone had vampirized a Kennedy, which was a terrifying thought. Was everyone who worked in this shop a vampire?
Upon closer inspection, Jane had that quiet, sturdy sort of beauty, with flyaway hair over bright hazel eyes and a wide, mischievous smile. She also had ink smeared across her cheek and a pencil holding up a rather haphazard bun. And she looked absolutely content about it. She was staring at me, and when I made eye contact, she seemed to give herself a little shake.
“Sorry. I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Nola Leary,” I said. “I’m new in town. I heard this was the place to go for a good book.”
Jane seemed to study me, scanning me from head to toe. Whatever she found seemed to bother her, given the way she kept squinting and working her jaw, as if to pop her ears. “Well, good obscure books, anyway.”
Given Jane’s scanning, I decided to hold off on any pointed questions about my grandfather. I ordered a coffee, bought a werewolf romance set in Alaska, and made myself comfortable. I sat at the bar and chatted with Andrea while customers filtered in. A book club met in the little circle of chairs near the back. Jane served coffee and sinfully good chocolate biscuits while they had a spirited discussion of the Black Dagger Brotherhood series.
