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“Yeah, but Zeb…” I whispered. “Werewolf.”
“Vampire,” he said, pointing at me.
“Noted,” I muttered.
“I know, I don’t know everything about her, but I want to spend the rest of my life learning.” He sighed. “I love her. This is a woman I look forward to seeing every day, Janie, and I’ve never felt that way about anyone, except maybe you. I always figured, well, that you and I would end up in some nursing home together, fighting over the last pudding. But then you had to screw it up and go all immortal and ageless on me.
“Your change has opened my eyes to a world I never even imagined could be real. I knew vampires were out there, but I never thought I would know one, much less have one for my best friend. And seeing how well you’ve handled things…in your own special ass-backward way…I never would have had the courage to marry into Jolene’s family.”
I snorted.
“You are the wind beneath my wings?” he offered.
“If you start to sing, I will bite you,” I growled. “So, when are you planning to do this?”
“As soon as possible. Jolene has been waiting a long time to be, um, married,” he said, struggling with the choice of words.
“Last single cousin in her pack?” I asked.
Zeb looked embarrassed. “Well, wolves mate for life, so…”
“So she’s never…wow,” I marveled.
“Yeah.”
I wanted this for Zeb. A nice woman who, after lots of time, and possibly medication, I would able to share Zeb with. Not in a gross way. Jolene was someone who was dealing with her own “special circumstances.” Someone who would be able to understand my special circumstances and embrace them instead of making Zeb find new “normal” friends and join a progressive dinner club.
So, why was I being a jerk about this?
“We were sort of hoping you would be the maid of honor,” Zeb said. His expression made it clear that he knew how I felt about wearing another bridesmaid’s dress. “We both know you’d be the best man for me, anyway. And Jolene has too many cousins to choose one without causing a blood feud.”
I made a distressed little noise. On the other side of the window, Jolene’s million-watt smile beamed. I would worry about the fact that she had heard our entire conversation later. “But I barely know her.”
“She likes you. And this would be a great way to get to know her,” Zeb said in his special “I’m making a point” voice. “By the way, her colors are peach and cornflower blue.”
Dizzied by thoughts of giant butt bows and matching shawls, I stammered, “But—but I can’t do this again—”
Zeb tipped his head, all smiles and Precious Moments eyes. “I love you.”
“Dang it, Zeb. That’s not fair.”
16
Because vampires tend not to trust perceived bias in human media sources, they depend largely on “word of mouth” to stay informed of current events. This can lead to a localized and somewhat limited world view.
—From The Guide for the Newly Undead
With Fitz safe and sound, I threw myself into my work. It had taken me just a few nights for Mr. Wainwright to leave me unsupervised. I think once someone returns your wallet to you, cash intact, four times, it tends to cement your faith in that person’s character. I wasn’t returning the same wallet repeatedly. It was various wallets from over the years that I found misplaced all over the shop. Mr. Wainwright had to be public enemy number one on the credit-card companies’ frequent-card-loser watch list.
Mr. Wainwright never had to worry about my productivity in his absence, though I did take frequent breaks to study the books. I had missed that smell, old paper and starched cover canvas. Cozied between the crowded shelves, my feet propped up on a stack of Encyclopedia Demonica, and my nose buried in a first edition of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, it was like returning home after a long exile. Mr. Wainwright, who lived in a little apartment above the shop, had a hard time getting me to leave in the mornings. I wanted to wallow in the old volumes, some priceless, some cheap reproductions, all housed together in a mishmash. I had a purpose here. I belonged. The books needed me.
The cowbell on the shop door rang, jolting me out of Geneva circa 1818. I dashed for the door, eager to help a live customer…or, really, any customer. A pulse wasn’t necessary.
I found Ophelia the Teen Vampire Queen perched on the counter, wearing a black velvet minidress and silver go-go boots, flipping through a copy of From Caesar to Kennedy: Vampires and Their Clandestine Political Influence throughout History.
“Ophelia?”
She snapped the book shut and gave me what I’m sure passed for one of her warm smiles. “Jane, nice to see you. I was pleased to learn that you’d found another job. From what I hear, you need some constructive ways to fill your time.”
