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“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.”
Suddenly aware that I was surrounded by literary chaos and covered in an inch-thick layer of shop grime, I wiped my hands on my jeans. “How did you know I work here?”
She hopped off the counter and gave me a wry look. “We know everything, Jane.”
The way she said that was unsettling, implying not only that the council seemed to know every detail of my life but that they knew things that I was trying to conceal. And so far, I wasn’t trying to conceal anything from them, so this was distressing.
I cleared my throat and tried casually to sort through some remaindered ritual candles. “Can I find something for you, or are you just browsing?”
“I thought I made the reason for my visit clear with that comment about constructive use of your time,” she said pointedly.
“I know, I was trying to gloss over it.” I sighed, turning to her and crossing my arms. “Would you mind just asking me the questions this time instead of yanking the answers out of my cortex?”
“I didn’t bring Sophie along, because she assures me that you are a terrible liar,” Ophelia said, stretching her lips into a thin smile. “Don’t mistake this as a compliment. I merely came by to let you know that the investigation into Walter’s death continues. In fact, it has become far more interesting in the last few weeks as rumors of your behavior just after your turning have come to our attention.”
I thought back to the night I rose, running through what I did and what could be construed as a vampire faux pas. “OK, so it was a mistake to try to feed from my friend, but Gabriel stopped me. Zeb wasn’t hurt. In fact, he has no memory of that night, so no harm done.”
