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In honor of the occasion, Jettie and Fred had agreed to let all of the guests see them. I turned to my living room to find that Grandpa Fred had materialized and was, indeed, kissing Aunt Jettie like a character in an old World War II movie.
“Well, that’s just embarrassing,” I said, pushing Gabriel’s packages into Dick’s hands and laying a hell of a smooch on my special vampire fella. “Happy now?”
“Blech, no.” Dick grimaced. “It’s like watching your parents make out.”
Gabriel set his jaw and advanced on Dick.
“OK, River Oaks is neutral ground, you both promised,” I said, standing between the two of them. “Gabriel, please go inside. Help Jolene unpack her movable feast.”
I turned on Dick. “I thought you had plans,” I said, leaning against the door and smirking at him.
“Yeah, well, they fell through. I figured, why not throw you a bone?”
“I’m just not responding to that imagery,” I said as I accepted what could only be termed wine in the strictest sense of the word. “But I’m glad you’re here. Merry Christmas, Dick. You have just enough time to go inside and look cool and unaffected when Andrea comes in.”
Dick perked up.
“But first, a few ground rules. No ‘ho, ho, ho’ jokes. That shirt is the only ‘naughty’ reference you’re allowed tonight. And keep the mistletoe where I can see it,” I said.
“Well, tie my hands, why don’t you?” he grumbled, then scrambled to get inside when he saw Andrea’s car pull onto my drive.
Andrea had volunteered to drive Mr. Wainwright, whose night vision was not what it once was. Neither was his day vision, for that matter. It took Gabriel and me to help him up the steps, but he was determined to carry his own presents and the jar of potpourri he had brought as a hostess gift.
At least, I hoped it was potpourri.
Oddly enough, the first person he greeted when he walked into the living room was my Aunt Jettie, who was confused but flattered. “He can see me?”
“You can see her?” I asked. “I thought vampires were the only ones who could see you; when you decided to grace us with your presence, that is.”
Mr. Wainwright chuckled. “Well of course, I can see her, she’s standing right there. She’s a bit transparent but still visible to those who have a … broader personal perspective.”
“Jettie Early, meet my boss, Gilbert Wainwright,” I said. “Mr. Wainwright, my late great-aunt Jettie.”
“Charmed,” he said. I noticed he didn’t offer to shake her hand, an effort to avoid calling attention to the fact that she was noncorporeal.
“Jane’s told me so much about you,” Jettie said, smiling sweetly. “I’m so glad she’s found such a wonderfully interesting person to work for.”
“Well, she is a pleasure to have at the store,” he assured her. “She has revolutionized our filing system.”
“She said you didn’t have a filing system before she was hired,” Jettie pointed out. My gaze shifted from my aunt to my employer. Did Aunt Jettie just giggle in a coquettish manner, drawing a suspicious look from my dead step-grandpa? Mr. Wainwright chuckled again and adjusted his suspenders.
My dead aunt was flirting with my boss. My dead aunt who was practically engaged to my dead step-grandfather. And my boss appeared to be flirting back. This could go nowhere good.
They started talking and realized they’d gone to high school together. They were in the last class to graduate from the original Half-Moon Hollow High before Milton “Firebug” Chambers burned it to the ground. They reminisced about Mr. Allan, the math teacher who spoke in the third person; the design of the first-ever Half-Moon Howler mascot costume; and Milton’s multiple failed attempts at burning the school down before he got it right. Mr. Wainwright asked Aunt Jettie about her demise and how the “tunnel of light” appeared to her. Jettie laughed uproariously and told him it was more like a tornado. Eager to catch every detail, he asked Jettie to meet him at his office sometime, where he could interview her properly.
Grandpa Fred was not pleased. Fortunately, he couldn’t solve this problem as he did when Grandma Ruthie drove him crazy during his living Christmases: drinking buttered rum until he was near comatose, forcing my dad and I to cart him, Barcalounger and all, out to the car.
It’s awkward introducing two groups of friends. It’s even more awkward when one of those groups decides not to like the other. While Mr. Wainwright was thrilled to be acquainted or reacquainted with the supernatural beings, Jolene had taken an instant dislike to Andrea. A few minutes after the two of them gingerly shook hands, Jolene pulled me into the kitchen to whisper at a decibel far below human hearing that she didn’t trust her.
“I trust Andrea,” I said. “She’s been a really good friend to me. You’re just used to being the prettiest girl in the room, and having someone who remotely rivals your blinding hotness is throwing you off your game. And we don’t have to whisper. Andrea’s perfectly normal hearing is not going to pick up this conversation.”
“I’m just sayin’ one girl to another, I think you need to watch her around Gabriel,” Jolene said, grabbing a hunk of cheddar and chowing down. Around the cheese, she said, “A lot of girls, especially wounded human girls, go for the whole mysterious, dark-haired guy with the full lips, piercing soulful eyes, cheekbones you could slice a ham with—”
“Maybe I should watch you around Gabriel,” I said, eyeing her warily. “I think we should get back into the living room with your lovely canapés before everybody else figures out that we’re talking about one of them.”
“You’re right, I’m bein’ silly,” Jolene said, watching Zeb try one of Mr. Wainwright’s cigars, then get pounded on the back when he started to choke. “I just want everybody to be as happy as Zeb and me.”
“Lovebirds on amphetamines couldn’t be happier than you two,” I said, linking arms with her.
