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She sighed, leaning her head against mine. “I know.”
I lingered and watched the party from the kitchen doorway. Someone, mercifully, had dug up a Nat King Cole CD. Even over the bluesy cheer, I could hear Andrea and Zeb chatting about the merits of being the only “normals” in the room. They didn’t consider Mr. Wainwright to be normal. Jolene swept in and marked her territory by kissing Zeb’s cheek and pulling him away from Andrea. Gabriel and Mr. Wainwright discussed Gabriel’s library and its shocking lack of information on freshwater sea monsters, until Dick distracted Gabriel by mentioning all of the parties they used to attend at River Oaks. Gabriel sent a furtive look my way. I think he offered Dick money not to reminisce further. Mr. Wainwright then engaged Dick in adamant conversation regarding the sales of were-pelts on the black market. Dick was smiling at him in a way I didn’t normally see. It was almost tender. And it was weirding me out.
“Please, in the name of Christmas, don’t let Dick try to sell him anything,” I asked, looking skyward.
Fortunately, Andrea passed by in her slinky black party dress, and Dick’s attention shifted gears. Mr. Wainwright grinned as Dick trailed after her. He made eye contact with Aunt Jettie, rolled his eyes, and muttered, “Young people.” Aunt Jettie gave a girlish giggle, which got Grandpa Fred’s back up.
Andrea heard Mr. Wainwright’s side of the conversation and tapped me on the shoulder.
“Is Mr. Wainwright talking to himself again?” she asked.
“Nope. Aunt Jettie. I think he might have a little bit of a crush going. This is going to be a big shock for Grandpa Fred. This may be the love triangle that undoes the fabric of our universe.”
She cringed. Gabriel sauntered my way, offering me a punch cup of an imported dessert blood called Sangre.
“You throw a great party,” Gabriel said, nodding at the happy crowd.
“God bless us everyone,” I said, grinning. “This may actually be the best Christmas ever. People I love. No pressure. No drunk cousins fistfighting on the lawn.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s an interesting story that I’ll ask about later.” He cringed before calling across the room, “While we’re on the subject of families, Zeb, can you tell me why your mother has been leaving me increasingly threatening voice-mail messages? She plans to put her foot, among other things, up several orifices.”
“I honestly don’t know,” Zeb said. “It’s possible she just dialed a random number. Sometimes she leaves those messages for strangers.”
“I think I know,” I said, sighing. “Zeb’s mama seems to think you’re the only obstacle standing between me and Zeb, true love, and some sort of Precious Moments wedding extravaganza.”
Zeb seemed stunned but not nearly as disturbed by this as I was. He smiled at me with that weird, glazed-over stare, which was becoming way too familiar. I moved closer to Gabriel, twining my fingers through his. “You might want to keep your doors locked during the day, Gabriel. Also, cover your butt, because what she has planned would sting a little.”
“I don’t think Mama would actually do anything,” Zeb assured me, his voice low and soft.
“Easy for you to say,” I told Zeb. “It’s not your orifices at stake.”
“And on that lovely Yuletide note, I have something for you,” Gabriel said, leading me closer to the lights of the Christmas tree before handing me a small silver-wrapped package. With visions of jewelry dancing in my head, I opened it to find a little canister with a plastic trigger. “Mace?”
“Nope, silver in aerosol form,” he said proudly. “To prevent further parking-lot fights. Just don’t stand downwind when you use it.”
“Oh, how thoughtful,” I said, lifting it carefully from the box. With all the enthusiasm I could scrape together, I told him, “It’s really, really great.”
“It’s a gag gift,” he said crossly. “Zeb said you’d find this kind of thing funny. Lift up the tissue.”
“Zeb has spent most of his adult years playing GameBoy alone on Friday nights,” I said, rooting to the bottom of the box. “Don’t take relationship advice from Zeb.”
In the bottom of the box was a tissue-wrapped bundle. It was a little silver unicorn on a fine chain.
“Andrea said that paying homage to a little quirk in your personality, the closet unicorn obsession, would show that I care,” he said.
“It really does,” I told him. “Can I touch it?”
“It would be a good first step toward wearing it.”
“But it’s silver,” I said, hooking a tissue-protected finger around the clasp.
“No, it’s white gold,” he said as he looped the chain around my neck. “Perfectly safe for vampires.”
“All of the beauty of silver without the burning and itching,” I cooed, running my fingers over the curves of the unicorn’s tiny legs.
“Does that mean ‘thank you’ in your language?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Thank you, it’s very sweet,” I said, kissing him. “This is a wonderful coincidence, because I have this for you.”
