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I mulled that over for a millisecond. “Um, yes. That would be it.”
Daddy opened his wallet and handed me his Mastercard. “Well, point me to the coffee bar, and start a tab for me. And then bring me one of those books on how to be a better parent to an adult vampire.”
“Well, if you gave me a valid credit card, you’ve got my vote for Father of the Year.”
Dad took a long look at the ritual candle selection. “Does that mean you can give me a good deal on a magic wand and an owl?”
“I would respond, but we just established a storewide no-hitting policy,” I said, poking him in the ribs.
He tucked a hand under my chin. “It looks great, honey. Everything. I can tell how much work you girls put into it. I’m very proud of you.”
“Thanks, Daddy. Is Mama coming?”
Daddy cleared his throat. “Mama sends her support in spirit. But Jenny had some meeting tonight, and she needed Mama to babysit.”
“Hmm. Convenient.” I rolled my eyes.
Behind us, the bell tinkled, and the door opened. A goth teen with a pasty face, pierced nose, and lime-green-over-dirty-blond ringlets slumped into the store. She was a vampire, but she was so young. And she was obstinately avoiding eye contact. I took the direct approach, saying in my most pleasant tone, “Hi, welcome to Specialty Books. Can I help you find anything?”
She stopped and stared at me. I think she was willing me to disappear. OK, then.
“Are you looking for something in particular or just browsing?” I asked, dialing down the cheerful factor a few points.
The green-haired teen queen was now staring through me.
“I think she’s pretending to be invisible,” Andrea whispered from behind the counter.
I did not want to alienate my first non-blood-related customer, so I stepped out of her way. As she passed, I reached out to her, gently prying at the edges of her mind. Generally, I can’t read vampires, but she seemed so new, I guess would be the word, that I wanted to see if I could get a few impressions.
Instead, I was flooded with the chaos of adolescent thought bubbles. She was lonely and was afraid of what would happen if her mom found out she’d driven the family car into the worst part of town. She wished I would just leave her the hell alone so she could look for the latest Buffy Season 8 comic and read it in peace in one of those cool purple chairs. She wished she’d brought enough cash for the comic and a mocha latte, because the coffee smelled pretty good, and she loved, looooved chocolate and missed it like crazy. She even missed her mom telling her that chocolate gave her zits. Her mom didn’t talk to her much at all these days. Her whole stupid family seemed afraid of her, but they were even more afraid of kicking her out of the house. It was just great to be allowed to stay in your own room because your dad’s afraid to talk to you. She didn’t know why I was hassling her; it wasn’t as if she was going to steal or anything. Old people always followed her around in stores because of her hair. She wished she’d never dyed it green, but then her mom made such a big deal out of it that she felt she had to keep dyeing it over and over just to try to get a little attention—
I had to fight to pull myself out of the swirling vortex of her thoughts. I shook my head, trying to throw off the feelings of gloom and isolation.
God, I was glad I wasn’t a teenager anymore.
“You’ll find the Buffy comics over in our graphic-novels section, near the back,” I murmured quietly. She turned, eyeing me warily. “Andrea, could you get our first official customer a tall mocha latte with the ‘special’ syrup? On the house, of course.”
The Buffy lover, whom I’d decided I was going to like, even if it killed me, had eyes the size of saucers when I winked at her. “Th-thanks,” she stuttered, in a voice that was higher, shakier, than the voice in her head. “I’m Cindy.”
“Really?” I asked, eyeing the nose piercing. “I did not expect that. Cindy, I’m Jane. That’s Andrea. Let us know if you need anything.”
“OK.” She turned on her heavily booted heels and headed for the graphic novels.
“And for the record, I’m not that old,” I called after her.
A remarkably more cordial Cindy parked in a chair with her comic and sipped her coffee. She proved to be quite the good-luck charm, as her arrival brought a stream of steady peals of the front entrance bell. Several vampires, whom I’d never seen before, came in and sipped warmed blood and discussed forming an undead book club. Zeb and Jolene stopped by for pastries (for Jolene) and a book titled The Drama of the Half-Were Child (for Zeb.) They cozied up at the bar near my dad and chatted about the impending Lavelle. They still hadn’t told Zeb’s mother about the pregnancy. After Mama Ginger broke into the trailer, rearranged all the furniture, “organized” their mail and bills, and cleared most of the food out of Jolene’s fridge, Jolene had adjusted the disclosure date to when the baby left for college. She’d also added those biometric fingerprint locks to her plans for the new house. Seriously, you don’t mess with a werewolf’s food supply, even under the guise of being “helpful.”
Several members of the Friends and Family of the Undead, a group dedicated to helping the loved ones of newly turned vampires, perused new releases in the self-help section and were thrilled when I offered to host the meetings at the shop on Thursday nights. A few of my currently human former library patrons braved the bad part of town and bought up Anita Blake titles they probably wouldn’t have purchased in a “mainstream” bookstore. They also floated the concept of forming a book club focusing on supernatural works, starting with Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones .
I missed the children and children’s books. I missed old tattered copies of Harold and the Purple Crayon and tracking down the copy of Behind the Attic Wall that had been lost and nearly kept by careless girls (including myself) a total of fourteen times. But this new enterprise was certainly rewarding. We actually sold books. To live customers. Which hadn’t happened at Specialty Books in a while. Of course, by live, I mean present at the time of sale. I couldn’t guarantee heart or lung function.
I was helping books find their way to people again. I would have teared up a little if I’d had time. These misty thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a petite brunette with a heart-shaped face and high, sharp cheekbones. She had on a thickly ruffled blouse paired with a long black skirt. A delicate cameo pin secured the neck. She was a vampire, and she stared at me for a while before finally approaching the counter.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“No, I believe I’ll just browse about for a while. I think you might have exactly what I’m looking for.” She smiled, the tips of her fangs peeking out over her thin, whitened lips.
“O … K.”
