Page 5 of Investigation of a Quest

Dabbing a light perfume on her throat, Bel turned off the walk-in closet’s lights and rushed down the mansion’s stairs to find her boyfriend. “Eamon?”

“Howdy, ma’am,” he called from the kitchen, and she froze in the doorway at the magnificent view of him bent over in perfectly fitted jeans. “Just feeding Baby Beast,” he said with a western twang as he turned, revealing the rest of his costume. The tight black shirt stretched across his powerful form eclipsed the well-fitted blue jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots, a cowboy hat, and a large belt buckle completed his ensemble.

“Oh my God!” Bel blurted, completely forgetting her outfit. Cowboy Eamon? New fantasy unlocked.

“I know it’s a simple costume, but what do you expect from me? I don’t really do dress up.”

“Oh my god!” Bel repeated, her jaw falling open. “You can’t go out like that!”

“Why not?” He squinted at her.

“Because while I can fight, I can’t fight every woman in Bajka. Are you trying to get me killed?”

“Stop it.”

“No, I’m serious. Eamon, that isn’t fair. I’m not the jealous type, but you’re about to make me unreasonable.”

“You acting jealous?” he teased. “That’s hot.”

“No, it’s not, because I’m not trying to get arrested tonight.”

“Says the woman who’s putting my self-control to the test.” Eamon gestured to the sultry black outfit that hugged her at all the right angles. “You worry you’ll get into a fight? I’m going to end up killing someone with you looking like… wait… are you a vampire?”

“Yup.” Bel giggled as she flashed her false fangs at him, and to her immense delight, he threw his head back with a roaring laugh.

“Oh my God, you are ridiculous.” He stalked toward her and scooped her into his arms. “But you’re certainly pretty enough to be a vampire. Not mean enough, though.”

“So you like it?” she asked. “You aren’t offended?”

“I think it’s hysterical, but it’s going to make you miss your event.” His palm slid up her thigh to illustrate his meaning.

“I want to suck your blood,” she moaned with an exaggerated accent, and then she playfully bit his throat.

“Isobel, I’m warning you.” Eamon slammed her on the counter and slipped his hand under her tight skirt. “Do not test me.”

But she did just that. She shot forward and nipped his lips with her fake fangs. This was why she’d gotten dressed early, and Eamon’s control snapped. Before she realized what was happening, she was missing her panties; he was missing his clothes, and then she was screaming loud enough to have any passersby fearing that this mansion was, in fact, haunted.

“Wow! This is something else.” Eamon’s eyes widened as they approached the barricaded street, and Bel beamed at the compliment. Her job with the town’s event committee had been a source of conflict between them for months, but the pride brightening his features suggested he finally appreciated the new direction her life had taken… or at least the effort she’d poured into it.

“This almost makes me wish I were competing,” he continued.

“This many people at the Reale Estate?” Bel humphed. “You can’t even say that with a straight face.”

“No, I can’t.” Eamon tugged her close as they rounded the barricade and stepped into a Halloween movie. This neighborhood had pulled out all the stops, turning the night into a giant block party. Food trucks, a DJ, trick-or-treat stations, apple-dunking buckets, decorations, games, and every costume imaginable lined the street. The air hummed with spooky magic, and Bel couldn’t help but wonder whether it was the very ordinary magic forged by human love and passion, or if hints of real power floated through the crowd. Supernaturals loved to hide in plain sight during events like this, and each time she passed a witch costume, she studied the person beneath it to see if she could spot the real from the fake.

“So, how does this work?” Eamon asked. “Do you have to join the judges, or can you hang out with your poor old man?”

“I have to tour the competing house at some point, but it’s chill. The other judges are bringing their kids and spouses, so we all agreed to have fun.”

“Perfect. I don’t want you out of my sight in this outfit.”

“You are so possessive.” Bel shoved him, but he caught her wrists and tugged her close, and for the first time in months, they felt like themselves.

“I’m not possessive.” Eamon slapped her ass. “I’m handsy.”

“This is a family event.” She grabbed his hand and moved it to a more appropriate resting spot on her waist.

“But you’re the one who went for the kill. I can’t be held responsible for anything I say or do under your influence.”