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Authors: Molly Harper
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vampire?
Upon closer inspection, Jane had that quiet, sturdy sort of beauty, with flyaway hair over bright hazel eyes and a wide, mischievous smile. She also had ink smeared across her cheek and a pencil holding up a rather haphazard bun. And she looked absolutely content about it. She was staring at me, and when I made eye contact, she seemed to give herself a little shake.
“Sorry. I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Nola Leary,” I said. “I’m new in town. I heard this was the place to go for a good book.”
Jane seemed to study me, scanning me from head to toe. Whatever she found seemed to bother her, given the way she kept squinting and working her jaw, as if to pop her ears. “Well, good obscure books, anyway.”
Given Jane’s scanning, I decided to hold off on any pointed questions about my grandfather. I ordered a coffee, bought a werewolf romance set in Alaska, and made myself comfortable. I sat at the bar and chatted with Andrea while customers filtered in. A book club met in the little circle of chairs near the back. Jane served coffee and sinfully good chocolate biscuits while they had a spirited discussion of the Black Dagger Brotherhood series.
I spent a good deal of time just looking around the shop. What had it looked like when my grandfather was alive? How had he run the store? Did this work make him happy? For the first time since I’d learned his name, I wished so much that Gilbert Wainwright was still alive.I wished that Nana Fee hadn’t been so stubborn about contacting him. I wished that she’d chosen a slightly more convenient baby daddy to bequeath our family legacy to.
Every time I looked at Jane, she was studying me, a little line of concentration marring her smooth white forehead. After about two hours of this studying/staring cycle, I decided I’d pushed the limits of normal customer loitering and hopped off my bar stool. Jane caught up to me before I reached the door, smiling brightly at the book club as she pulled me toward the shop’s office.
I resisted, I pulled, but, well, she had all that vampire strength on her side. The office was small but tidy, with pale-yellow walls and a low shelf that ran the length of the room. Instead of books, the shelf displayed framed photos, running the gamut from old black-and-white shots to color photos of Jane with the man from the wedding photo. Jane wasn’t hurting me, but her grip was awfully firm as she sat me down in her desk chair. I tried to push to my feet, but she shoved me back down, then pulled a bottle of synthetic blood out of the little fridge behind her mahogany desk. She stared me down while we waited for the bottle to finish heating in the mini-microwave.
Although her habit of mental poking was somewhat annoying, it was rather nice sitting there with Jane. She had no biological functions, therefore no ailments. Other than a constant, niggling thirst that manifested as a dry, buzzing sensation in the throat, I didn’t feel anything from her. I seriously doubted she had any “I fell off my boyfriend” injuries I would have to diagnose.
“OK, why don’t you just go ahead and tell me what it is you’re trying to do. It will save us both some time and Tasering,” she said casually.
“Beg pardon?”
She sat in her chair, her expression wary. “I’ll tolerate a lot, lady, but I won’t put up with people who try to pull one over on me. It’s been done one too many times. Now, why are you so interested in Mr. Wainwright and his former shop? I can’t get much from you; all I see is rolling green hills and old pictures of Mr. Wainwright. And an old lady with an Irish accent in a purple bathrobe. And then I just get a bunch of static, which is really annoying, by the way. It’s like having nonstop radio feedback in my head.”
I stared at her. So that explained the mental poking. Some vampires had special talents beyond their strength and speed, such as mind-reading, finding lost objects, or just being very
Upon closer inspection, Jane had that quiet, sturdy sort of beauty, with flyaway hair over bright hazel eyes and a wide, mischievous smile. She also had ink smeared across her cheek and a pencil holding up a rather haphazard bun. And she looked absolutely content about it. She was staring at me, and when I made eye contact, she seemed to give herself a little shake.
“Sorry. I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Nola Leary,” I said. “I’m new in town. I heard this was the place to go for a good book.”
Jane seemed to study me, scanning me from head to toe. Whatever she found seemed to bother her, given the way she kept squinting and working her jaw, as if to pop her ears. “Well, good obscure books, anyway.”
Given Jane’s scanning, I decided to hold off on any pointed questions about my grandfather. I ordered a coffee, bought a werewolf romance set in Alaska, and made myself comfortable. I sat at the bar and chatted with Andrea while customers filtered in. A book club met in the little circle of chairs near the back. Jane served coffee and sinfully good chocolate biscuits while they had a spirited discussion of the Black Dagger Brotherhood series.
I spent a good deal of time just looking around the shop. What had it looked like when my grandfather was alive? How had he run the store? Did this work make him happy? For the first time since I’d learned his name, I wished so much that Gilbert Wainwright was still alive.I wished that Nana Fee hadn’t been so stubborn about contacting him. I wished that she’d chosen a slightly more convenient baby daddy to bequeath our family legacy to.
Every time I looked at Jane, she was studying me, a little line of concentration marring her smooth white forehead. After about two hours of this studying/staring cycle, I decided I’d pushed the limits of normal customer loitering and hopped off my bar stool. Jane caught up to me before I reached the door, smiling brightly at the book club as she pulled me toward the shop’s office.
I resisted, I pulled, but, well, she had all that vampire strength on her side. The office was small but tidy, with pale-yellow walls and a low shelf that ran the length of the room. Instead of books, the shelf displayed framed photos, running the gamut from old black-and-white shots to color photos of Jane with the man from the wedding photo. Jane wasn’t hurting me, but her grip was awfully firm as she sat me down in her desk chair. I tried to push to my feet, but she shoved me back down, then pulled a bottle of synthetic blood out of the little fridge behind her mahogany desk. She stared me down while we waited for the bottle to finish heating in the mini-microwave.
Although her habit of mental poking was somewhat annoying, it was rather nice sitting there with Jane. She had no biological functions, therefore no ailments. Other than a constant, niggling thirst that manifested as a dry, buzzing sensation in the throat, I didn’t feel anything from her. I seriously doubted she had any “I fell off my boyfriend” injuries I would have to diagnose.
“OK, why don’t you just go ahead and tell me what it is you’re trying to do. It will save us both some time and Tasering,” she said casually.
“Beg pardon?”
She sat in her chair, her expression wary. “I’ll tolerate a lot, lady, but I won’t put up with people who try to pull one over on me. It’s been done one too many times. Now, why are you so interested in Mr. Wainwright and his former shop? I can’t get much from you; all I see is rolling green hills and old pictures of Mr. Wainwright. And an old lady with an Irish accent in a purple bathrobe. And then I just get a bunch of static, which is really annoying, by the way. It’s like having nonstop radio feedback in my head.”
I stared at her. So that explained the mental poking. Some vampires had special talents beyond their strength and speed, such as mind-reading, finding lost objects, or just being very
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