Read Online Ghouls Just Want to Have Fun by Kathleen Bacus - Free Book Online
Authors: Kathleen Bacus
Ads: Link
you."
"Vampire?" For the first time, I noticed that my grandmother appeared to have grown a significant amount of black hair in the past thirty minutes.
"Dat's right, dahlinga," my gramma responded in a way bad accent that had more Midwestern nasal twang than Transylvanian tongue. "I vant to drink your blud," she said, holding up one of her blue-black-nail-painted hands and stroking Joe's right shoulder.
"For the love of..." I heard muttered under someone's breath, but I wasn't sure if it was mine, Townsend Junior's, or, God forbid, Townsend Senior's.
"And let me guess. You're supposed to be Count Dracula, right, Joe?" I asked, thinking that getting the goods on Elizabeth Courtney Howard was not going to be as easy as I'd hoped.
Joe snorted. "You gotta be kiddin', girlie." He flipped on the interior light. "Do I look like Dracula?"
I gave the old guy a once-over. Pale skin. Sunken cheekbones. Red-rimmed eyes. Yeah. He could pass for an anemic bloodsucker. Or Skeletor.
"No? Yes?" I answered.
"Think, gal. Think. See the hat? See the long dark cloak?" He pulled out a silver cross. "This help at all?"
I made a face as if concentrating, but frankly I had no idea who the old guy was dressed up as. I made a note about the cross, though. It might come in handy down the road.
"I give," I finally said. "Who are you?"
"Van Helsing, of course!" he said. "Only the most bitchin' vampire hunter in history. And pretty darn sexy, too," he added with a look at my grandmother.
I silently apologized to Hugh Jackman. After this evening, I'd never look at him quite the same way.
"So you chase down vampires for a living and my grandmother is a vampire," I said, getting a not-so-pretty preview of coming attractions. "You don't plan on, like, chasing my grandmother all night, do you, Joe?" I asked.
He chuckled. "That all depends," he said, casting another quick look back at me.
"On what?" I asked.
"On whether I run," my grandmother said and Joe growled.
I scooted back into my seat and silently cursed with powerful--but unprintable--words the price one had to pay for fame. I'd better get some useful info about Elizabeth Courtney Howard.
"At least you didn't ask if he'd brought along silver bullets," the other backseat occupant observed, a heaping dose of resignation in his voice.
I winced. Knowing Joe, he not only had the silver bullets but was also packin' the means to use 'em.
"You know, Tressa," Ranger Rick said, shifting his length perceptibly in my direction, "if you'd wanted a date with me so badly, you didn't need to use Van Helsing up there to fix us up. You could've just picked up the phone and called. I've never known you to be shy."
I felt Townsend's body heat reach out and wrap itself around me like a warmed towel after a shower. His arm found its way along the top of the backseat.
"What are you talking about, Mr. Moose? This isn't a real date," I hissed. "It's more like work!"
A tug on my hair told me Townsend was winding a strand around his finger. "Oh, so going out on a date with me is work, huh?" he said. "Nice."
"That's not what I meant," I said, thinking that this guy was the only person I knew who could get my juices going. And not just in a sexual way. "I meant that I'm, uh, mixing business with pleasure tonight."
I knew Townsend's eyebrow had done one of those skyward movements. I just knew it.
"What kind of pleasure did you expect?" he asked, moving a fraction closer.
"Why, the pleasure of giving you a hard time," I said, thinking that was a pretty nifty comeback.
Townsend gave another little tug on my hair. "I'm disappointed, T," he said. "I thought you were going to say the pleasure of my company."
"Isn't it the same thing?" I asked.
"When my pain gives you pleasure? I think there's a not-so-nice name for that," he said. "It involves black leather and some interesting little accessories, if I'm not mistaken," he added.
I looked over at him. "Trust you to know about such things," I said. "And keep
"Vampire?" For the first time, I noticed that my grandmother appeared to have grown a significant amount of black hair in the past thirty minutes.
"Dat's right, dahlinga," my gramma responded in a way bad accent that had more Midwestern nasal twang than Transylvanian tongue. "I vant to drink your blud," she said, holding up one of her blue-black-nail-painted hands and stroking Joe's right shoulder.
"For the love of..." I heard muttered under someone's breath, but I wasn't sure if it was mine, Townsend Junior's, or, God forbid, Townsend Senior's.
"And let me guess. You're supposed to be Count Dracula, right, Joe?" I asked, thinking that getting the goods on Elizabeth Courtney Howard was not going to be as easy as I'd hoped.
Joe snorted. "You gotta be kiddin', girlie." He flipped on the interior light. "Do I look like Dracula?"
I gave the old guy a once-over. Pale skin. Sunken cheekbones. Red-rimmed eyes. Yeah. He could pass for an anemic bloodsucker. Or Skeletor.
"No? Yes?" I answered.
"Think, gal. Think. See the hat? See the long dark cloak?" He pulled out a silver cross. "This help at all?"
I made a face as if concentrating, but frankly I had no idea who the old guy was dressed up as. I made a note about the cross, though. It might come in handy down the road.
"I give," I finally said. "Who are you?"
"Van Helsing, of course!" he said. "Only the most bitchin' vampire hunter in history. And pretty darn sexy, too," he added with a look at my grandmother.
I silently apologized to Hugh Jackman. After this evening, I'd never look at him quite the same way.
"So you chase down vampires for a living and my grandmother is a vampire," I said, getting a not-so-pretty preview of coming attractions. "You don't plan on, like, chasing my grandmother all night, do you, Joe?" I asked.
He chuckled. "That all depends," he said, casting another quick look back at me.
"On what?" I asked.
"On whether I run," my grandmother said and Joe growled.
I scooted back into my seat and silently cursed with powerful--but unprintable--words the price one had to pay for fame. I'd better get some useful info about Elizabeth Courtney Howard.
"At least you didn't ask if he'd brought along silver bullets," the other backseat occupant observed, a heaping dose of resignation in his voice.
I winced. Knowing Joe, he not only had the silver bullets but was also packin' the means to use 'em.
"You know, Tressa," Ranger Rick said, shifting his length perceptibly in my direction, "if you'd wanted a date with me so badly, you didn't need to use Van Helsing up there to fix us up. You could've just picked up the phone and called. I've never known you to be shy."
I felt Townsend's body heat reach out and wrap itself around me like a warmed towel after a shower. His arm found its way along the top of the backseat.
"What are you talking about, Mr. Moose? This isn't a real date," I hissed. "It's more like work!"
A tug on my hair told me Townsend was winding a strand around his finger. "Oh, so going out on a date with me is work, huh?" he said. "Nice."
"That's not what I meant," I said, thinking that this guy was the only person I knew who could get my juices going. And not just in a sexual way. "I meant that I'm, uh, mixing business with pleasure tonight."
I knew Townsend's eyebrow had done one of those skyward movements. I just knew it.
"What kind of pleasure did you expect?" he asked, moving a fraction closer.
"Why, the pleasure of giving you a hard time," I said, thinking that was a pretty nifty comeback.
Townsend gave another little tug on my hair. "I'm disappointed, T," he said. "I thought you were going to say the pleasure of my company."
"Isn't it the same thing?" I asked.
"When my pain gives you pleasure? I think there's a not-so-nice name for that," he said. "It involves black leather and some interesting little accessories, if I'm not mistaken," he added.
I looked over at him. "Trust you to know about such things," I said. "And keep
Similar Books
