Read Online I'm Dreaming of an Undead Christmas by Molly Harper - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Molly Harper
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ingredients making her sick. Apparently, neither willpower nor nostalgia for desserts could overcome vampire physiology.
“OK, I am putting myself in time-out before I create more sucrose chaos.” I snagged a takeout container from the fridge and retreated to the table. Iris didn’t like the idea of my cooking dinner for myself (because of the danger to myself and others), so she’d arranged for Miranda to deliver dinner for me from a different restaurant each night. Even I could eat only so much of Tess’s magical mac ’n’ cheese without a marked difference in the way my jeans fit.
And while I had developed a taste for sushi at college, where you could get two amazing rolls for ten dollars around the corner at Jasmine Palace, the same quality was not to be found in Half-Moon Hollow. Tonight’s Philadelphia roll stuffed with canned salmon just didn’t tickle my tastebuds, so I was sticking with the veggie roll. Fortunately, I’d already talked Miranda out of picking up tikka masala for me the next day. I felt strongly that people should not buy Indian food from a gas station.
While I chowed down on veggies and rice, a lively debate broke out at the stove over whether the burned stock pot could be salvaged. This was the second batch of candy we’d ruined during Iris’s brilliant “candy exchange” using my mother’s recipes. Mom wasn’t a talented cook when it came to meat and potatoes—I mean, the woman made “moist-free pot roast”—but she was some sort of sugar savant. Every December, she would spend weeks making big batches of fudge, bourbon balls, and soda-cracker candy, which was saltine-covered toffee topped by a layer of chocolate and nuts. She’d divide the candy into pretty decorative tins and take it to neighbors, teachers, friends from church, and anybody she might owe an apology to for the previous year’s events.
I was failing at making my mom’s weird soda-cracker candy. Jolene brought a recipe for candied bacon truffles, which sounded disgusting but she swore were delicious. Miranda brought brownie mix and premade cookie dough, because, unlike the rest of us, she knew her limits. And Tess was just trying to keep us from hurting ourselves. Whatever edible product we managed to make would sustain the humans during the holiday celebrations. Anything left over would go to Jolene’s pack, who would eat anything.
That was another fun fact shared with me during the previous year. Jolene not only had the whole sultry, Angelina Jolie look-alike package working, but she was also a werewolf. Because all ridiculously hot women deserve superpowers, too. The karmic imbalance put me in a snit for about five minutes, before Jane pointed out that the trade-off Jolene made for these gifts was a twangy backwoods accent that could peel paint. Sometimes, when she got excited, she sounded like Dolly Parton on helium.
Werewolves, unlike vampires, were not “out” to the human community yet, still waiting to see how the vampires’ transition panned out. And even more unlike vampires, they enjoyed carbs, and fats, and proteins, pretty much all foods, as shifting back and forth between two feet and four was a real drain on the metabolism.
“Do we have to use the candy thermometer again?” I asked. “It frightens me.”
Tess nodded. “We’re supposed to make caramel for the chocolate turtles.”
“Screw it,” I huffed, tossing my takeout container into the trash. “I went to the store earlier and bought a three-pound bag of caramels. Let’s melt those bad boys in the microwave.”
Tess clutched at her chest as if to ward off palpitations. “I can’t believe you just said that in front of me.”
“We won’t tell the homemade-candy police, we promise,” Andrea told her.
Tess pouted more than a little as she plopped down at the table to unwrap the caramels. I couldn’t blame her.
“I never understood why it was necessary to individually wrap caramels when they were already in a bag.
“OK, I am putting myself in time-out before I create more sucrose chaos.” I snagged a takeout container from the fridge and retreated to the table. Iris didn’t like the idea of my cooking dinner for myself (because of the danger to myself and others), so she’d arranged for Miranda to deliver dinner for me from a different restaurant each night. Even I could eat only so much of Tess’s magical mac ’n’ cheese without a marked difference in the way my jeans fit.
And while I had developed a taste for sushi at college, where you could get two amazing rolls for ten dollars around the corner at Jasmine Palace, the same quality was not to be found in Half-Moon Hollow. Tonight’s Philadelphia roll stuffed with canned salmon just didn’t tickle my tastebuds, so I was sticking with the veggie roll. Fortunately, I’d already talked Miranda out of picking up tikka masala for me the next day. I felt strongly that people should not buy Indian food from a gas station.
While I chowed down on veggies and rice, a lively debate broke out at the stove over whether the burned stock pot could be salvaged. This was the second batch of candy we’d ruined during Iris’s brilliant “candy exchange” using my mother’s recipes. Mom wasn’t a talented cook when it came to meat and potatoes—I mean, the woman made “moist-free pot roast”—but she was some sort of sugar savant. Every December, she would spend weeks making big batches of fudge, bourbon balls, and soda-cracker candy, which was saltine-covered toffee topped by a layer of chocolate and nuts. She’d divide the candy into pretty decorative tins and take it to neighbors, teachers, friends from church, and anybody she might owe an apology to for the previous year’s events.
I was failing at making my mom’s weird soda-cracker candy. Jolene brought a recipe for candied bacon truffles, which sounded disgusting but she swore were delicious. Miranda brought brownie mix and premade cookie dough, because, unlike the rest of us, she knew her limits. And Tess was just trying to keep us from hurting ourselves. Whatever edible product we managed to make would sustain the humans during the holiday celebrations. Anything left over would go to Jolene’s pack, who would eat anything.
That was another fun fact shared with me during the previous year. Jolene not only had the whole sultry, Angelina Jolie look-alike package working, but she was also a werewolf. Because all ridiculously hot women deserve superpowers, too. The karmic imbalance put me in a snit for about five minutes, before Jane pointed out that the trade-off Jolene made for these gifts was a twangy backwoods accent that could peel paint. Sometimes, when she got excited, she sounded like Dolly Parton on helium.
Werewolves, unlike vampires, were not “out” to the human community yet, still waiting to see how the vampires’ transition panned out. And even more unlike vampires, they enjoyed carbs, and fats, and proteins, pretty much all foods, as shifting back and forth between two feet and four was a real drain on the metabolism.
“Do we have to use the candy thermometer again?” I asked. “It frightens me.”
Tess nodded. “We’re supposed to make caramel for the chocolate turtles.”
“Screw it,” I huffed, tossing my takeout container into the trash. “I went to the store earlier and bought a three-pound bag of caramels. Let’s melt those bad boys in the microwave.”
Tess clutched at her chest as if to ward off palpitations. “I can’t believe you just said that in front of me.”
“We won’t tell the homemade-candy police, we promise,” Andrea told her.
Tess pouted more than a little as she plopped down at the table to unwrap the caramels. I couldn’t blame her.
“I never understood why it was necessary to individually wrap caramels when they were already in a bag.
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