Of course, the only problem with calling people and asking for favors was that they might call back. Especially when they were your sister, a new mom, part-time university student, and primary agent of the family ghostbusting business.
“Ashe, I’m begging you,” Holly said, sounding like death warmed over and spread on toast. “My magic is still all messed up from baby hormones. I’ve got a paper due. I haven’t slept for days. Alessandro’s great about doing his daddy bit, but he’s got to work, too, and he’s not much use in the daytime.”
Ashe peeked around the staff room doorway, checking the lineup at the front counter. It was getting close to closing time, and the late rush was in full swing. Gina was handling it okay, but it wasn’t a good time to be on the phone. Cloying sweetness radiated from the crumpled muffin bag on the lunch table, making her feel a little ill.
She’d expected Reynard back from Workrite long before now. Where was he?
Ashe suddenly realized her mind had wandered and Holly was waiting for a reply.
Just say no to more crises. “I’m sorry, Hol, I really am. I have to see my in- laws’ lawyer tomorrow afternoon, and it was really tough to get a Saturday appointment. Besides, I’m trying to prove I’m a fit mother, and I can’t do that covered in ectoplasm.”
“It’s only a little ghost. In and out. I promise. An hour tops. I’ll load you up with everything you need. All you have to do is check it out and set up charms if they’re needed.”
Holly and their grandmother had come up with some prefab charms that even Ashe’s limited magic could activate. Kind of like witch grenades. “Holly, I’ve got so much going on. . . .”
An honest answer, but it still swamped her with guilt.
“Ashe . . .”
She could hear the strain in Holly’s voice. She remembered that new- mom state of mind, when Nirvana was a full night’s sleep and a drool-free outfit. Oh, crap.
“Is it in town?” Ashe asked, knowing she was helplessly sliding into Holly’s clutches. Damn that guilt, anyway.
Paper rustled on the other end of the line. “On Fort and Main, a store called the Book Burrow. New owner. Says he has an attic haunting.”
Ashe glanced at her watch, at the pile of work she had left to do before she went home. Just say no. Just say no. “Okay, I’ll take a look.”
Holly let loose a gusty sigh. “Blessings on you. Gotta go: Robin’s starting to fuss.”
“ ’Kay, bye.” Ashe clicked her cell phone shut, feeling glum.
How did this get to be my life? She was a slayer— hot, blond, lean and mean. She should be traveling the world, leaving a trail of vamp-kebabs in her wake.
Ashe took a deep breath. Suck it up. Holly needed one favor. If Ashe didn’t want to be a lone wolf anymore, she could learn to juggle appointments. That was the life of a single mom, a sister, the family member. She loved her family, especially Holly. Connection meant complication, but it was worth it. I just wish I could clone myself.
Her conversation with Reynard came back in a rush. He was today’s other waif in need. Where is he? He was far too good-looking to leave unattended in a public place. The mall was packed with unscrupulous women.
What was she going to do about him? Maybe she could find someone else to help him out? But all the competent folks she knew were either monsters—who hated the guards—or slayers, who couldn’t be trusted in a monster-friendly place like Fairview. Delegating could result in a bloodbath. Gah!
She pulled her datebook out of her purse and jotted down the time of the ghostbusting appointment. Ghost at two thirty, lawyer at four. That shouldn’t be so bad.
She stuck the book in her purse. Time to get back to work. Stacks of books rose from the work counter like stalagmites, waiting to go into plastic bins marked, Hold. They would get picked up for shipment to other branches in about fifteen minutes. Ashe grabbed a fat novel, determined to finish the job on time. If the City of Fairview was paying her to sling books, sling books she would.
Crime and Punishment dropped with a thud, the empty bin echoing like a tomb. The Russian master was followed by a children’s reader, a Polynesian cookbook, and a decades-old but still popular The Apocalypse and You.
Apocalypse bounced on the rim of the bin, landing on the floor with a sad flop.
Ashe walked over to pick the book up. She could hear patrons shuffling at the front counter and the crinkle of laminated bindings as covers opened and closed. Bar-code readers beeped; due-date slips chugged out of the printer. Ashe glanced through the doorway. Gina’s long dark hair swung as she swiped books over the demagnetizer to disarm the security chips hidden in their bindings.
Ashe inspected Apocalypse. She’d bent the cover. Damn.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re dead,” Gina snapped at someone.
With an alarmed jerk, Ashe raised her head. And I thought I was queen of snarky customer service.
A male vampire hovered before the desk like an evil intention. He’s up early, Ashe thought. He was pulling off sunglasses and tucking them in the pocket of his hooded coat—the hood no doubt how he had made it through the fading afternoon light. It was cloudy outside, but the sun wouldn’t properly set for at least another hour. He pushed back the hood and looked around, as if he expected to see someone.
The guy was fresh from Vampire Central Casting: overlong hair brushed back from his forehead, leather coat, high cheekbones, and broody lips. Cute, but Ashe tensed. Just because there were vamps who tried to get along with the rest of the world, she wasn’t rolling out the red carpet for every bloodsucker who flapped by. Still, he was a patron.
“What’s the problem?” Ashe dropped the book in its bin and hurried to the front counter.
Gina was gearing into full snit mode. Ashe could tell by the way she was vengefully gnashing at her gum. “He wants a card.”
Not a surprise. Most vamps, stuck inside during daylight hours, were big readers. Ashe turned to the guy. “Got some ID?”
Gina turned to help Mrs. Fanhope, an elderly patron with a taste for gory murder mysteries. Wordlessly, the vampire took out his wallet, thumbing out a driver’s license and handing it over. Apparently his name was Frederick Lloyd. Ashe glanced up, noting the defensive jut of his jaw. He probably had a hassle getting help from most human institutions.
“I’m within my rights. I don’t need to be legally alive to check out books.”
“You’re right,” she said, careful to keep dislike out of her tone. “But something with a local address would be good. This is an out-of-town license.”
“I just moved here.”
Ashe took a subtle step back. Unless they were part of a visiting royal court, vamps didn’t move around. This one had come from the King of the East’s domain, a large territory that stretched from Detroit to the Atlantic and as far south as Virginia. What was going on? Did Alessandro—Mr. Vampire Law and Order—know that there was a stranger in town?
The heating system came on, blowing a gust of air against her skin. She gave an involuntary jump. Get a grip.
Frederick Lloyd was watching her with feline patience. His eyes in life had probably been brown, but had lightened to amber. Dark lashes swept over them like wings. He was staring so hard, he had forgotten to breathe. He bit his lower lip, the point of one fang protruding.
Great, a flirt. She thought about the vampire sniper. Suspicion scuttled across her thoughts like a dark, foul beetle. Were those dreams she was having just anxiety, or something more? Ashe looked around. It was close to closing time. The general public was clearing out. The last few patrons were lined up in front of Gina, oblivious to the predator mere feet away.
He leaned closer, putting his elbows on the counter. His chin lifted slightly as his nostrils flared. Only because she knew the species, Ashe could tell he was trying to catch her scent. Hunting. She reached for the shelf beneath the counter. Her fingers brushed over a tape dispenser, a stapler, then closed on the wooden ruler she’d put there the first day she started, just in case. It had a nice metal edge—not as good as a real weapon, but circulation clerks weren’t allowed to carry an Uzi on the job.
