Last Vampire Standing Page 2

  Saber’s brows arched. “My big what?”

  “We were discussing,” Millie said repressively, “Jag tickets.”

  “Aaah. Do you ladies need some extras?”

  “No, no. Well, we’re off for more cake, aren’t we, girls?” She grabbed me for another hug and a murmured “Later.”

  Saber’s head cocked as he watched them hustle away. “What was that about?”

  “Old ladies don’t lose their sense of lust. Did you know that?”

  “Sure,” he murmured as he slid an arm around me. “I figured that out with you.”

  “I am not old,” I said firmly, my slow heartbeat stuttering into triple time.

  “Of course you’re not.” Saber’s warm lips nibbled a path from my ear to my neck. “Only two hundred and thirty or so.”

  I angled my head to give him more room to tantalize. “I’m—ooh there, yes—only two hundred and twenty-eight, and you know it.”

  “I do,” he whispered, nipping me now. “It was hell getting all those candles on your birthday cake.”

  Normally I wouldn’t want to trip Saber and beat him to the ground, but I’m sensitive about my age because, well, I’m the older woman. Besides, we did have guests.

  “Saber,” I breathed.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Your lips say seduction, but your words are about to get you smacked.”

  His chest rumbled with a chuckle, and he patted my behind.

  “You ready to go set off the fireworks?” His eyes sparkled with double meaning.

  “Give me five minutes to clean up a little more.”

  “You’re up all night, Cesca. Can’t you clean when we get back?”

  I leaned into him and smiled. “Not if you want some private fireworks later.”

  He gulped. I love it when he does that.

  “I’ll just go get March and Balch,” he said, backing away. “We’ll load ’em up and get on the road.”

  “The detectives are coming with us?”

  “Who do you think will keep us out of jail if someone calls the cops?”

  “Good point.” Shooting fireworks just any old time was illegal.

  Since Maggie had made the welcome speech, I stepped to the center of the yard to make the good-bye announcement.

  “Attention, everyone. Attention please.” I waited for quiet, then said, “Maggie and I sincerely thank you for being a part of our housewarming. If you want to grab a last-minute snack, please do. Otherwise, we’re ready to hit the beach for fireworks.”

  Just then, an eerily pained howl that sounded a lot like “Noooooooowaaaaaait” rose from the front yard. A dark blur streaked through the gate and across the lawn to throw itself at my feet. When the blur crystallized, a lanky form in navy blue slacks and a stained yellow polo shirt was kissing my toes.

  Six weapons clicked to fire-ready. I knew without looking that three of the guns belonged to the Jag Queens, two to the detectives, and one to Saber. His off-duty .40-caliber Glock.

  I didn’t have time to worry if the Jag Queens would get arrested for packing heat. I didn’t have time to worry what the neighbors thought. I didn’t have time to worry what the vampire’s greasy blond hair was doing to my pedicure.

  Yes, a vampire lay prostrate at my feet. Nothing but a vamp moved as fast as he had, and even a tiny whiff confirmed he stank of sour blood.

  “Unless you want to get shot,” I said steadily, “don’t so much as flinch.”

  “N-not moving,” he stammered.

  “Good. Now, who the hell are you?”

  A long moment later, he angled his head to peer at me.

  “Would you believe, a part of your destiny?”

  TWO

  “Forget who he is,” Saber shouted. “Step away.”

  I kept my gaze on the vampire. Part of my destiny? My Aunt Fang, if I’d had one. Still, he’d snagged my attention.

  “It’s okay, Saber. He’s not a threat.”

  “You can’t be sure of that. Please, Cesca, move.”

  “We’ve got a clear shot on the right,” March said.

  “Same on the left flank,” Millie chimed in.

  I looked up to find Detectives March and Balch and the Jag Queens fanned out ten feet away, frozen in shooting stances. Our remaining guests gawked from the front gate. Saber alone eased toward me.

  “Just give me a minute, guys.”

  I narrowed my eyes at the vamp and tried to read his thoughts. No dice. Fear tumbled in his brain like clothes in my dryer, but that’s all I could sense.

  “Mister, these folks aren’t kidding around,” I said firmly. “State your name and business. Fast.”

  “Are those guns loaded with silver bullets?” he choked out.

  “Some of them are. The rest of the bullets will just hurt like hell.”

  Very slowly, he craned his neck until I saw part of his dirt-smudged face through the fall of stringy hair. Boyish was my first impression of him, but his amber brown eyes carried the weight of age and pain.

  “Jo-Jo the Jester.”

  I blinked. “Huh?”

  “My name. It’s Jo-Jo.”

  “Jo-Jo Jester?”

  “Jo-Jo the Jester. A court jester, at your service, my lady,” he said with a slight dip of his head. “May I rise? Looking at you like this is making my eyes cross.”

  I glanced at Saber, who now stood to my right. The rest of the posse still had Jo-Jo in their gun sights.

  “He needs to stand up,” I said.

  “I heard.” Saber scowled and motioned with his gun. “Crawl backward ten feet, then get to your knees.”

  Jo-Jo the vampire jester—and how many things were wrong with that picture?—did exactly as Saber instructed.

  Even when he was kneeling, I could guess Jo-Jo to be six feet tall. His polo shirt was more brown than yellow on the front. Were those bug splat spots? A slash wound on his forehead was raw and festering. Small wonder he’d asked if the bullets were silver. From the looks of it, someone had been at him with a silver knife—the only reason a vamp cut wouldn’t have healed.

  He held his arms slightly out from his lean torso, palms up, as if to show he’d come in peace. Saber’s expression said he wasn’t buying the innocent act.

  “Now what,” Saber said, words slow and measured, “do you want with Cesca?”

  Jo-Jo snorted. “To me, she is not simply Cesca. She is Francesca, Princess Vampire, Most Royal Highness of the House of King Normand.”

  My stomach flipped. My breath stopped. Warmth drained from my body faster than blood from a slashed vein.

  How did this vampire know my full, formal title? The one Normand had so ceremoniously conferred on me. Every vamp who knew me by that name should have died—really died—over two hundred years ago.

  Jo-Jo hadn’t been in Normand’s court. I remembered the bad old days all too clearly, when Marco Sánchez had kidnapped me, and the so-called King Normand had turned me. I recalled the face of every vampire in that court, had tasted the blood of every wretched human slave.

  Absolutely no one—human or vampire—should know my title. So how did Jo-Jo know it?

  “Cesca, you okay?” Saber asked.

  I snapped to the present, swallowed past the pain, and nodded. We had nervous guests waiting, fireworks to shoot. Maybe a vampire, too, if I didn’t get answers fast.

  “Jo-Jo,” I said, willing my voice steady and my body warm, “Saber asked you a question. What do you want?”

  He squared his shoulders. “If the royal princess would but grant my boon, I seek political asylum.”

  That jerked me back to my normal self.

  “Only a country can grant political asylum, so you might as well leave.”

  “Wait,” he said, fear on his filthy face. “How about sanctuary? I will be your slave, live only to serve you, my princess beneficent.”

  “Slavery has been outlawed for a couple of centuries.”

  “A servant then?” he pressed, his expression pleading. “I
do housework. Even windows, Your Vast Wonderfulness.”

  I looked down at my size-four green cotton shorts and matching scoop neck spaghetti strap top. I am not vast.

  “I don’t want a servant,” I said, not bothering to keep huffiness out of my tone. “This is the US of A. Land of the free—”

  “Home of the taxpayer,” Jo-Jo interjected.

  “Say what?”

  Jo-Jo’s sharp chin went up. “It’s a line from my comedy routine.”

  Saber shook his head. “With jokes like that, you do need protection.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” the vampire agreed. “And if you’ll put the cannon away, good sir, I’ll tell you why.”

  “A straight answer would be refreshing,” I snipped.

  “All right, stand up slow and back up another pace or two,” Saber demanded as he turned partly to me. “Cesca, be ready to do your thing.”

  My “thing” is pulling aura, the way I fed while I was trapped underground for two centuries. Of course, I only sipped from a man here, a woman there, but, in the extreme, I can drain enough energy to render a human or vampire helpless.

  I didn’t have to test my skill on Jo-Jo. He did as asked, and Saber signaled to the backup crew to holster or purse their weapons. Saber held his at his side.

  “So spill,” I said. “What do you want from me?”

  Jo-Jo sketched an elaborate bow complete with a hand flurry that made me imagine he held a frilly, befeathered hat. I had a quick vision of him in a full jester’s costume and frowned. Was he planting that picture, or was I reading his memories? The moon phases didn’t fritz out my psychic senses as much as they used to, but still, I couldn’t read Jo-Jo’s mind, which would’ve been handy to find out how he’d learned my better-forgotten title.

  “My princess, you see before you, sadly misplaced in time, a jester of some former renown. I served the courts of—”

  “Jo-Jo,” I cut in.

  “Yes, Most Royal Mercifulness?”

  “Fast-forward. Why do you want protection?”

  He deflated faster than a blowfish. His shoulders slumped, and he actually seemed to age.

  “The short of it is,” he said, meeting my gaze with haunted eyes, “I’m a marked man for leaving the nest in Atlanta.”

  A twinge of empathy pierced me, but I didn’t let it show. I knew full well the Vampire Protection Agency allowed nests of under thirty vamps to exist, but countered, “Nests are supposed to be against the law.”

  “Yeah, well, tell that to my mast—” His gaze slid to Saber. “I mean to Vlad, the Atlanta head honcho.”

  “Vlad?” I echoed. “As in Vlad the Impaler?”

  “It’s not the same guy,” Jo-Jo assured me.

  “But still. A mother named her kid Vlad on purpose? That’s just gross.”

  “Well, he had an old mother,” Jo-Jo said. “No, wait, I mean he’s old, so his name was probably hip at one time.”

  I curbed the urge to roll my eyes. “What does your human sponsor say about you leaving Atlanta?”

  “I don’t have one, Princess.”

  “But you have to have one. The Vampire Protection Act specifically requires each vampire to have a sponsor.”

  “A thousand pardons for contradicting you, Your Nobleness, but after five years, if you’ve proven yourself to be a completely reformed biter, you no longer need a sponsor.”

  I gawked at him, then Saber, then searched the yard for Maggie. She stood not far away and, since it was quiet enough to hear a seagull poop, she’d heard every word.

  “He’s right, Cesca,” she said.

  My world tilted. Again. Why hadn’t Maggie told me this tidbit months ago? That she didn’t have to sponsor me for forever. That we didn’t have to live partly joined at the hip for the rest of our lives.

  That someday she’d want me to go away.

  I drew a breath that was supposed to calm me. Instead I got another snootful of Jo-Jo’s sour blood scent.

  And heard the Listers’ car pull into the driveway next door. Yikes. They so didn’t need to see a vampire standoff.

  “Tell you what, Jo-Jo,” I said, proud I sounded so reasonable and in control. “We’re shooting off fireworks at Crescent Beach. You can come, too, and for heaven’s sake, use the public shower while you’re there.”

  Jo-Jo cringed. At the mention of heaven or a shower, I couldn’t tell, but he finally nodded.

  “What about my request for refuge, Royal Beauteousness?”

  “We’ll talk about that later.”

  “Okay,” he said, almost puppylike now. “Who’s giving me a ride?”

  The sound of feet pounding the ground as our guests fled to their cars might’ve been funny if I hadn’t heard Hugh Lister’s shout from his front yard.

  “Jesus Christ on a stick, these assholes are trampling my goddamn ferns.”

  “Bless his holy name,” Selma said.

  Jo-Jo blinked at me. “Bless whose holy name?”

  “Never mind. You got all the way here from Atlanta, you can walk to Crescent Beach.”

  “Thank you, Francesca, Princess Vampire.”

  Jo-Jo wasn’t thanking me an hour later. He flew to the beach instead of walking and looked more bug encrusted for the effort. So, while the guys set up the fireworks, I made Jo-Jo stand fully clothed under the outdoor shower and scrub with a bar of soap I’d bought at Handy Mart. He didn’t utter a single protest but only muttered, “I live to serve,” like a mantra. Once he was reasonably clean from his hair to his heels, he dried with a spare towel from Saber’s SUV.

  March and Balch put themselves in charge of lighting the fireworks, which was fine by me. I wanted to snuggle with Saber on our blanket under the waterfalls of lights.

  What I got was Jo-Jo trying to “attend” me. Between his, “Do you need this, Princess?” and “Let me get that, Princess,” my own fuse burned. When I told him to park it and be quiet, the jester wasn’t happy. Well, excuse me, but what did he expect after crashing our party? As for giving him sanctuary, I’d set him straight when we got home. Find out how he knew about my title and send him on his way. To where, I didn’t care.

  The fireworks ended too soon, but since Jo-Jo’s clothes were nearly dry, Saber let him ride home with us. My honey was scoring extra points for that kindness tonight, and I’d show him my appreciation as soon as we booted Jo-Jo out the door. Which would be in about ten minutes if my libido had a vote.

  Maggie’s white Acura and my aqua SSR truck were in the driveway, so Saber parked his black Saturn Vue at the curb. Maggie waited with a scowling Neil under the old live oak tree in the front yard as Saber herded Jo-Jo toward the gate that led to my cottage.

  When I approached, Neil turned his ire on me. “You’re not letting that vampire stick around. No way in hell.”

  Maggie laid her hand on his arm. “Neil, Cesca can have any guest she wants in her home.”

  “Not if that guest will be a threat to you.”

  “I promise he won’t be a threat—right, Jo-Jo?” I said, sensing that he loitered with Saber just beyond the gate.

  “Your Most Royalness, I will protect with my life any friend of yours.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Neil said. “Talk is cheap.”

  “Silver bullets aren’t,” Jo-Jo called again.

  Neil blinked. “What does that mean?”

  I cracked a small smile. “He has delusions of comedy.”

  “He’s a comic?” Maggie asked.

  Neil snorted, and Saber echoed it. I ignored them both.

  “I promise he’s not staying.”

  Maggie had a peculiar gleam in her eye but only said, “Thanks for all your help with the party. We’ll finish cleaning in the morning before you go to bed.”

  I waved as Maggie dragged Neil up the sidewalk to the house. I’d clean tonight, surprise Maggie, and then we’d have a talk about that vampire sponsor issue.

  I caught up with Saber and Jo-Jo by the tiki bar on my patio. When I opened the cotta
ge door, Jo-Jo whistled.

  “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

  I loved my living room, too, from the bamboo floors to the rich honey color on the walls, to the espresso-colored wood and leather furnishings. But I wasn’t letting Jo-Jo sidetrack me.

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  I deactivated the silent alarm system, then made a mental note to reset the code. Jo-Jo probably wouldn’t break into my home. Heck, thanks to Saber, my security system rivaled the president’s and the pope’s combined. However, there was no point in tempting an unknown vampire.

  I meant to tell Jo-Jo to sit, but my hostess manners kicked me in the conscience. “Do you want a refreshment, Jo-Jo?”

  The vampire slid a look at Saber. “I could use a bottle of warm blood, my princess.”

  “You haven’t eaten tonight?”

  “No, my lady. I arrived in town before sunrise and laid low until I found you. I didn’t travel with blood.”

  Okay, so I had to give him credit for not being cranky with hunger. I uncapped a Starbloods bottle and popped it in the microwave, then uncapped a beer for Saber and grabbed a glass of ice chips for myself. I do love my new fridge with crushed ice in the door. Napkins and beverages on the teak tray—another splurge for my new home—and I was ready to deal with Jo-Jo.

  Until I handed him his drink, and he scowled at the label.

  “Not to complain, Your Tastefulness, but do you have anything to drink that’s less, um, girly?”

  “Like what? Fang Bang? Monster Mash?”

  Saber snorted. “I imagine O Positive would do.”

  “I don’t stock a variety of vampire drinks,” I reminded Saber, then looked at Jo-Jo. “It’s this or nothing.”

  “Of course, Your Graciousness. Caramel macchiato is fine.”

  He sat stiffly in the coffee-colored, cloud-soft leather chair opposite from where Saber and I sank into my matching couch. The old vampire, who didn’t appear any older than I did, also looked better now that he had cleaned up. His shaggy shoulder-length hair was sandy blond instead of just plain dirty, and even the wound on his forehead didn’t seem so raw. However, I was not—with a billboard-sized N—getting involved in his problems.

  And caramel macchiato is not girly.