Biting Oz: Biting Love, Book 5 (32 page)

Glynn waited for the automatic surge of lust that being a vampire made impossible to avoid.

Nothing.

He swallowed. Free. He was truly free. He owed Junior more than she’d ever know. If he hadn’t loved her already, that would have cemented it.
 

His anger cooled, and he remembered he’d come here to connect. “We were friends once, Camille. What happened?”

“Friends? We were lovers.”

He snorted. “The way a pack of puppies are lovers. When there were just the five of us, you were different. Caring.”

At first, she didn’t get it. He could see it in her wide, confused eyes. She looked almost as he’d known her then, when they’d been fledglings with only each other for support, innocent and new and scared, but together.

Now she had only Nosferatu. The Coterie’s head was not known for his understanding.

 
“Please, Camille. Tell Nosferatu this won’t work. Tell him there’s no profit in corrupting Meiers Corners.” Glynn reached for her hand, in the spirit of what they’d once had.

She jerked away. Her eyes narrowed. “I brought you here to give
you
one last chance to see reason. Your side is outsmarted and outnumbered. Switch to the winners before you get hurt.”

“Strange. I came to talk sense into you.” He could afford to be gentle now; she had no more hold over him. “The Ancient One isn’t too happy with you. He’s rather fond of Meiers Corners.”

“Even your precious Ancient won’t save Meiers Corners this time.” She snapped her fingers. The humans, doped-up thralls, dutifully came. She snapped again. The young man bent to one of her large, high breasts, and a woman to the other. She pressed their heads to the ruby centers. Her lids half-closed, her nostrils flared, her mouth dropped open in pleasure. “Remember this, Glynn. Remember the humans of Meiers Corners are
mine
. And remember you could have shared in it all.”

Glynn shook his head, saddened. “Camille. A share of emptiness, no matter how large, is still just a pile of nothing. I won’t let you harm Junior.”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Who says I care? Play around with your little human if you want. I got over you a long time ago, Glynn. I have bigger fish to fry.”

“You’ll leave her alone? Your word?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “My word.”

Glynn left. He’d gotten what he came for—Camille had agreed to leave Junior alone.

But his headache had returned, perhaps because he knew the value of the word of the queen of lies. As empty as that pile of nothing.

Chapter Fourteen

So there we were. The city had put all its financial eggs in one basket, tourism. But CIC Mutual was pressuring our business shells from the outside, while Camille sucked cash flow yolk from the inside. Crunching was inevitable.

Too many defaulted loans would kill the Sparkasse Bank, which would topple the whole town. Which would start a vampire war, top of the not-good food chain.

More personally,
Oz, Wonderful Oz
’s attendance was in the sewer and morale was even lower. If we were this pathetic closing night, we wouldn’t get to Milwaukee, much less Broadway.

Could things get any worse?

Yeah, I apparently enjoy flushing my head down Murphy’s toilet. Yay, swirlies.

“Get the hell out of my way! I saw this scarf first.”

“I had my hand on it. You get the hell out of my way.”

I sighed, gave up facing boxed sausage and shut the clanking cooler door to make my way to the combatants.

Were they big city nobs, no patience and less humanity?

I wish.

“All right Mrs. Gelb, Mrs. Gruen. Break it up.” I pushed them apart. They glared at each other, jaws jutting. The contested scarf fell to the floor. “I thought you two were friends.”

“I thought so too.” Mrs. Gelb’s jaw jutted so far I thought her nose would fall in. “I was wrong.”

“You’re no friend,” Mrs. Gruen blasted back.

“I’ve got more scarves in back,” I said. “You can both have one.”

“I wouldn’t touch it now.” Mrs. Gelb turned away with a sniff. “Not if
she
wants it.”

“Me either. Not if
she
does.” Mrs. Gruen stomped off for the door.

Then, to my everlasting hope, she paused. Sneaked a glance over her shoulder.

Mrs. Gelb gave her a stiff back with a side of cold shoulder.

Mrs. Gruen huffed out.

“How dare she?” Mrs. Gelb glared at me like this was
my
fault. Then she too stomped out the door, leaving me to pick up the scarf.

I brushed the dirt and indignity from it (okay, there wasn’t any real dirt, thanks to the Stieg broom fetish), and sighed as I folded it and returned it to the shelf. Meiers Corners matrons making scenes—worse, making
messes
. What in blazes was going on?

I didn’t know what had gotten into
die Frauen
’s morning Schnitzel-O’s, but whatever it was, I didn’t want it to get worse. I called Pop to bring out more scarves.

Proactive Junior, making sure things didn’t get worse. Yeah, next time I’ll just take a mallet to my head. It’ll be faster and less painful.

I was handing Hermy a jar of creamed Braunschweiger, the new Summer Spices collection, for Tiny to test when Twyla Tafel sailed through the door.

“It’s Armageddon.” Twyla slapped her hand on the counter. “I swear the whole city is going van Gogh, cut-my-ear-off insane. Did you hear what happened at Der Lebensmittelgeschaft?”

“The grocery store? No, what?” I got down a second test jar and opened it.

“Traffic accident. Mrs. Schwartzkeller cut off Mrs. Weiss with a wide right turn and a wider right gesture.”

“Parking lot?”

“Produce aisle. Knocked an entire display of casabas to the floor with her shopping cart. ”

I stuck a spoon in the jar and handed it to Hermy, then got Twyla’s order together. “A few smashed melons isn’t the end of the world.”

“No, but then they started a
catfight
.”

“I don’t believe it. Pillars of Meiers Corners society don’t spar in the produce aisle.”

“Spar? Try screaming and scratching and hair pulling.”

“That’s bad.” I watched Hermy offer a spoonful of creamed Braunschweiger (with chives) to Tiny as I bagged the city’s order. “But still not Armageddon.”

“It gets worse. The melons pulped into a muddy mess. Mrs. Weiss tore off Mrs. Schwartzkeller’s blouse and Mrs. Schwartzkeller ripped Mrs. Weiss’s skirt to her ass…and, well, both of them ended up with bruised tits and black eyes and tickets for disorderly conduct. The video’s already on YouTube.”

“Okay, that might qualify for a couple apocalyptic horsemen. Were they drunk?”

“Not alcohol, but Elena thinks they were jacked on some sort of psychedelic, though they swore they hadn’t done any drugs. But that’s not the worst of it.”

“You’re kidding.” I rang her order up.

“Elena fielded an armed robbery at the Alpine and Ruffles had a case of domestic abuse—not bedroom games getting out of hand but broken jaw battery.”

“Good heavens.” I stopped ringing and stared at her. “What’s going on with everybody?”

“Call the CDC. It’s an epidemic of stupid.”

I handed her the bag. “Strange that it started just when Fangs To You opened. Coincidence?”

“Maybe corruption is infectious.”

“Thank you, Typhoid Camille.”

The door bell tinkled, but before I could even hope for a shiver, Rocky ran in.

“Junior! I know you hate those things, but you’d never hurt my mother like this so please tell me it wasn’t you.”

Twyla grabbed Rocky’s shoulders. “Breathe, kiddo.”

She breathed, barely. “Someone shot my mom’s pink flamingo and stole her gnome!”

The flamingo wasn’t a crime, but stealing a gnome was just plain despicable. “It wasn’t me, Rocky.”

The bell rang again. Mrs. Blau stopped in the doorway, her expression outraged. “What are you doing?” She strode to the counter. “That is for
babies
.”

We all just gaped as she struck the jar of baby food out of Hermy’s hand.

Hermy blinked big eyes. “But Tiny is a baby. My baby.”

“Now look here.” Mrs. Blau grabbed Hermy by the snug sack straps. “Tiny is a cat. C-A-T. He has claws and whiskers and licks his butt.”

“He’s my baby.”

“Your baby died. And the sooner you realize that and get over it, the better!”

I reached out a hand. “Hermy—“

“He’s my baby!”

I’ll never forget the way Hermy’s face crumpled as she ran out.

It was the last straw. I had no idea why Fangs To You’s novelty hadn’t worn off, why Meiers Corners not only wasn’t returning to normal but getting worse. But one thing was clear.

Camille’s hold on us had to be broken.

Of course the question was, if not the free drinks, what was Camille’s hold? I needed more information.

I called Glynn that evening to get some background on her. They seemed to have some sort of history.

I told him about all the strange behavior and my belief that Camille was at the bottom of it. “I think she’s gone beyond just stealing our business. I think she’s stealing our souls.”

“Camille does like to corrupt,” he said reluctantly. “What if I said you were right?”

“Then I’d find some way to grass her ass.”

“
Babi
, no. We have no idea how she is subverting people. You need to stay away from her until we know more.”

“I can’t do
nothing
. These are my people. Meiers Corners is my city.”

“Your home,” he said softly.

“My home, yes, okay.” I blew a disgruntled breath. “I feel so helpless. We beat the kidnapping attempts only to find Camille had a plan to lure away the tourists. Even if we win back the tourists, I think she has another plan after that—to corrupt our people. Even if we save Meiers Corners, how do we know she doesn’t have another plan after that? And another?”

“Junior, shh. It’s okay.” His voice deepened, gentled. “One plan at a time. We defeated the kidnapper. We’ll win back the tourists.”

I shook my head. “That’s my job, not yours. You’re supposed to guard Mishela. I’m supposed to win tourists. Well, me and the show.”

“Your job is to stay safe. Mine is to keep you that way.”

“Hard to do after you leave town.” I gulped. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. If it makes you feel better, I’ll stay away from her, safe in my bedroom. Um…you could come over here.”

“My scent is on you, love. It needs to wear off. Something happened and I don’t want to remind Camille that you and I…well, it’s complicated.”

“It always is. I just promised I wouldn’t go anywhere for a while. Since I’m stuck here, you might as well explain.”

He sighed. “Friday, she smelled me on you. That wasn’t a problem because vampires have casual liaisons all the time. But if she smells me on you days from now, if that scent is actually stronger… Camille is not stupid. She’ll know you and I have gone beyond a casual liaison. She’s quick to exploit any vulnerability.”

He was staying away to protect me.

When I hung up, it was with a lump in my throat. I wished hard for vampire senses so I could smell him on my skin too, and be a little less lonely.

Tuesday was worse. Friendly waves were gone. Eye contact was a thing of the past. My mother put on
I Pagliacci
—not only tragic opera but one about clowns. Yeah, we were really wallowing.

I knew Camille was responsible but not how. The obvious thing to do, the thing I
wanted
to do, was head straight across the street and scope out Fangs To You. But Glynn wanted me to stay out of her way and I’d honor that if I could.
 

So I called my resources. Twyla promised info on Camille’s permits. Rocky said she’d check the connection between CIC insurance and Fangs To You. I tried to tease information out of the customers, but all they did was babble about free drinks and fizzy cheese curds.

Glynn called again that night but didn’t come. Um, come over…visit. Whatever. I did my usual routine but it felt flat, like a dieter getting a taste of real food and then being forced back onto pap. I’d only known him a week, but that didn’t stop me from a lifetime’s worth of wanting. Contrarily, I resented his being unavailable. Yes, he was doing it to protect me. Yes, he was leaving at the end of the show’s run. I was counting on it, needing it to get my feet and my rainbow dreams back under me.

But all I could think of was that Glynn and I only had a few more days together, and I wasn’t even going to get that.

Wednesday I got a call from Elena with orders to come to breakfast at the Caffeine Café. As a cop with a very sharp knife, a very big gun, and an even bigger gun, nobody except hubby Bo argues with Elena. I went.

At the café, Tammy led me upstairs to a private room I didn’t know existed, containing a single round table. Six women sat around the table, two-thirds of them pregnant and all involved in good-natured arguing.