Broken Heart Tails (7 page)

The motel’s bed was rock-hard and the pillows flat, but it was still better than the RV’s couch. Combing through her hair with quivering fingers, she tried not to wonder if the dream’s reappearance was a portent. She’d had a knot in her gut ever since her parents had announced the Broken Heart investigation.

She went into the bathroom and poured a glass of water from the tap. It tasted metallic, but she gulped it down anyway. She returned to the bed and flopped down, so not ready to go back to sleep. The digital alarm clock blinked 2:08 a.m. Usually, sleeping in a motel felt like heaven, especially after being confined to the RV for weeks at a time. Tomorrow, they would cross Oklahoma’s border. Her parents wanted to stop in Tulsa and help with a haunted house investigation then … Broken Heart.

Screw sleep.

She grabbed her laptop and booted it up. Then she logged on to the PRIS forums and looked up the Broken Heart messages. Comments about everything from vampires to Bigfoot had been posted. She scrolled through the vampire posts. She had a healthy respect for the unknown, for the mysterious. But vampires? Really? She couldn’t fathom the idea of some undead guy sucking necks for food. Her mother had written a whole volume about the
deamhan fola
. Dora believed in vampires. In fact, she and Brady had worked out an odd sort of hypnosis (coupled with one of Brady’s cranial electro whatsits) that she said guaranteed they couldn’t be glamoured by the undead.

Hoo-kay.

Under the “Miscellaneous” category, she found a reference to a zombie attack.

My friend Ryan went to Broken Heart to visit his grandma’s grave. He said that some people wouldn’t let him into town because there was a gas leak. He snuck through the woods and got into the cemetery. This dead dude scared the shit out of him. His skin was all gross and peeling off. He didn’t have no eyes, either. Then these bad-ass wolves came running in and tried to eat him. Ryan ran away and said he’d never go back. You ask me, Broken Heart is full of weird shit.

Zombies? Riiight.

With a sigh, Libby shut off the computer and climbed back into bed. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in the paranormal or that she hadn’t seen some seriously strange crap … it was more that feeling she wasn’t living her own dream. Was paranormal investigation really gonna be her life’s work? And though she wasn’t psychic or really all that intuitive, every time she thought about Broken Heart, her stomach knotted.

She fluffed the pillows and flicked off the lamp. Then she stared into the dark until she fell into restless sleep.

* * *  *  *

The fireball hit the BMW on the passenger side. The car skidded to the gravel shoulder, the flames so hot, Sylphina felt her dragon roar with longing. She dove out and rolled, the rocks biting into her skin. She popped to her feet and scanned the sky.

Synd was not there.

Sylphina studied the car as it melted into a heap of twisted metal. A warning shot. Her brother hadn’t wanted to kill her. Just freak her out.

Mission accomplished.

She was at least an hour away from Broken Heart with no way to get there—at least not by human means.

Sylphina realized she would have to morph into her dragon, which was exactly what Synd wanted. Killing her in her human form wouldn’t be as much of a challenge, and Synd loved a challenge. Plus, he loved being a dragon, considering his human side weak and nearly useless.

Staring up into the night sky, she renewed her vow: Synd would not get her powers. No matter what she had to do.

For good to endure, sacrifice is always necessary.

*  *  * * *

Libby’s dad parked the rental car on the side of the road. It was edging toward ten p.m. Unlike most of the highway they’d traveled on the way here, this section had no working lights. It was the kind of dark that set her teeth on edge, a cold, bleak night that kept secrets.

Broken Heart’s secrets.

“We really gotta walk?” Libby groused as she zipped up her parka.

“Other investigators haven’t had much luck driving into the town,” said her mother. “They get stopped and re-routed. More than a few remember driving through it without stopping, but nothing else.”

Mom’s theory: Vampire glamour.

They exited the car. The cold was like knives, sharp and unrelenting, even in her lungs. Their breath puffed out into little white clouds. Her dad stamped his feet.

“Use the walkie talkie feature of your cell phone. You’re Crystal One,” said Mom. “I’m Ruby Two, and your dad’s Sapphire Three.”

Libby stared at her mom. “And we can’t use our names because…”

“Brady suggested this as a security measure,” said Mom. “I got to pick the code names.”

Terrific. Libby heaved her purse over her shoulder and tucked the cell phone into her coat pocket.

Her father pointed across the road and toward the pocket of woods. “Go through there and stay to the north. You should reach the cemetery in about fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“Did you read about the zombie attack on the forum?” asked Libby.

“Oh, zombies are basically harmless,” said Mom. “You know that. They’re not exactly quick on their feet.”

“If they have feet,” pointed out her dad. “Sometimes they crawl toward you. Then you really have the advantage.”

“Thanks for the advice,” said Libby drolly. “Where will you be?”

“We’re sticking to the tree line on the south side and following the road toward the convenience store.”

Mom and Dad gave her a hug, then set off.

Libby crossed the empty highway and entered the forest. She walked at a brisk pace. The only sounds in the strangely silent forest were her shoes kicking up dead leaves and snapping twigs.

Every so often, she felt as though someone—or something—was watching her. Her flashlight beam barely cut through the thick darkness. She’d been on plenty of investigations on her own. This one was no different. Her heart thumped with fear and excitement. Maybe this time they would find something real. And finally walk away with irrefutable proof of the supernatural. Hell, at this point, she’d gladly shake Bigfoot’s hand. Anything so her parents could get the proof that would make their life’s work worthwhile.

She’d been walking a good ten minutes when she heard a howl.

Not just any howl. A spine-tingling, blood-curdling yowl that echoed through the forest. Like an idiot, she stopped, slowly turning in a circle to determine the source.

This is when the horror-movie heroine gets whacked by the ax murderer.

The howl came again. Then another, and another. Three blending into one.

That was definitely not Bigfoot.

Libby picked up the pace, walking as fast as she could without tripping over fallen logs and other forest debris. In the distance, she saw the trees fade into a clearing.

The cemetery.

Right now, zombies were looking pretty good. She clutched her flashlight and her purse, and ran … toward Broken Heart.

Eva and Tamara’s Word List

             
In
Don’t Talk Back to Your Vampire
, Eva LeRoy and her daughter, Tamara, play a daily word game. They pick a “word of the day” and then attempt to work it into a conversation. The words are usually archaic and strange, which makes them difficult to use. And that’s part of the fun!

              Below, you’ll find one of Eva and Tamara’s word lists. You can spend the day being a
jollier
, or in my case, being a
sarcast
. Heh.

Bugaboo:
Something that causes fear or worry; a make-believe monster.

Felicific:
Giving or getting intense pleasure.

Jollier
: Someone who jollies (banters, jokes).

Minutiose:
A person who concerns himself with minute details.

Persifleur:
One who banters, offers frivolous talk, and displays mild derisiveness.

Risibles
: One’s sense of humor; sense of the ridiculous.

Sarcast:
One who uses sarcasm.

Splenetic:
A sullen, or bad-tempered person.

Subrisive:
Not quite laughing; smiling broadly.

Ustulation:
The act of scorching or burning.

Wowser:
A puritanical person.

If you are a minutiose person or you enjoy erudition, Eva recommends the following books:

Ehrlich, Eugene.
The Highly Selective Thesaurus and Dictionary for the Extraordinarily Literate
. New York: HarperCollins, 1994, 1997.

Hook, J.N.
The Grand Panjandrum and 1,999 Other Rare, Useful, and Delightful Words and Expressions.
New York: Macmillan, 1980.

Deleted Scene from
I’m the Vampire, That’s Why

It’s not that I believed Patrick. Because I didn’t. But even so, I blanketed him with sympathy. A “mind” hug, if you will. Patrick loved his brother. And that was a truth I understood. He “hugged” me back, the swirling energy wrought by his fear and anger melted back into him.

Patrick’s gaze met mine.
She was not drained, he whispered into my mind, she was viciously attacked, but not by Lorcan. Not by any vampire.

I couldn’t prevent the shudder that wracked me. I don’t think I want to know what else hunts humans.

Linda and Stan looked from me to Patrick, but both remained silent. Linda looked like she was going to cry again, and to be honest, Stan looked a mite teary-eyed himself.

In the uncomfortable silence that ensued, Stan awkwardly patted Linda on the shoulder. “Mrs. Beauchamp … Linda … we are all very sorry about what happened. We are trying to make reparations.”

“Reparations?” she screeched. “For murdering us?”

“N-now, L-Linda,” Stan stammered as his patting technique went from inept to frenetic. “I’m very glad you are alive. You’re too pretty to be … uh, dead dead.”

I’d seen Linda in full temper only once. Ten years ago, she asked me to help her sort items for a garage sale. I showed up in time to see her husband Earl hauling ass, literally because he was naked, through the front yard. He clutched a pair of jeans and one snakeskin boot. All the rest of his stuff was scattered on the lawn. Well, except for his .38 Special. That was in Linda’s hands.

She had decent aim. Almost winged him. But Earl had a damned good survival extinct and a healthy streak of cowardice. He was also an expert in dodging bullets since he’d nearly gotten killed a dozen times by irate husbands, boyfriends, and fathers.

After Linda emptied all six rounds, she looked at me and said, “I’m done with that lyin’ cheatin’ bastard. If he ever looks in our direction again, I will shoot off his balls and watch him bleed to death.”

And I had wisely replied, “I’ll post the bond. And buy the tequila.”

With sorrow and fury working overtime, I figured Linda would pick up the nearest blunt object and pummel the clueless men. Yeah. There probably wouldn’t be enough pieces of Stan and Patrick left to identify the bodies.

To my shock, Linda blinked at Stan, who was an inch shorter than she, and said, “You think I’m pretty?”

The Axed Plot from
Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home

When I wrote the original manuscript for the fourth book in the Broken Heart series,
Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home
, I decided adding aliens to the paranormal mix would be fun. In fact, the idea of a vampire being skeptical about alien life forms cracked me up (still does, actually).

Unfortunately, not every idea or plot wins over the hearts and minds of editors. In the case of Wait
Till Your Vampire Gets Home
, my editor invited me to consider a different idea—and honestly? The dragon angle worked much better, and really turned up the heat (ha, ha) on Libby and Ralph’s story.

Below, I’ve included a few scenes from the original manuscript that include the aliens.

Ralph sat on the couch with me and drew me into his arms. His kissed my neck, which made me forget about everything except what I wanted him to kiss next.

              Then things got really good. So good, my heart started knocking hard against my chest.
Thump. Thump. Thump.