Vulgarian Vamp (A Wendy Darlin Comedy Mystery Book 5) (12 page)

Poof! The monk-bat was gone. He needed some new material.

Kit held a small bottle in his hand. “Holy water,” he said grinning as if he’d won first place in the Miss USA Drag competition.

Roger hugged Squirl despite the blood dripping from her neck. I was proud of him for overcoming his phobia. I just might let him stay in the birthing room when Little Roger was born.

“You look fine,” I lied to Squirl as I blotted the last of the blood from her wound. She was in shock. “Look at me. You’re safe, now,” I said pinning her with my eyes.

She sobered, her bottom lip trembling. “I don’t think I like him as much as I did the first time. He’s got awful breath.”

“Did you drink any of his blood?”

She smacked her lips, her tongue darting in and out of her mouth like a little pink lizard. “I bit his tongue. Real hard!”

I turned to Roger. “Edward is going to try again. He’s got the hots for Squirl. I think she swallowed some of his blood. We’ve got to bring that horny monk down before he completes that blood transfer or Squirl will become a sucker, too.”

Roger smacked one fist in the other and left the room, his wingtips squeaking on the carpeted floor.

We tagged after him tripping over John and Paul who sat on the floor in the hallway, their backs against the wall, their long cassock-draped legs extending half-way across the corridor.

Like ducklings after a daddy duck, we followed Roger into the guestroom. I sure hoped he had a plan. My pregnant brain was fresh out of brilliant ideas.

He cleared his throat before he spoke. “We’re all at risk, especially outside. We can’t hold the wedding on the cliff unless we have a giant mosquito net. Our safest move is to hole up for a week and catch the next flight back to the States. We can have the ceremony in Atlantic City.”

“You have got to be kidding. That’s pretty chicken shit!”

He blushed crimson with touches of coral around his temples. I should have saved the verbal smack for alone time.

“What about me?” Squirl asked.

I slipped my arm around her. “Got a passport?”

“What’s that?”

Kit covered his neck with his hands; the frown mark between his brows was so deep he would need a hit of Botox when we got home.
If.

The more I thought about it the more I steamed. How often does a girl get married? Two, three times in her life?

Roger hugged me to his chest. His racing heart told me he was trying to put up a brave front. I knew he didn’t believe in the supernatural. It had taken a lot for him to come around to accepting Mrs. MacGuffin and her afterlife contacts. It was only after she told us I was pregnant with his son that he bought into her psychic predictions.

I plopped down on the bed. It was time to take inventory. What did I know about vampires? Garlic, crosses, sunlight, and holy water. But how do you stop a vampire in lust? The hottest movie vampire I ever saw was Frank Langella, and sunlight brought him down… or did it?

Squirl bunched a coverlet on the floor at the foot of our bed. She curled into a ball, and within minutes her steady breathing indicated she was out like a light.

Kit lolled on the chaise staring at me, willing me to come up with a plan.

Once I make up my mind I don’t back down, even if it isn’t something I particularly want because then I want it even more than when I didn’t want it.

“I’ll be damned-darned if I’m going to give up our wedding because of a vampire.”

I had just said the “V” word when Mina and Bram wandered into the room hand in hand. Her little face melded into a pout. She must have heard me.

“Sorry.” I crawled under the bedcovers and pulled the cream-colored spread over me. I peeked from the top of the fold choking on guilt from hurting the feelings of a vampire. Go figure.

Mina left the room with a stomp of her feet. I wondered if all vampires were super sensitive. I mean they must know what they are. Do they honestly think they are normal with their super-human strength and chompy teeth?

I was sick of trying to please everyone. Roger lay next to me, his head propped against the bleached pine headboard, his hand stroking my shoulder.

“Forgive me?” he whispered.

“Yeah.” But I still planned on getting even. I rolled on my right side facing away from him. He seemed to have a talent for pickles. This one was a beaut. When I requested a tasteful little ceremony I didn’t count on being
on
the menu.

Bram and Mina spent the rest of the night together
somewhere,
not sure if it was in sin, but I couldn’t care less as, despite the adrenalin sprinting through my veins, I fell soundly asleep.

I dreamed I was walking on the beach in Miami holding my little son’s hand as he carried a tiny blue pail filled with seashells. The steady swoosh of the ocean waves played in my imagination and kept out the night sounds of wolves howling and Roger snoring.

I woke during the night to find what looked like a hologram of Edward standing over me. Before I could call for help he gave me a red-eyed special, killing my will to fight back. I couldn’t move and couldn’t speak.

His eyes were like rubies, his teeth were the fangs of a wolf, and his breath, well he could have used some Altoids. “You are wise for a woman who has not yet lived a single lifetime. Swear your loyalty to me and I will reward you with a long and fruitful life.”

“I can take care of my own long and fruitful life. Now get your happy ass back to your grave!” I awoke from the sound of my own words.

Was it a prenatal dream or was I now a target for Mr. Horny Pants? I can see why Buffy never got pregnant. This was grueling.

The morning sun struggled through cracks in the dusty shuttered windows. It was the first day of the rest of my second marriage and I had more aches and pains than a television commercial. Vampires suck.

Bram’s gentle voice cut through my haze. “Hey, brother and almost sister-in-law, look what we found in the kitchen. A stockpile of granola bars.” He stood in the doorway, a Jolley in a rumpled Italian suit, his arms loaded with little foil packages.

Roger, Kit, and I lunged at the poor priest tearing the trail food from him like mad dogs.

I grabbed two bars and shredded the red and white wrapper. They tasted like hay and honey. I hate honey.

Roger made a second run for another stick o’ grain. I tripped him and snatched the remaining three bars from Bram’s hands. It’s amazing how being pregnant can turn even a nice dame like me into a dystopian food hoarder.

We sat around the guestroom crunching rock-hard bars of seeds and passing glances between us like hot potatoes, each one of us frantically seeking a plan. No sense in telling them about Edward’s night visit. It might have been a Spam induced hallucination.

Mina floated mid-room. She was getting on my nerves with her air pacing. I cut her a pleading glance and she lit on the fireplace mantel looking like a pixie. She’d probably be pissed if I told her.

“Anybody seen Renfield?” I asked.

My question drew blank looks.

I didn’t like that he continued to lurk unaccounted for. No real reason to be suspicious, and yet the hairs on my arms were prickling. “Where are John and Paul? Haven’t seen them in awhile.”

“I sent them to return the
Book of Names
to the church,” Bram said.

“Let’s check on the monks to be sure they’re still corked,” I said

Not that I was an expert on bottled monks, but I’d had my share of accidental champagne cork popage and the results were never pretty.

If the monks vamped and left their kegs at the wrong time, they might wander into a nest of armed Louts and heads would roll.

So far no communication from the Vatican Vampire Investigators. They could be days away. It was clear vampire wrangling took a certain amount of planning. I was a panster and out of my league.

With a collective nod our team of vampire wranglers wobbled to their feet. Mina floated to the floor and stood next to Bram. She slipped her hand through his arm and snuggled against his elbow.

“What time is the ceremony?” Bram asked.

Roger gave me a questioning look.

“Cripes!” I hadn’t thought about it. “How long will it take you to get ready?” I asked Kit.

My bridal preparations would take ten minutes. I was a quick dresser and now with limited toiletries this was a dip and slip. Kit was the resident diva and as maid-of-honor and best man he would take a long time.

“Give me a head start. I can be pure perfection in an hour. Well, not
pure
. By the way, we still need to pick wildflowers for your headpiece and your bouquet,” Kit said.

“Not from the graveyard, okay?” That would be kind of creepy.

“There’s a small field of flowers on the east side of the church. I can’t pick the blossoms in the sunshine, but I can make a really pretty bouquet for you if you bring me the flowers,” Mina said.

I smiled. “Thank you.” She was trying hard to please me. I needed to turn on my
nice
valve. Where the hell heck was that thing? “Let’s get to the wine cellar.”

Roger nodded. “To the corked clergy we go!”

Mina stood on tiptoes and kissed Bram’s cheek. He kissed her back. He blushed when he caught our questioning glances. What was a priest doing canoodling with a vampire? If I were a religious person, the kissing thing would have bothered me but I was open-minded, although the idea of kissing a priest was kind of cross-cultural.

The Bram-Mina relationship appeared to be stepping up to the next level. Would one of them be compelled to convert? I shook off the idea of a vampire in the Vatican, although it might make for a best seller.

Sunlight illuminated our trek through the hall to the wine cellar entrance. Roger pulled the door open with a creak that would have awakened a fourth dynasty mummy. We poked our way down the dark cellar stairs, each holding a lighted candle. A cobweb floated across my face. I snorted and it went up my nostrils. Ick!

Sure would have been nice if the monks had believed in small luxuries like electricity.

A sudden heavy
thump
sent me stumbling as we entered the main wine room. Roger blocked my fall. I hoped it was just a fat rat. Rodents I could deal with.

The thump repeated. I clutched Roger’s hand as we stepped next to the line of barrels.

A second series of knocks echoed from the far end of casks. It sounded like SOS. Two rats sending messages in Morse Code?

We circled the nearest banging barrel behaving like kids in a house of horrors.

Roger gripped a wine bottle by the neck as a weapon.

Bram clutched a crucifix in his mouth as he pried off the lid of the barrel.

Mina, Squirl, and I held our half-melted candles at the ready, useless as weapons unless whoever was in the haunted barrel had a fear of hot wax.

The lid popped off the first barrel and rolled like a manhole cover coming to rest topside up. The wine cask shivered, convulsed, and gave birth to a gasping monk.

“What the hell-heck?” I said stepping back to avoid the stink of pickled parson and sour wine.

Our brave team of vampire hunters looked like a herd of deer in candlelight.

Roger stepped between me and a rising monk. The friar braced his hands on the barrel rim in a feeble effort to climb out. His eyes conveyed his terror at waking in a cabernet coffin.

“A miracle?” I looked at Bram.

He shook his head numbly. I’ll bet they didn’t have a course on this at the Vatican Vampire Academy.

Mina leaned over and sniffed the cask. “The monk-wine is supposed to have miraculous powers. It weaned me from craving blood. Maybe it brought the good brothers back to life?”

More barrels shimmied; two teetered to the floor and rolled toward us. The middle barrel began tapping out
Jingle Bells.

We were in the midst of the
Beer Barrel Polka
version of
the Night of the Living Dead
and it was barely lunchtime. I handed my candle to Squirl and enlisted Mina in righting one of the fallen casks. We popped the lid and out came a yellow, smelly, staked monk. I stepped back, worried about infection. There was no way could I explain this hoedown to my obstetrician.

Roger, Kit, Bram, and Mina uncorked the friars helping them wiggle out of their casks. I stood back to avoid the alcohol fumes.

Holy Acai juice! The cellar spun, a kaleidoscope of gray and purple drilling me into the floor. This was one hell-heck of a hallucination. I teetered. The next thing I remembered I was peeling my face off the floor.

Squirl sat next to me, patting my hand. This special brew from lord knows what kind of grapes possessed some scary powers. I squinted, counting thirty-nine barrels without monks on the floor.

The monks exchanged startled looks as if awakening from a communal nightmare. Not one of them uttered so much as a groan.

Father Bram stood at the center dishing out a group blessing over the bruise-colored flock as they linked arms forming a chain of monks.

The sound of marching feet and angry voices cut through the surreal aura of the moment. The basement walls began to vibrate and the ceiling dropped clods of dirt on my head. Rabble yelling filtered into the cellar. I tiptoed to the battered door and peeked into the graveyard.

An army of villagers looking like a German flash-mob in lederhosen, peasant blouses, and garlic necklaces marched into the cemetery. It was clear by their weapons they had come to behead the monks.

Mina wrapped herself around Bram’s leg like a humping puppy. Roger and Squirl sandwiched me between them to protect my belly. Roger leaned back and planted a kiss on my cheek. “I got this,” he said. That was what I was afraid of.

Bram pried Mina away and handed her to me. “Watch her. I’ll try to reason with them.”

“Hey, Bram!” I called. “In situations like this it’s okay to fib.”

An ironic tweaked his lips and he stepped out the exterior cellar door into the cemetery.

Mina jumped up and down like a kindergartener busting to go potty. “Bram, be careful! They’re armed!” She clenched her fists to her mouth as tears dribbled down her pale face.