“Call me crazy, but I have a theory,” Jane said so seriously that I almost believed she had something worthwhile to say. Almost.

“Okay, I’ll bite and raise you one. Motherfucking bat shit crazy,” Astrid said without missing a beat.

Martha and Jane had joined us in the office and it was going downhill fast.

“I’m gonna ignore that, Chesty McBoobicles,” Jane shot back. “We might be a smidge and a half off the old rocker, but we’re good lookin’ and extremely passive aggressive. That adds up to something.”

“What?” Martha asked looking as confused as the rest of us.

Jane gave Martha an exasperated grunt. “Whose side are you on, hooker?”

“Yours?”

“Kill me now,” I muttered, waiting to hear the theory. I was also secretly hoping Ethan would change his mind about them coming on the mission. It was abundantly clear that they were deranged.

Jane continued, but only after giving Martha a quick and painful looking noogie on her head. “So correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s sounding to me like Venus is gonna be using her knockers as weapons.”

“And she told us hooters weren’t weapons,” Martha announced to the room referring to our earlier discussion with her bony finger pointed at me. Apparently she was back on Jane’s side.

“That’s your damn theory?” I practically shouted.

Short of banging my head against the wall or removing theirs, I did all I could to keep my cool. There was no way in Hell I was going to let two old women wearing gauchos and sequined bras get the best of me. We had no time for this.

“Yes, that and I’d like to go on record stating that hooters are as deadly as throwing stars,” Jane added.

“Can I hurt them?” I pleaded to Ethan.

“Sadly, no. Martha and Jane, Venus’ lady parts have nothing to do with the mission.”

“While I agree with my brother, I’d like to go on record and state that Venus does have a lethal pair,” Gareth offered up only seconds before Astrid popped him in the head.

“Hear me out,” Martha said, just winding up. “She’s gonna parade them on the stage to catch the bad guy. So I say they’re a weapon.”

“You’re gonna be working them 34C’s like a dagger,” Jane sang gleefully.

“34D’s,” Gareth added with a wink.

I shot him a glare that should have terrified the Master Vampyre. Of course he just gave me a lopsided grin that made my knees weak, but that weakness was something I was going to ignore.

Deciding not to grace Gareth’s unnecessary, inappropriate, and entirely accurate knowledge of my cup size with a comment or a head punch, I closed my eyes and tried to figure out a logical reason to get out of the new mess that was being presented.

“I really don’t see that bringing Martha and Jane to Oklahoma with us will be beneficial—in any way,” I stated far more calmly than I felt.

Who was I kidding? It was a clusterfuck waiting to explode. The old farts were worthless in a fight and annoyed me almost as much as Gareth did. I couldn’t begin to fathom why Astrid and Ethan thought this was a good idea.

“Normally, I would agree with you,” Ethan said in a diplomatic tone. “However, Samuel insisted that they go.”

“Why?” Gareth asked, still keeping his distance in case I lobbed something at him—like a knife. “Venus and I will work faster if we don’t have any liabilities.”

“Who in the Hell are you? You are one fine looking piece of man meat,” Jane said, looking Gareth up and down with interest. “Pretty dang sure you just insulted my ass, but I’d wouldn’t throw you outta bed for eatin’ crackers.”

“For the love of everything unholy,” Astrid snapped and banged the old bag’s heads together. “That’s Gareth. Samuel glamoured him so Vlad won’t recognize him.”

“Offer still stands, Sexy Pants,” Jane told him with a little shimmy than made her saggy bosom jiggle. She waggled her eyebrows and slid slowly into the splits while eyeing Gareth like he was dinner.

It was the first time I’d ever seen Gareth look terrified. He immediately moved closer to Ethan and stood slightly behind him. I bit back my laugh with effort.

“While I’m appallingly flattered. The answer is no. Never. Not once or at any time in eternity. Ever.”

“Your loss,” Jane grunted as she ungracefully got up from her seduction split.

“This is a very bad plan.” I twisted an errant curl in my fingers and mentally catalogued all the things that could go wrong if Martha and Jane were involved. The list was endless.

Ethan shrugged and approached Martha and Jane who immediately zipped their lips and dropped to their knees in reverence.

“Possibly,” Ethan agreed, looking down at the two old menaces. “But my son works in strange ways, and was adamant that Martha and Jane go.”

“We’ve packed our bags, sire,” Martha said, crawling over and kissing his shoe.

“And I burned them,” Astrid chimed in. “You’ll be taking the bags I packed for you. You’ll look like respectable Vampyres from the Cressida House—Armani suits. Black. I did make a concession on the shoes. Instead of stilettos, I packed sensible low heeled pumps.”

Martha and Jane took in the information with expressions that looked like they’d swallowed lemons. I tried to picture them in normal clothing and found that I couldn’t. I was so used to sequins and ass bearing disasters.

“If I have to wear a suit, I’m definitely wearing a dickie,” Jane announced.

“Enough. This is ridiculous,” Gareth stated firmly, glaring at Ethan. “They stay here. We can’t deal with insanity. The mission is life or death. While I believe Samuel to be a prophet, this is a mistake. I’m not dealing with crackpots who wear dickies. Unacceptable.”

“Everyone has their… umm… quirks,” Ethan said, trying like hell not to laugh or groan.

“Sweet Baby Jesus in a banana hammock, what in the hell do you think a dickie is?” Jane demanded.

No one spoke because no one knew.

“Um… some kind of strap on… um, male appendage?” I asked, with a wince of embarrassment.

“Hell to the no,” Martha shouted with a bark of laughter. “A dickie is a false shirt front—also known as a detachable bosom.”

Jane snickered at the word bosom and I rolled my eyes.

“It was designed to be worn with a tux, but I like a nice turtle neck dickie with a suit,” Martha said.

Jane, not wanting to be left out, continued our education. “Back in the day some were made with elastic tabs that you could tuck into your pants so your dickie wouldn’t flop around. A flopping dickie is a fucking disaster. I hated those dang straps. That elastic would get stuck in your hooha and you’d spend the entire day yanking it out.”

“Damn straight,” Martha said nodding and demonstrating the dickie elastic picking maneuver. “That’s why when I wear a dickie around my neck, I use double sided stick tape or butt glue.”

“What in the Hell is butt glue?” Astrid asked. Not a second later, she slapped her hand over her mouth in horror realizing she’d said something that would make them continue talking.

“It’s mother humpin’ awesome. Keeps my ass from fallin’ out of my booty shorts,” Jane explained. “I spray it on my money maker and then press my booty shorts into place. Voila! No extra badonkadonk.”

“Used to use hairspray on my junk in the trunk until some wonderful bastard came up with spray on butt glue, but we still use hairspray to stop static cling and for deodorant in a pinch. And while we’re sharing our morning routine, I always use a little Vaseline on my fangs to keep them from sticking to my lips when I smile,” Martha rattled off.

“And Preparation H gets rid of puffiness under the eyes,” Jane reminded Martha.

“Yep, I remember back in the day putting that stanky hemorrhoid elixir all over my body, wrapping myself in saran wrap and running ten miles so I’d look good in my skivvies for that cheating son of a bitch Herman. Found out he was popping Marge down the street so I tied his pecker in a knot.”

“Really?” Astrid choked out on a strangled whisper.

I elbowed Astrid in the gut. She was making a nightmare-inducing situation worse by encouraging them to keep going.

“Nah,” Martha said with a chuckle. “But I did bend it to the left and super glued it together. Heard it took months and two surgeries to get that beef thermometer straight again.”

“Served that two timing son of a bitch right,” Jane huffed. “I would have torn that giggle stick right off his skinny ass body and force fed it to Marge. You were kind.”

Gareth and Ethan were pale and hunched over. I was wishing I could throw up, because my stomach was roiling. Astrid looked shell-shocked.

After that story, they had to realize that taking the gals was a huge mistake.

“Where did you learn all that stuff?” Astrid asked, smartly moving away from my active elbow.

“The gluing the meat popsicle part or the other part?” Jane asked.

“Other part,” Astrid amended quickly.

“We were on the pageant circuit for years,” Martha chimed in. “Watch this.”

She pulled a tube of blood red lipstick from the pocket of her gauchos and applied it with an extremely heavy hand. Her partner in crime, Jane, held her pointer finger in the air to demonstrate something. What? I had no clue. Martha smiled and looked like she’d just fed. Her teeth were smeared with the red substance. Horrifying.

“Martha is a dumbass,” Jane explained as if she was teaching a class of preschoolers. “She forgot rule number one of the Pageant Academy.”

Jane then took a tube of hot pink lipstick from her sagging cleavage and applied with an even heavier hand. Baby Jane Hudson had come to life. She then took her pointer finger and popped it in her mouth like a popsicle—or something worse if one’s mind was in the gutter—and pulled it out slowly. It was all kinds of wrong, yet morbidly fascinating. Jane grinned like an idiot—no lipstick on her teeth—or dentures. I wasn’t sure what exactly was in her mouth.

“Suck the finger. Teeth will be spotless. Don’t suck the finger. Teeth will be fucking gross.”

“Did either of you ever win?” Astrid asked.

“Never, but our teeth were shiny and our keisters were always covered.”

Her statement was met with silence. Everyone was busy trying to block visuals from their minds—at least I was.

“It makes sense,” Astrid said much to my shock and everyone else’s in the room. “I know why Samuel wants them to go.”

“I’m still reeling from what I just witnessed,” Gareth whispered as he fell into a chair and put his head in his hands.

I had to agree.

“How much do you know about being in a pageant?” Astrid questioned me.

Damn her logic.

“Nothing,” I admitted, recognizing her train of thought.

She shrugged and laughed. “Bingo. The hazardous old dingbats know everything. Riddle solved.”

Again there was silence while we digested the reality of what was to happen. Fine. They were going to go, but there were going to be rules.

“You will follow my orders with no questions asked.” I crossed the room in a flash and planted myself in front of the now triumphant disasters.

Gareth was on my heels. “One wrong move could get all of us turned to ash. This is a one strike and you’re out game. Do you understand?” His voice was soft, but his command was unmistakable.

The gals were no longer smirking. They were bobbing their heads in respect and a healthy amount of fear.

With the Vampyre version of a sigh, I gave the gals one last glance before I turned my attention back to Ethan. Time was ticking and we needed everything straight. “Has Roberto found Rachmiel?”

We might not have to leave at all if the Angel was captured. Dealing with the particulars ahead of us meant I didn’t have to think about the confusing Gareth shit show and the alarming thoughts of how Martha and Jane could screw us up.

“No. Apparently Rachmiel’s gone missing,” Ethan replied with growl of disgust. “However, Roberto now knows he’s the traitor. I’d say he’ll be in custody shortly.”

“He’s aware he can’t kill him yet,” Gareth reminded his brother.

Ethan nodded. “Yes. And he said he wants Vlad alive.”

“We can’t guarantee that,” I said, knowing taking Vlad alive would be difficult.

“Well, try,” Ethan said. “Very hard. We need him alive as well.”

“Leila, Nathan and Alexander have been apprised too,” Astrid informed us. “They’re on their way to the Cressida House now.”

Gareth stood and began to pace in agitation. “I don’t want my siblings as backup. They haven’t made a deal with the Devil. They will stay here.”

Ethan nodded in agreement. “Exactly my plan. They won’t be pleased, but none of them are stupid.”

“I’ll need to pack.” I stood and headed toward the door. Even though Martha and Jane knew the ins and outs of a pageant, I didn’t want them choosing my attire—booty shorts and feathers were not going to fly.

“Already done,” Astrid assured me. “Packed you myself. You have everything you need.”

That made me a little nervous, but not as nervous as if the old dummies had packed for me. While Astrid’s taste was impeccable, her idea of appropriate was a bit left of center. Whatever. She’d watched the Vampyre Network. Certainly she would know better than I would what was needed.

“Is Venus going to need a talent?” Jane brought up a question I hadn’t even considered. “We can teach her a sexy little song and dance routine.”

“What? I have to have a talent? I don’t have any talent other than ass kicking.”

“Then you’ll be fine,” Ethan assured me. “The talent in this particular pageant is a fight demonstration.”

“Thank God,” I muttered, getting more stressed by the second. “My focus will need to be on Claudia and Vlad.”

“If he’s there,” Gareth added darkly.

“If he’s not, you will leave immediately. We’ll go after Rachmiel. Oklahoma is in my Dominion. I’ve gotten word out to those I’ve put in charge of the area and trust enough not to have to kill. They are to let me know if Vlad shows up,” Ethan informed us.

Even though Ethan was the Prince of all of the North American Dominion, the sections were governed by Vamps who reported to him. It was a tenuous situation at best since we were a violent bunch, but Ethan had an outstanding grip on his people—or at the very least they feared him enough to stay in line.

“Who runs that section?” Astrid asked.

“Sheena,” I replied with a small shudder. I didn’t like her much, but she had shown herself to be loyal to Ethan over the decades.

“Difficult?” Gareth asked.

“Prickly,” Ethan replied in a cold tone. “However, she owes me tremendously and she knows it. She won’t cross you or she’ll have to answer to me.”

“Hear that, Jane? Shit’s getting serious,” Martha mumbled as she took Jane’s gnarled hand in her own and stepped to my side. “We’re gonna protect you and Spicy Boy there. You don’t worry bout nothing.”

Astrid groaned. Gareth swore and I rotated my neck to alleviate the tension building there.

Ethan kept whatever he was feeling to himself. “Pick a name, Gareth. Your identity has to be hidden. Keep it simple—something easily remembered.”

“May I?” I requested with an evil little smirk on my lips. If we were walking into the face of possible death we may as well have a little fun.

“Be my guest,” Gareth said, watching me with a raised brow that was all kinds of hot.

“Dickie.”

I wasn’t sure if he was going to be amused or pissed. However, I couldn’t help myself.

He laughed.

Hard.

“Dickie, it is. However, you shall pay for that,” he said easily with a sexy chuckle that made me get all squishy and uncomfortable—in a wildly inappropriate way.

Shrugging him off, I stood and bowed to Astrid and Ethan. “Anything else, my liege?”

“Your itineraries and all other info needed are packed with your things. You’ll be driving. It will be the least conspicuous. You’ve been registered under your name and your hotel reservations put you on the same floor as Claudia. The pageant starts tomorrow evening.”

“Claudia?” Jane asked. “Someone we need to beat?”

“In a manner of speaking,” I replied coldly.

“Hot damn,” Martha shouted. “This is gonna be frackin’ fun.”

Perhaps it depended on your definition, but I agreed somewhat. Taking names, kicking ass, and saving the world was right up my alley. I just hoped I lived to tell the story.