12
It’s important to carve out time in your schedule to volunteer at your child’s school and extracurricular activities whenever possible, if for no other reason than to remind the other children that your child’s parent can definitely beat up their parent.
—My Mommy Has Fangs: A Guide to Post-Vampiric Parenting
There was a very short pirate standing in my living room. He was wearing a black tricorn hat, a puffy white shirt, and a little vest with skulls on the lapels, but no pants. He adjusted his eye patch over his left eye, which was difficult, considering that he was holding his plastic sword.
“I’m ready for the Pumpkin Patch Party, Mom,” Danny announced while I was packing the last of the party supplies into my shoulder bag, including two extra bottles of HemoBoost. I would not suffer another emergency feeding situation in front of the PTA.
“You look great, Captain Danny,” I said, giving a jaunty little salute.
“Thank you.”
“Could I persuade you to put on pants?” I asked, waving in the general direction of his Underoos.
Danny pulled an indifferent face. “I don’t know if I feel like it.”
“It’s an important part of the costume. And what is with your sudden aversion to pants? This is the third night in a row we’ve had this conversation.”
“Did pirates wear pants?” he asked, climbing onto the couch.
“Pretty much full-time.”
“OK.” He sighed, sounding very put-upon as he padded up the stairs in his little pirate boots. “Is Mamaw going to be there tonight?”
“I’m pretty sure she will be. And Harley, too. And I am one hundred percent sure he will be wearing pants. You guys will be hanging out with Braylen and Kerrianne while Mom and Mr. Wade run the games. And then we’re coming back here for The Great Pumpkin and hot cocoa.”
“Sounds good!” he called. After a few minutes, he yelled, “Hey, Mom, did pirates wear sweatpants?”
“I can’t help but think this conversation is going to be the highlight of my evening,” I grumbled to myself as I carted the bag of party stuff out to the van. “Also, I don’t know if I should let my child spend so much time with Dick Cheney.”
Like the biblical plagues of old, the Pumpkin Patch Party was finally upon us. I guessed I should be grateful that because of bursting-into-flames issues, I didn’t have to help with setup. By the time I arrived, the games were set up, the popcorn was popped, and the inflatables were . . . inflated. Chelsea Harbaker and the other moms had done a remarkable job strategically placing hay bales and pumpkins so the front of the school actually looked like a place people would come to sort out their fall harvests. The actual pumpkin patch, run by Marnie Whitehead and provided by McDonough’s Tree Farm, was spread out over the front lawn. At the end of the night, each participating kid could buy a pumpkin for a dollar, a ridiculously low price for their future jack-o’-lanterns, but McDonough’s was happy to get rid of some of its “irregular” specimens.
Wade had been busy helping some of the other dads put together the dunking booth and the ring toss and other carnival games that were actually designed to allow the children to win. As for me, I’d been wrapping up all of the raffle issues, including redesigning the tickets at the last minute because it turned out the state had some scary, heretofore unknown laws about charity-related gambling and what was supposed to be printed on the tickets. I was not going to jail for the Pumpkin Patch Party.
Danny ran ahead of me, eager to find Harley among the kids whose parents had arrived early to volunteer. The air smelled, frankly, repugnant, between the popcorn and the caramel apples and the mulled cider. I was sure it smelled heavenly to the humans, but it was like walking through a Wicks & Things where all of the candles were garbage-scented.
It was nice, but somehow a little disturbing, that this Pumpkin Patch Party looked almost exactly like the Pumpkin Patch Parties I’d attended as an HMHES student. The same booth banners, the same games, the same families milling around, seeking good old-fashioned entertainment.
If I returned years from now with Danny’s children, would anything have changed? Would Chelsea, who seemed to be having some sort of nervous breakdown by the snow-cone machine, still be there, trying to organize everybody into oblivion?
And suddenly, I was struck with an image of myself, the exact same age but wearing Marge’s “Number 1 Grandma” sweatshirt. And it made me shudder.
“Miss Libby!” I turned to see Harley running at me full-tilt, dressed as a ninja. His straw-blond hair stuck out at all angles, mussed from the ninja hood draped around his neck. As I caught him, I noted with some discomfort that the costume included ninja throwing stars.
“I’m a ninja, Miss Libby!” Harley cried. “Where’s Danny? I want him to see my costume.”
“You bought that costume purely for the throwing stars, didn’t you?” I asked Wade as he approached, even as a pleasant warm sensation spread through my chest at Harley’s easy affection. This was a far cry from the shy child who’d refused to correct Danny’s butchering of his name for the sake of politeness.
“It’s nice that you know me so well,” Wade said.
“I was talking to him,” I informed him. “Or so I thought.”
“Dad made me leave the nunchuks at home,” Harley informed me. “I gave myself a bloody lip.”
“It was for the greater good,” I told Harley.
“That’s what Dad said!” Harley exclaimed.
“Your dad’s a pretty smart guy,” I said. “Kerrianne and Danny are over by the bouncy castle if you want to find them.”
Harley wriggled loose from my grip and ran toward the bouncy castle. “Thanks, Miss Libby!”
Wade’s eyes followed Harley until he reached the “safety” of the inflatables and Kerrianne’s company. Wade leaned close, nuzzling his cheek against mine before planting an open kiss against my mouth. “Hi.”
I was smiling when he pulled away from me. “Hey.”
“I missed you while you were serving your tour with the pumpkin brigade,” he said, sliding his hand around my waist and settling it just above my ass. I snuggled against him, not even minding the public ass pat. As much as I lusted after Wade, I’d come to appreciate his more internal qualities even more since Finn’s coerced confession. Wade was honest and considerate and trustworthy. And had I mentioned honest? I’d come to understand that I needed a bit less drama and a bit more Wade in my life.
“You, too. It’s sort of insane how much I’m looking forward to watching a Charlie Brown special with you and the boys later,” I told him, pecking him on the lips.
A few of the parents, including Chelsea and Casey, had stopped in their tracks to stare at the spectacle of the vampire mom and the biker dad making out near the dunk tank. “Move along, people. Nothin’ to see here,” Wade barked at them, prompting an instant return to whatever task they’d dropped in order to gawk at us.
“That’s going to take some getting used to,” I muttered.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Wade said. “Now, did you have a healthy ‘breakfast’ when you rose for the night?”
“Yes, definitely,” I promised. “And I brought some snack bottles, just in case.”
“Well, that’s a shame. I was thinkin’, maybe later, after The Great Pumpkin when the boys have gone to sleep, you might have another ‘emergency.’ I’ve been eatin’ a lot of cookies and drinkin’ a lot of juice in preparation.”
“Don’t use me as your excuse to eat cookies,” I chided. “Don’t endanger your abs in my name.”
Wade hooted. “I see how it is. You only want me for my body!”
“Oh, yes, I thought I made that clear with my seductive opening comments in the janitor’s closet,” I purred.
“You know, we can always visit that closet later, after everybody’s gone home,” he said, hooking his fingers through the loops on my jeans.
“Why would I be here after everybody else is gone?”
“I sort of volunteered you for the cleanup committee.”
My jaw dropped as I stammered, “Wh-why? Why would you do that?”
“Because we haven’t been able to spend a lot of time together lately. And you weren’t able to help set up, what with the whole sunlight thing. The other moms were more than willin’ to throw you under the bus, by the way.”
“Bitches.” I tried not to pout, really, I did.
“It will give us some time alone together and let the boys work off their sugar high while they’re on Kerrianne’s watch.”
I glanced over to the caramel-apple stand, where Danny and Harley seemed to be wrapping their caramel-coated fruit in cotton candy. “Good call,” I conceded, sticking my finger in his face. “But for the record, this is not a date. You do not get credit for planning this.”
Wade snapped his teeth, barely clamping down on the tip of my finger. I yelped, laughing and yanking my hand away. He laughed and kissed my cheek. “You just wait, I’ma date the hell out of you.”
“That’s not a declaration or an answer of any sort.”
“Crazy girl,” he scoffed. “I gotta get goin’. I’m needed over at the cakewalk.”
“Better you than me.”
“Maybe later, I’ll win you one of those big stuffed elephants at the ring toss,” he said. “Come on, boys! Let’s go cheat some ladies out of some cakes.”
I laughed as Wade led our sons to diabetic crisis, but the happy expression on my face died quickly as Chelsea and Casey minced their way across the “fairway” toward me with matching “approaching an uncomfortable conversation” expressions on their faces.
What had I done now? PDA with Wade within view of their impressionable children? Or just walking while undead?
“Libby, hiiiiiii,” Casey intoned.
“You really need to learn to use fewer ‘i’s when you’re feeling awkward,” I told her.
Casey’s eyes went wide. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Chelsea cleared her throat and tossed her golden hair over her shoulder. “Libby, we’re just a little surprised to see you here, that’s all.”
“Why?” I asked. “I organized the raffle and the auction, and apparently, I’m the cleanup crew.”
Casey managed to look guilty for a second, or possibly scared. In truth, all of her expressions just read “vaguely gassy.”
“It’s just that your presence is making some of the other parents uncomfortable,” Chelsea whispered. “Safety concerns, you know.”
Casey added, “They’re afraid you’ll attract the wrong element.”
I glanced around at the other parents, who didn’t seem to be noticing me now that I wasn’t making out with Wade in front of their kids.
“Is it them I’m making uncomfortable or you?” I asked Chelsea. “Because it seems to me that you were plenty comfortable with me doing all your crap work, driving all over creation to pick up gift cards and gift baskets and two hundred pumpkins. Do you have any idea how long it takes to load two hundred pumpkins into a minivan?”
Chelsea stammered an answer, but I cut her off.
“Save it. It occurs to me that the best thing for me to do would be to just walk away from the PTA, to save us all this tension and discomfort. You don’t want me here. And honestly, this experience hasn’t been as rewarding as I’d hoped.”
Casey’s face brightened considerably. “Really? Oh, that’s a shame.”
“But screw that noise. If I want the PTA to change and be more friendly for parents with supernatural needs, I’m going to have to be that change. I’m going to have to run for PTA president.”
Chelsea’s cherubic cheeks went bone-white, and she made a noise that sounded like a choking giraffe.
“And given the number of people you’ve railroaded over the past few weeks for the sake of the Pumpkin Patch Party, I think I can get the votes.”
I turned on my heel, smirking to beat the band, and as I ducked behind the dunking booth, I ran right into my father-in-law, who looked downright smug himself.
“Libby.”
I hadn’t seen him face-to-face in months, on advice of the Council. The difference in his appearance was startling. He’d lost weight, especially in his face, where his cheekbones seemed more prominent, and his eyes were underscored by dark circles. He was grinning at me, but the smile didn’t reach his brown eyes. They were as flat and glassy as a shark’s. Frankly, the effect was creepy, and I took a step back from him. Predatory pride be damned.
“I was hoping to see you tonight,” he said.
“Really?” I asked. “Why would that be, Les? According to my lawyers, you’ve been pretty reluctant to talk with me in any rational, civil way.”
“Well, I just didn’t know how to communicate with you before,” Les said. “I think I’ve figured it out now.”
“Again, I say, really?”
“Sure. I’d like to meet with you and your Council rep on Monday to work out the details, but I think we can come to an agreement.”
I stared at him, long and hard. Was my father-in-law completely high? We’d spent the better part of two months going round and round over the very basics of a simple visitation schedule, and suddenly he had some sort of epiphany to go forth and be a proverbial thorn in my side no longer? Why hadn’t Marge mentioned this on one of her handful of secret visits to our house? Had one of Jane’s vampire friends fiddled with Les’s brain? Was that a secret vampire power, emotionally manipulating controlling old men? It was still cooler than my vampire power.
“So what time is Danny heading home?” Les asked casually.
“In a bit. I don’t want him staying up too late.”
“But you’ve probably got cleanup duty after everything shuts down, right? Most of the parents do,” Les said, his tone too casual to be genuine. “I’m assuming that the sitter the Council hired will be with him tonight. You’re not just going to leave him alone in the house, right?”
“Why do you ask?”
Les shrugged, sliding his arm around Marge’s shoulders as she sidled up next to him. She creased her brow, looking between Les’s contrived relaxed posture and my face-full-o’-tension. “Just want to make sure our grandson is taken care of.”
“I’ve always taken care of Danny,” I told him. “No matter what. He’s a happy, healthy little boy. And if you’re interested in spending time with him, instead of trying to reshape him into the boy you think he should be, I think we’ll be able to iron out an arrangement. But you are his grandparents. That’s your role. I’ll respect your role, if you respect mine.”
For a second, Les’s easy demeanor dropped, and I saw the rage simmering underneath the surface. His dark eyes focused on me with a sharp hatred I could feel like heat on my skin. His lip drew back in a snarl. I was afraid he was going to take a swing at me, not because I was worried about him hurting me but because beating an old man into the ground, particularly an old man who was suing me for custody of my son, was not going to help me in court. But as soon as the rage had appeared, it ebbed. Les’s face relaxed, and his hand was hanging loose at his side. “Well, you never know what could happen,” he told me, walking away without a word to his wife.
“What was that about?” I asked Marge.
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “He’s been behaving so strangely for the past few weeks. I’m starting to worry about him.”
“He mentioned that you two have come to a settlement agreement?”
Marge frowned and shook her head. “Not that he’s told me. In fact, he’s stopped returning our lawyer’s calls.”
“I’m worried, Marge.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll see you in a few days?” she asked quietly. I nodded. “Thanks, honey. You take care of yourself.”
My first instinct was to find Danny, to make sure that Les hadn’t decided to snatch him from the Pumpkin Patch Party and spirit him away to Grandpa Brainwashing Land. Zipping around the fairway at vampire speeds, it only took me a few minutes to find my son, bouncing his heart (and most likely his dinner) out in the inflatable castle with Harley. Part of me cringed, seeing my slightly undersized son bouncing around the vinyl with boys twice his height, pinging between them like a grinning ping-pong ball. But I knew he needed to be bounced around a bit. I needed to let him fall and get hurt and fail, because otherwise, he would never learn how to get back up.
That didn’t stop me from cringing when a collision with Harley sent him sprawling against the mesh walls, under the feet of two third-graders. Kerrianne called for Danny to get up before he got turned into “people jelly,” and he gamely obeyed, waving and hooting all the time.
“Hey, hon. How is your voluntary servitude?” Kerrianne asked me.
“Could you take Danny to your house tonight?” I asked. “Les was being, well, weird as hell earlier, and it made me nervous.”
My lack of greeting or response to her “servitude” jibe brought Kerrianne to attention immediately. “Of course. I’ll tell Wade we’re switching locations.”
“Thanks. I feel better knowing you’ll be somewhere unfamiliar to Les.”
“Hey, did I hear that you were planning to run for PTA president next year? Are you really planning to run?”
“Oh, hell, no. I wouldn’t touch that job with a ten-foot pole. But Chelsea doesn’t need to know that. I want her to spend the next year thinking I’m going to wrestle her power away in some bloody vampire coup.”
“Well, it’s working. Chelsea is having kittens over by the cotton candy.”
“Excellent,” I drawled, steepling my fingers together like a Simpsons villain.
“Hey, is Finn planning on showing up?” she asked.
“Decidedly not,” I said. “I’ve asked Finn for some space.”
“Because you and Wade finally did the deed?”
“No, and how did you—”
“Oh, please, you came back from that thunderstorm with obvious deed signals all over your face. Not to mention the dirt on the back of your jacket and the smudges on his jeans. Frankly, I’m a little hurt that you didn’t immediately dish with me over it. You know how I feel about Wade’s ass. I need some vicarious information. Come on, it was bone-shaking, wasn’t it? It had to be.”
“That recap is not going to happen at a children’s carnival,” I told her.
“I knew it!” Kerrianne crowed as I shushed her. “He couldn’t have a mouth like that and not know what to do with it.”
“You are not an emotionally well woman.”
“Fine,” she groaned. “At least, tell me why you’re not speaking to Finn at the moment.”
“He told me some things about why he turned me, and it was . . . upsetting,” I said carefully. “I don’t want to like him. But he has just enough charm to make him dangerous. I get all confused, and I forget who I’m dealing with.”
“You are the master of vague. Tomorrow evening, after we have washed the caramel from our kids’ hair, you and I are going to sit down with a bottle of that vampire wine, and you’re going to spill your guts.”
I gave her a dutiful curtsy. “Yes, ma’am.”
“For right now, I have to keep my daughter from conspiring with your boys to cheat at ring toss.”
“How do you cheat at ring toss?” I asked.
Kerrianne shrugged. “They have a system.”
When the last wad of cotton candy had melted into sugar goo on the last child’s cheeks and the last raffle prize had been given away, the parents of Half-Moon Hollow could not have disappeared faster if they were paid magicians. A few intrepid fathers stuck around long enough to pack up the booths and shut down the PA system, but other than that, the random debris, the game pieces and leftover prizes, and the litter were my problem—well, mine and Wade’s.
“I’ll take the huge-ass mess on the left, you take the huge-ass mess on the right,” he told me.
“You volunteered us for this, you lunatic!”
“I assumed it would be more packin’ up teddy bears and cleanin’ up smashed pumpkins. Givin’ us enough time to roll around on those hay bales back there.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you assume.” I laughed, giving him a smacking kiss. He caught me around the waist and held me there, sliding his hands up my back until they were cupping my jaw. As usual, I felt everything in Wade’s kiss. There was no artifice or holding back, just playful warmth and affection and this thing he did with his tongue that made my toes curl. Wade was laying it all on the line for me . . . and I was giving him a big whopping lie by omission.
Reluctantly, I pulled away from him, swiping my tongue over my lip. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Wade kissed the curve of my chin, the bristles of his whiskers tickling my sensitive skin. “What’s that?”
“I’ve been seeing my sire.” I closed my eyes, wincing, as if he were going to detonate at the news. When he said nothing, I opened one eye and checked to make sure he was still there.
“OK,” he said, nodding.
“I mean, I was seeing him, as in more than a mentoring relationship, though thanks to some pretty disturbing revelations on his part, that’s pretty much over, because I think I would want to hit him in the face with a folding chair if I saw him again. I haven’t slept with him, though there have been some very intense dreams—never mind. The important thing is that I need to be honest with you about it.”
“OK.”
“Please stop saying OK!”
“Well, what am I supposed to say?” he asked, laughing.
“Tell me I’m a cheater who cheats! A woman of loose character! A betrayer of trust!” I cried.
“Libby, honey, have I asked you for a commitment?” he asked. “Have I given you my fraternity pin and asked you to go steady?”
“If you have a fraternity pin, I will never trust my judgment of people again,” I told him. When he gave me a pointed look, I sighed. “You said you were going to ask me to be your girl, but no.”
“OK, then, so we’re not exactly committed yet. You haven’t broken any sort of promise to me. Of course, once we are, I’d expect you to be faithful, just like I will be to you. But I know how important sires are to vampires. Hell, Jane married hers. I’d rather you figure out now whether you want to be with him than a couple of years from now. And once you figure out how you feel about those upsetting revelations and the fact that he’ll never be as good in bed as I am, you and I will ride off into the sunset.”
I snorted. I needed him to make a joke like that at this very moment. I needed to laugh, because otherwise, I was going to cry. “So you’re going to see other people?”
“Well, I’ll put it this way. I haven’t dated more than once or twice since Harley was born. I doubt that’s going to change now.”
“Thanks, Wade.” I sighed.
“You’re still gonna be my girl,” he said, kissing my forehead.
“There are no other men like you in the world,” I told him.
He scoffed. “’Course not. When he made me, God bronzed the mold and retired it.” He kissed the tip of my nose and, closing his mouth over mine, laid a kiss on me that stole the unneeded breath from my lungs. He pulled me against him, hands roaming to my denim-covered butt and giving it a none-too-gentle squeeze.
“What are you doing?” I asked, grinning up at him.
“Just givin’ that other guy somethin’ to live up to.”
“Nice,” I said, shaking my head.
He shrugged. “Gives me time to plan my next move.”
“OK, master manipulator, you go get your truck to haul away the prizes and stuff, and I’ll run litter patrol.”
“That’s going to take you a while,” he said.
“I’ve got it,” I told him, snagging a rake from a decorative display. (Yes, really.) As Wade disappeared into the darkness, I bolted across the schoolyard at top speed, dragging the rake behind me. I darted back and forth over the grass in tight rows, picking up the litter as I went. Eventually, I had a huge pile of it in the middle of the grass, waiting to be bagged.
“Vampire speed finally pays off!” I exclaimed. “Wade, I beat you! I’m already done! I invite you to marvel at my efficiency.” I did a little victory dance, complete with rake spins.
Unfortunately, these rake spins were witnessed by a man lurking at the edge of the schoolyard—a tall man in dark pants and sweater and a black ski mask, with a squarish head. Someone didn’t get the memo about Pumpkin Patch costumes being a kid thing. Or this was the same chupacabra creep who’d lurked all over me after the PTA meeting weeks before, which was more likely.
El Chupacabra sauntered over to me, and I put my rake on my shoulder like a baseball bat, crouched in a ready stance. Even through the mask, I could tell that he wasn’t breathing. He didn’t have a heartbeat. Which meant he was a vampire, too. There went any advantage I might have had. I had literally never been in a fight before, not even a catfight at the Laundromat, which, I will admit, was unusual given my upbringing.
I worried about Wade. Was he OK? Had El Chupacabra hurt Wade so he could corner me? The man stopped just outside of rake range, waving his hands over my face. I lifted an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”
The man tilted his head, staring at me through the ski mask with baleful black eyes. An odd, acrid smell, like old burnt coffee, hit my nostrils, and I reeled back. He held his hand closer to my face, apparently expecting some reaction, but got nothing. He even shook his hand, all jazzy and fluttery, before trying it again. But I felt nothing. Maybe this was part of my stabilizing gift? He had a power he was trying to use to subdue me but couldn’t because I was shutting him down?
Maybe my power didn’t suck so much after all.
Then it seemed that he had decided to handle things the old-fashioned way, because he produced a stake from behind his back and lunged at me.
I ducked (thank you, vampire reflexes) and yelled, “Who the hell are you, jackass?”
Danny believed I was a superhero. I could do this. I could survive a fistfight . . . in which one of the parties had a stake. Right. Mustering all the upper-body strength I had, I shoved his hands aside and whipped my head forward, smashing my forehead into his.
Ow.
Effective. But ow.
He stumbled back, but I still had to sidestep the stake and, using the rake, shoved the man aside while he was off-balance. A bit more dazed than I would expect, he side-swung again, and I blocked with the rake handle. I swung back, using the rake fan like a giant palm, slapping him back and forth across the face.
He grabbed the fan and shoved it toward me, the rounded end of the handle catching me right in the sternum. I panicked, looking down and expecting to see the handle sticking out of my heart and my body disintegrating to dust. But I was just bruised . . . in a really embarrassing location. Stumbling away and rubbing at my battered chest, I still had the presence of mind to hang on to the rake handle.
Yay for me.
My opponent, who was still a little addled from his rake-slapping, struggled to his feet and limped toward me. When he got within range, I swung the rake over my head and whacked him over the face with the handle. He grunted, swinging his leg forward and planting his foot on my chest, knocking me to the ground. I gasped, rolling out of the way as he lunged, stake down, and got his wooden weapon stuck in the dirt. I scrambled to my feet and kicked the man in the ribs, sending him sprawling across the grass.
Dropping the stake, he ran at me, hands outstretched and curled, as if he was going to strangle me. I took a few steps forward and tripped him with the rake. He’d built up so much momentum that he actually dug a furrow into the lawn, only stopping when he hit the fence near the playground.
If I survived this, I was going to hold on to this rake. It was clearly a lucky rake.
My opponent did not appreciate being splattered all over the grass via lawn tools. He bounced up onto his feet and yelled, “Crazy bitch!”
When I took exception to this, swinging the rake over my shoulder like a bat again and marching across the grass toward him, he leaped to his feet and ran off into the night.
“Rude,” I muttered.
Wade’s voice sounded behind me. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you dig a trench in the school’s front yard?”
I turned to face him, and he shrank back at the sight of my bruised face and torn clothes.
“Honey, did ya trip over the rake?”